Act of Love (14 page)

SUNDAY ... 1:30
a.m.

The hospital clock said 1:30. Hanson paced the sterile aisles like a test rat in search of the cheese. Rachel sat quietly in one of the hall chairs clenching her hands. She was clenching so tightly the circulation in them was nearly dead.

Rachel watched Hanson. He had aged ten years overnight it seemed, and her earlier comment certainly hadn't helped him any. She licked her dry lips, said, "Marve."

He stopped pacing. "Yes?"

"What I said earlier. I'm sorry. I was upset. I didn't mean it."

He smiled. "That's all right. It was well deserved. I have been acting foolish."

"I said he was after us because of you. You're just doing your job. I'm sorry."

"Forget it."

"Marve?"

"Yes?"

"I truly am sorry."

Hanson went over and sat in the chair beside her, held her cold hands in one of his. "It's going to be all right. You'll see."

"You think it was The Hacker that caused the wreck?"

Hanson shook his head. "I don't know. Just know what Fierd told me and what the doctor said."

"She did say a man was chasing them. A man in a blue van with a raincoat."

"That's what the doctor said. But she was hysterical when she came to. A bump on the head . . ."

"You don't believe that. It was The Hacker."

"Yeah," Hanson said. "I believe it was."

They both turned to the sudden squeaking of soft shoes. Their family doctor, a short, plump man in his fifties, was coming down the corridor. His face always looked flushed and his nose was the brightest part of it.

Hanson stood up, said almost before the doctor was in hearing distance. "How is she?"

"Mr. and Mrs. Hanson," he said as way of greeting, ignoring Hanson's question.

"Doctor Bran," Hanson said, "how is she?"

"Fine, fine, fine. Healthy girl. Strong. She's in a bit of shock, of course."

"Does she know about, Tommy?" Rachel said.

"No, no. Of course not. Wouldn't want to mention that just now. Told her the boy was in intensive care. She's asked about him several times."

"Shouldn't we just tell her?" Hanson said.

"No. Don't think so. Bad time for that. Shock, you know. Crazy stuff." Bran said, pulling his earlobe.

"JoAnna will be all right?" Rachel asked.

"Fit as a fiddle. Fine. Fine." The doctor paused, looked about as if watching for spys. "Tell you what, and let's not make no big announcement out of this, but I want you to take that gal home."

"Home?" Hanson said. "But you said she was in
shock ..."

"Oh shut up," Bran said pleasantly. "I'm the goddamned doctor around here. Want to see my license?"

Hanson smiled. "No. I seem to remember you delivering Jo Anna."

"And they say elephants have a memory? Now you folks listen to me and stay shushed up 'til I get finished. I'm anxious to get my old tired butt home. I'd like to eat, too. I'm so damn hungry I can see corn bread walkin' on the ground. Now, JoAnna is in a state of shock. Common, of couse, very common in an incident like this. Hospital would love for you to keep her here for observation, lots more money in that. I want to save you folks some money and I want to do JoAnna some good.

"Tonight that nut in the van, whoever he was, put the fear of the Lord into her. She needs to be home. She'll feel more comfortable there. She ain't sleeping worth an owl hoot right now anyway. Too nervous, shock, different surroundings. Do her a whale of good to spend the night in her own bed. That all right with you folks?"

"Fine with me," Rachel said quickly.

"You sure it's all right? I mean, it won't do her any harm?"

"Think I'd make much of a living killing off my patients, son?"

"No sir."

"Then shut up and let's check that kid of yours out. Someone in a bad way might need that bed."

"Lieutenant," a voice called from the end of the hall. The trio turned. A handsome man in his fifties had just stepped out of the elevator, walking briskly their way. He wore a three hundred dollar suit, dark brown with a matching tie against a dark green shirt. His highly polished brown shoes caught the light and threw it away as he walked. It was Captain Fredricks.

"Captain," Hanson said.

Fredricks held out his hand, shook with Hanson, Bran and finally Rachel. To her he said, "Been awhile since I've seen you."

"Yes, it has."

Fredricks took on a sour expression. "Sorry about the circumstances."

"She's quite all right," Rachel said.

