The 7th Canon (38 page)

“I was thinking,” she said, “you know, about what you said in the kitchen, about there being so many kids out there who need a good home, good parents.”

His chest rose, shuddered, and fell.

“I know it’s hard for you to think about, and I’m not trying to replace Frankie. I just want us to have a family, to be a family again. You’re a good dad. You’re a good father. So many kids out there need a good father like you.”

He shifted so he could see her face. “What are you saying?”

“We could adopt, Frank. We could help some of those kids out there who are lost. We could give them a better life, a chance.”

He didn’t know what to say. He thought of his conversation with Peter Donley about children with bad fathers; not necessarily fathers that abused them, but fathers who ignored them, didn’t spend time with them, didn’t offer them all of the things that a good father could offer and teach. Ross had been a good father. He had so much to offer.

He kissed the top of her head. The moisture from her cheek dampened his chest. “What did I do to deserve someone as good as you?” he asked.

“Will you at least think about it, Frank?”

He already had.

The telephone rang.

“Saved by the bell,” his wife said with a trace of humor.

Ross reached over his head and blindly lifted the receiver, thinking it might be Sam Goldman, or Donley. “Hello?”

“Frank? It’s Lieutenant Aileen O’Malley.”

Ross sat up.

His wife rolled to the side. “Who is it?”

Ross mouthed, “O’Malley.”

“Aileen?” Julia said.

“Frank, I’m sorry to call so late. I’m sure I’m not a voice you expected to hear.”

She might have been the last voice he expected to hear. “Can’t say I did.”

“I don’t doubt it. But I got a kid down here telling one hell of a story, and I think you’ll want to hear it.”

“Come again?”

“He has your card in his pocket, and he says you gave it to him.”

Ross swung his legs over the side of the bed. “Red-haired kid?”

“He says Peter Donley dropped him off here and told the officers the kid had a story to tell me.”

“Dropped him off?”

“That’s right.”

Ross got a bad feeling. “Donley isn’t with him?”

“No. The kid said Donley told him not to be afraid anymore, to just tell the officers the truth and we’d keep him safe.”

“Did he say where Donley went?”

“That’s what concerns me. The kid said this had to do with Dixon Connor and that Peter Donley said he was going to take care of the problem. Do you know what the hell he’s talking about Frank? Frank?”

“I’m here, Aileen.”

“Do you know what he meant?”

Ross did. “Aileen, I’m going to need your help. I’m going to need some black-and-whites to meet me at Dixon Connor’s house in the Sunset and do what I tell them. Can you do that, for old time’s sake? There might be a life at stake.”

Donley heard the growl before the thick, dark shape materialized, darting from the shadows between the canyon of gutted car frames.

Connor, too, turned at the sound, but the Rottweiler had already closed the distance. Its paws impacted Connor’s chest with the full force of its weight and momentum, knocking him off his feet. The big gun exploded, off target, echoing like a cannon blast. Connor rolled, but the Rottweiler had seized the arm holding the gun, locking its teeth into flesh, shaking its head.

Connor howled, a horrific cry of pain.

Donley backed away, uncertain what he had just witnessed, what he was continuing to witness. Then the inner voice of instinct shouted.

Run!

The videotape and Bible lay on the ground, having fallen from Connor’s pocket. Donley grabbed both, turned, and ran. He ducked his way through the maze of gutted car frames, searching for a way out. The holes where the car headlights had once been followed him like hollow eye sockets, the front grills menacing grins. He ran blindly, uncertain of his direction or his path.

Behind him, the dog growled, and he heard Connor yell again in anguish.

Donley chose another row. Circles. He was running in circles. He turned yet again and skidded to a stop at the base of the cyclone fence.

Dead end.

He started back in the direction he had come but stopped when he heard the same guttural growl from somewhere in the dark. It came out of the darkness and shadows.

A second dog.

The impact knocked Connor backward, as if he’d been hit by a train. His legs came out from under him, and when he hit the ground, a sharp pain exploded at the small of his back, followed by an intense heat and electric jolt. It felt like the time he’d been shot.

Something had embedded deep in his flesh, but Connor was in no position to try and dislodge whatever had impaled him. The dog had bit down with such force, Connor thought the bones in his arm would snap. Blood saturated the sleeve of his sport coat. He feared the taste would send the dog into a primal frenzy.

