Gnosis (32 page)

When the shooting stopped, Dantzler peered over the car’s hood and saw Stone running hard between the houses. Dantzler gulped in fresh air to refill his burning lungs, stood up, and began to give chase. As he reached the opening between houses, he heard noise coming from behind. Turning, he saw Eric moving at blinding speed, gun in his bloody right hand, a hard look of hate on his face. Before Dantzler could say a word, Eric raced past, quickly closing in on Stone, who had made the crucial mistake of running into an alley with no exit.

Realizing he was trapped, Stone, now desperate and panicked, swung around, steadied himself, and prepared for what he had to know would be his last stand. Screaming like a mortally wounded animal, Stone lifted his rifle and took dead aim at Eric.

Then in a flash Stone’s head came apart. Blood, bone, and brain matter painted a grotesque mural on the side of the house Stone was standing in front of. The rifle fired skyward as it flew from his hands. Stone tumbled to the ground, right leg twitching for several seconds, his shattered head at the center of an expanding pool of blood. After several more seconds, the twitching stopped and his breathing ceased.

Eric had ended the rampage with a single shot.

Dantzler got to Stone’s body first. Out of habit, he kicked the weapon, a .223 assault rifle, away from Stone’s right hand. He thought about checking for a pulse, but knew it wasn’t necessary. Kevin “Rocky” Stone was a goner.

“You okay?” Dantzler said to Eric.

“Never felt better.”

“That was some serious cowboy shit you pulled, Eric. You should be thankful you aren’t the one lying on the ground.”

“He shot my partner. I had to go after him.”

“Is Scott still alive?”

“Yeah. But he’s hurt bad.”

“You know, Eric, if I wasn’t so damn relieved, I’d be pretty pissed at you.”

Eric nodded, started to say something, but didn’t.

Dantzler put an arm on Eric’s shoulder and said, “But eventually I would get over it.”

*****

The man watched with delight as the deadly scene unfolded in front of him like a wild big screen cops-and-robbers shootout. And damn it had all happened so fast, like a lightning bolt from the sky. First nothing, now this. Amazing. Less than twenty minutes ago, this had been a quiet, peaceful suburban neighborhood; now it was a war zone. He had anticipated drama, even as he followed Dantzler to Stone’s house, but he had never expected action of this magnitude. This far exceeded his wildest expectations.

Keeping his head low, baseball cap shadowing his blue eyes, he watched as two police cruisers and an ambulance zoomed down Alexandria and turned onto Palms Drive. Sirens wailed, detectives and uniformed cops arrived like storm troopers, intent on getting in on the action. Medics showed up, hoping to save the wounded. All part of a scene that had dissolved into chaos and bedlam and pandemonium, fueled by the combined energies of death and madness and fear. Curious neighbors stepped out of their houses, all eagle eyes, desperate to get a closer look at what had just happened. Frightened mothers ran screaming and crying, grabbing up young children and herding them to safety. Above, a helicopter from one of the TV stations hovered like a mechanical raven waiting to swoop down and photograph the chaos. A live, real-time video game for the viewing audience. Tonight’s ratings would be sky high.

Beautiful, the man said to himself, just peachy. He smiled and shook his head. Leave it to a worthless nobody like Rocky Stone to cause this kind of madness. Like the TV ad says, shit like this is priceless.

What the man didn’t know, and wouldn’t be able to find out until later, was the outcome of all the gunfire. Somebody had been killed, that much was a given. He’d been in similar situations, where bullets were flying in all directions, and it was rare when there wasn’t at least one casualty. But who? Was Rocky dead? Dantzler? One of the other detectives? Maybe, he thought, they were all dead. Now, that would be peachy.

Regardless of the outcome, whether Dantzler was alive or dead, the man realized his course of action had been altered. Thanks to today’s events, a heavy and dangerous burden had been lifted. After today, there was no longer a pressing need to eliminate Dantzler, even if the famous detective had been lucky enough to survive the gun battle. Given what happened today, and given the facts that would be uncovered in the next few days, Dantzler would have no choice but to close the file on Rocky Stone.

And Eli Whitehouse.

The man’s smile widened.

He was now free and clear.

Dantzler remained at the scene until well after dark, overseeing the removal of Stone’s body, the collection of evidence—early estimates had it at more than a hundred rounds fired during the skirmish—and rehashing the series of events for Don Andrews, the new guy in IAB. He also made a point to be on hand when Eric had his initial debriefing with Andrews. Dantzler wanted to make certain Andrews understood it was a good shoot. After hearing the evidence and walking through the crime scene with Dantzler and Eric, Andrews’s preliminary assessment was that Eric had acted within the proper guidelines.

At nine-fifteen, with little left to do except stand around and watch the capable crime scene techs do their thing, Dantzler hopped in his car and headed for the hospital. Turning onto Alexandria, he saw Eric standing on the sidewalk in front of the Lopez house, talking with three uniformed officers. Some of Scott’s old buddies, no doubt bent on hearing all the gory details of the bloody gunfight, each one expressing disappointment at having not been involved while secretly thankful they weren’t.

Dantzler pulled up next to the sidewalk and motioned for Eric. “Go home, Eric. Get some rest. Tomorrow will be a long day. You’ll need to be sharp.”

“I will,” Eric said. “But first I need to check on Scott.”

