Playing the Game (26 page)

            ‘Yeah man’, he winced, as I lay him down, ‘She fucking got away. I had her, man, I had her’, his eyes looked apologetic. ‘I’m sorry, Patton, I should have had her’.

            ‘You got nothing to apologise for Charlie boy’, I reassured him. I hadn’t fared any better had I? The knife wound looked pretty deep, and I knew better than to pull the knife out of my friend’s shoulder. For one thing, the knife itself was going some way to reduce the loss of blood; an open wound would let the blood flow more freely and be susceptible to infection. Secondly, I didn’t want to do any more damage by pulling the knife out; for all I knew the knife had a serrated blade which would rip Charlie’s insides as I pulled it out. As I lay him back down I pulled out my cell to call the ambulance; Charlie was tough and it looked like the wound was mainly superficial but he would need treatment for it nevertheless; I also knew that if Sarah Caldwell had wanted to kill him, then she would have done so, so in that respect, he was damn lucky.

            ‘She left another envelope Patton’, he said through gritted teeth as I lay him back down; it’s in my pocket. Even in a great deal of pain, knowing that the rain would soak the envelope through, he had done what he could to preserve it.

            I wouldn’t open it until I got back to the car, where I could look at it in dry conditions; nowhere in the alley way offered sufficient cover. I also wasn’t about to leave my partner just lying here but I knew the ambulance would not take long to get here, so I crouched down, doing my best to shield Charlie from the rain.

            ‘Go, man, go’, Charlie urged. ‘I’ll be alright here’. I shook my head.

            ‘Not a chance’, I told him. ‘I’m staying right here’. Besides, I knew that Sarah Caldwell would be, by now, long gone and the rain would have washed away any trail she might have left. She could be anywhere by now. I cursed the fact that we had been so close, but I swore that it wouldn’t be the last opportunity I had today to take her down.

            The ambulance duly arrived, and being too big to drive into the alley, the paramedics had to stretcher Charlie from his position to the ambulance. ‘Just patch me up and give me a couple of painkillers’, I’d heard him instruct the two guys who had secured him onto the stretcher. Typical Charlie that; he was one tough bastard.

            ‘Not a chance big guy’, one of them had replied. ‘We’re taking you in’. Again, he looked almost apologetic as he was transported into the awaiting ambulance, knowing he’d been taken out of action by Sarah Caldwell, leaving me alone to play her game.

70

            It took longer than Conway had anticipated for the officers who attended the shooting at his house to process the scene. He had imagined that it would be more-or-less open and shut; that they would take a statement from him, remove the body and have the blood cleared up out of the hallway and that would be that, but in reality it was somewhat different. They had stopped short of arresting him; after all, the self defence was evident enough; he had several bruises from his fall down the stairs, but the attending officers had insisted on taking his statement on their territory, not his, so he’d had no option but to let them take him in voluntarily.

            His hands tied, he accompanied them to the station, the outside of which was already becoming a media circus as the papers and TV stations learned of the arrests of McCrane and Burr. And now here he was, helping with a seemingly unrelated enquiry.

            They drove past, relatively unnoticed. Even so, he tried to crouch down in the car, eager to avoid the spotlight. If he had to though, he could play the innocent victim in front of the cameras; just one more statistic of violent crime in Los Angeles. Why should he be different from anyone else? Anyone could be a victim of violent crime. Even him!

            He gave his statement to the arresting officer; one which he had been over several times in his head in the car on the way over, and one which was accepted by the arresting officer without too many questioned being asked. That was good; he knew any judge in the state would close any case that may be forthcoming as self defence. Just in case though, he had insisted that pictures of his sustained injuries were taken as evidence, declining any medical treatment. If his ribs were still bothering him tomorrow he’d go and get checked out. He was more eager to learn what charges were going to be brought against his two colleagues who were arrested this morning.

            After being told that they would be in touch and he was free to go, and that the Crime Scene Investigators had completed what they needed to do at his house, he declined the offer of a lift back, preferring to call his wife to pick him up. She had been out for the day; shopping once again no doubt, and although she would be relieved that he was alright, she would be less than thrilled that the blood from his attacker that had stained the rather expensive carpet in the hallway. He idly wondered whether his insurance would cover the cost of a replacement.

