Web of Justice (20 page)

He drove to the precinct, contemplating the burden he carried. It was his decision, of course. No one had forced him to be a homicide detective, but he’d made a choice what seemed like so long ago. His consolation was in finding justice for those who’d been victims of others.

He wondered if he was taking it all too personally. He’d been taught to separate the job from his feelings. Many a good cop had ended up driven half-insane—victims of PTSD—by burying themselves too deeply in their jobs, unable to separate their personal lives from the heartbreaking events that surrounded them on a daily basis.

And though he wasn’t much for booze, he understood why a lot of cops turned to the bottle more often than they wanted to admit.

Maybe he should talk to someone about it. Though he didn’t want to burden Amelia with his troubles, perhaps Annie had been right. Amelia was probably the one he should talk to.

Could be he was too soft. Perhaps he should be a little more callous like Detective King; nothing seemed to concern his partner for long. Hank wasn’t sure which was worse.

Or perhaps King kept it all bottled up inside. Sometimes one never knew for sure until it was too late.

Yes, he’d talk to Amelia.

He pulled into the parking lot behind the precinct and went to the front of the building. He climbed the steps, feeling a little better. Thinking it through helped somewhat, and as he strode through the doors and into the precinct, he vowed to renew his efforts in finding Izzy Wilde.

But he didn’t know where to start.

Thus far, the red BMW hadn’t been spotted, and though Izzy’s face was now known to many of the inhabitants of the city, no one had reported a sighting.

As he passed Diego’s office, he glanced inside. The captain was leaning over his desk, a pile of paperwork in front of him, and Hank was reminded his boss had the weight of the whole precinct on him. If Diego ever retired, and Hank was offered the captain’s job, he’d turn it down flat. He didn’t feel cut out to handle that kind of pressure.

Besides, he didn’t want to spend the rest of his career behind a desk. As gut-wrenching as this job was sometimes, he couldn’t see himself doing anything else, and it gave him a sense of fulfillment when a case came to a successful conclusion.

He spun his head when he heard someone call his name. It was Callaway, and the young cop was frantically waving him over.

Hank hurried to Callaway’s desk. “What’s up?”

Callaway sat back and slipped his headphones off one ear. “It’s Wilde,” he said. “He finally contacted his brother. He wants to meet.”

Hank sat on the edge of the guest chair and leaned forward, dropping his arms onto the desk. “When did he call?”

“Just now. Two minutes ago.”

“And when does he want to meet?”

“He didn’t say exactly. Carter told him he’d have to think about it first. Izzy sounded desperate, and he said he’d call back in a few minutes.”

“He hasn’t called back yet?”

“Not yet.”

“I’ll listen to the recording in a minute,” Hank said. He pulled out his cell phone and called Carter Wilde. The man answered right away, and Hank gave his name. “I assume you’re still willing to help us?”

“I am, Detective. I was about to call you. Did you intercept my brother’s phone call?”

“Yes, we heard the call and I want you to meet him. When he calls back, find out where he wants to meet. Don’t sound too eager, but make sure you agree. I can have a team surround the area in less than half an hour. We’ll be monitoring the call.”

Carter agreed and Hank hung up and looked at Callaway. “Were you able to trace the call?”

The young whiz shook his head. “It was too short.”

Hank stood. “Is King here?”

Callaway cocked a thumb over his shoulder. “I think he’s in the break room.”

Maybe that was King’s secret. Perhaps Hank should spend a little more time in the break room. Sure, and then the job would never get done.

He hurried down the hallway and found King slouched back in a chair, his legs crossed at the ankles as they rested comfortably on the tabletop. Hank told King about the call.

His partner looked disappointed. “I was about to call it quits for the day. Head home.”

Hank frowned. “Not until the job’s done.”

King shrugged and took a sip of coffee. “What do you want me to do?”

Though King was a slacker at times, Hank knew his partner could get a job done in short order when he applied himself. Unfortunately, those times were rare. Hank had finally discovered that although King would never be a leader, a good nudge in the right direction usually got him moving.

“I want a SWAT team briefed on the operation and ready to move at a moment’s notice. This might be our only chance to get this guy, and I don’t want to mess it up.”

