Inspector Green Mysteries 9-Book Bundle (196 page)

“I’m going down to check outside.” The Tac supervisor scowled at him, but Green ducked through the door before the man could order him to stay the hell away from his operation.

When Green exited the large glass front doors of the station, the afternoon sun was baking the asphalt, and a parched wind buffeted the trees. He hurried along the side of the building towards Metcalfe Street, scanning the area. Police cruisers were peeling out of the underground parking lot. Two swung around the front of the building to cut off the entrance, and three raced towards the Queensway. Red lights strobed the pavement, and sirens screamed.

In the background, his radio crackled with continuous conversation as officers took up positions and reported in. The Tac team was still not in sight, but Green suspected they were already suited up and heading for the rooftop and corners of the station.

“3107 to Central,” snapped a female voice Green recognized as the Hunt Club unit in pursuit. “I have a visual on the red Mustang up ahead, heading east on 417 just before the Parkdale exit.”

“Central to 3107, copy that,” came the response, which Green assumed was the duty inspector. “How far back are you?”

“Just past Carling.” Almost half a kilometre behind, Green thought. Too far!

The Parkdale exit was less that three minutes’ drive from the station at the speed Riley was going. The duty inspector must have read his mind. “What about the Navigator?”

“Right on the Mustang’s ass,” the unit replied. “Maybe fifty metres back.”

“Step on it,” Ford said. “But don’t put on your lights and siren till you’re a lot closer.”

Jesus Christ, Green thought with horror. The bastard’s worrying about legal technicalities when we’ve got two civilians blasting full-tilt down a crowded highway. They’re going to come screaming off the Queensway at the Metcalfe exit, straight into the dense, stop-and-go traffic of downtown.

“Get cruisers to hold back regular traffic on Isabella and Catherine Streets,” he yelled into the radio, not bothering with call signs or radio procedure. The two roads ran along either side of the Queensway, serving as collector lanes. “And get a cruiser ready to cut off the Navigator on the ramp once the Mustang goes through.”

“Already ordered,” came the dry reply from upstairs.

By now, Green could hear insistent honking on the elevated expressway and the blast of sirens as cruisers raced into position. He ran along the side street towards Metcalfe Street, which bordered the back of the station. His eyes were glued to the Queensway which ran overhead just beyond Catherine Street on the opposite side of the station. He could see nothing, but the honking drew nearer, and he knew that any second, the Mustang would come racing down the ramp, under the Queensway and up Metcalfe towards him.

A flash of movement caught the corner of his eye. He glanced up the side street that intersected Metcalfe straight ahead. Two figures were approaching from Bank Street on foot. Women. No, girls. One with bedraggled blonde ringlets and the other...

He froze. What the
fuck!
Hannah! She was hurrying with her head bowed, leaning into the wind. Straight into the path of danger.

“Hannah, stop!”

The traffic roared, and the sirens screamed. Hannah didn’t even look up. Green began to run, waving his arms. “Stop! Stop!” He heard the screech of tires as he reached the intersection. Glanced left. Saw a red flash as the Mustang careened around the corner and spun onto Metcalfe, fishtailing. Green sucked in his breath. Why the hell hadn’t the kid pulled over!

Hannah and Crystal stepped off the curb, oblivious. Green screamed again, and Hannah raised her head. Her eyes locked his. Widened in recognition. She stopped in the middle of the street.

Green glanced at the Mustang and saw Riley wrestling with the steering wheel. Saw his jaw drop as he spotted the girls in his path. He slammed on his brakes. The car began to spin. Tires shrieked, and smoke billowed into the air.

“Back!” Green screamed. Hannah grabbed Crystal and turned to run. Fifteen hundred kilograms of red metal hurtled past Green and hit a lamppost with an explosion of metal and glass. The impact sent hubcaps, glass and chunks of fender flying. The car continued to spin, metal tearing and rubber screaming until it skidded to a stop on the green lawn of the Museum of Nature. An eerie hiss descended on the wreck.

Hannah lay flat against the far curb. As Green raced across the street towards her, she lifted her head. Relief coursed through him. By the time he reached her, she was struggling to sit up.

“Lie still!” he said. “Let the paramedics check you.” His gaze scanned her body, looking for blood, torn clothing. Nothing. Thank God!

