“You tell me,” Hanson retorted. “You, as I understand it, have at least as much time in the force as I. And you damn sure have more sources and pull, I’m guessing by the call from our esteemed governor.” A soft sigh presaged the plea. “I’d give a half year of my meager pay for the secret of how you fall into that.”
Again Ham’s phone beeped an incoming call. Drew, by the ID. “Saul, I have to ring off now, but I’ll get back to you. It looks like your people are about to deliver my partner into the fray. But before I ring off, I do want to thank you for that, for your hospitality to the cause, as it were.” Grinning at Preston, he added, “Or to the crime, as it were.”
He had to smile, truly amused, when the connection was severed without the courtesy of a goodbye.
Better watch yourself, Ham. So far, you’ve insulted a high ranking law enforcement official, one who heads a lethal force of hands, and worse, messing with a crime boss who controls an army of his own. Hell, man, why don’t you just pop the head of Hell’s Angels, right in the middle of a contretemps in their headquarters, surrounded by a couple of hundred knife, chain and gun wielding neighborly friends and fiends? You’d come out just as much alive.
Idiot.
With a shake of the head, a desperate attempt to lose the image, he answered Drew’s summons. “Okay, are you here?”
She ignored the question in favor of a bombshell of her own. “Sergeant Larry Pendleton has gone off the grid. He’s gone rogue.”
Ham felt the blood drain from his face, experienced a brief moment of shock induced vertigo. “Shit,” he breathed, “are you sure? Never mind,” he answered before she could, “of course you are. Who told you this, and why didn’t they tell me?”
“Relax, Ham, nobody’s keeping you blind. Lydia Riley, the one we talked to at the station, you remember her?” At his affirmative reply, she continued, “Well, she is now my cop driver and new best friend. She laid it on me as soon as I jumped in. It had just come over the radio.”
His cell beeped insistence, announcing yet another incoming call. “Hang on one second, Drew.” He put her on hold and went to the active incoming line. “Saul?”
“Yeah. Pendleton’s skipped. I thought you’d want to know.”
“Yeah, I want to know,” Ham sighed. “Didn’t you have him covered? How do you even know he in fact skipped? Maybe he just eluded pursuit. Maybe he’s that good?”
“Oh, he’s that good alright. And his wife is better.”
“That’s supposed to mean what?” an exasperated Ham demanded.
“She pulled their car from the garage, which our guys witnessed. They were just across and down the street, a house or two. They saw Pendleton emerge from the house and jump in the passenger side, then they drove away.”
“And so? She’s a better driver than your trained personnel? She lost them what, in downtown, slow moving traffic? Crap,” he spit, anger the phlegm. “That’s just pure, plain, unadulterated more that total bullshit.”
“There are a lot of twists and turns on that route, and a lot of places to jump out,” Hanson explained.
It took Ham but a second to glean his meaning. “Oh, come on, Saul. You can’t be serious. You don’t mean…?”
“I do mean,” he sighed. “Somewhere along their drive, Pendleton jumped out and they employed a popup figure. At night and from a short distance there was no way to tell it wasn’t Pendleton, that it wasn’t human, that it was a freaking balloon person with a wig and wearing Pendleton’s hat.”
“Unbelievable bullshit,” Ham muttered. Louder, he inquired, “Okay, how’d they find out?”
“They, or rather I should say his wife, neared the house when she performed a California stop. My people used that as an excuse to pull her over, wanting to see for themselves what was in the car, what the situational status was. Which, they quickly discovered, was bogus.”
“Son of a bitch,” Ham breathed. “Son of a flaming, goddam, mother-loving bitch.”
“Oh yeah, at least all that,” the captain agreed. “We’ve got the wife here at the station, undergoing questioning, but she’s refusing to talk and there’s not a damn thing we can threaten her with. We can’t use obstruction since there was not a warrant out for her husband, nor did we admit to an active investigation. Hell, if they want to pull a stunt like that there’s nothing in the law we can use to stop them.”