King slipped his legs off the table, finished his coffee, and rose to his feet. “I’ll get right on it.”

Hank hurried back to Callaway’s desk, where Wilde’s prior phone call was cued up and ready for Hank to listen to. But he didn’t have time. Izzy was calling his brother back.

“Can you meet me?” Izzy was asking. “It’s important. I wanna see you again, and I need some stuff.”

Carter gave an exaggerated sigh. “What do you want?”

“I need some extra clothes. Your stuff will fit me all right. And I could use a new vehicle.”

“I can’t get you a vehicle,” Carter said. “You’ll have to make do with what you have, but I’ll bring you some clothes. Anything else?”

“How about some food?”

“I’ll see what’s in the fridge. I’m sure I’ll find something.” Carter paused. “Where do you wanna meet?”

Izzy hesitated, then said, “I got the perfect spot picked out. Secluded and not busy at this time of day. Meet me at Richmond Valley Park. I’ll be at the rear of the park, over by the tennis courts. I’ll be watching for you.”

There was a long pause, then Carter said, “I can be there by six thirty.”

“Six thirty is good. And, Carter, make sure nobody follows you.”

“Who’s gonna follow me? They’re after you, not me.”

“Just be careful. You never know what the cops might be up to.”

“Of course I’ll be careful,” Carter said. “Do you think I wanna get charged for aiding and abetting a fugitive?”

Hank smiled. Carter was playing his part to perfection.

“I guess not,” Izzy said.

“Then I’ll see you soon.”

The line went dead and Hank sprang into action. He popped his head into Diego’s office, gave him a brief version of recent events, then went to find King.

His partner was on the phone, standing at his seldom-used desk. “We’re ready to roll,” Hank said. “We have a location.”

Fifteen minutes later, a vanload of the best was on the move. The team parked a quarter mile away, and elite officers approached the area in silence, taking up covert positions on all sides. A sniper watched through his scope from a vantage point fifty yards away. No one would get past—in or out.

Hank and King would hang back out of sight until the arrest was made, monitoring the operation on two-way radios. Too many cops increased the odds of being seen, and Hank wanted the team to do their job and make a clean capture.

Minutes went by.

Hank looked at his watch. Carter would be arriving near the tennis courts before long. The man had been briefed on what to do—relax, meet his brother as planned, and let the team take care of the rest. They knew what to do.

Word came over his radio. Carter had parked his vehicle on the road and was on his way to the designated meeting place. There was no sign of Izzy yet, but Carter was four minutes early.

The radio went silent and Hank waited.

~*~

IZZY WILDE CROUCHED in the grass, high atop a hill, two hundred yards behind the tennis courts. He had watched the team move in through high-powered field glasses purchased specially for the occasion. The proprietor of the army surplus store where he’d bought them had been happy to make a sale, and anyway, the guy had been too drunk to recognize who he was doing business with.

It was one of his favorite stores, and it was the same place where he’d purchased his hunting knife earlier that day. Today, he’d taken the occasion to buy a scope for his rifle at the same time. Then a trip out of town, a few practice shots, and he had the scope adjusted pretty well. Not perfect, but good enough for his purposes. He had no pretense at being an expert.

Izzy couldn’t tell how many cops there were—likely not more than a handful. He could make out two at the moment. One lay flat on his stomach, peeking around a tree not far from the tennis courts. Another one hunkered down behind a concrete garbage container on the other side of the courts. He assumed more were nearby.

He didn’t care how many there were. He only wanted one. From his distance, he didn’t expect to hit anyone, anyway. He wasn’t good with a rifle. But hit or miss, if he got a clean shot, he was gonna take it.

They thought he was stupid. They thought he took foolish chances by calling Carter on the phone when it was obvious to him they would be bugging his brother’s calls. And he’d made sure to keep the conversations short. He didn’t want them to trace the call and find his position. And now, he’d show them a thing or two. He wasn’t stupid.

The location where he waited patiently had been chosen simply because he held an advantage here. His plan was to pound off a few shots, then head back down the other side of the hill, where his beautiful red BMW awaited.