"That's good," Fredricks answered, "that's very good." After a moment of awkward silence Fredricks said, "If I can be forgiven for this, is it possible that the Lieutenant and I could be alone for a moment, to talk something over. I'm afraid it's private."

"Why don't you," Doctor Bran said. "Me and your missus will get the check-out business over with. All kinds of doodly-do before you can get someone out of one of these institutions." Bran took Rachel's arm. "Come on, Mrs. Hanson, and try to look like my date. I'd like to give them snooty young doctors something to think about."

Rachel laughed. "Silly."

"Go ahead," Hanson said. "I'll be along."

"Nobody is worrying about you," Doctor Bran said, and he and Rachel, arm in arm, went down the corridor.

"I'm afraid this is a bit of a business matter, personal too. I got a call on this from Fierd over at the Pasadena
station ..."

"I'm sorry he called. There was no need for him to bother you at this time of night."

"Don't even say it. I like to keep tabs on my folks. Makes for a better team. First off, I'm really sorry about what happened."

"Thank you. I got a note, and a
box ... I
turned them over to the Pasadena police. They were supposed to take my key and go by . . ."

"They did. I've talked to Fierd about it. Terrible thing to get in the mail. We're looking for the girl's body now. No idea where to look, of course, but we've got missing person reports out. That might draw in something."

"But this isn't what you came here to talk to me about, is it?"

"Not exactly." Fredricks waved his hand at the lobby chairs. "Let's sit a minute."

When they were seated Fredricks said, "Your daughter supposedly mumbled something to the paramedic about a man trying to kill them, trying to force them off the road."

"Correct."

"Well, we're certain that man was The Hacker."

"Certain?"

"Pasadena station got a phone call. It was from The Hacker. He admitted to it, said, 'I'm going to get the nigger and his family tonight.' "

"Jesus H. Christ!"

"It may just be talk, but it's a threat. I'd like to ask you a favor. You can decline if you like, and you may want to after I explain."

"Ask away," Hanson said.

"I want you to play like the bait in the trap."

"I don't follow altogether."

"You and Rachel go home and act like you know nothing about the phone call, or at least not that you're concerned. We're going to post men outside and inside the house. You'll have plenty of protection."

"If he's a cop he'll know that. He might even be one of the men."

"No. I've thought of that. It's occurred to me that he might know of our plans, but if he's as screwy as he seems, he just might try anyway, and I'll pick cops who have airtight alibis for the days of the murders. If he tries we've got him. If not, well, I sleep better knowing you're safe. Matter of fact, I'm anticipating a bit. I've already had your house thoroughly searched in case he's lying in wait, and I've posted the cops. Got four on the outside—two in front across the street, and two out back. Got two men inside, or will have. Just one right now. I'm going to add a man to that."

"And you'll have me."

Fredricks was silent a moment. "Lieutenant. You're a good cop, but I don't want you on this thing."

"What?"

"You'll be in the house, of course . . . But I don't even want you carrying a gun."

"It's my family."

"That's why I don't want you totin' iron. Lieutenant—and I don't mean this unkindly—you've been a little, how do they say? Off your feed as of late."

Hanson opened his mouth to complain but said nothing. He remembered how he had run off and left Rachel alone. He had been in a blind panic.

"You're right." Hanson said. "You're absolutely right."

SUNDAY . . . 2:30
a.m.

Without his gun hugging his ribs, Hanson felt sexually neutered. He hated to admit there was anything to that man and his gun
stuff,
but it was almost as if someone had ripped away his manhood in one brutal swipe. He had been carrying that Colt Python for so long it seemed like a part of him.

Was he that bad? That tense? Surely they didn't think he was going to snap and start shooting cops and family. No. More likely they feared he'd pot-shoot The Hacker if he showed up. And he would have, too.

He sat quietly in the dark at the dining room table shuffling a deck of cards in a slow, whispery manner. It was just something to do with his hands. It was too dark to see the face of the cards as well. Across from him, hands in lap, making no more movement than a stuffed iguana, was a detective-sergeant named Raul Martinez. He was one of the inside duty men; the other had yet to show up.

Few words had passed between Hanson and Martinez, and much of the reason was that too much talk might discourage The Hacker should he come lurking out of the dark and up to the house for a looksee and a listen.

