“I am not,” he said, the same stern voice he used to stop the girls when they ran through the house or played too loudly. Then, his voice softened, the volume dropped. “I will call you back.”
“You can try my cell phone, but I’m heading to a scene.”
“I’ll call you.” The worry in his voice was unmistakable.
It made her worry for herself, for the girls. Out of the cab, she pulled her purse strap onto her shoulder and hurried to the sidewalk. Rain fell in heavy drops from the oak trees above. Under the loud hum of the garbage truck engine was the whisper of water rushing in the grate at the curb, streaming under the streets from the hills above, racing toward the Bay.
She prayed Liz would be out. This was the time of day when she normally did her errands or met a friend for lunch. She was in a garden club and had a standing bridge game. Then, she would pick up the girls from school and spend the afternoons catching up on household tasks so she could be home with the girls after school.
A horn honked from the street as a tan Taurus pulled into the shallow driveway.
Hal.
She felt overwhelming relief. They would work through this.
He hadn’t given up on her.
A blond head appeared in the window.
Not Hal.
Bruce.
He raised his palm in a wave, rolled the window down.
Hailey stopped at the car and glanced at the street. Liz might be home. Anyone could show up. “What are you doing here?”
“Hal told me you were picking the girls up and coming home.” He looked up at the house. “They here?”
“You talked to Hal?”
“Yeah,” he said. “I had a long talk with Marshall too.”
Marshall. Hal’s transfer request. Bruce was internal affairs. He wasn’t here about whatever woman he was sleeping with. He was here about Hal. She had to pack a few things, go pick up the girls. “I can’t do this now, Bruce.”
“You don’t have a choice.”
Her stomach washed with anger. “I have a choice.”
“Your captain called me, Hailey.”
“Did he?”
Bruce nodded slowly.
“And did you tell Marshall that you can’t handle my case?” she asked. “That it’s a conflict of interest because we used to sleep together?” She drew out the words “used to.” She and Bruce were over. Living with Liz and Jim was over.
Being partners with Hal was probably over too.
Bruce cracked his door open.
Down the street, an engine revved. “Don’t.”
A blonde drove by in a convertible Mercedes—cherry red—her hair held back by a Hermes scarf. Hailey recognized the style because she had one just like it in her own closet, one she’d never worn.
“Why don’t you sit down for a minute so we can talk. I’ll make it quick,” Bruce suggested. “Or we could go somewhere else.”
“I don’t have time.” She checked the time on her phone. Forty-five minutes before the girls were released from school.
“A minute,” he repeated, reaching out to touch her.
She pulled out of his reach. “One minute.”
As she came around to the passenger side, Bruce leaned across to release the door handle. She sat on the cool vinyl seat. The car smelled of pine air freshener and a male smell—deodorant or aftershave. But it didn’t smell like Bruce’s—at least not the one she knew. She had the urge to lean in and smell him.
But he was with someone else.
Maybe Bruce changed his scent for whoever he was with now. She felt sick.
How long had it been going on? She was cold. She didn’t care. She did, but she couldn’t. She needed to focus on the girls, then the case. Keep them safe and save her job.
“What did Marshall say?” she asked.
Bruce shifted sideways in the seat. “Can we talk about last night first?”
“There’s no need.”
“We need to clear the air. About us.”
“There is no us, Bruce.”
“We need some time alone, just the two of us.” He ignored her words. He did that when he didn’t like what she said. He always had. Why hadn’t it frustrated her before?
“It’s been a minute.”
“You’re angry about last night.”
“No. I was … surprised, but I’m okay. Really.”
“It wasn’t anything serious. Just a woman I sometimes spend an evening with …”
She stopped him. “It’s not because of last night. I’m glad you have someone, Bruce. Really, I am. You deserve it.”
And it was true.
How many times had she left Bruce and gone home to John, wishing Bruce would meet someone? That he would force an end to the relationship so that she didn’t have to?
