Six months ago, he’d have gone to Hanlon’s to hang with his old buddies from patrol, maybe Beyer or one of the older stiffs in Homicide. Those guys were there most nights, and it wasn’t so bad to show up from time to time, hang out, and listen to the old stories they loved to tell again and again.
But twice in the past month, Sheila had shown up there.
Once, she’d left with a rookie patrol officer, a kid Hal didn’t know. They’d gotten out the door and into her car, or so he heard, when a couple of older guys, friends of Hal’s, had broken it up and told the kid off.
The kid actually came back into the bar to apologize to Hal.
“No skin off my back,” Hal told him, but he was lying. Sheila carved little bits off him every time he saw her. And just because she’d been run off once, didn’t mean she wouldn’t be back.
Out the window, Hal passed a line of patchwork tents set up under the freeway overpass. A dozen of them. Maybe he’d go to the station anyway. Maybe he’d learn something to help them. Hell, they needed a break.
“You still there?” Neill asked.
“Yeah. Actually, I’m close to the station,” Hal said. “Maybe it’s worth following the kid when he’s out, see where he goes.”
“Tonight?” Neill asked.
Maybe it was desperation or maybe it was something about Carson. These kids weren’t that different than he was at that age. He just got lucky, ending up on the right side of things. Unlike these kids, his father had been there, right up until his death. “What the hell. I’m in the area. You processing him now?”
“Yeah. He should be out in about twenty minutes, half hour. Give me your number and I’ll call you when he’s on his way out.”
Hal sat on the darkened street across from the main entrance to the department for ten minutes before his phone rang.
“Harris,” he answered.
“Hi,” Sheila said. “I thought you were avoiding me,” she continued, her voice soft and slurred in a way he remembered finding sexy once.
He cursed silently. He hadn’t looked at the damn screen. “Uh, I’m working, Sheila.”
“Okay. I just wanted to call and see how you are. I left you a message on your home number too.”
Three.
“I’ve got to go, Sheila.” Before she could start up again, he said, “I’ll catch you later,” and hung up.
When his phone rang again, he checked the number before answering.
“It’s Neill. Carson’s on his way out.”
“Thanks.”
“Call me back if you learn anything helpful.”
A few minutes later, Dwayne Carson appeared.
He pushed the front door open halfway and stopped. He glanced back and stepped out fully as a young prostitute pushed by him, talking over her shoulder and swinging a pink, sequined handbag as she tottered down the stairs in high, strappy red heels.
Carson remained against the concrete façade of the building before descending the stairs and standing beneath the marble plaque where the department’s credo was inscribed.
“To the faithful and impartial enforcement of the laws with equal and exact justice to all.”
Carson scanned the street, looking for his ride, maybe. He appeared to be a different person now, much less confident in front of the building than he had been inside it. Something about the way he surveyed his surroundings—the sidewalk, the buildings, the highway overpass a few blocks down—was tentative and wary.
When Carson finally started toward the street, he stepped gingerly, as though expecting a landmine, then went only a few yards before dropping to one knee to tie his shoe. He did this with his head up, still searching.
He was afraid.
What the hell did Carson think was going to happen in front of the police department?
Carson started walking east, moving quickly. Head down, arms crossed, he hugged the inside of the sidewalk, confusing a group of cops walking in the opposite direction, who expected him to pass on the right.
As Carson walked, he kept glancing over his shoulder.
Half a block down, he ran straight into a man in a suit, someone from the DA’s office, Hal thought. Carson didn’t pause, ducking around the guy and running a few steps before slowing again. His stride was rigid, his arms fixed across his chest. He looked like a man struggling with the urge to sprint.
Despite Carson’s behavior, Hal couldn’t locate any sign of danger. With Carson now almost a block ahead of him, Hal put the car in gear and started forward. A car backfired on the freeway, and Carson jumped as though bullets had been fired.
Hal palmed his phone. He could call for backup, but what the hell would he say? He had an antsy gunrunner?
