Cop Town (44 page)

Maggie said, “You didn’t tell me that.”

“I’m sorry. The tattoo was on his upper arm, anyway. No one would see it.”

Maggie had showered in the men’s locker room last night. There were no curtains, just a pole in the center of a tiled room with shower nozzles all around.

Everyone would’ve seen it.

Gail said, “You know, I been thinking about that bullet that took out Sir Chic. Came all the way from across the street. Shooter musta used a rifle. That’s—what?—fifty yards?”

“At least.” Maggie hadn’t considered the skill involved in hitting such a precise target.

Gail said, “I fooled around with a rifle once. You gotta know what you’re doing. Take wind direction into account. Anticipate where your target’s gonna move. It’s not like a shotgun, where you just yank the trigger and blow a hole in the fucker.”

Kate said what they all were thinking. “He could be a cop or a soldier.” This was the same description the bartender had given them at Dabbler’s.

Gail told them, “There’s only one gun range fitted out for rifles. It’s over by the women’s prison. The city owns it, but there are civilians, too.” Gail frowned. She obviously didn’t like where this was going. “Shit, it’s what we were saying in the car. The Shooter could be some ex-military
jackass hanging around cops. You see it all the time. They can’t make it through the academy, so they buzz around cops, picking up the lingo, hearing the stories. You know how we are. Give us a couple of beers and you can’t shut us up.”

Kate said, “That’s how he would know the codes and procedures.”

Maggie thought about all the time Jimmy spent at the gun range. He was one of the best shots on the force. Her earlier theory floated back up. Had Jimmy met someone? Was there a man at the range who was good with a rifle?

And was the man more to Jimmy than just someone who knew how to handle a weapon?

Kate said, “I remember at the range that they had targets posted on the wall. It’s part of some sort of scoring system.”

“That’s Jett’s department. He’s the rangemaster.” Maggie knew anything she said to the man would go straight back to Terry. She asked Gail, “Can you call him?”

“Don’t trust that asshole. Go down to the range and see for yourself. Murphy’s right. The targets are on the wall, plain as day. They got the names written right underneath ’em.” She pointed at Maggie. “You find out who’s the top scorer, then you’ll have a good suspect.”

Kate asked, “Maggie, did you hear the radio? We’re supposed to go back to the station. They upped the reward. They’ve been inundated with calls.”

“You go back.” Maggie stood up. “Somebody downstairs can give you a ride.”

“I’m not going to leave you alone.” Kate had her hands on her hips. She sounded like a cop until she said, “Don’t be silly.”

Gail said, “Both of you go. You think they’re gonna write you up if you figure out who the Shooter is? Even Terry won’t be able to fuck with you.” She grabbed Maggie’s arm. “Only you listen to me, sweetheart. Make sure it’s by the book. You don’t go handin’ this off to your uncle or one of those other dumbasses. It’s gotta stand up in court.”

Maggie stared at Gail. This was the closest she’d ever come to saying that Terry had planted the evidence against Edward Spivey. The gun
found in the sewer grate. The bloody shirt. The two snitches who put one hand on the Bible while holding a get-out-of-jail-free card in the other. Nobody seriously believed Terry had gotten that lucky. And the shitty part was that the case against Spivey was solid without the fake evidence. At the trial, his lawyer had used the gun and shirt as misdirection, waving both items in front of the jury while the prosecutor’s case disappeared out the door.

“Okay,” Maggie said, a tacit agreement to all that was left unsaid. “If I find anything at the range, we’ll do it the right way. I’ll radio Rick and Jake. We’ll take it straight up to the brass.”

“Good girl.”

Kate’s radio squealed with feedback. Instead of turning down the volume, she covered her ears.

Maggie turned off her transmitter. She told Kate, “Just turn down—”

“No.” Gail told Kate, “Turn it up. Turn up your radio.”

Kate adjusted the volume. A familiar long, drawn-out tone came out of the speaker, like someone was holding down a button on the telephone.

Maggie said, “Change it to—”

Kate was already tuning in the restricted emergency channel.

“Ten-ninety-nine.” Terry’s voice was clear as a bell. There was none of the panic from the day before. He sounded steely, resigned. “Ten-ninety-nine, shots fired at Howell Yard. Confirmed Shooter sighting.”

“Howell Yard,” Gail said. “That’s the railroad tracks over near CT.”

Maggie focused on Terry’s voice. He was too calm. There was no fear. No excitement. “He’s got Jimmy.”

