There was only one way to learn. Watch the idiot cop put his head in the lion's mouth.
Laying the radio on a hay bale, he stepped forward. "You're under arrest, turkey."
The kidnapper whirled, the muzzle of his gun flashing fire.
He shot well for having only sound to aim at. A small, wrenching pain lanced through Garreth's chest. Reflex brought his hands clutching at the point of pain, but a moment later he realized he felt nothing else, no weakness, no bleeding.
The kidnapper fired again, and once more Garreth felt only that single small pain similar to the one of passing through doors. Good enough. He grinned-"Try again, turkey,"-and charged.
Cursing, the kidnapper tried to empty the gun, but had time for just two more shots before Garreth reached him. Wrenching the gun away, Garreth rapped the butt across the side of the kidnapper's head. The man dropped in his tracks.
Beyond him the dispatcher huddled on the floor. She had to be terrified, hearing the gunfire and collapsing body but unable to see who had gone down.
Garreth spoke before touching her. "Emma, it's all right. You're safe. I'm Garreth Mikaelian, Baumen PD." Then he picked her up.
"Mikaelian. You're 407." Burying her head against his shoulder, enveloping him in a smell of blood and terror-sweat, she burst into tears. "What an idiot I am. When he went down in the waiting area, I thought he'd fainted. I didn't even think; I just opened the counter door and ran out. Of course it was a trick. He grabbed me around the neck and dragged me back inside the office. He demanded the keys to the cells, to get his brother out, he said. I pretended to be getting them and hit the button that rings an alarm at the guard's station up in the jail. I knew Clell Jamison had just brought someone in and was up there, too. The bastard figured out what I'd done, though, and he dragged me over to the stair door and hit Clell when he came down. Did he kill him?"
"Jamison is fine."
Garreth led her back to where he had left the radio. "Mikaelian to Bellamy S.O. Situation resolved. Hostage unharmed."
In minutes the old farmyard had filled up with cars and flashing light bars, representatives of law enforcement agencies in three counties . . . police, sheriff and deputies, highway patrol.
His ZX was there, too, and Maggie, throwing her arms around him, drowning him in the smell of her blood. "You took him by yourself? Are you all right?"
"Of course." He slid away from her so she would not smell the powder burns on his shirt. "He fired a couple of shots at me but he's a lousy shot in the dark." Luckily the powder burns did not show up on the black turtleneck. "Do you have my coat?"
She handed it over. "Are you sure you're all right? There are holes in your shirt."
"Front and back. Yes, I know. I had to crawl through two barb wire fences." Smiling, he carefully buttoned his coat across the holes.
13
Pounding woke him. At first he thought it was part of his dream, hammering on the barn being unaccountably built by a swarm of Amish men at the land end of the bridge from Pioneer Park's island. He did wonder when the entire group turned and began shouting in unison: "Mikaelian! Mikaelian, goddamn it, wake up!" Amish would surely not curse that way. These could not be real Amish.
Then he noticed that though they stopped pounding when they yelled at him, the pounding noise went on. Their voice sounded familiar, too.
"Mikaelian!"
The voice and pounding were real . . . outside his door. He clawed his way up out of sleep to squint at his clock . . . and then stare in outrage. Eleven-thirty!
The pounding sounded ready to break through the door. "Mikaelian! MIKAELIAN!"
"I'm coming!" He staggered to the door and opened it half the width of the safety chain.
Through the crack and the glare of light outside he recognized the burly form of Lieutenant Byron Kaufmann filling his porch. "Helen Schoning and her mother weren't kidding about how sound you sleep," Kaufmann grumbled. "I've been making enough noise to wake the dead."
Garreth leaned his forehead against the crack, sighing. "So you have. What do you want, lieutenant? I just got to sleep."
"Sorry, but I'm supposed to bring you down at the station."
"At this time of day?" While he unchained and opened the door, Garreth's mind raced, hunting serious transgressions.
