Killer Swell (11 page)

Four bullets had hit Carter, two in the chest and two in the stomach. I blanched at the red puddle spilling out from beneath his body on the concrete of the freeway, his skin already a light gray as his system went into shock. He mumbled incoherently for a minute as I pressed on the bloody holes in his chest, before he shut his eyes and passed out.

Police and ambulances arrived in bunches. Traffic was rerouted. People were yelling and screaming. A helicopter grew larger above us, finally landing on the southbound side of the highway. The paramedics loaded Carter onto a backboard, passed him over the median to another set of paramedics. I followed them into the helicopter before anyone could suggest otherwise.

LifeFlight flew us to the UCSD Trauma Unit, a team of technicians working feverishly over his body in the cramped aircraft. I grabbed a towel off the floor of the helicopter and wiped the blood off my hands. Then I grabbed a handle suspended from the roof and tried not to throw up.

After I'd waited an hour outside the surgical unit, a doctor emerged and told me that Carter was a mess. Lots of internal damage, lots of bleeding. They were going to watch him in the critical care unit and see what happened.

I sat in a waiting room and tried to quell the nausea in my gut. I kept glancing at the dried blood under my fingernails, trying not to think about who it belonged to or why it was there. There is a certain uselessness that accompanies sitting quietly in a waiting area, and I was settling into it awkwardly when Liz got off the elevator.

She wore a dark green sweater and black jeans, black framed glasses on her face. I used to accuse her of wearing them to appear smarter, but they did look good on her.

A thick, short black man dressed in tan slacks, a white T-shirt, and a navy blazer trailed her. A T-shirt that read
I'M A COP
! would've been less conspicuous.

“Noah,” Liz said, sitting down across from me. “How is he?”

“Not good.”

She gestured at her guest. “This is my partner, Detective John Wellton. He's working Kate's case with me.”

We shook hands. Cool blue eyes stared out at me from skin the color of a Hershey bar, the contrast startling.

The fact that he couldn't have been over five feet tall didn't help.

“Good to meet you,” he said, not meaning it, his expression dour. “Sorry about your friend.”

He stood up straight and puffed out his chest. Almost made up for the fact that his feet wouldn't touch the ground if he sat on the chair next to Liz.

“He still in surgery?” Liz asked.

I shook my head. “Came out about an hour ago. They need him to stabilize before they can do more. He's in the CCU.”

She thought about it. “He's tough. He'll make it.”

“I know,” I said, hoping she was right.

“Mr. Braddock,” Wellton said, pulling a notebook from his pocket. “Did you get plates on the van that left the scene?”

“No, it happened too fast.”

He nodded, scribbling quickly. “How about the assailants? Recognize them?”

“No,” I said, glancing at Liz. “Looked like gangbangers, though. Teenagers. They were in the Cadillac. I couldn't see the faces of the guys from the van.”

“Probably Costilla,” Liz said, leaning forward. “He's used them as his little soldiers before. Cheap and nasty.”

I nodded absently. A gurney emerged from the elevator, surrounded by people shouting at one another. They disappeared quickly through the swinging doors.

“Can you give me descriptions?” Wellton asked, peering over the notepad at me.

I shrugged. “Teen, male, Hispanic. That's about it.”

He looked at me, the chest puffing out again, annoyed. “That's it?”

I glared at him, not wanting to relive the afternoon. “Take the kid I hit. Draw a picture. Make three copies. That's what I saw.”

“How'd your buddy get hit?” he asked, scribbling again.

I looked at Liz. “Some bullets flew into him.”

Liz covered her mouth with her hand and avoided my eyes.

Wellton took a step in my direction. “Hey, wiseass, you left a crime scene to ride with your friend. Nobody hassled you about that. But now you owe us. I need some information from you. You can either talk to me here or I can take you downtown.”

I stood up. “You and what step stool?”

The notepad slipped from his hand to the floor and he put a finger in my gut. Probably aiming for my chest. I slapped it away.

Liz jumped up. “Alright, knock it off.” She looked at Wellton. “Give us a minute, John?”

He stared up at me, holding his ground. If I'd had a drink, I would've set it on his head. He took a step back, picked up his notepad, and walked down the hallway.

I pointed in his direction. “I will kick Gary Cole-man's ass if I get peppered with any more questions tonight.”