32

Maggie swung the cruiser across town. The lights and siren were on, but as usual, no one cared. Cars stopped in the middle of the road. They sped up instead of getting out of the way. Maggie didn’t slow for them. She didn’t slow for anything—stop signs, red lights, crosswalks. She kept the gas pedal flat to the floor.

“Maggie—” Kate had to shout to be heard over the siren. “Maggie, slow down.”

Maggie swerved into the oncoming lane to pass a truck. A car was heading straight toward them. She yanked back the wheel at the last minute.

“Maggie—”

“I know my uncle, Kate.” Maggie’s throat hurt from yelling. Her palms were sweating. They kept slipping on the wheel. “I know his voice. He said he was going to give Jimmy a cop’s death. That’s what he’s doing.”

“He wouldn’t get other people involved.”

“That’s exactly what he’d do.” Maggie wiped her hands on her legs. “He said he was going to make it look like the Shooter. Give Jimmy a hero’s funeral. This is exactly how it would happen.”

“Bus!” Kate screamed. “There’s a bus!”

Maggie slammed on the brakes, banking to the left, sideswiping a Greyhound bus. Kate’s window exploded. She covered her head as chunks of safety glass rained down. The car rocked to a stop.

“Kate?”

She still had her arms over her head.

“Kate?”

Slowly, she lowered her arms. Maggie saw it sink in: she wasn’t cut into a million pieces, they weren’t going to die.

Maggie hit the gas. The cruiser’s tires squealed, the car lurched, and they shot up the street.

Kate shook chunks of glass out of her hair. She brushed it off her lap. She still didn’t give up. “I heard everything—what you and Gail were talking about. That all the victims bucked the system in some way.”

Maggie steered into the oncoming lane again. The street was empty on that side. She passed six cars, then pulled the wheel back to the right.

Kate said, “What if Terry is the Shooter?”

Maggie looked at her, then looked back at the road.

“He gave that whole speech in the garage about how liberals and minorities are ruining the world.”

“You can hear that same speech in just about every squad room in the city.”

“Terry was in the army, right?”

“Marines.” Peachtree was straight ahead. Maggie kept her foot to the floor as the cruiser crested the intersection.

“Shit.” Kate grabbed the dashboard.

The wheels left the pavement.

The cruiser bounced down the road. Maggie’s head hit the ceiling. She fought the steering wheel to keep the tires straight.

Kate waited until she was back in control. “If Terry’s the Shooter, he
could’ve taken Jimmy. This could be part of his plan. Take Jimmy and frame him for the crimes.”

Maggie flew past another car. Then another.

“He could’ve forced Jimmy to write the note. The end part—the apology. That could’ve been a code.” Kate’s voice got louder. “Maybe Jimmy was trying to send you a message.”

Maggie couldn’t think about it. No matter if Kate was right or wrong, the only thing that mattered was stopping Terry before he killed Jimmy.

They were nearing the Howell Wye. The factories gave way to overgrown lots. The cars in the street were missing wheels and engines. Broken glass cracked under the cruiser’s tires.

Maggie heard the trains in the distance. The clack of their wheels, the rumble down the tracks. She slowed down so she wouldn’t miss the entrance. The gates to the abandoned yard were usually chained shut, but today they were wide open. Maggie took the turn down the long stretch of gravel road. About a hundred yards ahead were two office buildings, one on each side of the dead-end street, both five stories high. Each took up half a city block.

The wye was two football fields away, but Maggie felt the heavy vibrations through the floor of the cruiser. The shaking got worse as they got closer. The steering wheel clattered. The rumbling trains spread an earthquake through the ground.

The Howell rail yard had been a main artery until the Tilford and Inman yards merged a half mile up the tracks. The business end had moved upstream, too. Now the wye was nothing but a thoroughfare to the larger yards. The offices were no longer filled with workers. The parking spaces were overgrown with weeds. Maggie had been here on calls before. Every cop in her precinct ended up at the wye at least once a month. The looming buildings and relative remoteness offered cover for criminal enterprise. Drug deals. Violent bums. Dead hoboes. Stolen merchandise stashed in the abandoned offices. Girls dragged inside so the trains would mask their screams.

Murders planned.

Maggie stopped the car. There was no more going forward. At least twenty cops were already here. Their cruisers were scattered like pick-up sticks along the roadway. At the end of the long stretch was Terry. He was surrounded by a group of men. He was putting a team together. They were huddled together between the office buildings, soldiers planning their attack.