"Relax." Kaufmann strolled in past him. "There are just some reporters waiting for you."
"Reporters?" Garreth's gut knotted. He shoved the door closed. "Shit."
"Jesus it's dark in here."
Garreth switched on a lamp. "Why do they want to talk to me?"
Kaufmann grinned at him. "Don't you realize who you collared last night? Frank Danner."
The name sounded vaguely familiar. Garreth had shaved before he identified it, though. Then he stared at Kaufmann. "One of the bank robbers who killed that Nevada trooper? They're in Kansas?"
Kaufmann rolled his eyes. "Don't you read your briefing notes?"
"I've been off for two days."
"Don't you watch the news? Two days ago Frank and his brother Lyle shot a Colorado trooper. Every cop in the country wants them. And you nailed Frank without a scratch to you or his hostage. Danzig says wear something professional looking."
Garreth reluctantly put on a suit and tie, and after a moment of hesitation went to the refrigerator. Instead of filling a glass, though, he drank directly from the thermos, freshly refilled from the Gehrt Ranch herd after taking Maggie home last night.
They never had talked.
Kaufmann eyed him. "That's health food stuff I suppose."
"Liquid protein and additives." Perfectly true. He added sodium citrate to keep it from clotting. But let Kaufmann think he meant vitamins and brewers yeast. Despite the knots in his stomach, Garreth could not resist adding slyly, "Try some?" He held out the open thermos. "It's very healthy. Makes you live forever."
As he hoped, Kaufmann refused with a shudder and he returned the thermos to the refrigerator.
They trotted down to the patrol car in the driveway. "Why don't I just follow you in my car?" Garreth asked.
"Danzig remembers how camera shy you were after our round with the bow-and-arrow cop killer. He wanted to make sure you showed up. I'm also supposed to brief you on the way."
Why became obvious as Kaufmann filled him in. The Bellamy PD had arrested Lyle Danner without realizing who they had. Early in the evening he had tried to rob a liquor store, only the owner had been in the back room when Danner pulled a gun on the clerk, and the owner had called the police from an extension then sneaked out to jam a shotgun in Danner's back and hold him until the police arrived. Danner gave the name William Dane when he was booked, which came back negative when checked through the National Criminal Information Center in Washington.
"So the arresting officer tossed Danner in a cell to wait for the fingerprint check and his court appearance and thought nothing more about him," Kaufmann said. "But when Pfeifer and Chief Oldenburg saw 'Dane' and the guy you collared together in jail, their descriptions clicked. Someone woke up the editor of the Bellamy Globe to tell him what had gone down and in nothing flat he had it on the wire and people to collect more details. A whole group of reporters complete with minicam showed up at our office half an hour ago asking to talk to you."
Minicam. Garreth slunk down in the seat. Damn. "Does the chief want me to say something in particular?"
"Just avoid making us sound like hick cops who stumbled over these fugitives in spite of ourselves."
There should be nothing to this interview, Garreth told himself. With all the mass murderers, serial killers, and terrorists in the news, no one cared about a couple of men who had only robbed a bank and killed two law enforcement officers, let alone had any interest in a small-town cop who happened to be part of capturing one of them. At most this would be something for the local news out of KAYS in Hays. Still, he felt like a prisoner marching to execution.
At City Hall Danzig charged out of his office, a big man still built for the foot
ball he had obviously played in school, still impressive despite his waistline trying to match the width of his shoulders. "What the hell took so long? I have them waiting in the city commission meeting room." He led the way through the door connecting the office to the rest of City Hall and down the corridor.
To Garreth's relief, the group consisted of only five, and he already knew Jeanne Reiss from the Baumen Telegraph. The others were from the Bellamy Globe, the Hays paper, and KAYS.
"Would you mind removing your sunglasses so we can see your face better?" asked the TV cameraman.
And record the flare of his eyes if he tilted his head wrong? Garreth left on the glasses. "I work a night shift. My eyes aren't photogenic at this time of day. Just why do you want to talk to me anyway? Frank Danner's capture resulted from a coordinated effort of several law enforcement agencies. I was just one of many officers involved."