“Why are you doing this, Hailey?” He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “John is dead. Nothing is going to bring him back.”
Hailey looked at Bruce, at the narrow slope of his nose and the wide arc of his brow, his green eyes, the lips she’d felt a hundred times.
It wasn’t there.
She didn’t feel it anymore. Not the same way. “I’m sorry.”
He tensed. He has a right. He’d been patient, waited.
It didn’t change anything. She didn’t want to be with him. Not anymore. “Maybe we should talk later.”
“No.” He blew out his breath.
She ran her nail down the crease in her pants, traced the tear-shaped drops from the rain. “I need to go.”
“Marshall thinks you know something about John’s death.”
Her fingers froze. Her throat tightened. “What?”
“Hal Harris thinks your father-in-law might’ve been involved.”
Her mouth went dry. “Involved in killing his son? His own son?” She fought to swallow. “That’s outrageous.”
Damn Hal. Damn him. She fumbled to open the door.
Bruce grabbed her shoulders, held her. “Wait.”
She twisted to free herself. “Let me go.” She couldn’t talk about this, couldn’t face him. What could she say?
She knew Jim had nothing to do with John’s murder. At this point, it was the only thing she did know.
“Hailey, wait. Please wait.”
“I can’t, Bruce. I can’t.” Hailey loosened his grip and took hold of the door handle.
And cracked the door open.
Glass shattered.
Gunfire exploded from behind. Hard pellets struck her neck and head. She dropped to the floor in front of her seat and fumbled for her weapon.
Tires squealed on the asphalt.
She released the safety and ducked out of the door. Using the car as a shield, she aimed where she’d heard the tires. A long set of skid marks trailed away from the house—ten, maybe twelve feet.
The car was gone.
“Shit.” She dug through her purse for her phone. That bullet had almost hit her. They weren’t aiming at Bruce. They were aiming at her. “I’ll call for backup.”
She looked at Bruce, still sitting in the driver’s seat. He didn’t move. His eyes were wide, stunned. His hand clutched his neck. His face went white. His pupils ballooned. The left was larger than the right. “Bruce?”
She crawled across the seat to reach for him. Gripped his hand, fingered his neck.
His hand went limp in hers. Darkness pooled in his palm, dripped between their fingers. “No! Bruce!”
His eyes fell closed, and his entire body went slack.
Chapter 24
If Hal was going after Gordon Price, he needed probable cause. A retainer wasn’t going to be enough to make an arrest.
Ideally, they could match Price’s DNA to the rebar outside James and Tawny Robbins’s apartment.
But this wasn’t CSI.
DNA took weeks. He’d have to settle for some of Gordon Price’s fingerprints in Rendell’s office. He called the lab for Roger.
“You just missed him,” the tech said. “He was here almost twenty hour
s and went home to get some sleep. He left a report for you—results on some cork.”
“Must be from Fredricks,” he said.
“I’ve got no idea. I didn’t work it.”
“That’s okay.” The cork could wait. Right now, he wanted to get his hands on Gordon Price. “I’ll come by for that later. I’m calling on the scene from today—the Rendell murder.”
“Yeah, we’re working that one now.”
“You have any hits on prints?” he asked.
“Yeah—Naomi’s working that. Hang on.”
There were a series of clicks and then a pause before someone else picked up. “This is Naomi.”
“Hey, it’s Hal. You doing prints from the Rendell murder?”
“That I am. About halfway through.”
Hal circled the back of the station and turned into the parking lot driveway, his wipers squeaking against the dry glass. “You find a match to a Price? Gordon Price?”
“Hang on.” There was a pause and Naomi started listing names. “Tammy Myers.”
“She’s the secretary,” Hal said.
“Darryl Strong, Mitch Jackman, Thomas White, Angel Desantos …” She stopped and whistled. “Here we go. William Gordon Price. That the one?”
“That’s him.”