            Walking down the corridor, his ribs still causing him some consternation, he saw, at the far end of the corridor, Paul McCrane being hustled through, accompanied by two policemen, and they were heading this way.

            Unable to resist, he quickened his pace towards his Animi compatriot. ‘Paul, Paul’, he called as he got nearer, playing the concerned friend. ‘I heard this morning about your arrest’, he shook his head. ‘If there’s anything I can do?’

            The accompanying officers seemed more than happy for him to speak to McCrane, and recognising who he was, actually backed off a little to give the two of them a little privacy, if only for a minute. He brought his head to just behind McCrane’s ear. ‘Bet you’re surprised to see me here’, he whispered so the officers would not overhear. McCrane simply looked impassive.

            ‘I am indeed Conrad’, he said. ‘You haven’t been arrested too have you?’

            ‘No I’ve not’, Conway continued. ‘I’ve just given a statement about the intruder I shot and killed this morning’. He searched McCrane’s face, which typically gave nothing away.

            ‘Sound’s like you’ve had a lucky escape’, McCrane shrugged. ‘I just hope that whoever you killed this morning doesn’t have any friends who wish to seek retribution’, he had recognised the undertones in Conway’s voice, suggesting that he somehow knew that the intruder had been sent under his and Burr’s instruction.

            ‘I did indeed’, Conway whispered, ‘I’ve got no idea, by the way, how the LA Times could have gotten such a story on you, you back-stabbing fuck’, letting McCrane know exactly how they had gotten the story. ‘Oh, and when you next see him, tell Burr that his wife tastes like a peach’, he added, smiling. ‘A ripe peach’.

            ‘Like I said’, he repeated audibly, for the benefit of the officers who had decided time was up, ‘Anything I can do Paul, you just let me know’.

            With that, he left McCrane, seemingly passive on the outside, but positively seething with rage on the inside, as the officers continued to accompany him to the office of Captain Williams.

71

            I watched as the ambulance departed, leaving me standing alone; the rain beginning to subside. I began to jog back to the car, contemplating how fortunate Charlie had actually been to only sustain the injuries he had, and frustrated at how close we had come to apprehending Sarah Caldwell.

            Britland-Jones hadn’t moved from the car, but was eager to know what had transpired. He didn’t even attempt to disguise his interest as anything other than journalistic.

            ‘You’re driving’, I demanded, and gave him a brief run down of our encounter with Sarah Caldwell, having to explain Charlie’s absence. Although he expressed concern as to Charlie’s well-being, I could see he was working out where to slot that into his next story.

            Nevertheless, he took the wheel as instructed, and I did my best to shake off whatever wetness I could. It didn’t have much of an effect; I was soaked through and covered in mud. I would need a quick change at the station but Britland-Jones was driving for one reason, and one reason only; I had the contents of an envelope to inspect. ‘Back to the station’, I informed Britland-Jones as I pulled it out of my pocket. Charlie had indeed prevented the envelope from getting wet through, and its contents were well preserved. ‘Quick as you can, alright?’

            ‘No problem’, Britland-Jones replied. ‘Once I’ve done that, I’m free to go right? I’m a busy man Detective, got things to do’.

            ‘I’ll check with Detective Harlow’, I told him, ‘Just drive’. I ripped open the envelope; would this be my first step of the new game?

British wheels at stationary event tonight

Was it me, or were The Chemist’s messages becoming increasingly abstract? It felt strange not having someone to bounce ideas off and I certainly wasn’t going to start bouncing them off Britland-Jones. As much as I didn’t want the journalist privy to too much information, Captain Williams needed to be kept informed. As usual, they would have every available person there trying to work it out for me. I almost thought about telling him to include Marvin.

‘Hey, it’s Patton’, I said as Williams answered, ‘what’s new there?’ He told me about Tassiker’s heart attack and the impending deal with McCrane. ‘He’s on his way to me now’, he told me. ‘Just got the paperwork through. Much as I don’t want to give him the deal, the son-of-a-bitch, it may be our only shot at getting what we need out of him in time’.