He raised the rifle, propped the barrel on a jutting rock, and squinted through the scope. His dear brother was hobbling across the lawn, heading toward the tennis courts. Izzy watched him stop and glance around, then drop the shoulder bag he was carrying onto the ground beside him.

Then Carter eased himself to a sitting position on the grass, laid his cane beside him, and waited.

Izzy adjusted his view toward the cop who thought the tree was going to protect him. Should he aim for the cop’s head? Or maybe for his back? He’d be wearing a vest. A shot to the back wouldn’t do much, though it was a larger target and would give him a better chance of hitting something.

But it didn’t matter much. This was all just a warning, anyway. Just to show them who was in control.

He aimed for the cop’s back, held his breath, and squeezed off five shots.

It was time to scram. He’d find out later if his handiwork had amounted to anything or not.

Chapter 33

Thursday, 8:18 p.m.

JAKE SETTLED INTO a chair, a leftover chicken drumstick in one hand, a napkin in the other, and pulled up to the kitchen table across from Annie.

His wife was relaxing, nursing a cold drink after spending the last two hours hunched over her computer. She’d just finished up a background check for a client and emailed the summary files. There wasn’t much they could do about the Izzy Wilde case at the moment, and she liked to keep up with their regular flow of more mundane tasks. That was their bread and butter, a regular income they could count on to keep the company afloat.

They were still under retainer to Edgar Bragg, but the funds he had supplied would soon run out. By looking at the distraught widower’s lifestyle, Jake assumed the man couldn’t keep payments up indefinitely. Whether they were paid or not, Jake and Annie were committed to bringing Izzy Wilde to justice. Always the compassionate one, Annie would insist on it.

He had tried to get ahold of Hank a little earlier, but the cop hadn’t had time to talk. He’d mentioned something about a stakeout and the possibility of catching Wilde. Jake was anxious to hear more about the operation, and especially how it had turned out. He was pretty sure Hank would’ve contacted him immediately if he had any good news to report.

When the doorbell rang, Jake jumped up and tossed the bare chicken bone into the garbage bin, wiped his hands, and hurried to the door.

He peeked through the peephole. Hank stood outside on the porch, his hands in his pockets, gazing around the neighborhood. Jake opened the door sporting a wide grin and invited his best friend in.

Hank stepped inside and greeted Jake with a handshake, following him into the kitchen. He dropped wearily into a chair, smiled at Annie, and yawned loudly.

“You look like you could use a cup of coffee,” Annie said. “Jake just made a fresh pot.”

“Yes, please. That and a good long nap.”

“I wouldn’t mind a cup while you’re up,” Jake added.

Annie poured three mugs of coffee and brought them to the table along with cream and sugar. Hank fixed his up with cream and a long stream of sugar, took a sip, and stretched.

Jake had waited long enough. “What’s the news?” he asked, looking at Hank.

Hank sighed deeply, set his cup down, and dropped his arms on the table. “We thought we had Izzy Wilde. He’d arranged to meet his brother in Richmond Valley Park. With Carter’s help, we surrounded the meeting spot. Izzy must’ve sensed a trap, or perhaps it was all a game to him, but he was waiting for us.”

Annie leaned in, a troubled look on her face. “Waiting for you?”

“He fired several shots from a good two hundred yards behind our line. Wounded an officer in the leg. Only an experienced sniper could expect a hit from that distance. I’m surprised he even came close.”

Jake frowned. “He got away?”

Hank nodded. “Clean away. We scoured the entire area where the shots came from and finally found five shell casings atop a knoll. There’s a small road at least a quarter mile beyond that. We assume he made his getaway using that road. Officers are still searching the area, but I’d bet he’s long gone. No doubt still driving the red BMW.”

“How’s the officer?” Annie asked.

“He’ll be fine. It wasn’t more than a flesh wound. They took him to the hospital, bandaged him up, and sent him home. It’ll be desk duty for him for a while.”

“What do you think Wilde was trying to prove?” Annie asked. “That he’s smarter than you?”

“Maybe he’s continuing to taunt us,” Hank said. “I don’t think he intended to kill any of the cops. He’d be a real fool to take a chance like that not knowing he had a reasonable chance of hitting anything.”