Connor had spent eight years with the canine unit, and through his pain and shock, he still could recognize that the dog was well trained, attacking and immobilizing the arm holding the weapon. The junkyard was clearly no longer abandoned. The dog would not let go. There was no one to call it off. Still, as long as the dog had its jaws clamped around Connor’s arm, it could not go for his throat, and that gave Connor a chance. The problem was, with the dog’s jaws immobilizing Connor’s arm, he could not use the gun to kill it.

He felt the strength in his grip waning and rotated his body to kick at the animal, but the dog dragged him in a circle, causing the sharp object to embed deeper into Connor’s flesh, the pain now searing.

Connor squeezed the trigger, hoping the sound might scare the animal, but it had no effect. The dog maintained its grip. Connor rolled onto his right side and reached behind him with his left hand, feeling something cylindrical protruding from his back. It was his only chance. He gripped it, took a deep breath, clenched his teeth, and yanked the shiv free, swallowing the pain. He flipped his legs around the dog’s thick body, momentarily straddling it like a bull, raised the jagged metal, and struck.

The second Rottweiler stepped from the shadows. As big as the one chewing on Connor’s arm, the dog thrust out its front paws, lowered its head, and bared its teeth, daring Donley to get past it.

Donley heard an anguished cry of pain. So did the dog. Its ears perked and it turned its head, but only momentarily. It returned its attention to Donley, inching closer.

Donley looked over his shoulder at the fence. He could climb it, but not as fast as the dog would attack. He thought of Kim and what she had taught him for so many years about finding an inner peace even during moments of chaos. He just didn’t know if he had the courage to do it, but he also knew he had no choice.

With no other option, he slowly dropped to a knee. The dog lurched forward, digging its front paws into the dirt, barking and growling. Donley paused, then, slowly, he lowered to his other knee. He kept his eyes down, each movement slow and deliberate.

“Easy, boy. Easy now,” he whispered.

The dog made another false charge.

Donley fought not to panic. He fought his instinct to get up and run. Instead, he willed himself to lower his body onto the ground.

The dog bared its teeth and made another charge, but this time Donley sensed it did so because it was confused. Donley slowly brought his knees to his chest and cradled his face in his arms, assuming a fetal position, trying to slip into that place of tranquility. He could hear the chain around the dog’s neck rattling and the low growl as it circled. Dog breath warmed the side of Donley’s face. He did not dare move. The dog gripped his forearm with its jaws and pulled, but it did not bite down. The leather jacket offered some protection, but Donley could still feel the power in the dog’s jaws. Strong as a bull, the animal dragged Donley’s body inches along the ground.

When Donley did not resist, the dog dropped his arm. Then it sniffed at Donley’s face, moving closer to his bloodied ear.

Frank Ross slowed at an intersection to allow a car to pass, then gunned the Cadillac through the red light. Dixon Connor lived in the Sunset District near the ocean. It was Connor’s parents’ house, less than five miles from Frank Ross’s home. Ross remembered thinking it was too close. Now, he wished it were closer.

Red was in a conference room in homicide talking about Connor and videotapes, and generally confusing the hell out of Lieutenant Aileen O’Malley and Detective John Begley.

Before leaving the house, Ross had called Kim Donley, but she said Peter wasn’t home, that he’d eaten dinner and said he had to go back to the office to work on his motion to exclude the evidence. He gave her his car-phone number and asked her to call him back when she’d heard from her husband. Kim Donley called Ross back five minutes later and said she’d called the office but no one had answered. Now stricken with worry, she said she’d asked Danny Simeon if he knew where Peter had gone. Simeon had told her Peter had said he was going to find a red-haired kid who’d stayed at the shelter, but he had no idea where else Donley would have gone. Frank Ross did.

Peter Donley was going after the evidence. Donley had told him as much. He’d said, to win, he had to find Andrew Bennet’s killer. Now he had.

Headlights appeared to his right. Ross slammed on the brakes, sending the Cadillac into a skid on the fog-slickened pavement. He turned the wheel hard against the spin, correcting. A horn blared. He punched the accelerator. The back end fishtailed, but he avoided the oncoming vehicle. His heart raced, and for a brief moment he’d flashed back to that morning when he’d hit the minivan, but he dismissed it. He needed to focus. Connor was a trained cop, a good one, and one mean, strong son of a bitch. He would think nothing of blowing a hole in Peter Donley if he found him in his house.

Ross skidded the Cadillac to a stop at the curb. Within seconds, the patrol cars Aileen O’Malley had sent pulled up behind him. Ross jumped from the car, slapping a clip into his SIG. He quickly apprised the uniformed officers of the situation and said Connor would be armed and should be considered extremely dangerous. Beyond that, he had no idea what they would find inside.