“No, you need to go home. That’s an order.”

“But . . . he’s my partner.”

“Go home.”

“Shit,” Eric said, walking away.

Arriving at the hospital, Dantzler couldn’t find an empty space so he reluctantly parked in a handicapped spot. Hurrying from his vehicle, he entered the hospital through the emergency room, badge out, fully prepared to bulldoze any media person foolish enough to stick a microphone or camera in his face. It had already been a long, strenuous day, and it was still a long way from over. He wasn’t about to rest until he knew Scott’s status. Given the seriousness of Scott’s wound, it could be hours before anyone knew anything for certain.

In the emergency room, Dantzler spied Kathy Ramsey, a nurse he recognized from the Tennis Center. Pulling her aside, he asked where Scott would have been taken. Kathy said Scott was in surgery on the second floor. Dantzler didn’t ask for further details, and she volunteered no additional information. He thanked her and headed for the elevator.

Predictably, the waiting area was standing room only, the visitors evenly divided among family, friends, and police personnel. Dantzler eased to the right, where Laurie was talking to Richard Bird and Bruce Rawlinson. She waved and forced a smile when she saw Dantzler coming her way. Dantzler nodded, and then turned his attention to Scott’s family.

Scott’s father was leaning against a wall, head down, eyes directed straight at the floor. Judging by his attire—slacks, polo shirt, loafers—he had probably been on the golf course when word came that his only son had been seriously wounded in a shootout. He was a big man, much like Scott, and it was easy to see a strong resemblance between father and son. It was also impossible to miss the concern written on his face.

Mrs. Crofton, hands clasped together, prayer beads wrapped around her fingers, sat between her two daughters and a priest. None of them spoke, and they all had that dazed, faraway look so often seen in hospital waiting areas or hospital chapels, those solemn places where hope and despair and fear and uncertainty swirl around inside a person like an EF5 tornado.

Waiting for a life-or-death medical report on a loved one was, Dantzler knew, nothing less than hell on earth. And when it was the parent waiting for news concerning the fate of a child, the worry and anxiety and panic factors multiplied ten-fold. Losing a child was every parent’s worst fear.

All heads turned when the automatic door opened and one of the surgeons came into the waiting area. He immediately located the Croftons and went directly to them. As the doctor huddled with Scott’s family, Bird and Dantzler moved closer to the group, stopping just outside the circle but close enough to hear the news.

Good news.

The surgery went well, the doctor said, and Scott’s life was no longer in danger. There had been significant blood loss, Scott’s collarbone had been shattered by the bullet, and there was the remote possibility of permanent nerve damage in the shoulder or arm. That wouldn’t be determined until later. But if there was no infection or unforeseen complications, Scott stood an excellent chance of making a complete recovery. All things considered, the doctor concluded, Scott Crofton was one very lucky young man.

“Thank God for small miracles,” Bird said as Scott’s parents and sisters hugged each other. “No, let me amend that. Thank God for big miracles. I certainly wasn’t counting on news this positive.”

“Based on how he looked at the scene, neither was I.” Dantzler motioned for Laurie. “Get Eric on the phone and give him the news. I’m sure he’s dying to know what’s going on.”

Laurie stepped away from the crowd, opened her cell phone, and began punching in numbers.

“Where is Eric?” Bird asked.

“I sent him home,” Dantzler said. “Actually, I had to order him to go home. Made Milt follow to make sure he went to his house rather than come here.”

“Tell you something, Jack. If I’d been in Eric’s shoes, just witnessed my partner being gunned down, I would’ve told you to go straight to hell. Then I would’ve come straight to the hospital.”

“That’s pretty much what Eric said. But I felt he’d been through enough today. He’s going to have a helluva day tomorrow, so I thought it best for him to get some rest.” Dantzler watched Laurie snap her cell phone shut. “You give him the news?”

“Yeah, him and Milt,” Laurie said. “Eric kinda sounded like he was fighting back tears. I got the feeling he didn’t think Scott had much of a chance.”

“That makes two of us,” Dantzler said. “We can thank Eric and Milt for saving Scott’s life. They kept him from bleeding out.”

Dantzler checked his watch. It was just shy of ten-thirty. Taking out his cell phone, he punched in some numbers. After three rings, Charlie Bolton answered.

“You still have any Anchor Steam in the fridge?” Dantzler said.

“Always.”

“You smell like dead fish?”

“Not that I’m aware of.”

“I’m on my way.”

“Heard the Crofton kid was hit pretty bad,” Charlie said after he and Dantzler were seated at the kitchen table. “How’s he doing?”

“He lost a lot of blood, and there could be some nerve damage to his left arm, but the doctors are optimistic he can make a full recovery. Infections and blood clots are the big concerns at this stage.”

“Sounds encouraging. I’d heard he was hanging on by a thread and would be lucky to pull through.”

“It was dicey until they got him stabilized.”

“How is Eric handling it?”

“He’s fine.”

“You need to keep an eye on him for the next few days, make sure he’s okay. Taking a human life, even a scumbag’s, is something that can eat at a person’s insides, make ’em go a little screwy. I’ve known cops who thought they were handling it okay, then at some point the realization of what they had done hits them like a runaway locomotive and they fall apart. It can slip up on a person, kick ’em into crazyville.”