Polly Iyer - Diana Racine 03 - Backlash (30 page)

“
I
want
to leave with you,” Diana said to Lucier. He had pulled her into the bedroom to talk in private. “I can help. You know I can.”

“Yes, and so does Craven. If he doesn’t know we’re on to him, he’ll take you out first, because he can never be in your company without fearing what you’ll see.”

Lucier put his arms around her, and she melted into him.

“I don’t want you accessible until we have him in custody. You’re safe here, and knowing that allows me to focus on my job.”

“It’s not fair.” She sounded like a petulant child but couldn’t help herself. She wanted to be in on getting the man who put enough heroin into Lucier to turn him into an addict.

Lucier pulled back from her so he could look at her straight on. “It won’t be fair if he kills you, Diana. He’s been involved in at least a dozen deaths, and who knows how many we don’t know about. He’s eliminated everyone who could incriminate him, and you could. Even people who don’t believe in psychics believe in you.”

“You mean all those who’ve called me a fraud over the years?”

“Yes, even those. Craven’s afraid of you. He indicated that to me when I joked that he passed something to you the first time you met. He didn’t think it was a joke.”

“You’re not a hundred percent, Ernie. You need me to take care of you.”

He planted a kiss on the top of her head. “No, but I’m eighty percent, and that’s enough for me to do my job.”

“That means you’re twenty percent slower going up against a killer who’s already eliminated everyone in his way.”

“I’ll be all right. Believe me, I know the difference between the way I felt even yesterday and today. We’ll wrap this up quickly. Give me a day or two.”

Pouting, she said, “Okay, but make it a day.”

“I don’t want to be away from you any longer than that,” he said.

They joined the others in the living room. “Diana is staying here,” Lucier said.

Rickett got up. “Let’s go, guys. I’ve got a job to go to.”

“Me too,” Lucier said, “and this might be my hardest day as a cop.”

Beecher put his hand on Lucier’s shoulder. “You okay, Ernie? I mean, you know.”

“I’ll be fine. I must be. I want a big juicy burger.”

“Come on,” Beecher said. “My treat.”

“You’re on.”

“You too, Rickett.”

“I know just the place.”

Diana watched them go, and her heart went with them.

“He’ll be all right,” Walt said.

“Are you sure?”

“I’d bet money. Come on. Thinking about that juicy hamburger got me hungry. You like pizza?”

“Love it.”

“I’ll order in. What toppings do you like?”

“Whatever. I’m not fussy.”

Starr called in for a supreme topped with every veggie they had and extra cheese. “Come on. I’ll give you a hot game of Scrabble.”

“You’re on.”

* * * * *

W
illy
Cash left the office to grab a quick bite of dinner at Hot Diggity Dog when he got Beecher’s call that he and the lieutenant were back at the district. He crammed the last bite of his double-double into his mouth, along with the remaining French fries, and was about to toss the wrappers in the trash barrel when he ran into Ralph Stallings.

“Hey,” Stallings said. “How’s Lieutenant Lucier? Haven’t seen him around lately. How’s he doing after getting shot? Your captain said he was on vacation.”

Careful, Willy
. Only a few people knew what was going on. “He’s been at a friend’s recuperating , but he came back today. When did you see Captain Craven?”

“He called the other day to ask if we had a safe house in the area. Something about a murder witness needing protection or something.”

Cash’s pulse ticked up a couple of notches. “What did you tell him?”

“I told him we did.”

“Did … you tell him where the safe house was?”

“Yeah. He wanted to look it over. I was pretty sure I could get permission for him to use it if the witness was really in danger. Why?”

Cash thought his head was going to split open. “No, nothing. I mean that’s fine. We need to keep the guy safe. Gotta run, Agent Stallings. Good to see you.”

“What’s the rush? Why don’t you order a cup of coffee and join me?”

“I’ve already eaten, but thanks. Really, I’ve got to run.” Cash had his phone to his ear before he left the restaurant.
Shit, shit.
Was
the lieutenant still at the safe house? Did he have his phone?
Rather than waste time finding out, he called Rickett instead, knowing that what Rickett did now could break his cover. Cash caught him as he was parking at his district and told him what he learned.

“I just left them at their station, Cash. Call Beecher; I’ll call Walt and warn him.”

Cash took down the address of the safe house and called Beecher. “That’s what I said. Craven knows where the safe house is.” Cash heard Beecher relay the information to Lucier. The lieutenant’s rare expletive reverberated over the phone.

“We’re heading back,” Beecher said. “Meet you there.”

* * * * *

“
S
even
letters,” Walt said putting down his tiles on the Scrabble board.

“Taurine? What kind of word is taurine?”

“Taurine is similar to an amino acid, originally found in ox bile, hence from the Latin t
aurus
.”

“That’s not fair,” Diana whined. “You know all these medical words.” She slumped back in her chair, arms across her chest. “I don’t want to play anymore.”

