“Did you think you were back in New York, Kaleta?” Porky demands. “Is that what you thought?”
“I thought that I was chasing a rapist,” I tell him.
“Strange kinda rapist,” Standish says. “Doesn’t even seem to have the right kind of equipment for the job.”
“The license plate checked out, and when I ordered the van to pull over, the driver hit the gas. There’s no way I could have known it was a woman behind the wheel.”
“Why did she hit the gas?” asks Elder Clews, like he’s really interested.
“She was selling candy without a license. On top of that, she was already disqualified from driving for a drinking offence, and she was drunk when we arrested her.”
Porky rubs his chin. “Great, so you got yourself an illegal street merchant—”
“And dangerous driver,” Standish sniggers.
“… but that don’t help none with the Hopgood case, now does it, Lieutenant?”
The Hopgood case!
Not the Chuck Wagstaff case or the Patricia Walker case. This isn’t about the victims at all – it’s about the accused.
Porky reaches into his drawer and pulls out the form I carefully completed after Williams and I visited the special school.
“Another point,’ he says, “what the fuck is this supposed to be?”
“It’s a request for Bobbie’s old principal to see him.”
“Sure is. Or to put it another way, it’s just one more example of you wastin’ the taxpayers’ money when you should be out doin’ real police work.” Porky grips the form with two fingers from each hand, tears it down the middle, and drops it into his trash can. “Request denied.”
“You can’t be serious!”
“He isn’t family,” Clews says.
“Not even close,” Standish chips in.
“He knows Bobbie better than probably anyone else does,” I say. “He can get him to open up.”
“Don’t need another shrink,” Porky claims. “Doctor at County saw him while you were out chasing rapists with no dicks. Seems Hopgood’s on the slow side, but he ain’t crazy. He can stand trial, same as everybody else.”
“Bobbie’s lawyer will never let you get away with it,” I warn him. “He’ll insist on a second opinion.”
Porky grins. “Always so right, ain’t you, Kaleta? Well, not this time. I talked to Maxwell … to Tait … on the phone. He don’t seem to mind taking the prison doctor’s word for it – so you’re just gonna have to do the same.”
What the fuck is Tait doing? How can a smart city lawyer like him make so many mistakes?
But maybe, as I have already begun to suspect, he is making no mistakes at all. Maybe everything he has done so far has been deliberate.
“I insist on Maddox seeing Bobbie,” I say. “It is central to my investigation.”
“Well, here’s the thing,” Clews says. “You haven’t got an investigation any more. It’s been taken out of your hands.”
“And who’s it been given to?”
“Chief Ringman has assumed the responsibility himself.”
Yeah, and he’s really going to bust his balls to prove Bobbie is innocent.
“So you’re back to chasing chicken thieves, Lieutenant Kaleta,” Standish smirks. “Cluck, cluck!”
I’ve been expecting this to happen, and the car chase has given them the perfect excuse – but it still hits me hard.
I search for the right response, and because I am an ex-writer (‘A bright new talent, and an authentic voice of his generation’ – the London Times) the words come to me in a flash of inspiration.
“You cock-sucking bastards,” I say. “You pieces of shit!”
Standish’s mouth drops open, like he is shocked, and he sticks his fingers in his ears to cut out any further obscenities.
“Very funny, Standish,” I say. “But this isn’t a game – we’re dealing with real people here.”
Porky is smiling. He can afford to keep his temper. He has all the winning cards, and he knows it.
“I’ve got a suggestion,” he says. “Why don’t you just get the fuck out of here, Kaleta?”
“What the Mayor means to say,” Clews explains, his face set with same hard, blank look it wore the day he announced that – due to budgetary problems – the number of city employees would be cut by a third, “is that you are to report immediately to the Police Department for reassignment.”
There is nothing more to say. I head for the door.
“You’re not dismissed yet,” Clews says.
I stop and turn around to face him.
“That so?” I ask.
“It most certainly is,” Clews replies. “After the way you’ve behaved today – both out on the street and here in the office – you can expect an official reprimand.”
“You can take your official reprimand and stick it up your ass,” I tell him.
As an exit line, it’s not exactly original – but it sure as hell makes me feel better.
19
I do not return immediately to Police Headquarters for reassignment. Instead, I walk to the nearest phone booth on Jackson Square, dial the Special School and give Dr Maddox a quick summary of what has gone down.
“They won’t get away with it,” I tell him. “We’ll force them to let you see Bobbie.”
“I … uh … don’t really see how we can do that,” Maddox mumbles.
Something is wrong. This doesn’t seem to be bothering him at all. Or maybe it is bothering him – but not quite in the way it should.
“I’ll get on to the State Bar Association,” I say. “If I can persuade them that Tait is not representing his client’s best interests, they’ll step in.”
There is an embarrassed silence on the other end of the line.
And then Maddox says, “I … I would prefer it if you didn’t do that, Lieutenant. I … I’m no longer sure that it would do much good for me to talk to Bobbie.”