He pulled to the curb again when a black sedan with no rear plate steamed by, almost clipping his side mirror.
It looked like a gang car.
Hal’s gut told him something was up.
He palmed the car’s radio. “This is five-Henry-one-seven requesting backup on Harrison Street, in front of the department.” He tried to remember the name of the street one down but couldn’t. “Possible one-eight-seven in progress.”
As dispatch confirmed the request, Hal hit the accelerator. The sedan was already thirty yards ahead.
The driver honked the horn and Carson spun and ducked. Hal was too far back to do anything, could only watch as a hand reached from the driver’s side …
Carson’s expression turned from fear to relief.
Running, Carson crossed the street and circled to open the passenger door.
“Shit,” Hal said, feeling like an asshole.
He lifted the radio to cancel his call.
The gunfire started.
Hal ducked instinctively and then sat up to search for the source of the gunfire. He drove toward the shots, trying to get a look at Carson.
An oncoming car blocked his view. By the time it passed, cops all along the street were moving to get pedestrians down to the ground.
The black sedan jolted to a halt.
Hal swerved across four lanes of traffic to park behind it. The second shot hit the sedan’s driver side window, which burst in a spray of glass. The next struck high on the windshield of Hal’s car. Sharp screams filled the street as Hal cracked his door and dropped to the blacktop.
Cameron Cruz, a department sharpshooter, pulled two young women to the sidewalk, drawing her weapon.
In the line of fire, Hal was forced to remain where he could use the car as a shield. Moving awkwardly, he dragged himself on his elbows until he was behind his car, then rose slowly to survey the scene.
Another round of bullets fired, exploding glass and chipping the brick off the building above his head. A flash of movement from the right drew his gaze. The shooter. Crouched in the narrow alley, he wore a ski mask and black clothes.
Hal ducked as more shots were fired. The sound of a revving engine pulled him to his feet. A cop in uniform jumped in his line of fire, and Hal pointed his weapon to the sky just before he took the shot.
“Goddamn it!” he shouted.
The cop turned back, mouth agape.
The shooter took a last shot and jumped into a gray Honda Civic.
Rounding the corner, Cameron Cruz sprinted down the alley. She stopped, took a stance, and shot twice. Her bullets struck the Civic’s rear left tire and the back window. The car swerved, straightened, and then took off around the corner.
As the cop he’d almost shot called in the Civic, Hal ran toward the parked sedan that had picked up Dwayne Carson. He yanked open the door, and a wounded Dwayne Carson rolled into Hal’s arms.
“Where did the guns come from, Carson? Where did you get them?”
Carson’s eyes rolled back into his head. His shirt was dark, the cotton warm and slick with blood.
“Come on,” Hal shouted, shaking him. “Tell me who did this to you.”
Carson blinked. He licked his lips, spoke in a whisper. “Regal.”
“Regal? What the hell is
Regal?”
Carson’s lips fell open and his body went limp.
He was dead.
Chapter 9
Hailey double-parked her car behind the police barricade in front of the department. Dwayne Carson was dead.
Cameron Cruz stood on the street, talking to Roger Sampers. Shelby Tate was examining Dwayne Carson’s body. It was going to be another long night for the crime scene team. Gathering evidence at an outside scene was a slow process.
“I figured you’d be in bed by now,” Hal said, surprised to see her.
Her cheeks grew hot. “I ran out for a bit after the girls went down,” she said without meeting his gaze. Did she look like she’d just left Bruce’s? She ran her fingers over her hair, told herself not to fidget. “What are you doing here?”
“Sheila left a bunch of messages at the house, so I came back to the station.”
“What’s she done now?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t see her.”
Hailey was relieved. Sheila was bad news. And somehow, she still had a strong grip on Hal.
“I left so I wouldn’t have to,” Hal said.
“Sorry.”
“She is who she is.”