“Nice clean set on that guy,” Naomi said. “He was there recently.”
“That’s just what I needed. Thanks.”
“No problem, Inspector.”
Hal drove from the lot, dialing Hailey’s number from habit. He ended the call, hoping it hadn’t rung on her end, and made a call to dispatch to request backup at Price’s apartment. They had to move now, in case Price decided to run.
“Tell them to wait a couple blocks off,” Hal said. “I’ll radio when I’m there. Don’t let them proceed without me.” Hal turned on his lights and blared the siren as he raced toward Price’s apartment.
In the department Taurus, the lights were hidden under the passenger’s sun visor. Even with the visor down, the reflection of blue and red on the windshield always made him dizzy. Hal spotted Price’s street, pulled to the curb, shut off his lights. Halfway there, his phone buzzed. A text from his neighbor Ken. Sheila’s here breaking shit.
Damn it. Talking to Sheila was the last thing on his list. One damn day without a call—not even twelve damn hours. His cat. Poor Wiley was probably terrified.
Hal texted back. Would you get Wiley?
Already did.
Thx.
Sheila would have to wait.
The patrol car drove past.
Hal radioed for his backup car and told them to stay put. It was early still, a little before six. Price might not be home. If he was, they didn’t want to spook him.
On either side of Price’s tired-looking duplex were two single residences that had been totally rebuilt. Maples and birch trees lined the curbs. The landscaping on the south side of Price’s was elaborate—a bushy English-style garden like in the magazines Sheila loved.
Sheila. Christ.
His radio crackled as the officers awaited instruction. Hal told them to hold their position while he walked past. He, at least, was in civilian clothing. If Price saw the patrol officers, he might make a run. Hal didn’t want a chase, especially since Price had access to guns.
Hal walked past, taking note of which door entered unit B—Price’s. His was the south unit. Hal circled the house, taking note of the overgrown side yard and the windows that faced it.
Through the one full-sized window was a room with a futon, extended. Sheets were in a crumpled ball in its center. Along the far wall stood a low, cheap white dresser, and next to it, a shiny, black beanbag, covered in discarded clothes. Jeans, blue button-down, socks and boxers lay scattered on the floor.
Scattered change and slips of paper peppered the surface of a dresser, along with a few bottles—beer and a tall clear one that was maybe vodka or gin. Hal couldn’t see the label. Nothing like a wallet or keys to confirm whether or not Price was home.
Farther back was a frosted window, high off the ground. Bathroom probably.
In the back was a second door with a glass square in its center. Like the bathroom window, this one was also patterned to let in light but little else. Hal saw no motion on the other side. Exit points—front door, back door, and the two windows: bedroom and bathroom. Four exit points and only three officers.
Hal rounded the other side of the house, which he figured belonged to apartment A, because lace curtains covered the windows and overgrown ferns hung from macramé hangers hooked into the ceiling.
On the street, Hal crossed to the patrol car.
Hal introduced himself to the two officers. “Not sure this guy is home. Supposedly, he has a thing for working nights.”
“So it might be about breakfast time for him.”
“Here’s hoping,” Hal said, leading the way back to the duplex as he explained the layout. They grew quiet as they approached.
“Ting,” Hal said, addressing one. “You cover the back door. I’ll ring the bell.” Hal glanced at the other officer’s name tag. “Bard, you watch the side windows from here.”
If Price fired, it would be Hal’s third gunfight this week. He wanted this guy unaware. “Take it real slow, guys. I don’t want him to come out shooting.”
Ting went to the back of the house. Hal counted slowly to fifteen. Then he nodded to Bard and rang the bell.
No reaction from inside. Hal rang again.
There was a faint click, like a door opening. Then came groans from an old wood floor. The sounds grew closer.
“Who is it?”
“I’m looking for Gordon Price.”
“Why you looking for him?”
“I’ve got some questions.”
“Price ain’t here,” the voice said a moment later. “You’ll have to come back later.”