“It didn’t hit me, I tripped.” Then she sat up, her eyes wide with horror. “Where’s Crystal?”

The girl was walking slowly across the street towards the mangled car on the lawn. Her arms hung limply at her sides, and her gaze was rivetted to the car. Smoke and steam swirled from the wreck, and the stink of burnt rubber choked the air. Already officers were rushing toward the scene, thrusting Crystal aside. Two of them were peering inside. People shouted, steam hissed, and in the distance Green heard the harsh blasts of a fire engine.

“No-oo!” A bellow rose above the din. Green swung around to see a man leap out of a black
SUV
and charge up the street towards the scene. A flashing squad car was right behind. Reflexively, police officers reached for their holsters. Green grabbed Hannah and thrust her into the shelter of a house on the corner, shielding her with his body.

Uniformed officers swarmed Vic McIntyre with their guns drawn and forced him to the ground. Green could see his limbs flailing and hear his shouts of fury.

“What did you do, you fucking idiots!” he screamed. “You killed him!”

Fury rose in Green’s throat. He told Hannah to stay put and hurried towards them. “Cuff him and get him the hell away from the scene.”

McIntyre struggled for words, gasping. “You—”

“Later,” Green snapped, not trusting his temper. He turned his back, and breathing deeply, he walked towards Crystal, who was still in the grip of two female uniforms. Her eyes were fixed on the car, and her body shook with silent sobs.

“Crystal Adams? I’m Inspector Green,” he began, trying to make his voice gentle. He reminded himself that despite her role in Lea’s death and her endangerment of Hannah, she was only sixteen.

She turned her head to stare at him. Her face was slack with shock and defeat. “I didn’t mean it to happen.”

Against his orders, Hannah appeared at his elbow. “We were coming in to see you, Mike. That’s what I was trying to tell you. She had agreed. She was going to tell you everything.”

Crystal’s chin quivered. “She promised me you’d go easy on me, since I’m under eighteen.”

Green looked at his daughter. At her tiny frame and her innocent pixie face. Never let me underestimate this girl again, he thought. He nodded to Crystal’s escorts. “Get them some blankets and make sure the paramedics check them out when they arrive.” He swung to address Crystal. “After that, the officers will take you both inside and get you some tea. Then we’ll get a chance to talk.”

She hung her head, and he turned away towards the accident just as two fire trucks roared onto the scene, closely followed by an ambulance. Fire fighters and paramedics raced over to the car. Green drew as near as he dared, but could see little through the debris except shattered glass and long, drenching streaks of blood.

“Is he alive?” he murmured to an officer near by.

“He’s breathing, but I wouldn’t bet on his chances.” By this time, the area was flooded with curious passersby and officers from the station. Police set up a cordon, and the crowd watched in tense silence as the firefighters and paramedics worked over the car. Green saw McIntyre standing at the edge of the crowd, handcuffed and firmly gripped by two officers. None of the restraints seemed necessary, as the agent stood unmoving and unblinking as he watched. Green walked over.

“He wants to see if the kid is all right,” one of the officers explained anxiously, as if expecting a reprimand. “We figured it would be okay to wait.”

McIntyre shifted his emotion to Green. “You did this! You chased him down like a dog!”

“On the contrary, Mr. McIntyre, you did. He was running from you.”

“Bullshit! I was just trying to catch him.”

“Yes, to kill him.”

“No! To stop him going to you. To stop him ruining his life. You don’t have a thing on him.” Belatedly, confusion clouded his expression. “What the hell do you mean? He thought I was going to kill him?”

“That’s what he told me.”

“That’s bull! I love that kid! I would never...” He backed up, causing the officers to tighten their grip.

“You’d already killed once.”

“That girl’s death was an accident! Riley knows that. He called me, for fuck’s sake.”

“I’m talking about Jenna Zukowski.”

“The social worker? He thought I...?” Astonishment raced across McIntyre’s face. He stared at the car wreck in disbelief, and gradually his face twisted. “Oh my God, Riley!”

Green tried to make sense of McIntyre’s disjointed words. Of the stricken look on his face. “You thought Riley had killed the social worker?”