“They got to you,” I accuse him. “What did they use? Threats? Or money? Got your eye on a nice little condo somewhere down in Florida, have you, Doc?”
“It’s not like that,” he says defensively.
No, it wouldn’t be. Not with him. Even from what little I’ve seen of him, I know he’s a dedicated man, working hard under difficult conditions, in a wreck of a school that …
“The school!” I say. “They offered you something for the school!”
“I just got word that the Board of Elders is considering voting us extra funds. I … I wouldn’t want to do anything which might jeopardize that.”
“And so you’re willing to sell Bobbie down the river?”
“There are so many children to think of,” Maddox says, his voice choked with both regret and shame. “The ones we have now, and the ones we could help in the future.”
“Dr Maddox—”
“Goodbye, Lieutenant Kaleta,” he says – and the line goes dead.
*
I have another call to make. I open my wallet and take out the heavily embossed card which Tait gave me when he first came to visit Bobbie. I flip it over, so I can read the reverse side on which he has written the number of his temporary office in Harrisburg, pick up the phone and dial.
It rings three times before a woman – probably Tait’s secretary – answers.
“Tait, Walsh and Fineberg,” she says in a voice which tells you that you’ve just made her day by ringing. “How can I help you?”
“I need to speak to Tait.”
I am making my voice huskier and rougher than it normally is. I may even sound a little like John Wayne. I hope I do – because that is who my bigoted, son-of-a-bitch father-in-law always tries to sound like.
“Who shall I say is calling?” the secretary asks.
“Tell him it’s real important. Tell him it’s about the Bobbie Hopgood case.”
There is a short pause, then Tait comes onto the line.
“Yes?”
Clean, crisp delivery – carefu
lly modulated tone.
He’d have been a smash in the golden days of radio. Saturday Night Theatre – with Maxwell Tait.
“We’ve fixed the shrink …” I say.
“I’m not sure I should be hearing this,” Tait tells me.
“You got no choice, so just shut the fuck up and listen,” I bark. “We’ve fixed the shrink, but Kaleta’s still a problem.”
“But I thought he was—”
“Off the case? Yeah. But that ain’t gonna stop him snooping around. An’ he’s gettin’ close, Maxwell. Real close.”
Another pause, then Tait says: “I see.”
“I don’t wanna say no more over the phone. You gotta come round to my office. Right now.”
“I don’t think that will be possible.”
“Make it possible, Max – because if I go down, I ain’t goin’ down alone.”
I hang up. Porky’s got away with his John Wayning it for years, but I don’t want to push my luck.
I look at my watch. Five-oh-seven. Tait’s office is on 7th and Calhoun and that’s only a few blocks away from City Hall, so I am betting he will choose to walk.
*
It is five-thirteen when Tait appears at the corner of Jackson Square. He is nervous – and it shows. Twice, he glances over his shoulder to make sure he isn’t being followed. It’s a pity for him that he doesn’t check ahead, by the phone booths, to see if some smart cop is following from the front.
He draws level with me, mounts the steps, and enters City Hall. I give him half a minute and take the same route myself.
The lobby is large and ornate – columns, statues, marble floors and ferns – the sort of place you’d expect to able to order twelve kinds of quiche. Tait has already reached the desk and is talking to Mrs Doyle, the receptionist, who wears her gray hair in a tight perm and has controlled the flow of traffic in and out of this building for the last twenty years.
I stop just inside the door, close to the statue of Industry who – in the artist’s eyes at least – is a half-naked bimbo.
Tait isn’t getting a smooth ride from Mrs Doyle.
“I have an appointment,” he says.
“There’s no record here, sir.”
“It’s only just been made.”
“It would still be down in the book. The Mayor’s secretary always calls me as soon as she has—”
“The Mayor’s secretary didn’t make this appointment.”
Mrs Doyle is visibly jolted.
An appointment which was not made in the normal way? What will happen next?
She glances through the window to see if the sky is on fire, and the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse are sweeping down on us. But the sky is blue and the Horsemen are not in evidence – so Tait must have made a mistake.
“The Mayor’s secretary makes all the Mayor’s appointments, sir,” she says icily.
The security guard is standing next to the lobby’s other statue, Art – another naked bimbo, but not as stacked as Industry. He twitches indecisively. Mrs Doyle says Tait does not have an appointment, and she should know. On the other hand, he looks the kind of man who would have one – any time he wanted it.
“I’m going up,” Tait says. “Ring through and announce me if you want to. If you don’t, just forget it. I don’t care.”
He is being far from his usual smooth self – but then, I suppose, he has a lot on his mind.
The guard steps forward. I shake my head and he stops, figuring that if a police lieutenant who is also the Mayor’s son-in-law thinks it’s okay, then it must be.
Tait strides over to the elevator. I am not hidden behind Industry’s ample ass any longer – I am standing in the open. Tait has only to glance across the lobby and he will see me.
It doesn’t matter if he does. It’s too late now to pretend that there is no sordid little conspiracy between the Boston lawyer and the Board of Elders.
