by Lee Killough
The offices were empty, a seal on the front doors. Waiting for the forensic search of the computer.
Before checking Homicide to see if everyone had returned there, Cole went back to Irah. She still looked settled, and if he were right she would remain there as long as she could without attracting attention. But he found himself reluctant to let her out of his sight, afraid that if he did, she would disappear again.
Suddenly her heart rate jumped. He quickly spotted the reason, a pair of uniformed officers, strolling her direction. Though looking everyone over, they did not appear to notice her. Should he leave them ignorant and go tell Razor? If he let them know, however, they could arrest her quietly. Not have half the PD come charging in here, led by Special Operations. But how did he communicate with them? He had no time to go soak up heat for a materialization. He had to act now.
Cole looked around. There was the way Red’s hometown ghost made herself visible, of course. Not a solution he liked. Chilling things might drive everyone out of the area, including Irah. Maybe the open space would spread the heat loss out enough to make it less severe. He saw no other choice.
Imagining himself as a sponge, or inhaling with his whole body, he began drawing in heat. But there was so much less of it than in a car engine. He sucked harder, deeper, scrambling to build enough for materialization as he moved past Irah and toward the officers.
As he used rear vision to keep track of Irah, he saw people at the table nearest him shiver, then those at tables farther away. They reached for jackets. A couple stood and walked away. One of the women at Irah’s table did, too.
The Oriental officer of the pair hunched his shoulders. “Man, who opened the freezer door?”
Cole hoped he had enough heat. Time to see. He circled behind a tree and visualized himself as his sister Trish…with a star in his jacket pocket and his arm in a sling, so they would not expect assistance with the arrest. The moment he felt weight, he stepped from behind the tree into the officers’ path, keeping voice low. “Yo, guys. Hold up a minute.”
They halted, expressions polite…Silvela and Yee, according to their name tags. “Yes, ma’am. What can we do for you?”
He showed them the star. “I’m Lieutenant Trish Deckard, Ingleside District. I’m on sick leave but one of the security guards I know told me you’re hunting Irah Carrasco? That she’s suspected of killing an officer?”
Her name brought them on alert. “You sound like you know her,” Yee said.
“Yes. And she’s sitting at a table just down the concourse. Don’t look! She’s watching you. When I passed her I could tell.” What Irah thought about two officers focused on thin air in front of them, he had no idea, only hoped it did not spook her. “She’s the brunette.”
Both officers glanced down the concourse from the corners of their eyes, heart rates picking up. Silvela said skeptically, “Are you sure? She’s just sitting there reading.”
Cole nodded. “I met her when one of their stores in our district was burglarized. And women know other women, no matter what they’re wearing.” Whether true or not, it sounded good. “Ah…I wouldn’t do that,” he said as one of the officers started to reach for his radio. “She’ll know she’s been made. I’m thinking you ought to arrest her now, quietly, while you have the chance, then call it in.”
The two exchanged glances. “How do we have a chance when she knows we’re here?”
Cole explained his idea, prepared for skepticism, but they were young enough to feel the weight of the rank he had given himself. They agreed to do it. So he stepped aside and they continued on toward Irah. Back behind the tree again, he let go, then followed them.
They approached, seemingly ignoring her, discussing the Giants’ chance at the World Series this year. As they started to pass, Silvela halted and looked down at her. “Say, is that a good book?”
Yee halted several steps later, putting him behind her.
Irah looked up with no outward indication of nervousness. Her heart rate, though, said adrenaline was pumping. “Yes. It’s fascinating how he got away with all those impersonations.”
“What’s your name?” Silvela asked.
Her brows rose. Her heart rate went higher, too. “Fiona Brazaski.” She smiled at him then back over her shoulder at Yee. “Are you trying to pick me up?”
“May I see some identification?”
“What’s this about?” the other woman at the table asked.
Silvela gave her a bland smile. “Just routine. Miss Brazaski?”
Irah closed her book, pulled a billfold from the pocket of her skirt, and took out a driver’s license.
