Gnosis (31 page)

“I’ve never worn a vest,” Scott said.

“Get used to it, Rookie,” Milt said. “You’re not writing parking tickets anymore.”

“What else did Stone’s PO tell you?” Dantzler said to Milt as they turned onto Alexandria Drive. They were in Dantzler’s Forester, followed by Eric and Scott in an unmarked police cruiser. “Anything I need to know before we talk to him?”

“Stone is unemployed—surprise, surprise—drives a red Ford pick-up, has three ex-wives, a couple of grown kids he never sees, and has been good about meeting with his parole officer. He belongs to a once-a-week prison support group but rarely attends. He’s come up clean on all his drug and alcohol tests. According to the PO, Stone has been minding his manners and staying out of trouble.”

“Sounds like a real prince,” Dantzler said, adding, “how does he get by financially? He has to have income from somewhere.”

“He lives with a woman named Consuela Lopez. She has her own business—cleans houses, office buildings, condos . . . that sort of thing. Has three full-time employees and a legion of part-timers. Her financial records indicate she makes pretty good money, more than two-hundred K per year, which is sufficient enough to support Stone and her two kids. Stone may be an ex-con and a brain-dead former boxer, but he’s no dummy. He was smart enough to reel in a fish with money.”

“Nice setup. Wouldn’t mind landing a deal like that myself.”

“Bring it up with Dunn,” Milt said. “She’ll support you.”

“Right. And I’ll win Wimbledon this year.”

“How’s that working out for you guys, anyway? Everything cool?”

“Jury’s still out.”

“Is Rich the problem?”

“One of them.”

“Tell you what, Ace. I wouldn’t worry too much about what Rich thinks. If things do work out between you and Dunn, Rich will have to accept it and deal with it. In the final analysis, it’s really none of his business.”

“I doubt he would agree with you.”

“What’s he going to do? He’s not going to fire you, the best homicide investigator the department has ever had. And Dunn’s a rising star. He’s doesn’t want to lose her. I say go for it and let the chips fall where they may.”

Dantzler was in no mood to discuss his private life. “Let’s worry about Stone today. Okay? We need to stay focused on him, not on my relationship with Laurie. That can wait.”

“How do you want to handle it?” Milt asked.

“Straightforward. We’ll go up on the porch, announce our presence, and tell Stone we only want to talk. Eric and Scott will cover the back, in case he decides to rabbit. Did his PO say whether or not Stone has any weapons?”

“He didn’t say, but, hell, he wouldn’t know if Stone is armed or not. Stone’s an ex-con, he’s not supposed to own weapons, but . . . we all know about ninety-nine percent probably do. If he has one gun or ten he’s not about to tell his parole officer. We definitely need to be cautious.”

*****

“Which house is it?” Dantzler said, slowing the car to a crawl.

“That one,” Milt said, pointing to his left.

The red brick house, which sat on the corner of Alexandria and Palms Drive, was virtually identical to other houses along the street. It was small and neat, probably three bedrooms and two baths, with a two-car garage and a perfectly manicured front lawn. A flowerbed consisting of a rose bush and azaleas surrounded by Creeping phlox ran parallel beneath a front window. Two wicker chairs and a swing sat idly on the concrete porch, adding to the cozy quotient.

Dantzler studied the house while waiting for Eric and Scott to join them. Although the layout seemed simple enough, one aspect troubled him—a five-foot high wooden fence that enclosed the back yard. Not being able to see what might be happening behind the house was cause for concern. If the fence was locked from the inside it could spell trouble. His plan was to have Eric and Scott cover the back, and if Stone did decide to bolt, and if he did come out firing a weapon, the two detectives might not know what was happening until it was too late. They would definitely need to be alert.

“That damn fence could pose a problem,” Milt pointed out.

“Precisely what I was thinking,” Dantzler said. He turned to Eric. “Eric, you and Scott circle around to the back of the house. Check out the fence, see if it has a door or gate. Make sure you know if it’s locked, or if it opens from the inside or outside. Either way, stay on your toes. Don’t get caught by surprise.”

While Eric and Scott were making their way around back, Dantzler and Milt walked up the sidewalk toward the house. Halfway there, they noticed a man peeking out from behind a curtain. He watched the detectives for several seconds, let the curtain drop, and disappeared.

“Was that Stone?” Dantzler asked.

“Couldn’t tell.”

As they stepped onto the porch, the front door opened just enough for them to see the side of a man’s beefy face. He had a patchy beard, a deep scar above his upper lip, and dark blue eyes.

“I know you guys are cops,” the man said, his voice gruff and scratchy. “I’ve been told you were coming, and I ain’t got nothin’ to say to you.”

“Are you Kevin Stone?” Dantzler said.

“
Rocky
Stone.”

“Rocky, I’m Detective Jack Dantzler and this is Detective Milt Brewer. We’re with Homicide. We would like to ask you a few questions, if you don’t mind.”

“You can’t come charging in here like this,” Stone said, angrily. “This ain’t Russia.”

“We’re not charging in, Rocky. We only want to talk, that’s all.”

“I don’t have anything to talk about, ’cause I ain’t done nothin’ wrong. I’ve been clean ever since I left the joint. Ask my parole officer.”

“We did, and he had positive things to say about you. But, still, we need to ask you a few questions.”