And Porky will know that I know about it the second Tait walks through the door.
The elevator arrives and Tait steps inside. I watch it rise to the third floor – which is taken up entirely by Pine’s office and the Chamber of Elders. I’m tempted to wait on Jackson Square and see just how long the conspirators are closeted together. But I can’t afford the luxury.
Porky has the Police Department on a string. He has enough influence in the County Jail to certify Bobbie fit to stand trial. He can use the power of the Board of Elders to corrupt even honest, well-meaning men like Dr Maddox.
And who stands against him?
Mike Kaleta, a one-book writer, a cop who is already in deep shit with his Department. Plus, of course, his lovely assistant Caroline Williams, smart young sergeant and deadliest ball-squeezer south of the Mason-Dixon Line. If I was a bookie, I wouldn’t give the team of Williams and Kaleta very good odds.
I need help, and I need it desperately. The only person who can provide that help is Thurston Craddock. I have to get to him before the opposition does.
20
I am driving to Craddock’s converted farmhouse. Inside my LeBaron, it feels like the Amazon rain forest, but when I wind down the window all I do is exchange the sticky air I already have for some new sticky air which rushes in from the outside. I mop my brow with the back of my hand, and – probably like everyone else in Harrisburg – wonder when the weather is going to break.
It is five-after-six when I knock on Craddock’s front door. My knock is answered by Richard, the stony-faced Slav who, after checking that his master wants to see me, leads me down a wonderfully cool, super-air-conditioned corridor.
Craddock is in his den, sitting at a small but exquisite chess table and studying a game which is already well developed. When Richard announces me, he stands up and walks towards me, hand outstretched.
“Lieutenant! I’m surprised to see you so soon after our last meeting. Do you have something to report?”
Like he’s employing me!
“I’ve got something to tell you,” I say – but I’m not sure he notices the distinction.
We shake hands. Craddock’s grip is firm, but, unlike Tait’s it doesn’t seem to be calculated to make an impression. He points to the couch.
“Take a seat.”
I sit, but instead of joining me, Craddock returns to one of the upright chairs at the chess table and looks down from on high at the game in progress.
I wonder where his opponent is.
Probably gone for a leak.
Craddock reads my mind. “I’m playing against myself,’ he says. “It’s not an ideal situation, but it’s highly unlikely I could find a worthy opponent in Harrisburg.”
I can scoff, or I can nod. Just for once, I make the smart move and nod.
“You must not think I’m arrogant, Lieutenant Kaleta,” he says.
Hell, no! Wherever would I get that idea from?
“You’re a pretty good player, then?” I ask.
“Not world class – but very capable.”
I look at the board. The chess pieces are reproductions of a medieval set. Or maybe they are the genuine article.
I don’t know how long Craddock has been playing this particular game, but both Black’s and White’s pieces have settled into an intricate pattern of challenge and defense.
Craddock reaches down and advances a white pawn one square forward.
“Well, Lieutenant?” he says.
Well what? Does he expect me to talk to him while he plays chess? The more I see of him, the more his general attitude pisses me off. If I had any choice, I would get up and walk out now. But I know that I can’t do that – because I am not powerful enough to save Bobbie Hopgood on my own.
“What I’ve got to say can wait until you’ve finished the game,” I say.
He laughs, then gets up and walks around to the other side of the board.
“This game could easily continue for several more hours,” he tells me. “Besides, Lieutenant, you seem to have forgotten what I told you. I am a good player. I can take on t
wenty opponents at once – without seeing a single one of the boards. It is well within my capabilities to play just one game while I listen to you deliver your report.”
I need his backing, so this is not the time to get angry or make some smart-assed comment.
“My partner and I have done some checking,’ I say. “A man on foot couldn’t have gotten from school to school quickly enough. The molester needs to have had a car – and Bobbie can’t drive.”
Craddock frowns. I am not sure whether it is because of what I have said, or because of the position he finds himself in as Black.
“I’ll take your word about the geography of the city,” he says. “Are you absolutely sure that this Bobbie … what’s his name again?”
“Hopgood.”
“… that this Bobbie Hopgood can’t drive?”
“Yes.”
“Then I would have thought your course of action was obvious. You should pass this information on to his attorney, and Maxwell will draw up a petition for his release.”
“How long has Tait been your lawyer?”
“I don’t see how that could possibly be relevant.”
“Please … humor me.”
“The firm has worked for me for ten years, Maxwell has only been involved in my affairs since he became senior partner, say seven years ago.”
“And do you trust him?”
Craddock looks up from the board. He is about as angry as I’ve seen him – about as angry as I ever want to see anyone.
“Do I trust him?” he repeats. “I trust all my people. I wouldn’t use them if I didn’t. I certainly wouldn’t have put Maxwell in charge of the Hopgood case, even as a temporary measure, if I hadn’t had complete faith in him.”
I know why he’s furious – I’ve dared to question Tait, his good and faithful servant. Worse than that, I’ve dared to question his judgment in selecting Tait in the first place. But there’s no turning back now.
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