“Fiona Brazaski, brunette, blue eyes,” Silvela read. “Can you repeat your birth date for me?”
“June fifth, 1977.” She gave him an anxious frown. “Have I done something wrong?”
She had probably memorized the birth date, anticipating that she might be asked for it, but reeling it off with no hesitation impressed Cole.
Silvela glanced toward Yee. Cole groaned at the uncertainty in it. Come on, come on. Don’t give in to doubt!
Yee said, “Look at this, Irah.”
She started to turn her head…caught herself. Too late. And knew it. She breathed a curse.
Cole grinned. Good job!
“Why don’t you take off the wig, Miss Carrasco,” Silvela said.
Irah stared hard at him for a long moment, then smiling wryly, reached up and pulled off the wig. While the other woman gaped, she ran her hands back through her own hair and shook it out. “I guess I’m busted.” She stood, and stepping clear of the chair, put her hands behind her back.
Cole’s spine prickled. He had hoped they could take her without a struggle but this was too easy. After her statements to Flaxx about not going to jail…after killing Sara supposedly to prevent that… she was just giving up?
But she stood passive while Silvela cuffed her and patted her down for weapons, and while Yee, voice carefully neutral, informed Communications of the arrest. With one of them holding each of her arms, they led her down to the ground level and out to their patrol unit.
She smiled at them. “I thought my disguise was good. You guys are sharp. This ought to earn you a commendation.”
Walking beside them, Cole could see them start thinking about that. He frowned. They needed to stay focused. While the officers’ heart rates had returned to normal, Irah’s continued racing, still pumped for action. She was planning something.
Yet they reached the car without incident and put her in the back.
Then as Silvela started the engine, she said, “Wait. I forgot my cape. It’s still back there at the table.”
Not forgot. Cole felt sure she knew very well they were leaving it. She probably intended to do so, stepping away from the table so it would be overlooked as they arrested her. Leaning down to the passenger window, he told Yee, “Forget about the cape. Take her straight to the Hall.”
“You won’t need it in jail,” Silvela said.
“But my bag is under it, with a gun in it.”
Cole’s gut said it was a trick but…how could they afford to gamble on that.
Yee jumped out. “I’ll be right back.”
She shifted in the seat, grimacing. “These cuffs are hurting me,” she said in a small voice.
“I’m not going to loosen them.” Silvela drummed his fingers on the steering wheel.
“You don’t have to. Tightening them will help more.”
He glanced back through the cage in surprise. “What?”
She shifted position again. “It’s a fact. Snugger cuffs cause less discomfort. Then double lock them. I learned that at the Citizen’s Academy. So could you please tighten them?”
Alarms screamed in Cole. One officer disposed of temporarily, the other being asked to open the door. “Don’t do it!”
Silvela opened his door, no doubt disarmed by the word “tighten” and her passive behavior to this point.
Cole drew on heat in the air
to pump substance into his voice, and yelled a warning at Silvela.
Too late. Silvela had already opened the rear door and was leaning down toward Irah.
Her left hand whipped from behind her back with the cuff that should have been around her right wrist gripped like brass knuckles. It smashed into Silvela’s throat. As he reeled back and collapsed, choking, she leaped from the car. Blood dripped from her right hand, scraped raw by pulling it out of the cuff. Whooping, she ripped the badge from his shirt, then jumped into the front seat, slammed the car into gear, and floored the accelerator. Seconds later the lights and siren came on.
Cole overrode an impulse to zip into the car and stay with her. Instead, he tracked her visually as he knelt by the downed officer, cursing his inability to use the radio. “Someone call 911!” Trusting that no one would ask where the voice came from.
At least she remained in sight, heading straight up the street. He winced at a near collision as she shot through an intersection. A seeming eternity later, Yee appeared with the cape and handbag. Up the hill, brakes squealed as cross traffic at another intersection tried to avoid a collision.
Yee halted in shock. “Dom!”
Cole jumped to his feet. “She’s got your unit. She just made a left…I think on Montgomery. Call it in. I’m going after her.”