Relationships were complicated. Hailey knew that better than most. She had trouble imagining how Hal had ended up married to someone so troubled. Whenever Sheila inserted herself back into his life, Hailey worried for him.
She nodded to the scene. “What happened?”
Hal rubbed his head. “I watched the whole thing. Dwayne Carson gets released. He looks nervous, edgy. Makes it to the end of the block when his ride shows up. Dude’s getting into the car when a Honda Civic comes down the alley just east of the department parking lot. Guy in a mask unloads a shitload of brass.” He rubbed his head. “Carson died right in my arms. I pushed him to tell me who did this to him.”
“And?”
“Regal.”
“Regal?” she repeated. “What do you mean?”
“That’s what he said.”
“Isn’t that like a chain of movie theaters?”
“Right,” Hal said, his tone clipped. “And a guitar store and the second name of a scotch whiskey. First name is Chivas.”
“Okay,” Hailey said. “How about the driver? Maybe we can talk to him.”
“No.” Hal’s voice dropped. “He didn’t make it either.”
Two more victims.
“Shoulda stayed home and waited for Sheila,” he muttered.
He didn’t mean that, did he? He couldn’t get back together with Sheila. Hailey wanted to ask if he was okay but sensed he didn’t want to talk about it. He needed time to process. She focused back on Carson. “It was like he knew someone was coming for him. Did he seem worried when you interviewed him?”
“Not at all. That’s why I think it had to do with Abbott.”
“Martin Abbott had him shot?”
“Who knows,” Hal said. “Someone gave the kid Abbott’s business card. So maybe they’ve got some sort of system set up. Carson calls Abbott, thinking he’s calling an attorney who is paid to help him …”
“And they send someone out to kill him? Christ,” she muttered. “That means they have to have someone in Abbott’s office.”
“Right.”
“Who caught the murders?”
“Kong and O’Shea. They’re en route.” Hal studied her. “Were you out on a date?”
Hailey shook her head. “God, no.”
Hal’s stare felt intense. Like he didn’t believe her. It felt like that more often now.
“I could use a drink,” Hal said.
Hailey didn’t want to go out with him tonight. He was wound up, in the kind of mood to push. “You think she’ll still be at the house?”
“Nah. She’ll be gone by now.”
“I’ll see you bright and early, okay?”
She turned and walked away before he could mention drinks again. On the street, Shelby Tate stood with Linda James and Cameron Cruz.
“Heard you had an exciting night,” Hailey said, stopping at the group.
“I’ll say,” Cameron agreed.
Shelby Tate peeled off her gloves and stretched her arms. “I need a beer.”
“I could use a drink,” Cameron agreed.
“Count me in,” Linda James said. “Hailey?”
The girls were asleep, so she wasn’t in a rush to get home. Hailey glanced at Hal, who was now talking with O’Shea and Kong.
As Hailey turned back to Cameron, she could feel the electricity of the scene coming off her friend. She’d once heard someone say that live gunfire felt a lot like being on stage, and cops and performers felt similar emotions when they were leaving the scene, or stage.
They were right.
Which meant the Rookie Club needed a drink.
“Why not?”
“Tommy’s?” Linda asked.
“Where else?” Cameron said.
Hailey gave Cameron a hug. “I heard about Diego.” Cameron’s boyfriend had been killed in the line of duty a couple months back. “It gets easier.”
Was that true? Some days it was easier.
Cameron wiped her eyes. “Thanks.”
The two women had known each other as long as Cruz had been in the department, and they were both members of the Rookie Club.
“We’ve missed you.”
Hailey used to make it every few months. She hadn’t attended a Rookie Club dinner since John’s death. “I know. I’ll get back, I promise.”
“You can start tonight,” Cameron said. “See you guys there.”
As Hailey drove through the city, she realized she was looking forward to a drink with these women. Maybe it was the energy of the scene sinking in or just a break from conversations with Bruce and Hal. These women weren’t going to ask her if they had any leads on John’s death or if Jim was involved in this gunrunning operation.
