Dead Wrong (19 page)

He had the route clearly in mind now: Take this stairwell to a first-floor door and from there a short hall to the exit. He hit the first-floor landing, threw open the door, and stopped dead. An armed cop guarded the exit.

The noise from the door caught the cop’s attention. He looked directly at McCarthy, sized him up a split second before recognizing who he saw. “Hey, you. Stop! Police!” The cop started toward him.

McCarthy took off, running back up the stairs, taking two at a time, gasping for air. He stopped on the fourth floor to listen but heard no activity below him. Surely the cop had radioed his location. Meaning cops were converging on the stairwell now. He tried to think of a nearby hiding place but came up blank. He looked around frantically, now confused about which halls connected to this floor. Just then the door opened. He raised Washington’s gun and aimed.

Eyes wide, fingers to her mouth, Sarah Hamilton gasped.

McCarthy looked past her through the open door, saw nothing but empty hall. “Quick. Close the door.” He took her arm he gently pulled her into the stairwell and closed the door. “Did you find something?”

Mouth still open, she stared at his hand.

He looked down, realized he was aiming Washington’s gun at her. “Aw shit, sorry,” and stuffed it back into his waistband. “You frightened me.”

“
I
frightened
you
!” She clutched her blouse over her heart. “Jesus, you just scared the crap out of me.” She took a longer look at Tom. “Your clothes, what happened?”

“Later. Right now I have to get out of here. Did you find anything?”

“We’re in luck.” She paused to draw a deep breath. “I just checked the call rooms and psych’s free. It’s only three doors down.”

Made sense. He hadn’t even thought of using a call room, probably because he hadn’t used one since residency. Come to think of it, he’d never seen the ones here. “Show me.”

She poked her head out the door to check both ways. “Coast’s clear; just stay on my heels,” and took off at a brisk pace.

D
ELEON FRANKLIN ENJOYED a rush of paradoxical relief from the news that McCarthy remained trapped within the medical center. They didn’t have him yet, but they soon would. Better yet, he’d just been sighted in the west wing, an area easily contained with the available manpower. Franklin possessed an uncanny ability to get into his quarry’s mind, so he asked himself, where would I hide? For starters, he’d be encouraged by reaching ground level. It was a small victory not easily relinquished because it was closer to the exits. Meaning, instead of heading upward, he’d most likely continue down to the first basement. From there he’d look for a way out. With this in mind, he immediately redeployed the SWAT team to the first-level basement.

T
HE SINGLE WORD,
PSYCHIATRY
, was engraved in white capital letters on a black plastic plaque screwed into a plain wooden door. Below it, a similar, but removable plaque, read
VACANT
. Sarah slipped it out, flipped it over to
OCCUPIED
, and reinserted it.

The room was a six-by-ten-foot no-frills rectangle just like every other one he’d seen when taking call as a resident: bare beige walls, one wall phone, one wall-mounted gooseneck reading lamp above the head of a single bed. No furniture, no closet, no sink. Residents weren’t expected to bring a wardrobe, and if they had time to wash, they could use the toilet at the end of the hall.

They piled in, Sarah locking the door immediately. They stood in the cramped space looking at one another, both breathing hard. After a few seconds Sarah sat on one end of the bed and patted the space next to her. “Sit down and tell me the whole story.”

McCarthy put a finger to his lips, “Shhh, keep it down,” and pointed at the wall. Call rooms were notoriously cheap construction, with walls nothing more than plasterboard or plywood separated by two by fours. You could usually hear neighbors snore. Too tense to sit, he stayed standing and would’ve paced had there been enough room. Instead, he had to do with shifting weight from one leg to the other. He quickly summarized events starting with Sikes appearance in his office.

When he finished she asked, “Have you called Davidson back?”

He shook his head. “Haven’t had the chance.”

She pointed to the phone. “Call him now.”

The first thing McCarthy asked Davidson was, “Find out anything?”

“Not good news, I’m afraid. But first of all, you still safe?”

Tom sat on the bed, phone angled from his ear so Sarah could hear. She scooted next to him, her hip against his. “For the moment.”

“I notice your phone number’s different but the same prefix. You still in the same general area as last time?”

McCarthy wondered if Davidson was being purposely vague in case their call was monitored, and decided be careful to not say anything to disclose his location. “In the general area.”

“Any idea of when we might be able to meet? Any time soon?”

“Not yet, I’m working on it. There’s a friend who might be able to help me.” He raised eyebrows at Sarah.

She nodded and mouthed, “Can he come here?”

Tom shook his head and waited for Davidson’s next question.

“I see. Okay then, next subject. Not good news either, I’m afraid. For starters, Sikes is on record with some very serious allegations. The first of which is—and this is the tail wagging the dog—you’re in possession of highly sensitive classified information. And that you came by this information illegally. Apparently Sikes isn’t the only one to claim this. A Pentagon colonel backs his story. Furthermore, the colonel claims the case is a matter of national security.”

“That’s nuts!”

“That may be, but for now it’s a huge problem. This colonel claims to have evidence that shows you have ties to a terrorist organization. The net result is no matter which law enforcement agency you surrender to, they’ll have to turn you over to the feds. In other words, Sikes.”

McCarthy felt as if his every bit of breath had just been sucked out of him. Sarah put her hand on his shoulder.

Davidson asked, “You still there?”

He closed his eyes and tried to think. Nothing made any sense. “But these charges … what evidence is there?”

“At this moment with the situation so tenuous, that’s irrelevant. We’ll deal with that later. Our biggest issue is that right now, every law enforcement agency in the world is looking for you.”

