Becker nodded. “It has served me well in darker times.”
“Anna’s right. It should have been me. Though I’d have wound up in the morgue.”
An announcement blared from the hallway speaker demanding that all available nurses and orderlies report to the emergency entrance.
“The wounded from the DP camp raid are coming in,” Mason said, and he led Becker into the waiting room. “You’re here, so I take it you didn’t find Ramek.”
“After you left we searched the tunnel from one end to the other. He disappeared without a trace. He obviously knew that complex in detail and had arranged for a quick escape.”
“My guess is he had several. And even if you find out how, it still means he’s gone.”
Orderlies and nurses pushed gurneys with the wounded into the hallway and past the waiting room.
“Any determination on the organs we found at Ramek’s house?” Becker asked.
“Only that they’re not from a recent victim. There were signs of decay, so the pathologist estimates that they’ve been stored in the formaldehyde for months, maybe longer.”
A group of CID investigators and MPs entered the hallway and were shooed into the waiting room by a husky orderly. Timmers was among them. He looked pale and tired.
Mason called him over. “What’s the toll?”
“One dead MP—Powell. Four more seriously wounded. None of our guys, except Pike. A bullet grazed his shoulder. They’re treating him downstairs.”
“Did you hear about Wolski?”
“Are you kidding? That story burned through the battalion.”
Mason repeated what Dr. Sutter had said about Wolski’s condition. Timmers had trouble looking into Mason’s eyes. It confirmed what Mason suspected: The blame fell directly on him.
Colonel Walton wedged his way through the crowd and homed in on Mason with a contemptuous glare. “We need to talk. Follow me.” As he turned, he said, “You, too, Timmers.”
When Colonel Walton moved toward the door, he revealed Havers standing just behind him. Havers wore a satisfied grin. Mason wanted to knock out his teeth. Mason’s temper really flared when he noticed Havers was following behind Colonel Walton like a loyal dog.
Down the hallway, Colonel Walton led Mason, Timmers, and Havers into a small office. Mason faced Colonel Walton, with Timmers and Havers standing off to one side.
“You screwed up on this one, Collins,” Colonel Walton said. “You went in there ill prepared and undermanned and got people seriously injured. No one died on your watch, but I consider that a fucking miracle. From where I stand, Ramek’s playing you. Even to the point where he’s got you charging right into his trap. Then to add the biggest turd onto an already steaming pile of shit, you lose the suspect. Again. This has gone on long enough.”
“Colonel—”
“I don’t want to hear it!” Colonel Walton took a deep breath before continuing. “I acknowledge the progress you made. Some dubious leads paid off. But then you went off the rails.” He stiffened, taking on an air of formality, as if the previous words of praise had been calculated to soften the coming blow. “I asked Mr. Havers and Mr. Timmers here as witnesses. Chief Warrant Officer Collins, you are hereby suspended from active duty.”
“Colonel, I have three days left on General West’s deadline. At least give me the three days! We’ve shut him out of his house and his two places of killing, eliminated his black market suppliers, and plastered his face on every street corner and newspaper. We went from nothing to that in two weeks, and you want to cut this investigation off at the knees to mete out punishment—”
“Your price is too damned high. Two seriously injured investigators—”
“And your high-profile DP camp raid cost one dead and a half dozen injured.”
“There’s a big difference: We got our men. And don’t you dare judge your commanding officer. This is still the army! Your badge, please, Mr. Collins.”
Mason stared into Colonel Walton’s eyes for a moment before removing the badge from his pocket and handing it over.
Colonel Walton returned Mason’s hard stare. “You’re on suspension until I figure out what to do with you. Timmers will take over the case.”
Mason nodded. “Mr. Timmers would be my choice. He’s been on this case almost from the beginning.”
“It’s only temporary. The upper brass wants a new perspective.”
“What? You can’t let them do that. How about for once fight for your investigators? Fight for your squad. That’s what a good commander is supposed to do.”
