I also had the sense of being an exhibit as I stood there to attention with my uniform cap under my arm, because although the Chief's office was fully enclosed and soundproofed its walls were two-thirds glass that looked out into the rest of the department; and the rest of the department, of course, looked in. The whole design was supposed to promote a sense of accessibility, but all that it promoted in me was a feeling of being a small bug on a large white piece of paper. I doubted that there was anybody in the building who didn't by now know what I was here for; and I was certain that there was nobody who'd listen to the true story and believe it.
So I said, 'I was driving by. I saw him coming out at a run with a couple of people on his tail, it seemed reasonable to slow him down a little so that I could find out what was going on.'
'Slow him down a little? From the way the ward orderlies tell it, you were trying to reshape his face.'
'Heat of the moment, sir. All I did was give him a little tap when he started to fight me.'
The Chief sat back, looking at the single sheet of memo paper on his otherwise empty desk; empty, that is, apart from the telephone and the blotter and a family photo and a couple of paperweight-sized bronze trophies whose inscriptions I wasn't close enough to read. The Chief was young for his office, dark and good-looking and with a knack of being able to remember everybody's name without having to grope for it like the rest of us have to. I'd had him classed as a born politician from the first time that I'd seen him.
Looking up from the paper, he said, 'You weren't in uniform.'
Lieutenant Michaels said, 'Sergeant Volchak was off-duty yesterday.'
'Like I said,' I insisted, 'I was only passing. First thing that came into my mind was that we had a junkie trying to make a snatch from the Emergency Room. It's happened before.'
'Whatever the justification,' the Chief said, 'the fact remains that we're on very shaky ground here if we get a complaint. You know I've got to suspend you.'
'I understand that, sir.'
Turning to the Lieutenant, he said, 'What's the situation, Dave? Do we have a complaint here, or what?'
Michaels checked his own notes. Somebody walked by outside, and I resisted the impulse to turn to see who it was.
He said, 'Nothing's been submitted yet, but I think we've got to assume that it's going to happen. Mr…' He searched for a name. 'Mr Woods is news this morning. He was one of the three men found in the Paradise Motel and misdiagnosed as brain-dead.'
He raised, his eyes from his notes to look at me then, I think for the first time.
He added, 'Sergeant Volchak took that call.'
They were both staring at me, now. The Chief said, 'Jesus, Alex,' and I could only shrug, uncomfortably.
Mister Woods, I was thinking, and I was wondering if he'd picked the name at random or whether it had any significance from his past. God, how I was bursting to tell them what had really happened, but I could imagine their faces if I did. Somehow I couldn't see the light of understanding dawning as I explained that I'd shot a man, but it wasn't murder, and that the one they were calling Woods now carried the memories and the responsibilities of the Encanto Park torture-killer. The best I could hope for would be a nice new canvas jacket with a lot of straps and buckles down the back. Woods, meanwhile, would be walking around on the outside.
It was the worst interview I'd ever had, but it came to an early end because the Chief had to attend a press conference to report the progress of the investigation over that same Encanto Park business. The word within the service was that the investigation was getting nowhere, with no leads, no evidence, no witnesses, nothing. A search of the records had brought up a number of similar cases in the past, both in Phoenix and in other states and cities, but there was nothing that could be related.
Of course not, I thought.
I got the feeling that the Chief was relieved that my story at least held together, and that as long as it continued to hold together he wasn't about to start poking and testing and trying to make holes. But when he'd gone and I was about to follow him out. Lieutenant Michaels closed the door after him and stood in the way.
He said, 'You got anything else to tell me, Alex?'
'There's no connection, Dave,' I lied. 'How could there be?'
'That's what I've been trying to work out. You've never seen Woods outside of these two occasions?'
'Never.' In one sense, this much was true.
'I just don't get it.'
'It was a straight mistake.'
'You can bullshit the top man, Alex, but don't try it with me, all right? You weren't passing, you were in the parking lot. You were already out of your car. You were on top of a guy who just crawled out of a hospital bed and it took two fit men to haul you off. They're saying you were really trying to do the guy harm.'
I was lucky that they hadn't made it to me five seconds later, by which time I'd have had the gun out from under my shirt; ten seconds, and maybe Woods would have been history. He'd been at the end of the line, with no more bodies prepared and waiting. But now that he was free and walking, I'd no doubt that he'd already have begun to set that situation right.
Michaels said, 'The Chief wants you to see a doctor.'
'A shrink?' I said.
'Will you consider for a minute that he might be right? You've been getting too close to the job. You've got no home life, no social life, and now this. I'm going to make the appointment, and you're going to keep it.'
'Is that an order?'
'You're damn right it is.'
He opened the door to walk out ahead of me, and as he turned away I said, 'What's the story from the hospital?'
He stopped, and wouldn't give me a straight look. 'They're firing a few junior people and saying that a misdiagnosis is what they always suspected,' he said grudgingly, and then he went out.
