The Clockwork Teddy (28 page)

Once Gregg got off the phone with the Air Bureau, he asked me, “You’re sure about this?”

“Yeah, and not just because I’m feeling as if I have to redeem myself,” I said. “This may be our best shot at a peaceful resolution to this thing.”

“How so?”

“If you move beyond his bluster and listen to his actual words, you can hear that the kidnapping wasn’t Kyle’s idea.”

“He’s definitely spooked,” said Gregg. “Maybe he’s discovered that killing people in real life isn’t as fun as in a video game.”

“I don’t know.” Colin shook his head. “The little puke sounded pretty definite.”

“That’s because you were listening to the sound instead of the message, son.” I pushed myself to my feet. “Think back on the words and expressions he used. They’re mushy. He’s mushy. Kyle is already mentally disassociating himself from the crime.”

Heather’s eyes narrowed. “You’re right. He never referred to Mama by her name.”

“Exactly. Kyle’s not even aware of it, but he’s trying to rationalize the kidnapping by depersonalizing your mom. But he won’t be able to do that if he has to talk to the kidnap victim’s loving husband.”

“Then before we go . . .” Gregg took out his key ring and unlocked the bottom drawer of his desk. Opening the drawer, he pulled out a small semiautomatic pistol in a nylon ankle holster and offered it to me. “Just in case.”

“I appreciate the thought, but an
ankle
holster? If this goes to hell, I don’t think Kyle is going to give me the time to sit down so I can get to my gun.”

“Then stick it in your jacket pocket.” Gregg still held the gun out.

“There’s no point. I won’t use it. If Kyle dies, then so will Ash.”

“Will you at least take a portable radio?”

“Of course, but I’ll leave it in the van when I get out to give Kyle the bear.” I checked my watch. “The other thing I’m going to need is a black-and-white to give me a Code-Three escort at least part of the way. With the traffic, I’m going to have to use the breakdown lane on the freeway.”

“And it probably wouldn’t be a good idea to have the CHP chase you to the rendezvous.” Gregg put the gun back into the drawer. Pulling his portable radio from its charger and handing it to me, he said, “I’ll grab a patrol car and notify the highway patrol that we’re going to be breaking some traffic laws.”

Turning the radio on, I said, “I’ll stand by at the handicapped parking slots and follow you.”

“Fine, but I want your promise that you’re going to be damn careful. I don’t want to be the one explaining to Ash how you got hurt.” Gregg slapped me on the shoulder.

Heather grabbed the robot and we all trooped from the office. Once downstairs, I ignored the pain in my left shin and limped as fast as I could from the building and to the parking lot. I unlocked the doors when we were still fifteen yards from the van and Heather rushed ahead to put the robot on the passenger seat. Just before I climbed into the minivan, Colin shook my hand and my daughter gave me a tight hug. Then they sprinted toward the police parking lot and their unmarked car.

Once I was behind the wheel and shut the door, I took a deep breath and was unprepared for what happened next. The atmosphere inside the vehicle was still slightly fragrant with the delicious smell of the gingerbread-scented lotion Ash had rubbed into her hands just before going into Lauren’s house. The aroma almost swept me away in a tsunami of anguish, fear, and guilt. However, I roughly reminded myself that this wasn’t the time or place for a self-pity party. I started the van, turned on the emergency flashers, and peered into the rearview mirror, waiting for Gregg to arrive.

A few seconds later, a police cruiser came tearing around the corner of the parking lot. The car’s overhead emergency lights were flashing and the headlights were wigwagging. Then the car skidded to a stop as Gregg waited for me to back the van up and then pull in behind him. My old partner gave me a thumbs-up and then we pulled out onto Bryant Street.

One of the very first things I discovered was that boxy minivans don’t corner well at high speeds. Nor are they particularly fast. What’s more, some drivers assumed that I was merely trying to take advantage of the path that Gregg was blazing and attempted to cut me off so that
they
could escape the gridlock by following the police car. Meanwhile, I was leaning on the van’s horn and giving my command of Anglo-Saxon expletives an aerobic workout.

