He didn’t think she’d told this story to anyone. “Tell me.”
The sun shifted across the windows beside them. Hospital windows. Another man shot, another man who might die. And Hailey, swallowing her guilt now, as she did then, until it choked her.
In the months before her husband was killed, she’d been with another man. In love with another man.
Tears streamed down Hal’s face. He wiped his palms across his cheeks. “What did he say?”
She leaned against him then, her head on his shoulder, her voice barely audible. “He said, ‘Make sure they’re okay. Take care of her.’”
Hal wrapped an arm around her, tears still falling down his face.
“The intruder story was Jim’s idea, but I went along with it,” she said. “I won’t have her growing up thinking she killed her father. I don’t care what happens, Hal, but it won’t be that.” She pulled back and smoothed her cheeks with the flats of her palms.
“Is that why you’re protecting Jim? Is he blackmailing you with this?”
“No.” Her response was adamant. It was the truth. Hal should have known, but the days of being sure were gone.
“But you’re protecting him. Why? Because he might try to use the truth against you?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “He’s hiding something, but he didn’t shoot himself.” A moment later, she said, “He didn’t kill—” She halted. “I don’t think he’s capable of this.”
“Does Bruce know—”
“No,” she said quickly. “Nothing. Not about John or this stuff with Jim. He knows nothing.” She glanced at her hands. “I was breaking things off when he was shot. Since John’s death, I can’t—” She wiped her face again. “It just wasn’t going to work.”
Death had changed the way Hal remembered his father. His stubbornness and the occasional rages had sunk below the surface of his hearty laugh and the joy he took in Raiders football, his job, his kids. The ugly disappeared, and it became hard for Hal to remember why he and his dad hadn’t always gotten along. He struggled not to blame himself for all the shortcomings in their relationship.
Hailey was doing the same. No live man could compete with the perfect ghost.
Bruce Daniels didn’t have a chance. “Did he know? That it was over, I mean?”
In response to the question, she winced.
“You told him? In the car?”
“He probably knew before,” she said. “But yeah. I told him it was over.” Her hair fell forward as she whispered, “Then, someone shot him.”
Hal pushed the hair from her face to see her eyes. He wanted to say something, to tell her she could trust him.
He would be here.
Before he could speak, she straightened her shoulders and sat up. Her walls rose again. “You have to do what is right for you, Hal. I’m not asking for any favors, but I’m going to protect Ali and Camilla with every last breath. Nothing matters more to me than them.”
She started to stand, but he grabbed her hand, pulling her back down to the stair. “Hailey.”
“I choose them. I always will. No matter the cost.”
“I’m on your side, but you have to come clean with me.”
She shook her head. “You can’t be on my side, Hal. You have to fight for the law, for what’s just.”
“You are just. You are the law. That’s enough for me.”
Above them, a door opened, and the hinges cried in high-pitched moans like someone raising the dead.
A chill ran through Hal, but he kept hold of his partner.
“I’ve got your back, Hailey,” he whispered. “I swear I’ve got it.”
Chapter 27
The doctor was still in Bruce’s room. It seemed like hours had passed. Years.
“How is he?” Hal asked.
Hailey had been too terrified to ask. Now she steeled herself for his response.
“He’s responding to stimuli, so I am still very optimistic,” Baker said. “I’ve requested an MRI to be certain we’re not missing an injury.” He closed the chart. “Other than that, we have to wait.”
“When will you do the MRI?” Hailey asked.
“As soon as we can get him scheduled. We’ll probably have results by noon.”
Noon was hours away.
Hailey’s phone rang from her purse. Her home number. “Hello?”
“Mommy,” Ali said, and Hailey was relieved to hear the small voice. “We stayed at a really fancy hotel. They left us milk and cookies before bed, and we had waffles for breakfast.”
“That sounds like so much fun.”
“It was,” Ali agreed. “Now Dee’s taking us to school, and I wanted to say I love you.”