Despite a full house, the Rookie Club women had managed to secure a table at the back of Tommy’s when Hailey arrived. They waved her over as a waiter was taking drink orders. “Corona for me,” Hailey said as she took a seat next to Shelby and across from Linda James and Cameron.
Next to Cameron was Ryaan Berry.
Linda introduced them. “Cameron’s giving us the blow-by-blow.”
“I took a second shot as he ducked back into his car,” Cameron said. “Hit the rear tire. Watched it blow, but he took off. Not sure how far he got on that wheel.”
Linda glanced at her phone. “He got far enough. We surrounded the area and set up roadblocks. So far, nothing.”
“He shot five bullets and downed two victims. That’s some good shooting,” Ryaan commented.
“Both victims were shot in the torso,” Shelby added. “I’ll know more after the autopsy tomorrow, but I’d guess the driver’s wound was two inches from his heart.”
Hailey remembered what it was like to be in this group of women. All these sharp minds, all this expertise. From the outside, they could have been a group of stay-at-home moms, but they were some of the best law enforcement in the city.
“And that guy was standing at fifty yards,” Cameron said, shivering. “I couldn’t shoot any better than that.”
The waiter returned with their drinks and a huge order of nachos. “I’m ravenous,” Cameron said, passing out the small plates.
“I’m starving too,” Jess agreed as they all dug in.
“Any leads on who would want him dead?” Shelby asked.
“Someone who didn’t want him to talk,” Ryaan said.
The table was quiet a moment. If they had been able to hold Carson, maybe on the stolen weapon, he might be alive. Maybe that would have given them the time to get more answers. Hailey took a long draw on her beer, grimacing at the bite of the carbonation. There was no use second-guessing the process. It was what it was.
“Do you know who’s at the top of the food chain? Who’s in charge?” Jess asked.
Ryaan shook her head. “So far, we’ve i
dentified a bunch of the guys on the street, but we aren’t having any luck tracing the guys who are running things.”
Hailey thought about Carson’s last word. “Does Regal mean anything to you, Ryaan?”
“Regal?” she repeated.
“Hal said that was Carson’s last word,” Hailey explained. “As he was dying, Hal asked him who had done this to him. He said, ‘Regal.’ Or that’s what Hal thought Carson said.”
Ryaan shook her head slowly.
“Maybe a street name for someone?” Cameron suggested.
“Maybe. I’ve never heard of Regal,” Linda commented.
“Regal Theaters is what comes to mind for me,” Shelby said, smiling.
“There’s a Regal Insurance Group,” Ryaan said slowly. “They have kind of a niche place in the market.”
“What do they insure?” Hailey asked.
“They insure against weapons loss.”
Weapons loss. “The type of company that would insure someone like Hank Dennig’s company?”
“Yes,” Ryaan agreed. “Dennig Distribution would be exactly the kind of client Regal would insure.”
“I’ve got to call Hal.” Hailey put a twenty on the table and excused herself.
She was dialing before she hit the street.
Chapter 10
Hal didn’t answer his phone, so Hailey left a message about Regal. Maybe he’d decided to go out after all. Hailey was surprised when he didn’t call back. The whole drive home, she kept her phone in her lap, waiting for it to ring. It was after ten o’clock. Maybe he’d gone to sleep?
By the time she reached the house, the energy she’d felt from the lead was gone, and she was exhausted. She climbed the stairs to the house, let herself in, and stepped out of her shoes.
A light flickered from the living room fire and Hailey stepped into the dark room.
Jim sat in the big chair, which he’d pulled almost to the brick hearth.
“Jim?”
The bandage on his ear and the deep circles under his eyes made him look older.
“Are you okay?” Hailey asked.
He rubbed the bridge of his nose absently, his gaze set on the fire. “Can you come in for a moment, Hailey?”
She set her purse and jacket on top of her shoes and sat in the chair across from him, pulling her feet under her.
The Rookie Club Thriller series Box Set Page 38