“Questions about what?”

“It would be a lot better if we could talk inside. Why—”

“I’m not talking to you, I don’t have to talk to you, and that’s that. So,
amscra
.”

“Come on, Rocky. Don’t make this difficult. Sooner or later you’re gonna have to talk to us. Let’s do it now and get things cleared up. Then we’ll be out of here.”

“What do you want to talk about?”

“Colt Rogers, for starters.”

“Colt Rogers? That sniveling weasel? I ain’t got nothin’ to say about him, except that I’m glad he’s dead.”

“We need to talk about that, Rocky.”

“Wait a minute. Homicide? You’re tryin’ to pin his murder on me, aren’t you? No way. I’m happy he’s dead, but I didn’t kill him.”

“Then here’s your chance to clear it up, once and for all.”

“Yeah, right, like you guys are gonna believe me.”

“You tell the truth, we’ll believe you.”

“That’s bullshit and we both know it.”

“It’s not bullshit, Rocky. We’ll listen to what you have to say.”

“You bastards ain’t nothin’ but bullshit artists.”

 “Tell you what, Rocky. You let us in and agree to talk, here’s what I’ll do. I’ll call ahead and line up an attorney to sit in with us. You won’t even have to ask for legal representation. That’s a deal I’ve never made before. What do you say?”

“Same thing I said before . . . you’re a bullshit artist.”

“No, I’m not. You don’t have to say a thing until the attorney gets here. You have my word on it.”

“Yeah, well, how much do you think your word means to me? Less than nothing, that’s how much. And if I did believe you, what kind of lawyer would you call? Another money-grubbin’ loser like Colt Rogers? No, thanks.”  

“Open up, Rocky,” Dantzler said, forcefully.

“Go away. I ain’t sayin’ nothin’.”

“We’re not leaving, Rocky, so you might as well let us in.”

“Go to hell.”

“Open the door, Rocky.”

“Sure. Let me unhook this chain.”

Seconds after Stone closed the door, Dantzler and Milt heard two familiar sounds—the dead bolt closing and a bullet being jacked into the chamber of a weapon.

“Gun,” Milt said, ducking to the side of the door. “The dumb bastard’s gonna make this difficult.”

Dantzler, Glock in his right hand, leaned across and banged on the door with his left fist. “Don’t be crazy, Rocky. Nobody is accusing you of anything. All we want to do is get some facts straight.”

Silence.

“Rocky, open up,” Dantzler yelled. “Let’s talk.”

Dantzler pressed an ear against the door, listened, and heard the sounds of movement coming from inside the house. A chair scraping the wooden floor, Stone laughing out loud, footsteps, a door slamming shut.

“He’s bolting,” Dantzler said, turning the doorknob. “Godammit, he’s jammed the door shut.”

“This is gonna get ugly,” Milt said. “Knew I should’ve put in those damn retirement papers.”

From behind the house a sudden burst of gunfire shattered the quiet. After a few moments of silence, more gunfire erupted, another staccato burst, followed by silence. Dantzler could tell from the sounds that Stone was exchanging fire with Eric and Scott. He also knew Stone had far more firepower than the two detectives.

“That’s an automatic,” Milt said, reading Dantzler’s mind. “I guess that answers our question about whether or not he’s armed.”

Staying in a crouch, Dantzler and Milt moved quickly toward the back, hugging the fence like a pair of rats. Ten feet from the end, they saw Stone send a hail of bullets toward Eric and Scott. Stone turned and ran past a big oak tree, pausing long enough to insert a new clip into his rifle, then headed for the street, stopping every few yards to spray more bullets at the detectives.

Dantzler reached the end of the fence and immediately looked to his left. Eric, partially hidden behind a girl’s bicycle, was on one knee, gun in his right hand firing at Stone while keeping his left hand pressed against Scott’s chest.

“Oh, shit, Scott’s been hit,” Dantzler yelled to Milt. “Call for backup and go help Eric. Keep that damn kid alive, Milt. I’m going after Stone.”

Milt went left toward Eric and Scott, cell phone at his ear, screaming orders for backup and an ambulance. Cramming the phone into his pocket, he knelt next to Eric, who now had both hands on Scott’s wound. Scott was alive—barely. His eyes were open, he was white as a snowman, but he was breathing.

“You hang in there, Rookie,” Milt said, putting his hands over the wound. “Medics will be here in seconds. Keep those eyes open, hear me? That’s an order.”

Dantzler was about to cross Palms Drive when he saw Stone dart between two houses, veer to his right, and disappear behind a large storage shed. Dantzler crossed the street, took cover behind a black Honda Accord, and checked the clip in his Glock. As sirens wailed in the distance, Dantzler duckwalked past the Honda, using a row of cars for cover, until he was even with the opening Stone had taken. He raised his head in an effort to see Stone, but had to duck down quickly when a new burst of gunfire shattered the car’s front windshield and blew out the right front tire.

Dantzler returned fire, waited for a second assault from Stone, and was surprised when nothing happened. Briefly, he entertained the thought that one of his bullets had wounded or killed Stone. But that was, he knew, only wishful thinking. Stone was too well protected by the shed to have been hit. Seconds later, Stone made it official that he was alive and well by rattling off another dozen shots, all of which did further damage to the car protecting Dantzler.