Hailey fought not to cry. Her baby. Every time she heard Ali’s voice, she prayed her daughter wouldn’t remember what happened the night John died. That she wouldn’t realize what she’d done. “I love you too, Ali. So much.”
“Are you with the bad guys?”
Hailey’s eyes stung. “No, sweetie. Right now, I’m with the good guys.”
Hal smiled and followed Baker out of the room while Hailey spoke to Ali, then Camilla. Finally, Dee was on the line. “Everything’s okay?” Hailey asked.
“It was great,” she said.
“Thanks for taking them.”
“No problem. We had fun. Don’t know if you’ve ever had a pajama party at a hotel before …”
“I haven’t,” Hailey admitted.
“Well, you’ll have to try it.”
“Thank you, Dee.”
“It’s nothing. Is your friend okay?”
“I think he’s going to be,” Hailey said.
“Good. We’ll catch up later.”
Hailey ended the call and held the phone to her chest. She had to be there when they came home today. She needed to hold them, to smell the dirt and raspberry shampoo, the coconut lotion Camilla loved.
Hal poked his head in. “We’ve got until noon to get caught up. We should go.”
Hailey nodded and gathered her things. Before leaving the room, she touched Bruce’s hand. Reassured by its warmth, she followed Hal out to the car.
They stopped for breakfast burritos at a place called Millie’s in between the hospital and the station. While they ate, Hal told her about arresting Gordon Price. From a medical exam, the wound on Price’s hand appeared to be a match to the rebar at James Robbins’s house.
Same blood type too.
DNA would come later. Now, they had to hope that Price started talking. The DA had issued a warrant to the funeral home for the payment records on Fredricks’s burial. Hal had sent a patrol officer to stand over the funeral director until he coughed up those records. He also had Naomi Muir researching Regal Insurance. Hailey had almost forgotten about that.
Roger had mentioned the cork to Hal, so Hailey explained the comparison the lab was running between the cork they’d found in Fredricks’s casket and the one she’d taken from the house.
“Where’s the cork now?”
“I had Roger give it to Kong to book into evidence.”
Hal set down his burrito and wiped his fingers. “This thing is circling Jim.”
“I know. You’ve known that for a while now.”
“What is his relation to Donald Blake?”
“If I had any idea, Hal, I swear I’d tell you.”
She was afraid the moment would be awkward, but Hal laughed. “I know you would,” he said.
Her cell phone rang again. The lab. “Wyatt,” Hailey answered.
“It’s Roger. Where are you?”
“Hal and I are just coming from the hospital.”
“How is he? Daniels, I mean?”
“Still in a coma,” she said.
Hal watched her.
“I heard,” Roger said. “I’m sorry.”
Just like John’s death. Why did people apologize for tragedies? Only fourteen hours in, and she was already sick to death of the condolences.
She pushed the speaker button and set the ph
one between her and Hal. “Hal’s here too, Roger. What’ve you got?”
“We struck gold.”
“We could use some of that,” Hal said.
“We got a partial print off the inside of the blue box—the one with the severed thumb.” The couple behind Hal turned to stare. Hailey lowered the volume.
“Who’s the match?” Hal asked.
“Guy named Marty Schrauder.”
Hal looked at her, and Hailey shook her head. “We don’t know the name.”
“There’s no history on Schrauder—only a driver’s license. It’s why we didn’t catch it yesterday. But last night, we ran all the prints through Sacto.”
“All registered California drivers,” Hal said.
“Right,” Roger said.
“Who is he?”
“Schrauder is a nobody. No credit cards, no bank accounts. Only a driver’s license.”
Hal started to talk, but Roger cut him off. “Hold on. This is the gold—Schrauder’s prints also match someone in the Chronicle’s employee database.” Roger paused a moment for effect.
“The Chronicle,” Hailey said. “That would be—”
“Donald Blake,” Roger interjected.
Hal slapped the table and the folks behind him almost jumped up from their table. “Blake.”