My suspension was effective immediately, so I had nothing to do other than to drive over to the Sky Harbor station, change out of my uniform, and then go home. I'd already handed over my badge; my service revolver was my own. I've no doubt that I was wrong, but I couldn't shake the feeling as I waited for the elevator to take me down to the ground floor that the sole topic of conversation in the offices and corridors around me was Alex Volchak's unprofessional outburst. It was ridiculous, this wasn't even my building. Most people here didn't know my name.
So now I was supposed to see a shrink. I wouldn't argue, but I also wouldn't go. I had other things to do.
When I stepped out of the elevator, Woods was there.
He was over at the enquiry counter next to the recruitment desk, half turned-away from me but instantly recognisable. He was wearing creased-looking off-white pants and a new shirt with some kind of tropical fruit or flower design all over it. He was leaning forward on the counter, his brawny arms taking his weight, as the desk sergeant laid out forms before him and explained what I assumed would be the complaints procedure in detail. At that same moment three plain clothes people, two young men and a girl, were knocking on an office door by the elevators and one of them called out, 'Come on, or I'll kick it down,' before the door opened and they all walked in laughing. The desk sergeant glanced up from the forms at this, saw and recognised me, and tried wordlessly to point me back towards the holding cell corridor and the rear exit; but Woods had seen him and was already beginning to turn around, and I walked straight over.
It was there as soon as our eyes met; we shared a knowledge that was unique. Woods was leaning on one elbow, smiling pleasantly out of a face that I wouldn't have trusted to tell me the time.
He said to the desk man, 'That's all right, I'm not going to make a scene. I understand that there's nothing personal in this. Isn't that right, Sergeant Volchak?'
'It's okay, Joe,' I told the desk man. He didn't look happy, but he did look relieved and a little puzzled.
Woods said, 'You mistook me for somebody else, right? It happens.'
'I've heard that it can,' I said. My voice in my own ears sounded flat a
nd neutral, which is the way I wanted it to be.
Woods gathered up his forms, and made a shall we? gesture toward the main doors. As I went ahead of him out onto the sidewalk, I saw him drop the papers into a waste basket before following me.
'You're not making a complaint?' I said, as we moved aside to let a visitor party through.
'Too much trouble,' he said, and I knew then that he'd been waiting for me and that the forms had only been an excuse to hang around. He went on, 'If I want to punish you, I can always find a way.'
'You've got a good case,' I said. 'You could get rich.'
We stopped, just outside the doors but in nobody's way. He said, 'You know I can't use money. Not that kind of money. When I want to move on, it won't travel.'
Small talk. Who'd have believed it?
I said, 'You know you're insane.'
He smiled, slowly. 'That wouldn't explain it,' he said. 'You being insane, that would be something else. Why can't you just accept what you see?'
I said, 'I was supposed to end up like the others, wasn't I?'
'And how would that be?'
'Brain-dead and living on baby food. But for what?'
'Until I came to need another.'
This was like pulling teeth. 'Another what?'
'Another body. of course.' He tapped the side of his head. 'In here, this is me. The rest of it, that's just temporary accommodation. I can wear it or I can throw it away for something else.'
'Can you prove that?'
'You've seen me do it twice, what more proof do you need? Get with it, Alex.'
I said, 'You're enjoying this.'
'Of course I am,' he said. 'I almost never get to talk about my work.'
I studied him in the sunlight, wondering how much of what I was seeing was on the outside and how much came from within. This incarnation – there didn't seem to be any better way of thinking about it – came over as perhaps a dishwasher who worked out with weights in his bedroom to impress the kind of woman who'd never give him a second glance. He could smile and be calling you his pal in one minute, and then be breaking your arm in the next. And he'd probably still be smiling, even then.
I said, 'What are you?' And I saw his face turn serious.
'I don't know,' he said. 'I've been around so long, even I don't remember.' And then be said, 'You can't touch me, Alex. Think about it. You can never pin me down.'
'Don't bet on it.'
'I already have. Draw your gun. Blow me away. And then try explaining what you did to your people in there.'
He was already ahead of me. I'd been thinking what would happen if I simply took him now. I could pull my. 38 and as good as blow his heart out right there outside the headquarters door, watch him fly backwards and fall to lie drumming his heels on the sidewalk until his nervous system finally got the message and gave in. But we both knew that it wasn't going to happen; he'd already had a night and most of a morning to set up his 'insurance', to finish the work that I'd interrupted the previous evening, and I knew that I'd be wasting my time. Something would fly across the city – I saw it in my mind as something like an invisible bird – and somewhere in another rented room the eyes of a former citizen would open ready for new business.
'Killing the body's the quickest way to do it,' he said. 'You've seen me manage without but I'll be honest with you, Alex, it's a bind.'
Even without that certainty, I doubt that I'd have had the nerve. Not there, not in the knowledge that my own life would be as good as over from that moment. Looking at what he was and what he'd done, perhaps it might have seemed worth the sacrifice; but I'd never thought of myself as any kind of a saint, and I simply wasn't up to it.
'Why tell me?' I said.
'I'm telling you nothing you don't already know,' he said pleasantly, but there was a streak of something way back that might even have been pain. 'And it gets me out of the darkness for a time. Maybe I just need to be appreciated once in a while.'
