by Joel Goldman
Colby took two more steps toward me. I raised my gun at his chest, but my arm began to wobble and then I began to shake. My eyes clamped shut as the fog wrapped around my brain. I twisted and folded in half at the same instant, slammed with contractions that took my breath away. I tried to straighten, but the contractions pulled me to my knees and held me there like chains.
I felt Colby next to me, felt him take the gun from my hand. I opened my eyes. He was standing over me.
I forced my words into a choppy stutter. “What happened to you?”
“I looked around and decided I didn’t want to be you. I wanted a life I couldn’t afford at my pay grade. I had the girl, the house, and the car. Then you fucked it up. Anything happens to Wendy, it will be on your head.”
The contractions eased. My breath was ragged. The shakes were hitting me on and off as if a child was playing with a switch.
“How did I fuck it up?”
“By doing your job.”
“What about your girlfriend, Tanja? You running out on her, too?”
He laughed. “That’s your problem, Jack. You only see what you want to see.”
“My daughter is the only one I want to see. What’s happened to her?”
His mouth turned up in a cruel grin.
“Maybe she didn’t want to be like you, either.”
Another wave of contractions rocked me, arching my back and neck. Colby shoved me on to my side. I watched with clenched teeth as he scooped up his gun and threw mine against the fence. He looked at me, shook his head, turned, and ran away, his silhouette suddenly familiar. I’d seen it once before when he ran away from Marcellus Pearson’s house. The fog came again and I closed my eyes, shaking while his footsteps faded in the darkness.
Chapter Fifty-eight
Lewis Carroll wrote in Alice in Wonderland that if you don’t know where you are going, any road will get you there. My midnight trip to Strawberry Hill would have made the Mad Hatter proud, though I had learned enough to get me back on my feet.
Wendy was alive. I didn’t know where she was or how I would find her, but she was alive. Colby had implied that she was as guilty as he was. I wouldn’t believe that unless Wendy told me. Even if it was true, it changed nothing.
I focused on what I knew. Colby said that I had screwed up his plans by doing my job. My last job had been shutting down Marcellus Pearson. That threatened Colby because Marcellus would have given him up to make a deal with the U.S. Attorney.
That explained what Colby was doing near Marcellus’s house the night of the murders. He’d come there to kill Marcellus, only Latrell had beaten him to it, just as Marty Grisnik had surmised. Colby must have waited around long enough to be certain that the job was finished, letting Latrell kill Oleta Phillips.
With Marcellus out of the way, he knew we’d go after Javy Ordonez next. Colby couldn’t let that happen because Javy would also give him up in a heartbeat, so Javy had to die, too. Colby followed Latrell, found the murder weapon, and used it to kill Javy.
Colby must have blessed his luck when he found the photograph of Latrell and his mother. He left the murder weapon beneath a Dumpster where it was likely to be found and planted the photograph of Latrell, nailing him for the murders he was guilty of while framing him for one he didn’t commit.
His relationship with Tanja Andrija raised more questions. She had kept her cool until I asked her if there was another way out of the bar besides the front door. I had assumed from her ?ash of panic that Colby was hiding in the back but, once again, I was wrong, which meant that she was hiding something else in the back of the bar.
In any other case, I would have immediately called Troy Clark and Marty Grisnik, and told them to blanket the area with cops, FBI agents, dogs, and helicopters until we captured Colby Hudson. We’d pick up Tanja, her brother Nick, and her parents, letting Tanja get a look at her parents being interrogated in their pajamas. One of them would turn on the other because that’s what crooks, even family, always do.
I would disregard Colby’s warning about Wendy, taking my chances that we could find her. But this wasn’t any case, it was my daughter’s case, and I refused to take the chance that Colby was bluffing or wrong about what would happen to her if he were arrested. I didn’t care if he and Tanja got away clean, both of them living to be a hundred and twenty.