Blake wasn’t dead. They ID’d him by some dental work. A bridge, Tomaso had said. He had planted it on another body. Faked his own death.
“And,” Roger went on. “I just got a call from O’Shea. Officer Shakley’s police sketch matches Blake too.”
“Blake isn’t dead,” Hailey said out loud, the reality sinking in.
“There’s more,” Roger said. “Schrauder has a registered firearm. A .38—same caliber as the bullet shot at the senator and the one that hit Daniels.”
“You have an address on Schrauder?” Hal asked.
“Yeah. I’ve got it right here.”
Hal wrote it down and stood. “You want to take that?” He pointed to her plate.
She had barely touched her burrito. “No.”
“Let’s go get this guy.”
“I’m ready,” she said.
It was time to put this case to bed.
Chapter 28
Hal promised Hailey they would go back to the hospital at noon. She wouldn’t have left otherwise. She needed the break—as much for her sanity as for their cases.
As they walked to the doors, she kept a look out over her right shoulder. As though she was waiting for them to call her back. To tell her that he’d woken up.
Or that he was dead.
Shivers raked down Hal’s neck. Not yet. Daniels wasn’t gone yet. He had to believe this one would work out.
Hadn’t she been through enough?
At the entrance to the stairwell, Hailey straightened her shoulders. Hal wanted to say something encouraging—or distracting—but they’d already talked so much today, so much more than they’d ever talked in one sitting. He couldn’t think of anything else to add.
Walking down the stairs, he realized he was exhausted, his emotions raw.
The air was cool and moist without the rain. A breeze caught in the collar of his shirt and circled his neck. He slowed to savor a moment in the fresh air and noticed Hailey was not beside him.
She had stopped, staring back at the hospital. He waited a few feet behind her. When she faced him, she forced a smile.
“Breeze feels good,” he commented. Something to break the silence.
“It does.”
From the car, she called the house. She spoke to her mother-in-law. Her tone was friendly, informal, but not intimate. He remembered the day they’d come to the hospital with Cameron Cruz. In the car that day, Hailey had sat in the backseat. She’d been on the phone to Jim.
“Girls okay?” he asked.
“Yeah. They’re at school for now.”
“You nervous?”
“We’re ready for our own place,” she said.
“Anything I can do to help?”
She shook her head.
She was alone with small children. He had no idea how complicated it was. At least when his father had died, his mother’s children were grown. How angry he’d been with his mother when she’d told him she was going to L.A. to live with his sister. “You don’t understand, Hal,” she’d told him. “Someday you will.”
He had disagreed. He’d told his mother he would never understand. Maybe he’d been wrong.
With the radio off, the car was awkwardly silent. He resisted the urge to fill the car with vacant noise, and then wondered why he felt the need to keep talking.
He was thankful for the distraction when his cell phone rang. Not Sheila. Even better. “Harris,” he said.
“O’Shea here. Calling to tell you Price made his call.” They were still holding Price as a suspect in Rendell’s murder because of the prints found in the fund manager’s office. The DA wasn’t ready to file charges, but O’Shea had been hoping for some solid evidence against him in the deaths of Dwayne Carson, the driver Griffin Sigler and the kid in Robbins’ apartment, Kenny Fiston. Not to mention the attempted murder of James Robbins. That would be enough to change the DA’s mind. So far, no luck.
“And?” Hal punched the speaker button. “Price made his call,” he muttered to Hailey.
“He called an attorney, but you’re not going to believe who it is,” O’Shea continued.
“Martin Abbott,” Hal said.
O’Shea sighed. “Good guess.”
“Yeah,” Hal said. “I’m kind of psychic about attorneys. What did Abbott say to our Mr. Price?”
“Actually, Price wasn’t calling to talk to Abbott.”
“I thought he called Abbott’s office.”
“He did,” O’Shea said. “Turns out Gordon Price’s mother is the main receptionist at Abbott’s office.”