“Sore sport. Just because I get fifty extra points you don’t want to play. They’re all one-point letters. It could have been a lot worse.”

She scowled. “Okay, but I don’t like it.”

The doorbell rang. “Pizza delivery,” Walt said.

While Diana figured out where to use the crappy letters on her rack, Walt went to open the door. His cell chimed on the table as soon as he left. She heard a few exchanged words, then two muffled shots. The door slammed and within a heartbeat, Jack Craven entered the room wielding a gun. He dashed toward her.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” he said.

Everything happened so fast, and purely from instinct, she flipped the Scrabble board into his face. Tiles flew everywhere. He swatted the squares away and swore something she couldn’t make out. All she could think of was getting away. She charged toward the bedroom, hoping there was a lock on the door, but he caught her arm before she could get there and he yanked her around.

“I said not to do anything stupid, and what do you do? Something stupid.”

He squeezed her arm until she saw stars. Wrenching it away, she said, “Did you kill Walt?”

“Don’t worry about him. Worry about yourself.”

“You won’t get away with this. Ernie knows you’re the boss. Everyone does. Give yourself up, Captain.”

Craven stopped, didn’t move a muscle. “That’s what I wanted to know.” He pulled her to his side. “You’re my ticket out of here. Now move.”

At the front door, Diana saw not only Walt but the pizza delivery boy. Walt had collapsed forward. Blood pooled around his middle. The delivery kid lay off to the side, crumpled, the upended pizza slices all over the entry. Diana broke free and went to Walt. She touched his neck, and a faint pulse tickled her fingertips.

Thank God, he’s breathing.

She saw Walt’s gun in his hand under his body. She covered his lab coat over so Craven couldn’t see. Oh, how she wanted to reach for that gun, but she doubted she could get it, and her action might cause Craven to pump another bullet into Walt, and her. She didn’t have a chance anyway, because Craven yanked her to a standing position. His touch burned through her but didn’t offer anything other than fear.

“How could you do this, Captain? You’re supposed to be one of the good guys.”

“No time for conversation. Let’s go.”

He nudged the delivery boy out of the way and opened the door. Diana looked back. Walt held his gun in a shaky hand and aimed. Diana jerked out of the way so he could get a clean shot. The gun sounded like a canon, and Craven lurched forward.

“Goddammit,” he said, gaining his equilibrium. “This is why you never leave anyone alive.” He swung around and aimed at Walt, but Diana pushed his gun arm to the side.

“Don’t,” she cried out.

Craven shoved her to the floor and aimed again.

Approaching sirens stopped him cold.

“Go,” she said, hoping to buy time for Walt. “You can get away. Go. Don’t make it worse for yourself by killing a fed.”

Blood was flowering under the arm of Craven’s jacket. He pulled Diana to her feet. “I’m going, but you’re going with me.”

L
ucier
held on as Beecher slammed his foot on the accelerator and headed back to the safe house. “How long have we been gone, Sam? Fifteen minutes? Twenty?”

“About.”

Sweat beaded on Lucier’s face and neck; his stomach twisted into a hard knot. Fear or withdrawal symptoms? Probably a bit of both, he determined.

“If Craven was lying in wait ―” Lucier couldn’t finish. If anything happened to Diana or Walt, he’d track down Craven and kill him with his bare hands. He wiped the sweat dripping down the sides of his face, ignoring the concern he saw on Beecher’s face out of the corner of his eye.

“You all right, Ernie?”

“I’ll tell you in a few minutes.” Worrying about what might be going on at the safe house took his mind off the fact that he’d rather crawl into bed and stay there for the rest of the night. He forced himself calm by inhaling deep breaths.

A police car, lights flashing, sat at the curb, along with an ambulance. One cop was on the phone at the cruiser, another was at the open door of the safe house. Two paramedics were working on the bodies sprawled inside the door.

Two bodies. Diana and Walt are the only ones here
.

Beecher screeched to a stop. Lucier launched out of the car and raced up the walkway. Beecher huffed and puffed behind him. With each quickened step, Lucier’s stomach churned with terror. Within a few seconds, he saw Walt and a pizza delivery boy amid spattered blood and pizza slices.

No, Diana
. The tightness in his gut intensified.

Beecher flashed his badge to the young cop. “Detective Beecher and Lieutenant Lucier, homicide. How long have you been here?”

“Five minutes. The two victims sustained gunshot wounds, but they’re both alive. I did a quick run-through inside. Paramedics just got here.”

“Anyone else inside?” Lucier asked.

“No. House is empty.”

Lucier wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. “Good work. Check on Walt, Sam. Then put out a BOLO on Craven’s car. We left here less than a half an hour ago. They can’t have gotten far. I’m going to look around inside.”

“This is a crime scene,” the officer said. “You can’t go in there and disturb evidence.”

“Don’t worry, young man,” Beecher said, kneeling beside Walt. “We old guys know the ropes.”