Now I knew which road I was taking and that I was taking it alone. It was the road that started at Pete’s Place, though I didn’t know where it would end.
I left the car parked in the alley and walked down Sixth Street, keeping to the shadows, until it ?attened out. A thrift shop and a tire store backed up to the bar and restaurant. Neither the owners nor the city had invested in lighting, leaving their corner of the world dark and deserted.
Both buildings were one story. A forklift was parked on the side of the tire store, the forks raised to within a few feet of the roof. I climbed onto the top of the cab, high-stepped onto the forks and pulled myself onto the ?at-pitched roof. The exterior walls rose two feet above the roof. I crouched against the far wall, looking over the edge at the back door to the bar.
The area behind the thrift store, tire store, bar, and restaurant was paved with access to both Fifth and Sixth Streets. A sedan was parked behind the bar next to an air-conditioning tower that was running full out, the rushing air and whirling fan obliterating any other sounds. The back door to the bar had warped, leaving cracks of light along the frame.
I settled in against the wall, the tarred surface of the roof rubbing hard against my knees. Fifteen minutes went by without any activity. Then a light pickup truck with a lid over the bed swept into the parking lot from Fifth Street, the driver backing it up to the rear door of the bar.
Tanja opened the door, the light catching the driver’s face. It was her brother Nick, wearing a wife-beater and a pair of jeans. He bulled past Tanja, waving his arms and shaking his head. She waved her arms in reply, giving as good as she got, and closed the door. Though I wasn’t able to hear anything they had said, I was willing to bet that the nicest thing was “fuck you.”
When the door opened again a few minutes later, they began loading cardboard boxes and bulging garbage bags into the rear of the pickup. They worked quickly, finishing in fifteen minutes. Nick loaded the last box, shoving it into the truck bed and slamming the tailgate shut.
Tanja said something to Nick. He stabbed her chest with the end of his finger. She smacked his hand away and he threw his arms into the air again, got in his truck, and drove away. She stared after him, hands on her hips, and then reached in her pocket for her cell phone, running her hand through her hair as she listened, her shoulders sagging as if the call was another burden she couldn’t bear. She locked the door to the bar, grabbed a shoulder bag from her car, and marched toward Fifth Street, turning north when she reached the sidewalk.
I looked at my watch. It was after one. I guessed that the call was from her parents and that she was going to see them, choosing to walk rather than drive either to delay the visit or give her time to cool down from the confrontation with her brother.
I followed her, taking a parallel path between the houses and buildings on Fifth and Sixth, waiting until I saw her pass in the open spaces between them so that I could match her pace. Fortunately for me, the fences I had to climb were low and any watchdogs were asleep.
A small stand of juniper bushes in the Andrijas’ backyard provided perfect cover. The kitchen was in the back of the house and the lights were on. Petar and Maja, dressed in their pajamas, sat next to each other at the table, the arms of their chairs touching, Petar’s arm around his wife. She rested her head on his shoulder while he stroked the side of her face with his other hand. From the tender way he held her and the way her chest was rising and falling, it looked like she was crying.
Tanja entered the kitchen from the front of the house. One look at her parents and she dropped her bag, raced to her mother’s side, and glared at her father as he spoke. When he finish
ed, she took out her phone and punched in a number, resuming her wild gesturing.
She stomped around the kitchen, her parents crouching and cringing if she came too close to them. When Tanja was done, she tossed her phone onto the counter and stared past them into the yard as if they weren’t there. I knew that the light would blind her even as she looked straight at where I was hiding. After a moment, she yanked on the blinds, cutting off my view.
Watching them, I was convinced of one thing. Colby hadn’t been hiding there. He had broken in. The question was why.
Petar and Maja had probably been asleep. Maja heard something and woke Petar, telling him to take a look. Or maybe Petar got up to pee and heard a noise, turned on the lights, and ?ushed Colby from the darkness, scaring him and his wife to death. They waited before they called Tanja, doubtless more afraid of her than they were of Colby. I didn’t blame them.