We finally worked our way through the city streets to the on-ramp to the 101 Freeway, where the commuter traffic in the southbound lanes was nearly immobile. Gregg made no effort to merge into the traffic. Sounding his car’s siren, he remained in the right-hand emergency lane and I had to jam the van’s accelerator to the floor to keep up with the cruiser. It was smooth sailing until we got to the Cesar Chavez Street off-ramp, where the traffic was so congested that our progress was reduced to little better than walking speed. I got as close as I could to the black-and-white’s back bumper as Gregg slowly forced his way through the solid mass of vehicles. The dashboard clock read 4:36 P.M.

Four minutes later, a gap opened and we were soon rocketing down the emergency lane again, but I knew it was only a temporary respite from the gridlock. The interchange connecting the 101 Freeway and the Southern Embarcadero Freeway was just ahead and our speed was once more reduced to a crawl. Furthermore, we needed to make a lane change to the left so that we didn’t end up on the ramp that would take us southwest toward the other side of the San Francisco peninsula and away from the stadium.

We tried to edge our way into the correct lane, but some middle-aged guy driving a BMW convertible actually closed his distance with the truck in front of him so that Gregg couldn’t make the merge. Gregg hit the siren, but the driver of the Beemer stared straight ahead, as if oblivious to the deafening electronic yelping.

That’s when my old partner decided to use his patrol car as an icebreaker. Using the cruiser’s heavily reinforced front push-bumper, Gregg slowly edged up to the BMW and began carefully shoving it sideways toward the adjoining lane, where cars were swerving to avoid a low-speed collision. Meanwhile, the driver of the convertible was shaking his fist and, although I couldn’t hear him, I knew he was screaming. Once there was enough room for us to get into the correct lane, Gregg waved at the choleric driver and I followed the black-and-white through the newly created hole. The dashboard clock read 4:47 P.M.

When we got south of the freeway interchange, Gregg turned off the police car’s siren and we resumed our high-speed journey in the breakdown lane. We passed a highway sign that said the Monster Stadium exit was only a mile and a half ahead and I heaved a tiny sigh of relief. It looked as if I was going to make it to the rendezvous in time.

Gregg radioed, “Okay, partner, I’m going to continue south and do a turnaround at the next off-ramp. We’ll be standing by at McLaren Park.”

I keyed the transmit button of the portable radio. “Copy that and I’m turning the radio off now. I don’t want to run the risk of our boy hearing it.”

“Ten-four, and if we haven’t heard from you by seventeen-fifteen, we’re coming in like the Second Armored Division.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, but negative. Kyle will probably be late, because he’s going to want to make absolutely sure we haven’t set up a trap. I’ll call when we’ve made the exchange”

“I suppose you’re right. But if we haven’t heard from you in a half hour . . .”

“You have my permission to charge. Been nice working with you again, partner,” I said, as I guided the minivan onto the off-ramp for Monster Stadium.

“Same here and good luck,” said Gregg.

I stopped for a red light at the end of the ramp and used the opportunity to turn off the portable radio and hide it under my car seat. The light turned green and I drove toward the stadium, passing a huge, flashing marquee-style sign that said the 49ers would be playing the St. Louis Rams there next Sunday. Turning onto Jamestown Avenue, I went down the road until I came to the parking attendant kiosks at the entrance of Monster Park. The tall chain-link fence gates were closed and locked. The van’s dashboard clock read 4:58 P.M.

There was no one else there; however, I’d expected that. Knowing that Kyle was probably watching me at that very moment, I turned the engine off, grabbed Patrick and my cane, and got out of the minivan. Even though it was a sunny day, it was windy and almost unpleasantly cool.

I checked my watch. The time was now 5:01 P.M. Just three minutes had passed since I’d arrived, but it felt much longer. I leaned against the side of the minivan to temporarily take some of the weight off my left leg. Then I checked my watch again. It was 5:02 P.M. Jamestown Avenue was empty and I was growing more nervous by the moment.

In an effort to avoid slipping into panic mode, I forced myself to role-play the impending meeting with Kyle. My first inclination was to threaten the little scumbag and his mother with death if Ash received so much as a scratch. It would have been satisfying for me to see the fear in Kyle’s eyes, but I knew it was the wrong approach. I just wasn’t certain why.