“You say one more word, and I will not only have you kicked out of the CID but see that you’re court-martialed and drummed out of the army. It will be Chicago all over again for you, except this time you won’t even be able to write up parking citations in Mongolia!” Colonel Walton headed for the door, but just before exiting he said, “Your final task on this case is to write your report on this latest fiasco. Put it on my desk by oh-seven-hundred, then get the hell out. If I get so much as a hint that you’re sticking your nose into this investigation, I’ll throw you in the stockade.”
Colonel Walton left, with Havers close behind.
“So you know,” Timmers said, pausing before he left, “Colonel Walton fought to keep you on. The order came from the top.”
• • •
It took a long time before Mason’s legs would move. As he walked down the hospital hallway for the exit, he passed the waiting room. He saw Timmers in there, talking to some of the other investigators, and the murmur of conversation stopped. All eyes followed him until he was clear of the window.
Becker met him outside the swinging double doors. Mason stopped but didn’t look at him.
“I’ve been suspended,” Mason said.
“Yes, I heard.”
“You’ll be working with Timmers for now.”
“Your superiors have made an unwise, even reckless decision.”
“Funny. That’s what they’ve said about me.”
“If there’s anything you need . . .”
“Yeah, there’s one thing you could do for me. Could you take care of Kurt and Angela? Make sure Angela gets good care and that Kurt can stay as long as he needs.”
“Of course. I know some individuals who might be able to take care of them all.”
Mason thanked him and they shook hands.
“If you wish, I could keep you informed of any progress,” Becker said.
“How about I continue to keep you informed?”
“I don’t follow you.”
“You didn’t think I was going to stop just because they suspended me, did you?”
Mason bounded down the stairs before Becker could lecture him about the pitfalls of going renegade.
FORTY-FIVE
For the next three and a half hours Mason wrote up the daily action report as Colonel Walton had commanded. He wasn’t a slow typist. Colonel Walton had asked for embellishment, so that was what Mason gave him: the painstaking minutiae of the facts, the decisions, the processes, and what he considered a dereliction of duty if he had failed to pursue the processing plant lead, but most of all, the bravery of the men involved, particularly Warrant Officer Vincent Wolski.
He dropped the thick report in Colonel Walton’s in-basket, and, in tribute to Wolski, he used his knife to break into the colonel’s file cabinet and pulled out one of his prized bottles of scotch. He raised the bottle in a toast to Wolski and took several long gulps.
Manganella had offered to drive him to Laura’s hotel, but Mason preferred to walk in hopes that it would clear his mind. He wanted to think things through in the silence that snowfall brings. The thin layer of snow crunched under his footsteps, and he welcomed the bracing air. Halfway to Laura’s hotel, he started to question the wisdom of declining Manganella’s offer. The cold had crept into h
is bones and flared the wounds from the previous winter’s frostbite. He turned down Platzl and passed the infamous Hofbräuhaus am Platzl, the beer hall where Hitler had made frenzied speeches attacking the Jews. Behind him an MP jeep rolled past, which gave Mason a sense of satisfaction that they had finally listened to him and started putting MP patrols on the smaller streets and not concentrate the entire allotment of manpower to the main arteries. He even saw an MP on foot ahead of him stroll to the end of the narrow street and turn the corner.
Moments later Mason turned the same corner behind the MP. Then it occurred to him: That MP had apparently been patrolling alone, when normally they worked in pairs. This thought rang an alarm just as he heard quick footsteps in the snow behind him.
As he turned, a dark shadow loomed over him, then his head exploded in pain. Electrical shock waves coursed through his brain. A white, searing light flashed behind his eyes. His legs threatened to buckle as he retreated backward, hoping to gain some distance while he struggled to recover his sight.
He heard the footsteps come at him. He reached for his pistol, but another flash of pain in his wrist made him drop the weapon. His vision cleared in time to see Ramek standing over him with a scalpel in one hand and a blackjack in the other. With his long arm, Ramek swung the scalpel at Mason’s neck. Mason tried to grab the arm, but he was too stunned to be accurate. He managed to protect his neck, but the blade slashed across his forearm. The ripping of fabric accompanied the searing sensation in his arm. He pushed away the pain and readied himself for the next blow, but his head still spun out of control, blood blinded his left eye, and his legs refused to obey.