She told Kate, “Stay here.”

Maggie was out of the car and jogging up the street before Kate could object. Mack McKay rushed past two-handing a shotgun. Red Flemming followed with a rifle. She had watched enough training drills to know what was happening. They were setting up a perimeter so the suspect couldn’t escape. A helicopter hovered overhead. Bud Deacon was pulling barrier vests out of his trunk. Jett Elliott looked sober as a judge as he pocketed a handful of speedloaders.

Kate ran up from behind. She was breathing hard, but she kept up. Her arms were bent. Her equipment was pounding into her hips and legs the same as Maggie’s. She looked left and right. Maggie did the same until they were a couple of yards from Terry. She slowed down so she could hear him.

“There.” Terry pointed to the building on the left. “The shots came from the third floor. The Shooter’s still inside. We’ve got the back and sides covered. My team will take the front. Any one of you sees Jimmy, shoot to kill.” Terry banged the hood of the car with his hand. “Let’s go! Move it!”

A dozen men streamed toward the building. There was no door to kick in. Once they were inside, they fanned out into two teams to sweep the building bottom to top. Three men stayed in the street, guns ready, in case the target ran out. Rick Anderson was one of them. His face was grave. He barely glanced her way.

Terry screamed into the radio, “Dispatch, get these goddamn trains stopped.”

Maggie said, “Terry.”

He spun around. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

Maggie’s revolver was in her hand. She couldn’t remember pulling it.
She had to raise her voice to be heard over the trains. “I’m not going to let you kill him.”

Terry wasn’t afraid of the gun. “You let your faggot brother get away and you pull your weapon on me?”

Heads turned. Rick Anderson nearly dropped his shotgun.

Terry said, “Jake Coffee’s dead. Shot just like the others.”

Maggie looked at Rick. She could tell from his expression that what Terry had said was true. He was visibly stricken. She had never seen him in so much pain. “What happened?”

Rick shook his head.

“Tell her,” Terry ordered.

Rick cleared his throat. He couldn’t meet Maggie’s gaze. “I was downtown pulling that rap sheet for you. Jake was patrolling on his own.” He didn’t say the words, but the blame rose up like a shard of broken glass between them. “Chip heard Jake send an all clear on a possible loiter. Then he requested a twenty-nine, same as you found in the Shooter files. Chip came here to check it out and …”

Rick wasn’t looking at the ground anymore. Maggie followed his line of sight. The body was in front of the building on the other side of the street. The sun bathed Jake Coffee in a gruesome light. He was lying on his stomach. His arms and legs were spread. His head was turned toward the street. A perfect black hole pierced the center of his forehead. His pants had been pulled down.

All she could say was “No.”

Terry took advantage of the distraction. He grabbed the gun out of Maggie’s hand.

Before she could react, he slammed his fist into her face.

Maggie hit the ground hard. Her lungs rattled. Gravel bit into her scalp. Her jaw felt loose. She tasted blood in her mouth.

Terry tossed the revolver to Rick. He stood over Maggie. He raised his fist again.

“Stop!” Kate swung her nightstick. The metal baton cracked against Terry’s head. He was dazed for half a second. Then he grabbed Kate by the front of her shirt. Her feet left the ground. He pulled back his fist.

Then for no discernible reason, he let her go.

Maggie saw Kate’s shoes gently touch the gravel. There wasn’t even a puff of dust.

Terry went down on one knee. He reached for Kate. Maggie’s first thought was that the scene was something out of a movie, the guy kneeling in front of the girl as he asked her to marry him.

But Terry wasn’t asking for anything. He looked down at his stomach. A large spot of blood flowered open across his white shirt.

The trains were too loud. Maggie didn’t hear the gunshots. She saw them. Gravel spit up at her feet. Holes blistered the hood of the car. The three men in the street returned fire. They couldn’t pin down a target. Their shots went wild. Rick fired his shotgun into the air. Maggie didn’t want to be here when the lead came hurtling back down.

She ran toward her revolver. A bullet zinged into the ground in front of her. Maggie turned back toward the front gates, but another bullet stopped her. Panic threatened to take hold. She didn’t have her gun. She couldn’t find cover. Kate was crouched down with her arms over her head. Men were yelling. Shots were coming from the teams inside the left-hand building. Confusion rained down with every bullet.