‘I appreciate that Captain’, I said truthfully. They didn’t have to offer him a deal at all, and I bet Harlow would be pissed, but what he said was right; we needed what McCrane knew quickly.

I briefed him on the latest message from Caldwell, which as usual drew the familiar reaction of bewilderment. ‘We’ve broken the rest’, he reminded me, ‘and we’ll break this one’.

News came through that Burr was remaining silent. ‘Hasn’t said a fucking thing since we arrested him, that’s what Harlow has told us’, Williams informed me. ‘I’ve also just had the paramedics that took Holland in tell me that he’s saying like it or not, he’s discharging himself in two hours’. Despite my situation, I couldn’t help but laugh. Charlie hated hospitals and was going to be a handful of a patient, I knew that. It also meant that if he was saying that, then his condition wasn’t serious, which came as a relief. I had no doubt that Charlie would be back by my side just as soon as he could.

‘One more thing’, I asked Williams, ‘Do we need Britland-Jones for anything else?’ The Captain mulled it over.

‘Let him go.’ he conceded. ‘For now, anyway, in the light of the deal with McCrane. If we need anything from him, we can bring him in again. Do me a favour Patton, I know he’s signed the damn papers, but just remind him how hard we will come down on him if he violates the terms of our agreement’.

Paul-Britland Jones left me at the station twenty minutes later, with those very words ringing in his ears.

72

            I changed in my office. I always keep some spare clothes there, as I do live some distance from the station, especially since Vikki and I split up. There had been times over the last couple of years, usually when I was right in the middle of a particularly taxing investigation, when I had simply slept in the office, knowing that I’d have to be back there in a few hours anyway.

I made my way up to Captain Williams’ office, who had just finalised the paperwork for McCrane’s deal by the time I got there. ‘He’s on his way up’, he told me. ‘Much as I hate dealing with this corrupt bastard, we need him to tell us everything’.  I nodded, realising that he didn’t have to make that sacrifice on my behalf, but he had anyway.

‘Anything with the last message yet’, I asked him. He shook his head.

‘Well the
British wheels
bit may be a car but as to
stationary event
, we have no idea. At least the message indicates that it’s tonight, which give us a little extra time. Nothing from the house I take it?’

In the ensuing pursuit that had taken place after we talked to Sarah Caldwell’s neighbour, and in the resulting chaos that chase had produced, I had completely forgotten that we had a second address; one that I’d recognised from somewhere. ‘Shit, Charlie’s got the new address.’ I told him. ‘The neighbour had a forwarding address for Caldwell, which Charlie took’.

‘I don’t suppose you can remember it?’ he asked, picking up the phone. I just shrugged, shaking my head. I was trying but I just couldn’t remember it at all.

It took Captain Williams a few minutes to locate Charlie in the hospital, and another couple of minutes to ascertain whether or not the paper with the address on was actually there.

‘Goddamn it’, he exclaimed, hanging up the phone.

‘What’s up?’ I was alarmed. Charlie had the address didn’t he?

‘Well he’s got it alright, thing is; it’s been damaged by the rain, it’s all smudged; Charlie says it’s unreadable’.

‘We need to get back onto the neighbour, see if he’s got it written down anywhere else’, I tried thinking this through. What could we do if he he’d given us the only copy he had? Fortunately, Captain Williams had a suggestion.

‘In the meantime, we need to get that piece of paper down to forensics’, he said. ‘About a year ago I remember they somehow managed to repair and read something that had been completely shredded and burned. God knows how they did it, but they did’.

‘They can do that?’ I was incredulous. ‘Even though the writing is unreadable, you think they can repair that?’

‘Well we’ll find out, won’t we?’ he raised his eyebrows as he spoke, letting out a sigh as he did so. ‘I’ll get a black and white to contact the neighbour and have someone pick up the remnants of the address from the hospital. It might take a while though for forensics to do their thing’, he warned. ‘We will try and rush it through though, obviously’.

There was a knock on the door, and Paul McCrane walked in, looking happier and smugger than any man in his position had the right to be.