Ramek tried a backhanded sweep with the scalpel, aiming again for Mason’s neck. Mason ducked away from the swing, then caught the arm as it arced away. He fumbled for a lock grip on Ramek’s wrist, but Ramek was too quick. That powerful arm came back. This time, though, Mason took control of Ramek’s arm, and he used Ramek’s momentum to force the arm around. He pushed with all his strength. The scalpel sank into Ramek’s shoulder. Ramek growled in pain, but instead of recoiling, he brought the blackjack across Mason’s head. Mason stumbled back and raised his arms in defense, but the blackjack struck him again.
The blow sent Mason reeling backward and he fell to the sidewalk. He summoned his remaining strength and forced himself up to his knees. He braced for the next impact. But instead, through the haze of his shock, he suddenly became aware of headlights and the roar of a jeep engine.
From somewhere in the distant shadows, he heard Ramek’s voice. “We’re not finished, you and I.”
• • •
The nurse closed the gash on Mason’s arm with a final stitch. Mason sat on a chair in a curtained-off area of the hospital’s emergency room. The nurse had already stitched his temple and applied a bandage there. He had a bandage behind his right ear, a black eye, and a black bruise on his jaw. The sharper pains had subsided, but from the waist up he felt like one big throb.
The doctor entered through the divide in the curtain with an X-ray. “You have one thick skull. You’ve suffered a mild concussion, but nothing’s broken. Can you wiggle your fingers?”
Mason did so. He had complete feeling and mobility in his hand, though the muscle in his upper arm let out a stab of pain.
“Doesn’t seem to be any nerve damage,” the doctor said. “You’re one lucky man.”
Mason had to agree.
“Stay off your feet. If you experience any dizziness or numbness, come back in right away.”
The nurse told him to wait for his medications, then she parted the curtains for the doctor and they left. A moment later, Laura appeared, flanked by her new bodyguards. She stifled a cry and ran up to him. He tried to stand, but his head spun, and he dropped to the chair.
She kissed him delicately on the lips. “How are you feeling?”
“Jim Dandy.”
“Liar. The doctor told me you have a concussion.”
“Doctors like to exaggerate.”
“Listen to you. Mr. Tough Guy. That maniac nearly killed you. It must have been terrifying.”
Mason had felt more shame than terror at being caught off guard so easily.
Laura pulled over a stool and sat next to him. “I heard about Vincent and what happened at the plant.”
“News travels fast.”
“Faster than you. I was expecting you hours ago.”
“I stayed at the hospital until the doc could tell me about Wolski’s condition, then I was at headquarters typing up my last report.”
“What do you mean, ‘last’?”
Mason tried to smile, but failed. “I’ve been suspended. I’m off the case.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Are you?”
“Of course I am.” She paused. “Come with me to Garmisch.”
“Laura, I can’t.”
“Of course you can. I’m taking the train for Garmisch tomorrow, and in case you’ve forgotten, tomorrow is Christmas Eve. What better place to celebrate Christmas than in a lovely town in the Bavarian Alps? They’ve turned it into a resort for the army and military government personnel. There are nightclubs, good restaurants, great skiing. Now that you’re suspended, you’re not working tomorrow—”
“Thanks for the morale booster.”
“That’s not what I meant. Now that you’re free you can come with me. I’ll be snooping around down there for some info on the black market, but most of the time I’ll be free. You can be my protector. . . .” She gave him a wink. “My ski buddy—”
“I can’t do that, Laura.”
“Why not? I mean, look at you. If anyone needed some time off, it’s you. You need to take care of yourself. Rest. Heal.” Laura pulled back to get some distance and studied his face with probing eyes. “You’re not going to even try?”
“I need some time alone to think. Besides, I won’t be very good company.”