Then it struck me. Some of the recurring phrases that Kyle had used in the demand note and later on the telephone were the key. He repeatedly called other people stupid, told them to shut up, and had a pathetic thirst for telling the police that he was the boss. My guess was that Kyle was merely repeating what he’d heard from his mother throughout his life. In fact, Lauren was still telling him to shut up. She’d delivered the command to her son moments before murdering Uhlander.

Remembering my own torturous childhood and the emotional wreckage wrought by trying to reconcile the fact you were being bullied by someone who was supposed to love you, I felt a distant kinship with Kyle. That didn’t mean I was prepared to pardon his behavior, however. He was a grown man and it was well past time someone gently reminded him of that.

It was 5:12 P.M. when I saw a car approaching from the same direction I’d come. As the vehicle got closer, I could see it was a pale green Toyota Prius, which had to be about the most ridiculous-looking and environmentally-friendly getaway car I’d ever seen. The car came to a stop about twenty yards away and Kyle glared at me through the windshield. I could tell he knew who I was and that he was trying to make a decision on whether he should abort the rendezvous. Meanwhile, I continued to lean against the minivan with Patrick in my arms, doing my best to keep a sad yet serene look on my face.

Finally, Kyle put the car into park, but didn’t shut the engine off. When he got out of the Prius, I saw that he seemed to be dressed in the same clothes I’d briefly seen him wearing in the video shot on Saturday night. The other thing I noticed was the .45 automatic in his right hand.

Kyle took a few steps toward me and pointed the big gun at me with a palsied grip. “You’re a cop! I ought to kill you right now!”

“Since I know that you’re going to kill my wife, you’d be doing me a favor, Kyle.”

“I told you that if you cooperated, she’d be all right.”

“If it were up to you, I might believe that. But it isn’t, and I’ve already seen what your mother does to witnesses.” I glanced meaningfully at the robot.

“What are you talking about?” Kyle took another couple of shuffle steps towards me, while keeping the pistol shakily pointed at my chest. Now that he was closer, I could see he was unshaven and that there were dark circles under his eyes.

“Patrick recorded the gunfight. Even though you begged her not to, your mother killed that man in cold blood.”

“We didn’t have a choice.” Kyle tried to sound bellicose, but I could see the horror in his eyes as he recalled the murder.

“Of course you had a choice. You just elected not to make one, because you’re way too comfortable taking orders from your mommy,” I said in a mildly scoffing tone. “Grown men don’t behave that way. They make their own choices.”

“I make my own decisions!”

“Really? So, was it your idea to break off the relationship with Rhiannon?”

Kyle sagged slightly. “I . . .”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Rhiannon was in love with you, Kyle. And you loved her, because you were talking about getting married. Yet you threw it all away simply because your mom told you to.”

“Mom was only looking out for my own good.”

I gave him a pitying look. “Do you honestly believe that? Here’s a news flash, Kyle: It had nothing to do with your welfare. Your mom was jealous of Rhiannon. More importantly, a man your age looks out for his
own
good. Hell, I’ll bet the idea to steal Patrick wasn’t even your idea.”

“Mom said she was going to lose the house and that we had to do something.” Kyle took another couple steps closer and slowly lowered the pistol to his side.

“So, she forced you to break the heart of the woman you love, steal from your employer, destroy your career, and as a bonus, got you involved in an ambush murder. And this was for your own good?” I chuckled bitterly. “Thank God your mom wasn’t trying to ruin you.”

“It didn’t work out the way she thought it would.”

“Which is a clue that what she’s doing is selfish and wrong. Yet, you’re still following her orders like a little four-year-old . . . who’s terrified that he’ll be beaten and told he isn’t loved if he doesn’t obey. Which was exactly what happened when you were a kid, wasn’t it?”

Kyle’s body stiffened and his eyes met mine. He looked ill.

I sighed and continued in a softer tone, “My mom was the same way. She was a control freak and she played the same manipulative mind games with me that your mother does with you.”

“No, that’s not the way my mom is,” he said feebly.

“Right. Look, Kyle, I know you didn’t have a happy childhood, but it has been a long one. It’s time to grow up and cut the puppet strings. Would you have killed that man on Saturday night?’

“No.”

“If your mother hadn’t told you to, would you have planted the murder weapon in the car owned by the woman you love?”

“No.” Kyle swallowed hard.

“And would you have kidnapped an innocent woman so that you could sell Patrick back to Lycaon?”