Chapter Fifty-nine
Kate was in recovery when I got back to KU Hospital. A nurse told me which room she had been assigned to and that I could wait there. There was a hospital version of an easy chair in the corner of the room. I collapsed into it and fell asleep without a fight.
When I woke up, morning sunlight was streaming into the room. Kate was looking at me, her eyes half dreamy with the residue of anesthetic, the room smelling faintly of disinfectant. I pushed myself out of the chair and stood next to her, her hand in mine.
“Hey,” she said.
“Hey, yourself.”
“Some first date, huh?”
“Yeah. I got shot. You got conked on the head and we still spent the night together.”
“You okay?”
“Just a scrape but the ER nurse said I had a cute ass.”
“Damn, and she got to see it before I did.”
“I’m giving tours on the half hour. Let me know when you’d like to take one.”
Kate took a deep breath. “I guess I was pretty stupid.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself. You had me convinced that going to see Latrell was a good idea. How do you feel?”
“Like the inside of my head is under construction.”
I looked at the clock next to her bed. It was seven-thirty. “Have you talked to Dr. Benson this morning?”
“He was here a little while ago. He said that I looked better than you did and that I’d be fine. He’s going to send me home tomorrow morning if I can stand up without falling down.”
She squeezed my hand and tears ran down her cheek. I wiped them with a tissue.
“That’s good news,” I said. “It’s okay to cry for good news.”
“I know. I should be grateful but no one understands what it’s like.”
“What don’t we understand?”
“I can’t see them anymore.”
“See what?”
“Micro expressions. Not yours, not his, not the nurses’. Something happened, some brain damage, I guess. It’s like I’m half blind.”
She forced her eyes wide open, searching my face, straining to lift her head closer to mine. Exhausted by the effort, she fell back on her pillow, closed her eyes, and turned away. I smoothed her hair, uncertain what to say.
“It’s probably just the side effects from the anesthetic. You’ll be reading my mind again before you know it.”
I kissed Kate softly on the cheek. She nodded and bit her lip, letting me know that she heard me even if she didn’t believe me. I told her to get some rest and promised to come back later.
I roamed the halls, looking for Dr. Benson, but couldn’t find him. I didn’t know much about head injuries, only that football players and boxers were never quite right after they had had too many concussions. Kate, it seemed to me, had suffered more than a concussion.
When my father had a stroke, the doctor explained that it caused bleeding in his brain. Dr. Benson had said that Kate was bleeding in her brain, but I knew that didn’t mean that she had had a stroke. She didn’t look or act the way my father had, one side of his face paralyzed in a confused mask, his speech slurred, his sense of balance shattered. Yet a part of her brain had been damaged and it wouldn’t matter what label Dr. Benson put on it. Whatever the diagnosis, Kate had lost a part of herself.
I knew what would come next. The doctor would order tests to measure and define her condition. He’d prescribe treatment if there was any and apologize if there was none. Kate’s family and friends would give her advice and encouragement, cutting out newspaper and magazine articles on the latest breakthroughs, urging her to try holistic cures, acupuncture, Eastern medicine, visual imaging, meditation, and chiropractic. Through it all, she would keep asking herself one question, a silent inquiry made in private that no one could answer: Who am I now?
Chapter Sixty
I needed a shower, a shave, clean clothes, and more sleep. I didn’t have time for sleep but the rest took half an hour after I got home. I found a pair of jeans that were close to being clean and a polo shirt sporting a day’s worth of wrinkles.
I saw the message light ?ashing on my cell phone when I finished getting dressed. Ammara Iverson had called while I was in the shower.
“It’s Jack,” I said when I returned her call.
“I know. I’ve got caller ID.”
“Another amazing advance in crime-fighting technology.”
“Nights and weekends at no extra charge. How’s Kate?”
“She’s got a headache but the doc says she’ll be fine. Probably going home tomorrow.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“Me, too. What’s up?”