Ham admitted defeat. “I know, Saul, I hear you. I’m more pissed at me than I am at you. I should have been on him myself. But that possible switch on the feed from Barton Mellows, that wasn’t Pendleton, it was Derek who faked the tape, and goddam if I didn’t let myself be led by the freaking nose. I may as well have had a ring and been hooked to the leash. Jesus,” he half whispered, “how am I going to explain my investigative incompetence to the guys in the band?”
Saul’s tone indicated uncertainty as to how to respond, how to alleviate the anger, ease the self-contempt directed his way. “I’ll let you know the moment anything of import happens. Meanwhile, keep your chin up and do your job, the one I’ve heard is second to none.”
“Thanks, Saul. I appreciate the words, even if all lies.” With that he cut the connection and got back to Drew, still there on hold. “Okay, here’s the deal.” He explained how Pendleton escaped and after they both swore their anger and unwanted admiration for the deed, the sound of a car door slammed out front. “Is that you? You’re here?”
“The same,” she replied even as the doorbell rang.
Jennifer jumped up, the hostess on duty, and shortly thereafter returned with an obviously unhappy red-headed spitfire spitting fire. “That son of a bitch,” she announced before she’d even bid them hello, “if I catch up to him he’ll wish to god he’d never pulled that stupid stunt.” Channeling her inner wicked witch, she added, “And his little wife, too.”
Ham managed not to laugh—he didn’t want to tempt Drew into breaking his body in multiple places—but he couldn’t help his reply. “Let’s get moving. The Yellow Brick Road awaits.” With a smile and nod to Lydia, he motioned them forward.
“You might want to hang on a while,” Preston interjected. “At least for an hour or so. Otherwise, I can’t guarantee your safety.”
Ham studied the man still seated at the table, his calm demeanor almost unsettling, like a rattler fluttering a silent tail. Subtle, but just as deadly as the more blatant intimidation. “You’ve got something in motion,” Ham guessed. “Care to share it?”
“Not at this moment, no. Soon, I expect.”
Drew neared him, almost face to face and, her voice barely above a lethal whisper, made her own demand. “At least tell me about this danger you can’t guarantee protection from. Otherwise, we’re on our way, your request be damned.”
Preston spread his hands in supplication, or perhaps an offer of peace. “I’d prefer you not get in the way of my people, folks who are at this very minute flooding the streets. People with guns, Ms. Thornton, people with itchy trigger fingers who may or may not realize you are an ally, no matter how reluctant. Who may not take the time to ask before cutting you down as the nuisance they may view you to be.”
“What are they searching for, Talbot? “ To Lydia Riley, she inquired, “Do you know anything about this? Is he working with your people?”
“Not that anybody has told me,” she insisted. “I could call it in if you’d like, find out about it from my lieutenant.”
“No need,” Ham replied. “The answer is ‘no’. You can see that written all over Talbot’s face, not to mention his entire demeanor. I’m supposing that whatever he’s trying to accomplish, he’d like to finish it in the shadows before taking a bow in the light. And all I want to know is what the hell the reason is for all this, for all the misinformation, pretense, evasion and ridiculous and unnecessary mystery. But who knows,” he grinned at Talbot, not with humor but with rancor, “perhaps someday he’ll deign to fill us in.”
Preston regarded him with a small, lopsided smile so frosty that the
windows should have iced up. “I shall deign to do so now. The reason for all that, for the secrecy, farce and deception, my dear Mr. McCalister, is really quite simple. It is because Larry Pendleton, sergeant, Reno police department, is our shooter. And he’s running not from you, not from Reno PD, but from me.”
12
THE RETURN
Deafening silence swamped the room, a tomb-like stillness, the air suffocating in its all-consuming thickness. Until and at last, Lydia reached for her weapon, quite clear in her intent.
Ham rested a hand on her arm to still her as Drew nodded agreement with Ham. “Keep it holstered, Lydia,” she advised. “Arresting him isn’t going to do us any good. It won’t stop anything and, by the smile on his face, I’m guessing you’d regret it on a personal level.”
Preston shook his head, seeming not angry, not pleasant, just an empty gaze at them all and especially at and to Lydia herself. “That is incorrect, Ms. Thornton. I hold no animus for Ms. Riley, here. Indeed, I do not know her so there would be no reason for such disposition. I assume you make that accusation in reference to my friendship with her captain and that I would use said friendship to cause her undue misery.”