Yee stared around in confusion, looking for the voice, then gave that up to kneel by his partner and hit his radio switch..
Cole sprinted after the patrol unit…running through people and vehicles. One woman saw him as he came at her. Her eyes widened. Cole plunged through her with an apology. She yelped. Rear vision caught her whirling to stare after him in disbelief and bewilderment.
At the next intersection he raced through crossing traffic. With a clear vision of the Montgomery intersection, he zipped line-of-sight to it, then peered down Montgomery toward Market. But he saw no flashing light bar, heard no siren. Damn! Had she shut it down, or turned off Montgomery?
He zipped toward Market a block at a time, pausing at each intersection to look both ways down the cross street. The only police car he saw was coming up Post toward him, with two shapes visible through the windshield. Cole swore bitterly. Irah had given them the slip again!
29
Zipping to Homicide, Cole found that news of the assault and escape had reached there. Hamada stood outside the interview room in his shirt sleeves, a tower of frustration amid a cluster of detectives. “Son of a bitch! She’s slipperier than a greased pig!”
Beyond the group, their television monitor on its tall stand had an image of Flaxx sitting at the table in the interview room. The man with him Cole guessed would be Wayne Kaslin, Flaxx’s favorite attorney in the big law firm three floors below the Flaxx offices. Lieutenant Madrid’s presence in the group told Cole that he pulled Hamada out of the interrogation to hear about Irah.
“Was there a gun in the purse?” Hamada asked.
Dennis shrugged. “The sergeant who called didn’t say.”
Hamada snapped, “Someone find out.”
“Galentree and Willner,” Lieutenant Madrid said. “If there’s a gun, get it to the crime lab. And pick up that cape, too. She had to buy it in Embarcadero Center. Maybe she paid for it with a nice new credit card she’ll use again so we can track her.” As the detectives headed for the door, he turned to Razor. “How are you coming on the phone records and that delivery receipt?”
Razor had his coat off, too. He pointed to a desk near the TV monitor, where a Rolodex and phone company printout sat beside a bag of shredded paper and a partial reconstruction of a delivery confirmation receipt. “Thursday she made five calls to the L.A. area on her cell phone. They all match entries in her Rolodex. There’s one to her from L.A. at 6:30, a different number that I can’t find in the Rolodex.”
L.A. area. Cole trailed a finger down the printout. Razor had written names by five circled numbers. He bet if they ran the names, the computer would spit back criminal records. These had to be some of her old buddies, called to ask if they knew anyone in this area who could help her with a disposal problem.
Razor continued, “I’ve got three quarters of the receipt pieced together, enough to know that she mailed the whatever on Saturday but didn’t fill out who it went to.”
“Keep working on it.”
Hamada also went back to work…disappearing into the interview room. Madrid and a detective Cole recognized from Fraud — Maurice Lima — stood watching the TV monitor. Razor kept glancing up at the monitor, too, while he dug through the bag of shreds.
“How’s it going with Flaxx?” Cole asked.
Razor grimaced. “Only the lawyer is talking, and of course, according to him, Flaxx knows nothing about any burglaries or arson, and is shocked, shocked to hear that his sister is suspected of murdering two people.”
Lima looked around. “Do you always talk to yourself, Razor?”
Razor shrugged. “That way I’m assured of an audience. I won’t worry unless it isn’t my own voice I’m hearing.”
“If you don’t mind,” Madrid said, “there are voices I’d like to hear…those.” He pointed at the monitor.
Hamada had rejoined the interview. Across the table from him, beside Flaxx, the lawyer said, “Inspector, this has gone far enough. I demand to know what alleged evidence you think justifies these charges. Because you know that any seemingly incriminating information obtained from Inspector Dunavan sleeping with one of Mr. Flaxx’s Bookkeeping staff is fruit of the poisoned tree.”
Flaxx smirked.
Cole felt his ears burn. Anger at himself hissed through him all over again.