“He's wired a little tight,” Liz admitted. “He's a good guy, though. He can help.”

I sat back down in the chair. “Whatever.”

She sat across from me. “Definitely gangbangers?”

I took a deep breath. “Looked like it.”

“What kind of guns?”

I pictured the ambush. “Automatics. Hung over the shoulder. They were just spraying. They weren't good shooters.”

She nodded. “Sounds right.”

“You have the one I shot?”

“Yeah, but he's in surgery,” she said. “You gave him a permanent limp. We have to wait.”

We sat there in silence for a few minutes, looking at everything but one another. I never would've said it, but her company helped.

“They lost her,” she said finally.

I looked at her. “What?”

“Kate was in the car with two of Costilla's men in Tijuana,” she said, her eyes staring me down from behind the glasses. “Since they were on the Mexican side of the border, DEA took the coverage. We had her on the U.S. side.”

She shifted in her seat and folded her hands in her lap. “Costilla's men must've nailed the tail. They shook them off somewhere in the downtown area and she was gone for three days.” She paused. “Until you found her. We were searching in Mexico when she was right here under our noses.”

I let that sink in. It hurt.

“Why was she there, Liz?” I asked.

She stood up. “I gave you all I'm giving you.”

I thought about it and nodded slowly. She'd said more than she'd needed to, especially when I had been a jerk in her office earlier. “Okay. Thanks.”

“We had to tow your car down to impound for investigation. I can have someone take you to a rental agency,” she said. “Come down to the station tomorrow. We'll do the report then, alright?”

“Yeah.” I watched her walk toward the elevator. “Liz?”

She turned back to me. “What?”

“Thanks for coming,” I told her. “Carter would appreciate it.”

A tired smile formed on her lips. “No, he wouldn't. But thanks for saying it anyway.”

She disappeared into the elevator.

I left my cell number with the hospital staff and asked them to call me if anything changed with Carter. I fought the guilt of leaving the hospital and let one of Liz's officers drive me over to an Avis counter at the Embassy Suites on La Jolla Village Drive.

After fifteen minutes of paperwork and avoiding the various sales pitches of the rental agent, I walked out to the lot with keys to a Chevy Blazer. It had tinted windows and gray leather interior that still smelled new. I missed the aroma of salt and wax in the Jeep as I pointed the SUV in the direction of the Crier home.

When Kate and I had dated, I had dreaded going to her house. The size of it, the smell of the money, the disapproving looks all had made me uncomfortable. I didn't have the nerve to stand up to it when I was a teenager, the guts to tell them I was good enough for their youngest daughter. Now, getting out of the Blazer, I knew that nothing in that house would prevent me from saying what I wanted to say.

Ken answered the door, barefoot and wearing navy shorts and a tan Polo shirt. “Noah.”

“We need to talk.”

He waved me in, and we went to the large living room across from the entryway. Two white-leather sofas faced one another, divided by a marble-topped coffee table. Several large abstract paintings hung on the wall, reds and yellows tied together in ugly formation. The color on the canvasses couldn't remove the sterile feel of the room.

Ken sat down across from me on one of the sofas. “What can I do for you?”

“Why was Kate here in San Diego?” I asked.

He shrugged. “I'm not exactly sure. We assumed it was to spend the week with us.” He paused for a moment. “She probably needed some time away from Randall as well.”

“How did you get her out of it?” I asked.

He frowned, half circles at the corners of his eyes. “I'm sorry?”

“How did you get her out of whatever trouble she was in?”

“I'm confused.”

“No, you're not,” I said. “Kate had some sort of deal working with the DEA. The way I figure, she got caught in something bad. Why else would she have been working for them?”

He thought about that and decided to lie. “Noah, I have no idea—”

I stood up. “I quit.” I started walking toward the door.

“Noah,” he said, his voice harsher. “Hold on.”

I turned around. “Tell me the truth, now, Ken. Right now. Marilyn didn't tell me everything. I've learned more from staying away from you two than talking to you. I know Kate was involved in something that was way over her head. And I have a pretty good feeling you're the only one that could've set it up. You wanna screw around with me, then I'm done helping you.”

He leaned back in the sofa, the leather collapsing around his body. “She was arrested six months ago.”

I walked back into the room and sat across from him.

“Heroin,” he said, his mouth tightening. “She got stopped for speeding up in Marin County. It was under the front passenger seat and was visible when the cop came to the window for her license and registration. There was enough to charge her with intent to sell. A felony.”