Davidson stopped talking as if expecting an answer. Mc-Carthy didn’t know what to say.

“And the story doesn’t get any better,” Davidson finally added. “Sikes claims you overpowered his partner, took his gun, shot him, and in the scuffle killed your receptionist.”

How could anyone believe that? “That’s nuts!”

“Take it easy. I didn’t say I believe him. In fact, I don’t. The story is simply too preposterous to be believable. But at the moment it’s what’s out there and what people believe. Sikes claims the crime scene supports his story. And, I suspect, that’s part of the reason the cops buy it. They don’t like it when another cop is killed, and their natural tendency is to believe the story fed to them by someone else in law enforcement. And they’ll go on believing Sikes unless we can prove otherwise. You still with me?”

McCarthy was leaning over, elbows on knees, his head spinning. Sarah started rubbing his back to comfort him. What did he do to deserve being thrown into such a crazy situation? Was this some sort of karmic retribution for an injustice from a past life? This couldn’t possibly be happening to him.

“McCarthy?”

Sarah nudged him and pointed at the phone.

He straightened back up. “I’m here.”

“Right now our biggest concern is that Sikes has laid down a very convincing foundation for the use of deadly force, if needed, to apprehend you. That coupled with resentment for cop killers, you’re fair game to a lot of people. Until we can come up with a convincing argument to keep Sikes away from you and put you in protective custody with some agency like the marshals we need to do everything possible to keep you safely hidden. Are we in agreement on this?”

He looked at the walls of this tiny room, felt the warm air close in on him. How long until security searched this floor? He asked, “What we talking about? A few hours?”

“I don’t know. I have to continue calling people.”

He thought about the three-day weekend. Wouldn’t judges and lawyers take off early because of it? A wave of despair washed over him. He started to say something but realized it would serve no purpose. Davidson would everything possible to keep him safe, for which he was grateful. He said, “Thanks for believing me. I have no idea why you should.”

“Like I said, Sikes’s story just doesn’t make sense. Now here’s what we need to do. I don’t want you on the phone any longer than necessary. We can limit talking until you’re in a safe location and can talk in person. Right now our highest priority is to get you out of there. Now that I officially represent you, they’ll be watching me and my office, so if I try to come to you, they’ll be all over me. What are the odds you can escape from there?”

Good question. “Don’t know, but I will.”
You damn well better
.

“Good. As soon as you do, contact me and we’ll meet some place you’re comfortable with. While you work on that, I’ll continue trying to build a firewall between you and Sikes. Okay, now, we have a plan?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Call me back as soon as you’re out. Just be damn careful how you do it. I have a feeling you only have one shot at this. There’s no room for error.”

Oh, great
. McCarthy hung up, already thinking through the maze of halls and stairways, sorting out which combination might be safest. But any carefully planned route could be blown by a chance encounter with one wrong person.

Sarah said, “A good start would be to get you some new clothes. Everyone’s looking for a man wearing those,” pointing at his pants. “I’ll get you some scrubs and a hat, and as long as I’ll be in the halls, I’ll check out a few exits.”

Made perfect sense. Why hadn’t he thought of it earlier? “Thanks.”

She pushed off the bed, put a hand on the doorknob. “I’ll be as fast as possible. Keep the door locked.”

“Don’t worry.”

A
FTER DISCONNECTING THE call with Cunningham, Sikes had to hurry to catch up with Hansen and Franklin. He fell in with them just as they reached the maintenance room. Inside, Buck Lewis sat on the concrete, back against the wall, gently massaging his leg just below the knee, his slacks bunched up to expose an ugly patch of swollen, bruised skin. The leg appeared to hurt like a son of a bitch, making him wonder if the bone was broken. More importantly, though, where fuck was McCarthy? Nowhere in sight. Christ, this was getting old.

Hansen and Franklin stood silently beside the open door looking in at Lewis, both smart enough say nothing. But there was no mistaking the tension of embarrassment electrifying the air. Without a word, Hansen and Franklin stepped aside, letting Sikes enter the room.

Sikes glanced around, hoping maybe he had it wrong, that maybe McCarthy
was
there, spread eagle on bare concrete bleeding from a bullet wound behind the ear. But no, Lewis was the only person in the room. Injured too. Fuck! How in hell did that happen? “Where’s McCarthy?” he asked in controlled measured tones. He wasn’t going to rip Lewis a new one in front of those two bozos. That would come later.

Lewis nodded at the narrow alcove. “Asshole was in there. Couldn’t see him until it was too late. Came up behind me, shoved a pipe in my back. I’m thinking, shit, Elroy’s gun. But no, nothing but a fucking piece of pipe. Before I could do anything, fucker slams me with it,” pointing to the ugly wound, “then takes off.”

Just then Ernest Womack—the other team member—stepped in, glanced down at Lewis, then at Sikes. He didn’t say a word, but the corner of his mouth twitched.

Sikes asked Lewis, “He take your weapon?”

Lewis shook his head. “No fucking way, man. I’d die before giving it up.” He held it up for Sikes to see.

“Then why the fuck didn’t you shoot him?”

Without waiting for an answer, Sikes checked his watch. Too much time gone now for McCarthy to be nearby. In fact, too much time had elapsed since the son of a bitch escaped from his office. Considering he’d lasted this long, it was becoming increasing conceivable he might actually breach the perimeter and escape. And when he did, would he leave on foot or would he be dumb enough to use his car? He asked Hansen, “Does McCarthy have designated parking?”