From his place by the door, Danzig nodded approval.
The Globe reporter, an attractive brunette woman named Catherine Heier, raised an eyebrow. "You were the one who followed the kidnapper's car without headlights to keep him from spotting you behind him, and then tracked him to that farmyard on foot and faced his gun in the dark. That was very brave."
Garreth shrugged. "It's my job and no more than any other officer would have done in my place."
Each reporter took a turn. Had he realized at all who he was after? Would he have changed his tactics if he had? How had he felt with the kidnapper shooting at him? Predictable questions, he thought. Stupid ones. He did his best to answer politely.
Then the Globe reporter said, "You seem to have as many lives as a cat when it comes to brushes with death."
Garreth tried not to stiffen. "You mean that incident with the killer archer a couple of years ago?"
"And the one in San Francisco where you were found in North Beach with your throat mutilated and erroneously thought dead."
How the hell had she found out about that? He glanced at Danzig, who frowned a denial.
"No, your chief didn't tell me," Heier said. "I came into town before dawn and met one of your fellow officers. In the course of chatting, he made remarks about the circumstances of your departure from the San Francisco Police Department that piqued my curiosity."
Duncan! It had to be. Garreth held his face expressionless.
Behind the reporters, Danzig did not bother. He stiffened, mouth thinning to a grim line. Duncan would pay for talking to a reporter instead of referring her to the chief, Garreth saw, but that did nothing to help right now. Damn the man! Garreth said evenly, "Are there more questions about Frank Danner?"
But the reporter was not about to be distracted. "I called a friend of mine who knows someone on the Examiner out there, who in turn knows someone in the police department, and it turns out that your colleague misunderstood the facts. Which delights me, because the true story is much more interesting than the one I thought I'd get. I'd like to talk about that with you, Officer Mikaelian."
"I don't wish to talk about it," Garreth replied. "It's totally irrelevant to Danner's capture. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go home and sleep before I come on duty tonight."
Heier tried to follow him. "We have a great human interest story here."
Which would make life in Baumen very awkward if she turned up the difference between his actual recorded parentage and the one he claimed locally. He produced a weary sigh for her benefit. "I don't think much of it, Ms. Heier. I lived it. It was painful; it was traumatic; and I prefer to forget about it."
14
He should have known that that was too much to ask. It was obvious the moment he walked into the office before his shift.
Sue Ann grinned at him over the communications desk. "Hello, celebrity."
And Danzig still sat in his office. "Did you see the news?"
Garreth stopped in the open door. "No. How bad was it?"
Danzig smiled. "Not bad at all . . . a minute of KAYS footage on the national news, mostly Sheriff Pfeifer and Chief Oldenburg, but they did mention you as the officer who disarmed Frank Danner, and showed you for a couple of seconds, saying how you'd only done what any other officer would have done. Locally,"-his smile broadened to a grin-"you rated about the same amount of time, but Ms. Heier managed to get herself on with a guest editorial about how people forget what a dangerous job law enforcement can be and how dedicated we cops are to stick with it. You, needless to say, were her prime example."
Garreth groaned.
Danzig shook his head. "I don't understand you. Most people would love a moment of fame."
"I'm not most people."
The saving grace was that tomorrow everyone would forget it. In the meantime there was tonight to survive. Bill Pfannenstiel, the aging officer who worked relief and replaced Nat Toews tonight, teased him every time they passed, and everyone else he met wanted details about the incident in North Beach. Why had he ever thought he could hide in a small town? Lane knew what she was doing sticking to cities. In San Francisco only colleagues and a few close friends would have known or cared about his part in the arrest.
Here even Julian Fowler stopped him in front of the hotel. "I saw you on the news. That's fascinating. It'd make a great novel, The Lazarus Incident or some such title. May I talk to you about it sometime?"
"I'll think about it," Garreth replied.
