Stilwell went into the jail to eyeball Crane. As expected, he was on his bunk and looked like he was sleeping. Stilwell returned to the bullpen and grabbed a Diet Coke out of the fridge, then went into his office and shut the door. He had arrest documentation to prepare for both Crane and Allen.
The call from Juarez came in shortly before two. By then Stilwell had gone through three levels of anxiety, wondering what had gone wrong with the case and worrying that the jurors had not believed either him or Terranova.
“Go get him,” Juarez said.
“Okay,” Stilwell said. “What did they return?”
“Like we said. Conspiracy to commit murder, but they also threw in obstruction of justice on the abduction.”
“It was more than obstruction of justice.”
“Don’t worry, we’ll upcharge him down the road.”
Stilwell would be sure to tell Tash that.
“Okay,” he said. “We’ll go get him and send him over on the chopper.”
“You coming with him?” Juarez asked.
“Probably not. I don’t really need to, and I’ve got someplace to be.”
“Tash?”
Stilwell hesitated. It felt like Juarez was trying to slide back into the mix of professional and personal banter they had often shared before the revelation of her complicity with Terranova. He knew things would never be the same again. He could never trust her.
Juarez stepped into the silence, seemingly understanding that things had changed.
“Okay, Stil, go do your thing.”
Stilwell disconnected and proceeded to print out the paperwork he had been working on. Because of the communal printer in the office, he had held off doing so until he got the green light from Juarez.
He stepped out of the office and collected the printouts before Mercy could get a look at them.
“Mercy, who’s out on patrol?” he asked.
“Ilsa and Ralph,” Mercy said.
“Is either on a call?”
“Uh, no, last time Ralph checked in, he was posted up by the golf course. He’s the one who asked about the sheriff’s chopper.
He saw it come in.”
“What about Ramirez?”
“She was on Crescent by the ferry dock.”
“Can you get on the radio and tell them to meet me at City Hall? I’m going up there now.”
“Should I say what it’s for?”
“No. Just tell them to meet me there in the circle. It’s not a call for backup.”
The last thing Stilwell wanted was to broadcast over the radio that he needed backup at City Hall. He folded his paperwork, slid it into his back pocket, and went out to the John Deere.
50
City Hall was located on Avalon Canyon Road. Parking was not allowed along the brick-lined circle in front, but Stilwell parked there anyway, pulling to a stop directly opposite the green-framed glass doors of the main entrance. While he waited for Lampley and Ramirez to show up, he called Captain Corum. As usual, Corum did not answer with a hello.
“Are you in position?”
“Yes. Just waiting on backup.”
“Backup? You think there will be trouble?”
“Not really. But I want numbers for this so nobody gets a bad idea.”
“Good. The chopper in position?”
“And waiting. We’ll be sending two.”
“And we’ll meet them.”
“You have media relations working on press releases?”
“In process. Big day for Catalina.”
“Bad day.”
Ilsa Ramirez pulled her cart to a stop next to Stilwell’s.
“Backup’s here,” he said to Corum. “I should go.”
“Call me when they’re in the air,” Corum instructed.
“Will do.”
“And by the way, I just got word that the DA has signed off on the shooting. We got the psych eval in too, and you are returned to duty.”
Stilwell thought about that for a moment.
“You hear that?” Corum prompted.
“Good to know, Cap,” Stilwell said. “But I’m going to need a couple days off after this. A personal matter to attend to.”
“Not a problem. But it would be good for you to be back by the weekend.”
“That’s the plan.”
After ending the call, Stilwell saw Lampley pull up behind Ramirez. He got out and walked between their carts.
“What’s up, boss man?” Lampley said. “You back on duty?”
“As of right now, yes,” Stilwell said.
“Welcome back,” Ramirez said. “What are we doing here?”
“We’re arresting the mayor,” Stilwell said. “For conspiracy to commit murder.”
Both deputies were speechless. Stilwell continued.
“I’m not expecting anything other than verbal pushback,” he said. “But be prepared. He’s got a lot of cronies in this building. Keep alert.”
“You got it,” Lampley said.
“Copy that,” added Ramirez.
Built by William Wrigley Jr. in 1929, City Hall was a sprawling one-story structure that featured the same mix of Art Deco and Mediterranean Revival design elements that the town’s signature Casino had. The trio had to navigate a warren of hallways and helpful arrows to the mayor’s suite of offices, all the while attracting the attention of passersby with their gun belts and badges. Along the way, Stilwell pulled his phone and tapped out a quick text. He sent it just as they got to a set of dark wood doors with the seal of the City of Avalon carved into them.
They proceeded through. In the foyer of the mayor’s suite, twin desks were occupied by female gatekeepers who looked like a formidable mother-and-daughter team. Matching looks of shock spread on their faces when they saw the firepower that had arrived. The elder gatekeeper spoke first.
“Is something wrong?” she asked. “Is this an evacuation?”
“Not really,” Stilwell said. “We just need to see Mayor Allen.”
Her eyes dropped to her desk, where she apparently kept the printout of the mayor’s daily schedule, and she began to shake her head.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t think you—”
“No, we don’t have an appointment,” Stilwell said, cutting her off. “Is he in the office?”
“He’s with people at the moment. I may be able to squeeze you in this afternoon if you can tell me what—”
“That’s not going to work.”
Stilwell moved between the two desks and headed for the next set of double doors, which he knew led to the inner sanctum. He had been in the mayor’s office exactly one time previously. On his first day on the job on the island, he had been summoned there for a meet-and-greet, during which Allen made it clear that he was in firm and permanent control of the town, while Stilwell was a mere carpetbagger who served at his pleasure and convenience.
“Excuse me,” the elder gatekeeper said. “You can’t just go in there. The mayor is—”
“Busy,” Stilwell said. “Yes, I know.”
He kept going, and Ramirez and Lampley followed. Stilwell pushed through the doors, opening both wide, and entered the spacious office. There was a desk to the left and a seating area to the right. Allen was sitting in a chair on the right; another man sat on a couch to his left, and a third stood in front of an easel with an artist’s drawing of what looked like a small hotel or apartment building.
The man by the easel abruptly halted his presentation and looked frightened. Allen turned to see who had entered and immediately jumped to his feet.
“Stilwell!” he barked. “You can’t just come barging in here like some kind of—”
“Douglas Allen,” Stilwell said loudly, shutting down the mayor’s protest. “You are under arrest. Do not resist, and place your hands behind your back.”