Half listening, Lucier brushed past the uniform, his nerves strung like catgut on a guitar, hoping he could hold himself together. He heard Beecher call in the BOLO.

“He’s holding a hostage, and he’s armed and dangerous,” Beecher said. “Yes, that’s who I said. Just put out the BOLO, please. Huh? Beecher, Detective Sam Beecher.”

Inside the house, Lucier searched every room. No sign of Diana. Other than the Scrabble board and tiles spread over the living room, the place looked the same as when he left.

Nausea threatened, and Lucier bee-lined for the bathroom where he dry heaved. After splashing cold water on his face, he looked in the mirror. Better than the other day but still scary. How could a person of color be so pale? He popped a Tagamet and some anti-nausea liquid Walt kept in the medicine chest and went into the living room.

“You look rough, boss,” Beecher whispered. “Maybe you should lie down for a while.”

“I’m okay. How’re Walt and the kid?”

“Walt’s not good. The kid’ll live. Shoulder wound.”

Lucier rubbed the back of his neck. “If I hadn’t pushed Walt to let me go, I could have stopped this. Walt would be fine, and Diana would still be here playing Scrabble.”

“The only thing you’d’ve stopped is a bullet, Ernie.”

He glanced at the two bodies, reeling that Craven, his boss, a man he’d known for years as an honest cop, could have done something so cold-blooded. “They didn’t stand a chance.”

“Craven took Diana for a bargaining chip. She’s smart. She’ll talk him down, you’ll see. She’s done it before. He won’t kill her.”

Lucier wished he felt as confident.

“Good work,” one of the medics said to the cop.

“I was a medic in Iraq,” the cop said. “Training came in handy today.”

Lucier patted the guy on his shoulder. “You have my admiration.

“Mine too,” Beecher said.

Lucier bent down. “Sorry, friend,” he whispered in Walt’s ear. “We’ll get the bastard who did this. I promise.”

The medics worked fast and within minutes they lifted Walt onto a gurney.

“Will he make it?” Lucier asked as the paramedic rolled the gurney down the driveway.

“Best guess? Fifty-fifty.”

Lucier watched as they loaded the boy and Walt in the ambulances and took off.

Beecher put his hand on Lucier’s shoulder. “You got nothing to be sorry for. You could be on that gurney.”

Lucier nodded. They walked back to the house. Lucier scanned the living room and entry. If Diana could have left a clue she would have. He’d never wanted psychic abilities, knowing what Diana went through each time she drew on her powers, but he wished he had them tonight. Anything to get a bead on where she was.

He put himself there twenty minutes before. The pizza boy arrives. Walt sees him through the peephole and opens the door. Craven barges in with the delivery kid. He shoots Walt and the kid and grabs Diana.

He noticed Walt’s gun lying where his body had been. Lucier lifted the weapon with his pen and sniffed it.

“Walt took a shot.”

Beecher opened a plastic bag, and Lucier dropped the gun inside. Something struck him as out of place. Something he barely noticed when he came in. He stepped onto the walkway and followed the trail. Bending down, he ran his finger across a streak of blood, then followed drops onto the grass. He looked back to where the bodies had lain.

“Notice anything unusual here, Sam?”

“Craven’s hit.”

“Yeah, Walt wouldn’t have taken a shot if he thought he’d hit Diana, so my guess is he hit Craven.”

Cash and Rickett drove up at the same time.

“Where’s Walt and Diana?” Rickett asked.

Lucier explained what they found and what they surmised.

Rickett’s face burned red. “If Walt dies, Craven’s mine.”

“Stand in line,” Lucier said. “You can have what’s left of him after I finish.”

Cash looked around. “Don’t want to ask this, but where’s Diana?”

“With Craven,” Beecher said.

“I’d say fuck right now,” Cash said, “’cept I don’t swear. But goddammit, fuck. Leave room for me in that line.”

Lucier smiled. He knew how much Cash and Diana liked each other. “Make sure the crime scene techs take swabs of that blood, Willy, and get them typed. I’m betting it’s Craven’s.”

“He knows we’re onto him,” Rickett said, “so he can’t go to the hospital.”

“Craven’s the type who gets all his ducks in a row. Money, passport, clothes. That’s what I’d do.”

“And no one is more organized than you,” Beecher said.

“Except Jack. That’s what we had in common. We thought alike, always on the same page. He isn’t some confused psycho. He’s been on a mission, and he’s calculated this from the beginning, preparing for the time he had to flee.”

Cash looked around at all of them. “So you know where’s he going, Lieutenant?”

“Unless the wound is life threatening, I know what I’d be doing. I’d head for the border, and I’d have another car accessible.” Lucier rubbed his head. “Jesus, even as I’m saying that, I don’t believe we’re talking about the Jack Craven. What the hell turned him? What did we miss?”

“Getting even with the guy who hurt his daughter,” Cash said. “And while he was at it, taking out the judge that let the drunk off. That’s what.”