There was a short pause, and Hal thought Price might be waiting to see if they would leave. A few seconds later, he heard the distinct slapping sound of bare feet on the hardwood.
“Running!” Hal shouted, jumping over the banister past Bard. As he started around the house, he turned back. “Stay there!”
Hal ran to the large bedroom and stopped. Moving slowly, he leaned across to look inside. The overhead light shone in the room, but otherwise, it looked the same as when he’d last seen it. He moved toward the back of the house and had almost reached the corner when he heard Ting shout, “Freeze!”
Ting held his gun drawn on Price, who stood in a pair of navy plaid underwear, his hands in the air. Hal was pleased to see that they were empty. Even better, one was wrapped in a white bandage. Hal thought immediately of the sharp piece of rebar outside the apartment of James and Tawny Robbins.
“Place your hands on top of your head,” Ting directed as Bard joined them.
“What the hell is this about?” Price demanded. He made a sucking sound and a retainer filled the front of his mouth, before he flipped it and bit it back into place.
“You worked for Harvey Rendell?” Hal asked.
“I’ve worked for a lot of people, man.”
“Thirty-first floor, Bank of America Center,” Hal said. “He pays in cash. We found your fingerprints in the office.”
“Sounds like I’ve been there, then. I’d have to check my records.”
Hal had him and he was going to savor it. “How about Hunters Point? You done some work up there, lately?”
Price’s gaze narrowed, but he said nothing.
“How’d you hurt yourself, Gordon?”
“I cut it working on my car.”
“Sure you did.” He turned to Ting. “Let’s escort Mr. Price downtown. I’ll meet you at the station.”
Price started to squawk, but Ting cut him off. “You heard the inspector. Move nice and slow.”
He took a couple of steps and stopped, looking down at his shorts. “You going to take me in like this?”
“We’ll get you some pants when you’re in the car,” Bard to
ld him. “Move out of line and we can take you downtown in your skivvies. Break up the routine. Right, Ting?”
“Damn straight.”
Hal blew out his breath.
Every cop needed takedowns like this one. Easy, straightforward.
Seemed like they happened less and less.
Hal watched the officers put Gordon Price in the back of the patrol car. While Bard went back in for clothes, Hal called the station about getting a warrant for Price’s place.
He took a few minutes to savor the relief. It was the first time in this case he’d made progress without getting shot at.
Now, he just had to handle Sheila.
Chapter 25
Hailey woke to a piercing bleat. The hospital. She jumped from the chair. A painful crick pinched her back from sleeping in the chair.
Across the room, Bruce lay motionless. Tubes ran into his nose, an IV in his arm. He looked fragile, sick.
The sight made her nauseous, terrified.
Above him, the machines hushed and beeped. His chest rose and fell softly beneath her hand. The room went quiet. Then, the bleating noise again. The heavy drum of her pulse trumpeted the pain in her back.
She punched the red call button.
“Yes.”
“Something’s wrong. The machines—” She felt helpless, sounded helpless. “I need a nurse. Right now.”
A heavyset nurse with tight red curls entered the room. The freckles were so dense across her cheeks that she had tan skin with white dots rather than the other way around. Abby, her nametag read.
The bleating had stopped again. “Something was beeping.”
“Looks like the pulse ox slipped off,” the nurse said, lifting a small black clip and replacing it on Bruce’s index finger.
“Was that the beeping sound?” Hailey asked.
“Shouldn’t have been.”
The bleating started again. Hailey searched the screen above Bruce’s head, trying to make sense of the lines and numbers.
“It sounds like a phone,” the nurse said. “That ring—I think it’s your phone.”
Hailey’s cell phone sat on top of her purse, on the floor beside the chair. Three missed calls from Hal. Hal had called. What did that mean? Did he forgive her?
She was afraid to call him back.
But she would. Eventually.
The Rookie Club Thriller series Box Set Page 50