Maggie tracked him down, too, at the Shortstop buying a cup of tea. "Hey, TV star. You looked great." She followed him back out to the car and when he climbed in, leaned down to the window. "Very professional."
Her blood scent coiled tantalizingly around him. The smell of it brought back the memory of the girl in the accident. He fought hunger. "Thanks. I wish they'd picked on someone else, though."
Her stare showed the same disbelief Danzig expressed. After a moment she said slowly, "What is behind that wall you're so afraid of someone seeing, I wonder."
"I'll talk to you later," he said, and backed out of the parking space.
In the rearview mirror he saw her staring after him. Was it imagination that she seemed to be standing at the far end of a bridge going up in flames?
15
A note waited on Garreth's door when he reached home after the shift: Helen Schoning's bold, square handwriting in dark green ink on pale green paper.
Garreth,
Your old partner in San Francisco called after you left for work. No wonder you were such good friends. He's a delightful man; great fun to flirt with. He wants you to call him back as soon as possible.
Helen
Garreth pulled down the note and smiled at it as he unlocked the door and went inside. He had opted to keep his phone an extension of the Schoning's instead of putting in a private line, and times like this he never regretted the choice. Having missed Garreth, Harry Takananda had probably found it much more pleasant talking to Helen than he would have leaving his message on a machine.
Only one small chill marred the pleasure of talking to Harry, wondering what he wanted. Call him back as soon as possible did not sound like a social call.
Garreth glanced at the clock. It was too early yet; they would still be asleep.
He changed out of his uniform, showered, and drank a glass of blood, then settled into the easy chair with a book and read until he knew Harry would be getting ready for work. He punched Harry's number.
Lien Takananda answered. The sound of her voice spread warmth through Garreth and brought a quick image of her . . . wrapped in her comfortable old terry robe, her black helmet of hair streaked with gray but her face still smooth as a girl's. Her voice also brought back the hours she had spent patiently talking at the wall of misery enclosing him after Marti died, battering through it, forcing food into him . . . dragging him back into life.
"Lien, this is Garreth."
"Garreth?" Her voice warmed even more. "Hello! Oh it's good to hear your voice. How are you?"
Guilt stabbed him for not having called more often.
Harry's
voice came on another extension. "Is this really Garreth Doyle Mikaelian? So you still remember our number after all. I wondered if maybe you'd forgotten since you never call and now you're a nationally famous cop."
Garreth pictured Harry, too, black eyes glinting with mischief, belt straining to hold in a waistline spread by Lien's excellent cooking and the copious amounts of sugar Harry always added to his coffee. Garreth winced. "You saw that story out there, too?"
"Oh, yes, Mik-san, though I have to admit you were a bit hard to recognize with that funny stuff on your upper lip. When did you grow that?"
"I think you're thinner than you were in the last picture you sent us," Lien said. "Are you taking care of yourself?"
"Lien, you sound like a mother; quit fussing at him," Harry said.
"I'm not fussing. I just want to be sure he's all right. You looked so uncomfortable, Garreth."
"What he looked like, honorable wife, was the stereotype of the hard-assed cop. Garreth, couldn't you have taken off the dark glasses? You've sure become addicted to those things."
"Terrific," Garreth said in pretended disgust. "Is this what you wanted me to call you for, insults?"
"Call. Oh. No. I called because after the item about you and the Danner brothers, I thought you might be interested in another fugitive who's surfaced: Lane Barber."
Shock jolted Garreth. Lane! "Surfaced? What do you mean?" That was impossible. Neck broken, burned, buried under roses. Impossible! He sat bolt upright, fingers digging into the phone receiver. "Has-has someone seen her?"
"Not her personally," Harry said, "but last week we found the apartment she moved into after lamming out of the one on Telegraph Hill. There's been a man in and out and it's only a matter of time until she shows up, too."
Guilt pricked him again, but this time because he could not tell Harry they were wasting time and manpower. "That's great," he lied.
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