Jennifer cleared her throat, appearing eager to jump in.
“Yes, dear, what is it?”
“What does this mean for Derek? Is Larry Pendleton a threat to him, is that why you’re hunting him?”
Preston used both hands to wave them around, looking for all the world like a gentle grandfather instructing the kiddies to gather round, and bade them sit. “Get comfortable. Once I receive word, we’ll move.” He turned to Drew and announced, “I got you here on pretense.” To Lydia, he explained, “My purpose was to get Mr. McCalister’s partner here so that I could clarify once rather than the multiple times people seem to require. As for you being troubled into duty, Ms. Riley, for that I apologize and ask your forgiveness.”
Lydia, to her credit Ham thought, merely smiled in reply, giving Talbot whatever rope he wished to use to hang himself. Though if that was truly been her aim, Ham mused, she hadn’t taken time to size the man up the way she should. For one thing that Ham felt with absolute certainty was that Preston, beneath his surface calm, courtly manner and polite demeanor, was not just razor sharp of mind, but razor sharp of teeth to boot. If he wanted to use rope, it would be not to hang himself but someone else. If he chose to bite, it would rip flesh clean from the bone. Either way, it would be to someone else’s detriment, not to his own. Never, ever his own.
Talbot took a deep breath, either preparing himself for a long tale of treachery or a short explanation of misfortune. Though Ham knew not which, he expected the latter and with that, perhaps, to be followed by the former. Which proved him prescient, Ham thought to himself, when Talbot began as expected.
“Derek is on the run, dear. He’s running from the law, he’s running from Pendleton, and he’s running from me.”
Jennifer blinked her surprise, eyes wide and uncomprehending. “I don’t understand, Preston. Why would he be afraid of you? That’s first, then you can tell me why he’s running from everybody else. And while you’re at it, you can tell me what you’re doing about it.”
Talbot paused, less for effect than to gather his thoughts, Ham believed. For though he’d been introduced to him only earlier in this now rapidly dying day, his instincts, honed over years of contact with lying innocents and innocent-faced guilty, convinced him that Liam’s right hand man was just that. Right-handed and right-minded, a cut outside the law, but cut nevertheless of a curious moral sense that demanded a weird type of honesty and openness in business and personal issues. A walking enigma of crime, punishment, conviviality and forgiveness. A man, Ham thought, who could be trusted to reveal the truth, or however much of the truth he chose to impart. But not a man who would lie to avoid such confession.
Slowly, clearly reluctant, Talbot replied to Jennifer’s plea. “He has legitimate reason to be afraid of me, my dear. I do not now claim your husband had involvement in this tawdry affair, but neither am I now prepared to state that he did not.” He actually, as far as Ham could ascertain, felt genuine pain when he admitted, “But when I locate him, I will of course use whatever means necessary to find out which of the two be true.”
The fear in Jennifer’s eyes revealed understanding of the implied threat. “Let me talk to him,” she pleaded. “He’ll tell me. He’s never lied to me.”
Preston replied with tenderness and mildness of tone and words. “And will you then, sweet dear, tell it to me, no matter which way it goes?” He let the silence be her answer for several long minutes. Finally, he placed his hand on her shoulder, an affectionate understanding. “I thought not. And I cannot and will not blame you for that. He is your husband and I admire the loyalty you exhibit. I just hope,” he stated, with more harshness now, “that Derek returns the favor.”
Jennifer nodded acceptance, though by the slow methodical nature she clearly refused to internalize the sentiment. “I don’t for a minute think that he’d leave me here alone to suffer the consequences of what he himself might have done. I’d never suppose that of him, no matter the circumstance, no matter the personal danger. He’s a brave man, Preston, much more so than you give him credit for.”
“If that be true, Jennifer, then I would have to ask myself a question. Why isn’t he here to explain himself to me? If he is not involved, then why is this Sergeant Pendleton after him, and for what appears to be illegitimate, not police, reasons?”
“Maybe to kill Derek in order to give himself an out.”