“We checked the phone records. If Jill Rice called our office anytime since her husband was arrested, she didn’t do it from a phone in her or her husband’s name. That doesn’t mean she didn’t call. It just means we can’t prove it.”
“Except she denies making the call. At this point, I give her the edge in the who-do-you trust sweepstakes.”
“What’s your read?” Ammara asked.
I had to be careful. Ammara would be suspicious if I suddenly stopped talking to her about the case. I needed information I could only get from her, but I wasn’t ready to tell her about last night and jeopardize Wendy’s slim chances. I needed to know how close they were to picking up Colby, but I didn’t want to ask the question.
“Colby crossed the line. He made a deal with Thomas Rice to buy his house and car, probably as a way to launder drug money. I’d look at Colby’s bank account. And while you’re at it, check the records at Leavenworth. See if Colby visited any of the inmates.”
“Like Thomas Rice?”
“No. Someone else. Marty Grisnik already checked on Rice’s visitors. His wife and his lawyer were the only ones who came to see him. Maybe Colby used someone else to deliver messages to Rice.”
“What about the cash and drugs that were found in Colby’s house? You think they could have been planted?” she asked.
“It’s possible, maybe even likely. Colby was too smart to leave that stuff lying around.”
“Except it wasn’t lying around. It was hidden in a ?oor safe. The U.S. Attorney is pissed. He says the agents who found it didn’t have probable cause for that kind of search, which means it can’t be used as evidence against Colby. Ben Yates told Troy to bring him Colby’s head on a pike.”
“Troy will have to figure out who else is playing this game, starting with Tanja and Nick Andrija.”
“Who are they and what do they have to do with this?” Ammara asked.
“They’re sister and brother and they run a bar and restaurant on Strawberry Hill, the place I told you about where they sell the sausage sandwiches. Colby has something going on with Tanja. It may be connected.”
“What about Marty Grisnik? He may know something.”
“I’ll ask him, but that could be tricky. He’s a stand-up guy but he’s also close to the family and cops aren’t any different than civilians. Everyone gets real defensive about their friends, even the guilty ones.”
“I know you’ll be
diplomatic,” she said.
“Do you have anything else? What about Bodie Grant? Did his lawyer cut a deal with the U.S. Attorney?”
“Bodie is still in the wind.”
“Running or twisting?” I asked.
“I’ll let you know when we find him. Any predictions?”
“Yeah. Bodie’s dead.”
“Why so certain?”
“I think someone has been cleaning house. First, Marcellus Pearson, then Javy Ordonez. Bodie was cutting in on Marcellus, maybe with Javy’s help. It makes sense that Bodie is next.”
“You can’t put that all on Latrell Kelly.”
“I’m not. Latrell had his own agenda. He just did the killer a favor.”
There was dead air on Ammara’s end. I didn’t break the silence. She finally did. “You think Colby…” She let the words trail off, unable to complete the sentence.
“I think a lot of things, but the ones I can prove are the only ones that matter.”
“And we can’t find Colby. We don’t even know where to look,” she said.
That’s what I wanted to hear. “What about his friends or family or the dopers he hung out with when he was on the job?”
“His parents live in Utah and say they haven’t talked to him in months. Their phone records bear that out. Turns out he didn’t have any friends, at least none we can find. And the dopers aren’t talking. It’s like he disappeared.”
Colby had crossed his line and now I was crossing mine, withholding information that could lead to his capture. “Keep at it. He’s bound to surface.”
“We’ll be there when he does. What are you going to do?”
“Find my daughter,” I said and hung up.
I paced around my house, stopping in front of the mirror in the front hall, looking at the man staring back at me who had just thrown away what was left of his career. I’d always thought it was easier to talk about risking everything than actually doing it, but I was wrong. I felt no remorse or guilt over not telling Ammara that I’d seen Colby less than twelve hours ago. If anything, I was too pleased with myself.