Hamada drawled, “Counselor, any relationship between Miss Benay and Inspector Dunavan, if it existed, is irrelevant.” The camera caught just the back of Hamada’s head but Cole heard a thin smile in the words. “Because the charges are based on a statement made by Mr. Earl Lamper.”
Flaxx came out of his chair. “What! That’s bullshit. What would Earl have to tell you. Unless you coerced him, of course.”
“Why don’t we let y’all judge for yourselves.” Hamada rose to his feet. “If y’all’ll come with me?” He ushered them out into the office, to the TV monitor.
Lima pulled chairs over for them while Madrid stopped the recorder and ejected the tape that had been recording Flaxx’s interview. They replaced it with another tape.
When he punched Play, the interview room came up on the monitor again. This time with Lamper behind the table, facing Willner.
Lamper shook his head. “It doesn’t matter if I’m incriminating myself. This has to be stopped somehow. It’s gone all too far.”
“What has?” Willner asked.
“The burglaries, the arson, the fraud. Irah. Her especially. It was all her idea to start with. She talked Donald into it.”
Flaxx froze.
“Now it’s out of control. She’s out of control.” Lamper shook his head. “God. Poor Sara! I don’t understand why- ”
“When you say she ‘talked Mr. Flaxx into it’, what do you mean, exactly?”
Lamper hesitated and licked his lips, then sighed. “Irah talked him into burglarizing — that is, into letting her burglarize some of our businesses, and later set fire to others.”
Flaxx stared. “I don’t believe this! It’s faked!” But as the tape rolled on and Lamper told about altering the books of faltering stores, ordered to do so by Flaxx, the color drained out of Flaxx’s face. Then his face hardened. “I’ve seen enough! Shut it off. I can’t believe it. After all I’ve done for him. That bastard. That lying, underhanded, sneaking son of a bitch!” He scowled up at Hamada in righteous indignation. “It’s all lies…from beginning to end.”
“Donald,” Kaslin said in a warning voice.
Flaxx seemed not to hear him. “Now I understand some things that didn’t make sense before, why more and more of my stores have been burglarized…despite Irah’s supposed security improvements. He and Irah were ripping me off!”
“Do
nald, be quiet.”
Cole almost wanted him to. After all the years of encouraging crooks to give each other up, and despite working the Flaxx crew to make this happen, Flaxx’s instant turn on his faithful dog disgusted him. Even though the dog had turned on Flaxx first.
“It must be terrible realizing you’ve lost control of your company like this,” Hamada said.
Flaxx stiffened. Red boiled up his neck.
“Donald, don’t say another word, damn it!”
This time Flaxx heard. His mouth snapped shut.
Kaslin stood up. “We’re done here. Book Mr. Flaxx and let’s see a judge about bail.”
“Let me show you one more thing first,” Hamada said. He ran the tape forward.
By this time the questions had turned to murder, and they watched Lamper repeat the conversation where Cole, as Irah, accused Flaxx of double murder.
Flaxx’s expression went incredulous, then furious. “That bitch!” He turned to Hamada. “I don’t know why she told him that story but she’s lying! I don’t know anything about it, and I couldn’t have killed them. I have an alibi for Wednesday evening.”
“Donald…” Kaslin’s hand flexed as if he wanted to slap it over Flaxx’s mouth. “For God’s sake shut up! If you’re refuse to follow my advice, why the hell am I wasting my time here?”
Flaxx’s jaw jutted. “I’m not going to let them pin a cop killing on me. I didn’t shoot Dunavan!”
Kaslin swore.
Flaxx frowned. “What.” Then glanced up and noticed the deadpan faces around him. “What!”
“Shoot him, Mr. Flaxx?” Hamada drawled. “No one has said anything about how Inspector Dunavan died.”
Flaxx stared at him, pupils dilating. He turned to Kaslin. “Conference.”
They walked to a far corner of the room.
Hamada eyed them. “Flaxx reminds me of some dogs. They charge the fence barking and snarling like they’ll tear you apart, but you walk on into the yard and they roll over on their backs peeing themselves in submission.”
Lima wiggled his brows. “And guess who he’s going to roll over on.”