This had sounded different. The calls were faster, the voices strained. He’d coasted to a stop outside the brick two-flat and turned up the volume.
“-10-1, all available units, shots fired at Century Mall…”
“-ambulance, we need another ambulance…”
“-Jesus, it’s a war zone…”
“-officer down, repeat, officer down…”
He didn’t understand the situation, but it was clear what he should do. The mall was in his area, which made it his problem. What he was supposed to do was hit flashers and haul ass.
Instead he parked and got out of the car. Climbed the steps to Tom and Anna’s. He rang the bell, leaning on it, holding it down. Banged on the door. Nothing.
Halden walked around back, to a small yard with a picnic table and untended flower gardens. He looked up at the window, cupped his hands around his mouth, and yelled. “Tom! Anna! This is Detective Halden. I need to talk to you right now.”
Nothing.
He yelled louder for the benefit of the neighbors, hoping embarrassment might drive them out. “Mr. and Mrs. Reed, this is the police. Come out right now.”
Nothing.
Damn it. Where were they? The house had been a long shot, but worth a try. Had they spooked somehow? Could they have talked to another cop, found out that he hadn’t told the lieutenant after all? He chewed on his lip, fought the urge for a cigarette. Finally he turned and walked back to the car. Until they turned up, may as well do his job.
It took him ten minutes to get to the mall, and he barely recognized the place once he did. The front glass was broken out onto the concrete. An ambulance and at least a dozen squad cars blocked the street and sidewalks, light bars spinning blue. Sirens wailed from every point of the compass. As he watched, EMTs raced out with a gurney, a tech running alongside to keep pressure on a chest blooming red. Two hundred citizens clustered behind yellow tape, watching the show. A reporter screamed obscenities at a cop trying to hold her back.
Halden left his car on the sidewalk, badged the guys at the door. “Who’s the detective in charge?”
“Detective? You kidding?” The cop shook his head. “Half the brass is here. The security office.”
Inside, the mall had a surreal quality, chairs and benches overturned, glass broken from store windows, pop music playing over the sound system, but instead of shoppers, there were crime techs and tactical officers and photographers. Most of the action seemed to be concentrated a couple floors up, but Halden wanted to find out what had happened before looking at the scene itself.
The mall security office was small, a windowless room with a couple of grainy monitors and too many people huddled around them. He gave up hope of pushing inside when he saw how much his rank would bring down the average. Instead, he wandered until he saw a detective he recognized from a raid the year before, an Uptown meth house. “What’s the story?”
“Some sort of a meet gone wrong,” the man said. “A couple of bodies. Six or eight bad guys. They shot a cop on the way out.”
“He okay?”
The detective shook his head. “Took one to the head.”
Somebody was fucked, then. You didn’t shoot police in Chicago.Halden gestured to the security office. “What’s the big attraction?”
“They pulled a security feed from one of the stores.”
“Anything useful?”
“Yeah. One of them looks like Jack Witkowski.”
“The Shooting Star suspect?” Surprise came first. Then Halden felt his stomach tighten. Yesterday, Tom Reed had said the drug dealer had mentioned Witkowski. Then Reed had gone AWOL. When Halden had finally gotten hold of him, the guy had sounded scared. And behind his voice, there had been the random sounds of a public place, and a persistent beat, like music.
Maybe the same music that was playing over the speakers right now. Shit. Shit, shit, oh shit. The other detective started to walk away, but Halden grabbed his arm. “Wait. Did you see the tape?”
“Yeah.”
“Who else was there?”
“Nobody anybody recognized. The angle is lousy. They’re looking at cameras from other stores now.”
“Could you see anybody else?” He couldn’t keep the panic from his voice. “Anybody at all?”
The detective looked at him strangely. “Yeah. Witkowski, if it was him, he was talking to two people. A man and a woman, looked like taxpayers. Had a bag that they started to show just before everything went crazy. They ended up running.”
Halden let go of the guy’s shoulder. Forced a nod.
“You okay?”
“Yeah. Thanks.” He turned away. The other detective stared for a moment, then shrugged and headed for the doors.
Tom and Anna Reed. It had to be. Which meant that since yesterday,he’d had information that might have prevented this from happening. In all the messages he’d left, he’d never said anything about the money because he hadn’t wanted to spook them into running. He’d pretended he was going to set up the drug dealer, when really he just wanted to lure Tom and Anna somewhere. Wanted to grab them himself and make the big arrest. Be a hero, get his name in the paper, jump clear of his lieutenant and the rest of the politicians.
Which made this his fault. At least partly. If he’d told the truth, things might have gone differently. A dead cop might still be alive.
He’d screwed up before, but never like this.
Halden took a deep breath and started toward the security office, trying to figure out how to share what he knew in a way that didn’t make him the scapegoat for the whole mess.
Eight men were crammed inside the tiny room, talking in low voices. Among them the deputy chief of D’s, his boss’s boss. Halden had caught his eye, started to gesture him over, when a thought hit.
Maybe there was still a way to save this. To come out on top, a hero.
Being a detective was about asking the right question. Right now he was focusing on his own mistake. But that wasn’t what Tom and Anna would be thinking about. Their plan had just backfired horribly. So the real question was, what would they do now?
With the question reframed that way, the answer was obvious. After they knew they were safe, they’d remember that they weren’t criminals. Not in the real meaning of the word. So they’d call the police. And not just any cop – they’d call one who knew them, who would understand their circumstances.
They would call him.
Halden spun on his heel, went back down the corridor. It was a dangerous game, sure. But he could pull it off. Go to the bosses not with hat in hand, but with two people from the incident, a bag full of money, and a complete explanation for what had happened and why. Lemonade from lemons. Instead of being a scapegoat, get a promotion and a pay bump and a hell of a lot closer to that cabin up west of Minocqua. And all he had to do was wait. And pray.
“WELL, that didn’t go quite how you planned.” Marshall sounded like he might have been trying for a joke, but didn’t quite hit it, his voice tight and shoulders tense.
Jack said, “We got out, didn’t we?” The handles of the duffel bag were heavy against his palms, the bulk bumping his knee as they walked through the rain. The heft of the thing felt good, right. He’d worked hard for it. He knew it wouldn’t bring Bobby back – he wasn’t a fucking idiot – but it was something.
Sirens screamed toward them, but Jack held himself steady. The car blew past in a spray of water and flashing light, heading east toward the mall three blocks away. After he’d killed the cop, they’d hit the apartments across the parking lot. A simple matter of jimmying a window lock and they were off the street. Marshall had snagged a black tee from the owner’s dresser and balled the shirt of the fake uniform deep in the kitchen trash. Then they strolled out the front door and down the steps like they owned the place, right past a prowler car coming up to blockade the back of the mall.
“We did get out,” Marshall said. “And we do have the money. But I just feel like there was something that didn’t go quite right. What was it?” He paused theatrically, then put a finger up in a eureka gesture. “Oh yeah – you shot a cop.”