''And get you some gloves. Your hands are gonna freeze,'' Stadic said. He groped under his sweater for the stock of the old. 38. ''Do that,'' Sell-More said.
He was out, ready to slam the door, when Stadic called, ''Hey. Wait a minute.''
Sell-More leaned forward to say, ''Huh?'' but never got the syllable out: As he leaned under the roof, Stadic shot him in the face, one quick shot, a bang and a flash, and Sell-More dropped straight down, banging his head on the doorsill as he fell, a wet snapping sound.
''Shit.'' Stadic stretched across the seat, and put the muzzle almost against the back of Sell-More's head, and pulled the trigger again. Sell-More's head popped up and down. ''If you ain't dead, fuck ya,'' Stadic said, and he stretched out and caught the door handle and pulled the door shut.
He was in his own car with the murder weapon. He could feel his heart thumping: had to dump the gun. If he got a block away, no jury would convict him, unless he had the gun. But he couldn't ditch it too quick. They'd check close around the body, anyplace a gun might be thrown.
And he listened to the radio; the radio was routine, nothing more. Give it another block. Give it one more. Another one. No calls? He found another dark street, caught the black cut of a storm sewer, pulled up close, cracked the door, dumped the gun. Just before he closed the door, he heard an odd sound, and he hesitated.
What was it? His ears were still ringing from the shots, maybe he was hearing that. He rolled down the window, just an inch, and heard the sound again, over the noise of the wheels. And then he passed the end of the block, and looked down to the right. A group of kids on the sidewalk, with candles.
Carolers.
''Christ,'' he said. ''Little fuckers oughta be in bed.'' And he went on.
SELL-MORE HADN'T SHOWN, AND DEL HAD COME AND gone-he'd be at the hospital, he said. Sherrill had left for the funeral home. Visitation night. Lucas and Sloan said they'd be along.
''You don't have to come,'' Sherrill said.
''Of course we have to,'' Lucas said. He patted her on the shoulder. ''We'll be there.''
When she was gone, Sloan said, ''Why don't we pick up a burger and a beer before we go over?''
Lucas nodded: ''All right.'' He was locking the door when they heard running footsteps. Anderson, white-faced, came around the corner: ''It's Palin,'' he blurted.
''What?'' Lucas looked at Sloan, then back to Anderson.
''I had Gina down at Dispatch running tapes, to nail down where Palin was when he was on duty. And night before last, he called in a Wisconsin plate. You won't believe…''
''Elmore Darling,'' Lucas said, snapping his fingers. ''That's how he found
Darling. Took the numbers off the plate when he talked to LaChaise, ran them, went over there and killed Darling.''
''I think so,'' Anderson said, his oversized Adam's apple bobbing in his thin neck. ''We never would have caught him if we hadn't run those old tapes.''
''Arne Palin,'' Sloan said, shaking his head.
''Let's take him,'' Lucas said.
SEVENTEEN
LUCAS MET QUICKLY WITH ROUX AND LESTER, AND LESTER got the Emergency Response
Unit moving. Palin was at home: his precinct boss called him about emergency overtime. Palin said he'd be happy to work, and was told to stay close to the phone while they figured out a new schedule.
''LaChaise isn't with him. He couldn't be that far gone,'' Lucas said to Roux and Lester, as they walked out toward the doorway.
''We can't take the chance, we don't want anyone else killed. Let the ERU do the entry,'' Lester said. ''If LaChaise isn't there, you get in there and see if you can crack Palin in a hurry. Maybe we can get LaChaise's location before he figures out that we've got Palin.''
''Sloan's here, he can help with the interrogation,'' Lucas said. They turned a corner and saw Sloan waiting by the door, talking with Franklin. As they walked up, Stadic came in, stamped snow off his feet.
''You want to come?'' Lucas asked Franklin.
''If you need the weight,'' Franklin said. He nodded atStadic, who nodded back.
''I'm trying to sneak out to my house and pick up some clothes for my old lady.''
''Do this one thing first,'' Lucas said. He turned to Stadic. ''How about you?
You look kind of fucked up.''
''Yeah, I am,'' Stadic said, shaking his head.
''All right,'' Lucas said. He stuck a finger in Stadic's gut. ''Get some sleep.''
''But what's happening?'' Stadic asked.
''We think one of our guys is talking to LaChaise,'' Lester said grimly.
Stadic's eyelids fluttered, and he said, ''No way.'' And then, ''Who?''
Lucas, Sloan and Franklin were already pushing through the door into the snow.
''Arne Palin,'' Roux said to Stadic, behind them.
''No way,'' Stadic said again.
''I gotta think he's right,'' Franklin said as they stepped out into the snow and the door closed. He looked up at the miserable sky, which was so close that he almost felt he could touch it. ''I can't believe it's Arne Palin.''
STADIC WENT DOWN TO HIS OFFICE; NOBODY HOME, just a bunch of empty desks. He kept a half-dozen white crosses stashed in a hole at the back of a desk drawer, where they couldn't be seen even if you emptied out the drawer. He popped one, as an eye-opener, took his phone out of his pocket and started to punch the speed dial, but stopped, frowned, thought about it and turned it off again. Cell phones are radios. He should stay off the air.
Then it occurred to him that LaChaise's calls on the cell phone could be traced.
Shit. If they found the phone, and checked the billing, he'd be screwed. Stadic started to sweat. Christ, he had to get that cell phone. Had to.
He thought for a moment, then picked up a desk phoneand dialed LaChaise's number: as he dialed, the first of the amphetamine hit his bloodstream, and his mind seemed to clear out a bit.
LaChaise answered: ''Yeah.''
''I got a guy for you,'' Stadic said, without preamble.
''Which one?''
''Franklin. He and Davenport and a couple of other guys just left here, they're gonna raid a guy… nothing to do with you. But I heard Franklin say he had to sneak over to his house after this raid, to pick up some clothes for his wife. She's over at the hotel.''
''When's he gonna get there?'' LaChaise asked.
''This raid won't take long,'' Stadic said. ''They'll probably hit this house in twenty minutes or so, and Franklin doesn't live too far away. I'd say, half hour to an hour, depending on what happens with the raid.''
''Anybody watching his house?''
''No.''
''Gimme the address,'' LaChaise said.
After he hung up, Stadic worked it through his quickening brain: wait in the snow across the street. If he saw LaChaise and Martin arrive, that was fine. If he didn't, he'd wait until Franklin showed. Franklin would pull out the other two. And when they moved in on him, to kill him, Stadic could come up from behind, and take them out.
Just as he'd planned it at the other house, but with one less guy to worry about. Had to get that cell phone, though.
Leaving the office, locking the door, he heard voices in the hall, and then
Lester came around the corner with Lew Harrin, a homicide guy. He heard Lester say, ''There's Stadic, let's get him,'' and then Lester called, ''Hey, Andy.''
Stadic turned as they came up. ''Yeah?''
''We got a homicide down on Thirty-third, somebody ran over a guy laying in the street. The uniforms checked it out, say it looks like he was already dead, couple of bullets in the head. Run down there with Lew, see what's going on.''
''Listen, I'm totally fucked…'' Stadic began.
''Yeah, I know,'' Lester said. ''We're all fried. We can't put you out front because you don't have a gun, but you can do this, this is just bullshit interviewing. Anyway, we hear the guy's a doper. Maybe you'll know him.''