“You see, dear, there’s the flaw in your argument. If that were the case, if Derek feared Pendleton, the very first thing he should have and would have done was to come to me for help. Since he did not, I must suspect his reason. Understand?”
She covered her face and mumbled into her hands. “I don’t know what the hell to think. I’m scared for him and I want to know where he is.” Jennifer glanced back up and asked pleadingly, “I can’t believe you can’t locate him. Have you even tried?”
“We’re looking,” he assured her. “And as I told you, we will find him, we will talk to him and I will take whatever action I deem appropriate.”
“What about Jesse Spencer?” Ham blurted. “Did you have any part in that?”
“I did not, I assure you. You heard from Saul on that and he’s not covering for me, if that’s what you are wondering. I don’t know what the motive is there. But were I you, I’d use your influence with your friend and driver to ask him if he himself has any information that he has, as yet, chosen not to share with you.”
Ham pulled out his cell phone, punched up the number and as he waited for connection, mumbled in return, “Oh, that I will, Talbot, that I will indeed.”
He saw Drew open her mouth to ask the question but he cut her off and returned his attention to the phone. “Gary, they picked up Jesse Spencer on a bogus charge of auto theft. He’s at the station being booked. I need you to go over there, keep him from saying anything stupid, and to bail him out as soon as you can.” He listened for a moment, then rang off. Turning to Drew he relayed Gary’s part of the conversation. “He’s on his way, should be there within fifteen minutes. Meanwhile, he’ll call the station, let them know he’s Jesse’s attorney and demand they cease any and all interrogation immediately. Naturally, we’re his hired private detectives so everything we do right now, as long as it can in any way be twisted to be work product on the Jesse Spencer case, all of it is confidential.”
Preston snorted softly, his lips dancing a grin that refused to hide. “So you will use this to shut me out of your reasoning, to close me off from your findings, even though you wish to be kept abreast of mine. Am I reading you correctly, Mr. McCalister?”
Ham’s answering grin gave him the point. “Why don’t you finish what you started, Preston. What about Pendleton? And why haven’t you found Derek? I labor under the impression your people are invincible. If you want somebody, you go get them
.”
“Much like the police, yes?”
Drew might have wanted to answer, appeared to Ham to be in the process, but Lydia’s two-way sprang to life, ending conversation. “Riley. What’s up, Lieutenant?”
“If you’re through over where you are, we need you at East 10th Street. We got some officers responding, but with everything going on we’re a little shorthanded. How long will it take you to arrive on scene?”
“I can be there in about five minutes. Leaving now.” She clicked off and announced her departure to the room. “Call if you need anything,” she told Drew. “I’m pulling a double shift today. I’ll be on duty until dawn.” With that she vacated the room and the house and was gone.
Preston followed her out with his eyes, finally turned his attention back to Ham and Drew. “My goddaughter here is hoping her husband has not done something irreversibly stupid, and I will join her in that hope. As to where he is, we expect to find out shortly. We know where he was headed and why.”
Jennifer’s head snapped up even as her jaw dropped. “You didn’t tell me that. Why not? Why let me sit here and worry myself to death? I don’t understand. That’s not like you.”
“My dear, it is exactly me,” Preston assured her. “It’s just that you don’t get a chance to see it. I keep you well protected from my business. From what was your dad’s business. I always have. And he did, too.”
More quizzical than angry, she demanded, “You’re telling me Pop was one of your men? Was a…you know.”
“Yes, dear, I know. And no, he was not one of my men. I was one of his.”
Neither Ham nor Drew interfered with what clearly should be a family moment. And as for Ham, he understood only too well the shock of learning family secrets he’d wished had just been left alone. Like about his own father. And his battle with the bottle. And the law. It had acted, in fact, as Ham’s impetus for joining the force. Drew’s stories of pulse-pounding adventures, of adrenaline filled takedowns, those had piqued his interest. But the final decision, his raison d’etre, had been due to the shame he suffered, still to this day, to be the son of a bank robber and hostage taker, even if under a different name. A fact that, of all his friends and acquaintances, he’d entrusted solely to Drew.
The Biggest Little Crime In The World (A Ham McCalister Mystery Book 3) Page 17