I felt my eyes twitch. The idea that Kate had had that much heroin didn't seem real to me.

Ken turned and stared out the massive window. The view looked down over the west end of Mount Soledad and La Jolla Shores, barely glimpsing the far edge of the Pacific.

He shook his head. “I couldn't let her go to jail.”

“What was she doing with the drugs, Ken?” I asked. “Did she have a problem?”

He laughed bitterly. “Oh, she had a problem. From what I learned, she experimented with it during college. Battled with it from then on.”

“She couldn't shake it?” I asked, trying to picture a strung-out Kate in an Ivy League dorm room.

“She tried rehab several times, but never lasted more than six months clean.” He looked at me. “It was killing her. Until about a year ago.”

I didn't understand. “What happened?”

He smiled sadly. “She kicked it, on her own. No help from me or doctors or counselors. Just dug in her heels and stopped.”

That sounded more like the Kate I had known.

“Then what was she doing with heroin in her car?” I asked.

His mouth puckered for a moment, like he was trying to get down some awful food. “It wasn't hers.”

I looked at him, doubtful. “From what you've just told me, that's pretty hard to buy into.”

“I know. But it wasn't hers, Noah,” he said, his voice tight.

“Whose was it, then?”

He turned to the window again, shaking his head as if he still couldn't believe what he was about to say. “It was Randall's.”

I leaned back into the sofa and listened.

“Randall had a…problem, as well,” Ken said. “When they first got married, they were perfect for one another. Just a couple of yuppie junkies with too much money.”

He licked his lips, as if he were trying to get the taste out of his mouth. “I'd really given up. Figured she was going to die, thought we'd get a call in the middle of the night and have to pull her out of the gutter. I tried to do what I could. But it didn't matter.” He paused. “When Kate cleaned up, I assumed Randall had, too.”

“But he hadn't,” I said.

“I'm not exactly sure,” he said. “Kate said he had, but I think he may have been dabbling, if that's the appropriate term.”

“Why?”

He shrugged. “Just his appearance when we went to visit. One day he looked fine, next he looked like crap. I learned to recognize the signs after dealing with Kate.”

He rubbed his hand over his face. When I was in high school, I had alternately wanted to impress Ken Crier and kick his ass. Now I just felt sorry for him.

“Anyway, it was his car Kate was driving. She told me she didn't know it was there and she was just as surprised to see it under the seat as the cop was. We were at a point where I knew she wasn't lying to me anymore.”

“But the police didn't believe her?”

His eyes fired up again. “She covered for his ass, Noah. She took the blame.”

“Why?”

“Because he was on probation,” he said, almost spitting it out. “
Is
on probation. Got arrested about a year and a half ago for possession, pleaded down to a lesser charge.”

I tried to take it all in. Kate and Randall were both users. Maybe dealers. The good doctor had gotten caught and escaped with a tiny slap—as long as it didn't happen again.

“So she covered for him,” I said.

“Yeah.”

“And he let her.”

An ugly smile twisted his mouth. “And he let her.”

Cheating on Kate and then getting her into this crap. I now had two reasons to beat the crap out of Randall Tower.

“I set it up,” Ken said. “I got the San Diego DA to arrange with the DA in Marin. They brought her down. She had to make four buys.”

“They miked her and everything?”

“The whole deal.”

I could feel the anger building in my stomach. She'd finally gotten her life together and ended up dying, trying to cover her husband's ass.

“And Randall let her,” I said again.

Ken Crier nodded slowly, not saying anything, a mixture of anger, guilt, and sadness playing across his features.

We sat there for a moment, him staring out at nothing, me trying to remember the girl I'd loved in high school.

“What was going to happen after the last buy?” I asked.

He swung his gaze back to mine, his eyes red. “They were going to take the recorded conversations and the drugs she bought and hopefully get Costilla. They thought this was their chance to take him down.”

“Was she going to testify?”

“Not in court. It was going to be done through paperwork and by video. She wouldn't have to enter the courtroom. Once they had what they needed, she was done and clear. She told me she was going to leave Randall, to start all over…” His voice trailed off.

“What?” I asked.

His eyes were someplace else, maybe back to that last conversation with his youngest daughter. “I thought maybe she was going to try to find you, Noah.”