“Oh, come on. Say what you mean instead of hiding behind sullen remarks.”
“Okay . . . I want to kill a man.” Finally verbalizing it brought up his rage. “That’s all I can think about. This whole thing started out as a cop stopping a murderer, justice for the victims, save more innocents from his butchering, but now it’s him and me. Nothing else matters, and it’s consuming me. I want to inflict all the pain on him he’s dispensed, times ten. You see why I’m not going anywhere?”
“You’re still going to try to capture Ramek? Even with all the resources the army could give, he’s still eluded you. How can you really expect to do it on your own?”
“Then he’s going to keep killing. There’s no one to stop him.”
“So you’ll what? Play the vigilante? That’s insane. Look, I know you’re upset about Vincent. I am, too. I cried when I heard. But not only are you turning down the most romantic offer you’ll ever get, you’re risking jail time going against orders on your one-man crusade. You’re risking your career in the army—your last, best chance at being a detective again.”
“You don’t get it. You don’t get me.” There it was, in all its ugly glory. He said it in spite of his best efforts to the contrary. “I’m sorry, Laura, but this is getting us nowhere.”
“You’re right.” Laura was yelling now. “Unless you can stop and see what you’re doing to yourself, to everyone around you . . .” She grabbed her purse. “I’m leaving.” She stopped at the curtains. “The train leaves at one P.M. I get on that train with or without you. You’re not there . . . then you can go to hell.”
She disappeared behind the curtains. Mason stood and held on to the table for support, but he went no farther. He only listened to the click of her heels as she walked out of the emergency ward . . . and possibly out of his life.
FORTY-SIX
Excuse me, sir, but you’re crazy,” Corporal Manganella said. “A hot night with Betty Grable wouldn’t get me to go
in there again.”
Mason sat in the passenger’s seat as Manganella steered the jeep into the courtyard of the meat-processing plant. He had convinced Manganella to drive him over despite his off-limits status.
Manganella stopped the jeep near the processing building. “What makes you think he’ll come back here? He hasn’t done that before.”
“Maybe I can pick up his trail.” When Manganella only returned a look of befuddlement, Mason said, “Look, Ramek had to move his stuff and find a safe place overnight. Right? That takes time. And he used a whole precious lot of that time tracking me down so he could kill me. Plus, he had to nurse that shoulder wound I gave him. I’m gambling he couldn’t have gone far.”
Manganella processed this a moment and smiled. “I still think you’re crazy going in there by yourself.”
Mason climbed out of the jeep. “Thanks for the lift. You’d better get back before they notice. And remember, don’t say a word to anyone.”
“What if you get caught by one of those booby traps?”
“I’ll be all right.”
“I’m not going anywhere, sir. I can’t leave you out here all alone. Screw regulations.”
Mason smiled. “All right, then.”
Armed with a flashlight, his personal .38 S&W Special pistol, and a Ka-Bar knife, Mason entered the processing building through a bombed-out portion of the wall. Nothing had changed, except for the invading snow transforming black rubble to white. The rats and pigeons had returned after the day’s intrusion. He crossed the expanse and descended the same staircase to the sublevel. The blackness closed in on him. He stopped and listened for any sounds of human activity among the creaks of metal and low moans of the wind. Finally he turned on his flashlight and surveyed the surroundings, but images of Wolski’s wounds kept flashing in his mind. Following the same bearing as the day before, he passed the rusting machinery and found the maintenance corridor.
The chances of Ramek returning to the plant were slim, but Mason felt his heart pound out a fast rhythm against the closed collar of his shirt all the same. Watching for potential traps and listening for any movement, he proceeded down the corridor. The path led him to the same narrower corridor off to the right. He followed it past the last room that Wolski and he had checked. Then, up ahead, the furnace room where the trap had been set. Just before entering, he examined the doorway with his flashlight. There, six inches from the flooring, lay the remnants of the trip wire. Then, just in front of him, Wolski’s blood. Mason’s chest tightened at seeing how much of Wolski’s blood had spilled out onto the concrete floor.
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