I said, 'At least go somewhere else,' and immediately I could see that I'd reached him and rubbed somewhere sore. His smile died, and something harder and uglier showed through.
'Don't give me orders,' he said sharply. 'I do what I want.'
One moment later, and his irritating confidence had returned. He said, 'Well, I'll see you around,' and then he turned and walked away from me in the direction of the civic plaza. He might be news this morning, but he obviously wasn't big news; I saw one of the radio reporters from KTAR, her recorder slung around her shoulder like a shoeshine box, pass by him without a second glance as she hurried in for the Chief's conference.
There was no point in my trying to follow, not now that he knew me so well. He could as good as disappear, simply dump the body and fly, any time that he wanted to. He was so cocky about it, he didn't even look back.
An invisible bird.
A phoenix, maybe.
TEN
After a call at Sky Harbor Station to get into civilian dress – which, since I now had nowhere formal to go, consisted of jeans and one of my old Marine Corps shirts – I headed all the way down Seventh Avenue to the South Mountains and the Rod amp; Gun Club's firing range. It was a long, dry and dusty drive, and I saw little traffic apart from a couple of pickup trucks that came swimming up out of the heat haze, one after another, at one place where the road dipped. When I got there I had the range to myself, and I spent half an hour putting more than three dozen rounds through the Detective Special to work on my aim and to work off some of my anger. But somehow it didn't help – for every paper target that I destroyed, another one came up fresh and clean in its place.
I'd been uncomfortable in the short time that I'd spent in the station. I'd felt a little like a plague carrier; everybody had a word of sympathy or understanding, behind which they were holding back and hoping that the taint of irrational behavior wouldn't spread. After the range, with my wrist sore and my ears ringing in spite of the mufflers, I set out for home. It was now about an hour since I'd parted from Woods on the headquarters steps.
The first thing that I saw when I got in through the door was a folded note that had been pushed through and which was caught between the door itself and the inner mesh screen. I picked it up and opened it out, and saw the words IRA terrorists as I recognised Mrs Moynahan's careful and eccentric handwriting. The IRA terrorists, as far as I'd been able to understand, were a team of Mormons who'd been visiting door-to-door a month ago. I filed the note in my Moynahan Dossier – aka the trash – and switched on the radio to catch the lunchtime news and the Chief's conference.
The coverage was by the girl from KTAR. I'd seen her at crime scenes a few times; she had sexy green eyes and a good reporting style, and I'd never been able to understand why she hadn't been snapped up for television until Loretta had pointed out to me that TV news organisations preferred their women to be either bimbos or ballbreakers, with no allowance for the reasonable middle ground between. What emerged from the conference was an official theory that the killer had packed his bags and run, end of story. I thought that it was a little early to expect the media people to swallow that one, and apparently so did they; the Chief got a hard time out of it, but came through as if he'd been greased.
Unlike the Chief I knew that he was going to do it again, either as Woods or as somebody else. Even though I believed that the mutilation took place to satisfy a perverted want rather than an actual need – hence the throwing-up afterwards – I was sure of a repeat performance because I'd made the mistake of asking him to move on. Nobody tells me what to do, he'd said; and now he was going to prove it.
I heard Georgie getting home then, and I leaned back in my chair so that I could look out of the window without being seen; she was alone, opening the door with a key that was on the end of a long piece of string attached somewhere about her person. When she'd disappeared inside the door banged a couple of times, and I saw her briefly pass the window opposite on her way towards the kitchen. I knew that she'd only walked from the bus to the h
ouse, a matter of fifty yards or so, but still the thought of her alone and unprotected made me go cold. I wondered about suggesting to Loretta that she should take a few more days off and we'd go up to Sedona or somewhere, all three of us leaving the city with its prowling beast so that some other mother's child could be taken. But even as I thought of it, I knew that it was a sneaky way out which would solve nothing; and sooner or later we'd have to come back, and when we came back he could still be waiting.
That was when I heard Loretta's jeep, and I quickly got to my feet. I saw her bounce out of the Renegade and up the wooden steps into her own house; I got a vague echo of her calling through to check on Georgie, and of Georgie's reply, and then Loretta was out again and crossing over towards my porch.
She came in. She was flushed and all lit up, like someone slightly intoxicated by a taste of success. I said, 'How'd you get on?'
'I saw you talking to him on the steps,' she said as she went over towards my table. I followed her, and pulled out the chair opposite. 'I'm glad you did that, or I wouldn't ever have recognised him. The picture you showed me didn't even come close.'
'That's thanks to Lightnin' Leslie. He couldn't draw a crowd if his sketchpad was on fire. Were you spotted?'
'No way. Want a rundown on the details?'
'I'm all ears.'
We sat head-to-head across the baize, and Loretta took out one of those small jotting pads that fold into a little pocket-sized wallet. I'd never thought of them as being useful for much other than shopping lists or very short memory-joggers, but I could see that she'd fitted about a dozen numbered points in tiny writing on the first page. She held it squarely before her in both hands. She was enjoying this.
'When he left you,' she said, 'he went down to the corner and stood there for two, three minutes. He was just watching the traffic, like he couldn't quite decide which way he wanted to go.'
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