McIntyre tore his eyes from the accident. He began to shake his head in mute horror, but at that instant he spotted Crystal being led across the lawn towards the police station, and his panic turned to fury. “It was that bitch! She gave Lea the bad drugs.”

“But I bet you sold them to her.”

McIntyre’s jaw snapped shut, and his face grew cold. “You better not throw that kind of outrageous crap around unless you want your ass kicked to the next country by my lawyers.”

“Let’s leave the threats and accusations till we have everyone’s statement,” Green said. “Then we’ll see what’s outrageous. Book him on criminal negligence and dangerous operation of a motor vehicle for now,” he told the officers. “I’ll send word about Riley’s condition as soon as we know.”

McIntyre tore off the restraining hands and stepped forward. “If he dies, or even a single bone in his body is broken, I’ll see you never carry a badge again, Green. The country loves that boy.” Green watched McIntyre being led away, his head high and his gaze defiant. As the small procession passed by the flashing cruisers that cordoned the area, Green saw Darren O’Shaughnessy standing with a uniformed officer outside a police cruiser. O’Shaughnessy was in handcuffs but was offering no resistance. He had been staring at the wreck, but now his gaze shifted to McIntyre. Bewilderment flickered across his tense, florid features. Some other emotion too. What was it?

Shame? Or guilt. Green studied the scene of chaos before him. The bloodied body of Riley, the defiant agent, the tormented Darren, and Crystal, whose nasty drug deal had started it all.

Something didn’t make sense.

It took the emergency crews almost an hour to extricate Riley from his crushed sports car, and the evening rush hour was in full force when the ambulance finally whisked him towards the Civic Hospital. By that time, Darren O’Shaughnessy had been booked, printed and was in a holding cell awaiting his lawyer, Vic McIntyre had managed an impromptu news conference on his way through the media scrum that pressed around the accident scene, and Bob Gibbs had taken the two teenage girls under his wing.

Green had been busy dealing with the clamour of the media, the Professional Standards department and Barbara Devine. Both the car chase that had jeopardized countless innocent commuters and the spectacular crash that had possibly ended the life of a promising young athlete had everyone screaming for explanations. In retrospect, Green was grateful for the quick thinking of the duty inspector who’d vetoed the use of lights and siren during the pursuit, and equally grateful that he’d kept his own objections to himself. Lights and siren would not have changed the outcome one bit, but would have redefined the incident as a police chase, drawing Professional Standards, the Special Investigations Unit and a host of procedural nitpickers into the fray. This way, the blame for the crash would be laid squarely at McIntyre’s feet.

When Green was finally able to escape and track down Hannah and Crystal, Bob Gibbs had managed to get them a warm meal. Green phoned Crystal’s mother, who after much swearing and whining, agreed to send her boyfriend JD down to the station to support the girl.

“She don’t say a word without a lawyer,” Mrs. Adams snapped, almost as an afterthought.

“We can get one of the duty defence counsels—”

“Oh no, she’s not getting one of them morons sits in your back pocket. JD knows someone. I’ll get him to give the guy a call in the morning.”

“Tomorrow is too late, Mrs. Adams. We need her statement.”

“That’s not my problem, is it? My daughter’s had a shock, she’s entitled to a good night’s sleep, a lawyer, and somebody to watch her back while youse guys go trying to pin something on her.”

Green listened to her smoke-gravelled voice as she built up a head of self-righteous steam. He remembered Gibbs’s reference to the expensive electronic equipment in her welfare townhouse, and he wondered just who she was really protecting. But through the half-open interview room, he could see Crystal and Hannah slumped in plastic chairs against the wall. Neither seemed to have the energy even to speak. Crystal stared into space, looking very young beneath the skimpy tank top and cascade of curls.

In the end, he agreed to allow her to go home with a firm appointment to return the next morning accompanied by an adult family member and the lawyer of their choice. As he watched her slink out under the dead-eyed stare of a man with a straggly goatee and snakes tattooed all around his biceps, Green hoped he hadn’t made a mistake.

He took Hannah’s hand when she started to follow them out the door. “I’ll get a patrol car to drive you home.”

She yanked her hand away. “Mike, pul-lease!”

“Unmarked. Okay? Humour your old man.”

“I’m not a baby. I got across the country by myself, I can get across town.”

“I know, but you’ve had a shock, and shock does funny things to the body.”