“Price arranged for Carson and Robbins to get Abbott’s business card,” Hailey said.
“And then his mother took their calls. She told Gordon Price when they called. Then, he could follow up on whether or not they were released from jail.”
“That’s the theory,” O’Shea continued. “Now we’ve just got to get Price to admit it and tell us why he would have wanted them dead. Or maybe the question is who hired Price to kill them.”
“You bring the mother in yet?”
“Not yet, but we’ve got a couple of uniforms on her,” O’Shea said.
“Listen, Sheaster,” Hal started, buttering him up with the nickname O’Shea loved. O’Shea swore someone had given it to him in the academy, but those who graduated in his class said it had been O’Shea’s own invention. “Don’t let Price go anywhere. Not until I get back there. Last guy who called Abbott ended up dead in front of the station. Didn’t make it a full block. You hear me?”
“Loud and clear, my friend,” O’Shea agreed. “Maybe by the time you’re back, he’ll be ready to talk.”
“Here’s hoping.” Hal ended the call as Hailey was typing on her phone.
“Oakland PD got us a warrant for Blake’s house. I’ve got directions. Head to the bridge.”
Lights flashing, Hal crossed two lanes of traffic to make a right on Bryant and head to the onramp for 80 eastbound toward the Bay Bridge. Even at midday, traffic backed up as it narrowed down to four lanes on the bridge.
As they crossed over Treasure Island, Hailey drew something from her purse. The whoosh of her inhaler was faint, but unmistakable.
“You okay?”
She nodded.
Blake lived on Harrison Street, in Oakland, in a section of street almost directly under highway 80. Off the exit, they came around a curved ramp and ended up a half block from his house.
Blake had faked his own death so that he could orchestrate this whole thing. But what did Abby and Hank Dennig have to do with the people who had killed his family? Were they killed because they were in the gun business? The same as Colby Wesson?
Did Blake figure out that the gun
s that killed his family had been made by Wesson’s company and distributed by the Dennigs? How in the world could he have known that?
And it still didn’t explain why he shot at Jim or Hal or her …
Hal turned right at the next corner and made a U-turn, parking in view of Blake’s front door. They waited in silence for the Oakland black and white.
Hal pulled his bulletproof vest off the backseat and strapped it on, putting his jacket back over it. Hailey did the same, moving a little more slowly as she fiddled with the straps. She wore a man’s vest because the women’s were cut short, leaving the abdomen exposed. The man’s vest was heavier, and the straps were built for wide shoulders. She complained that they bit uncomfortably into her narrower ones.
The black and white arrived about fifteen minutes later and did its first pass as a drive-by before circling back around and parking in front of the house, blocking off the driveway. Two officers emerged from the car, each with his hand on his weapon.
By law, he and Hailey had no jurisdiction here. Guests only, they stood on the street while the Oakland officers approached Blake’s door.
The officers knocked twice. “Schrauder!” they called, referring to him by his new name, which Hal hoped might make Blake less violent than hearing his real name.
“Police!” An officer pounded a fist on the door and then stepped back. Both remained carefully shielded by the doorframe. Hal had the strong sense that Blake was in there. Still, the apartment remained quiet.
Hal scanned the street for civilians, but it was empty. This was a working neighborhood, and at this time of day, most people would be gone. If they needed to talk to Blake’s neighbors, they would have to come back later.
The two officers spoke into their radios and circled the house. Hailey started walking. Had made it two houses down when the two officers returned to the front of the house.
“We’ve called for backup,” one said. “They should arrive within a few minutes.”
Hailey started to speak, but Hal nodded.
“Okay,” he said and stepped back so that he was in her path, turned and led her a few steps down the sidewalk. “Soon.”
There had been a time in their partnership when they had controlled their anger under the most difficult circumstances. Unflappable, she’d called them, although on occasion he was known to let his anger get the best of him.
The Rookie Club Thriller series Box Set Page 52