No matter what the reason, Hanson was grateful for the silence. He wasn't in a mood to talk. He was in a mood to think. It hardly seemed likely to him that The Hacker would try anything. The guy was no fool. He wouldn't call and not expect the police to act just as they were acting; especially if he himself were a cop. But then madmen were not to be figured.

What was it old Doc Warren had said, something about this man being intelligent, a cold and calculating killer? Something like that. And that being the case, he wasn't going to walk willy-nilly into any simple trap.

Then why the threat? Was it to keep Houston's finest on their collective toes? It didn't make sense. Unless it was a cop who delighted in plaguing the department.

That made him wonder. The thought had been there before, almost surfaced like a bloated drowning victim several times, but he had held it under. He let it surface now. The thought became totally alive. The thought was: was The Hacker Joe?

It seemed so unlikely. He knew Joe well. Joe was his closest friend. But things added up. Like tonight, Rachel told him she had called Joe for comfort, but that there was no answer. Him not being home, or not answering, didn't make him The Hacker, but it certainly added to suspicion.

Hanson began to sort the characteristics Warren had given him, put them in order with what he knew about Joe.

Warren said that The Hacker was most likely a loner. Joe was certainly that. Hanson didn't even know where he lived and he was his best friend. Joe had suffered a major trauma in his life when his marriage had fallen through. He was constantly trying to discourage violent thought and action on Hanson's part. Maybe it was just because Hanson was overly obsessed with the killer, or maybe it was because Joe was trying to make things easier on himself. Could it have been him that talked to the captain about his outburst in Evans' office, instead of Barlowe or Evans himself? Made sense. It certainly could be Joe.

Christ! Joe? The man who was his partner? The man he called friend?

Stop that kind of thinking, he told himself. It's ridiculous.

But the thought wouldn't go away. The idea grew like mold the more Hanson considered it.

SUNDAY . . . 2:45
a.m.

They were fools, absolute fools to think they could outsmart him. And they would try. Did they think him so stupid as not to expect police protection for Hanson's family?

No. He wasn't a fool. He wanted it that way. It added to the game, the fun.

No. He wasn't a fool. He was hungry. That's what he was. Hungry to give pain and to see and taste blood.

SUNDAY . . . 2:46
a.m.

Joe Clark's phone rang. He answered it on the first ring.

"Hello," Clark said.

"This is Captain Fredricks."

"Yes, Captain."

"Excuse the hour."

"No problem. I don't sleep worth a good goddamn anyway. Insomnia."

"This is important or I wouldn't have called."

"Hit me with it."

Briefly, but with great accuracy, Fredricks told Clark the events of the night, the threat and the precautions he had taken.

"And JoAnna is okay?" Clark asked.

"As well as can be expected. The doctor thought she'd do better at home."

"Good.' "What?'

"Good. Good she's home. I suppose you have something you want me to do?"

"Yeah. One reason I want you for what I have in mind is that you and Hanson are close. Actually, I think there are enough men there already, five to be exact, two out front, two at the back and one inside. But I promised Hanson two inside. I want that other man to be you, someone he knows, feels comfortable with, and can trust. I meant to get you there earlier, but couldn't get hold of you."

"I went to a movie."

"Yeah, well, I want you inside. I don't have to tell you that I think Hanson is close to cracking down. I took him off the case and even had him hand over his gun."

"That right?"

"Yeah. He's ripe for stupidity these days."

"Yes, sir. Afraid that's true."

"That day you told me about the outburst in Evans' office, I should have taken his ass off the case then. Immediately. I don't think I've done him a bit of good, or the investigation, by keeping him on."

"You used your best judgment, sir. Gorilla—Lieutenant Hanson—has always been a fine officer; lately he's just had some pressure. I don't know why. In the field too long, maybe."

"Thanks, Sergeant. Now get over there and park out of sight, walk up to the house. I'll call Mitchel and tell him you're coming. He's in an old Volkswagen bus parked across the street against the curb. You'll find him and Tyler easy enough."

"On my way. —And sir?"

"Yes."

"Thanks."

"All right. I knew you'd want to be close to the lieutenant at a time like this."

"You got that right on the head, sir."

"Best of luck."

"Yeah. So long, Captain."

They both hung up.