Page 96 of Witness 8

‘There’s a problem at the Jacksons’. Brett Bale is watching the house. He’s armed. I need you to stall John and Alison for a while. Tell him you want them to go back to the office for just a half-hour. Go over his testimony and brainstorm this anonymous witness some more.’

‘What are you going to do?’ she asked.

‘You know me – I’m going to do something stupid.’

I had hidden my car in a parking lot three blocks from the courthouse. Before I’d stowed it away, I’d had Bloch check it for GPS trackers and other less savory devices. Even checked the fuel tank. It was clean. I’d made sure no one had followed me into the lot or out of it. I picked up the old Mustang and for asecond enjoyed the purr of the V8 when I fired it up, then drove to West 74thStreet.

A light rain was falling. Just a shower. The sun was still high and casting blues and purples through the fine mist. I parked behind Bloch, got out, approached the driver’s window. Bloch buzzed it down.

‘Any change?’ I asked.

Bloch shook her head.

‘Alright, I’m going to go talk to him. When he looks in the rearview mirror, show him Maggie. Then put it away. One more thing. If he shoots me, kill him.’

Bloch began to protest as I walked away from the car and headed straight for the Land Rover. I stood in front of the passenger door. His attention was in the other direction, looking directly at the Jacksons’ home. I knocked on the glass.

Startled, he turned and looked at me. Held my gaze for a second. I gestured that he should open the window. He waved me away.

I didn’t move.

He took another few seconds and looked me over. I was in a suit. My hair was a mess and my tie was undone but I clearly wasn’t a homeless person looking for change.

He pressed a button on the door panel and the window cracked an inch.

‘You going to let me in. It’s raining. I think we need to talk.’

‘Who are you?’

‘My name’s Eddie Flynn. I represent John Jackson.’

The information rolled around in his head for a few seconds. His hand reached for the zipper on his jacket.

I tensed. Stood my ground.

He moved the zipper down below his chest, then put his hand on his stomach. The gun in his jacket could be in his hand and pointed at me in under a second if he moved fast.

‘What do you want?’

‘I already told you. I want to talk.’

His gaze shifted and he stared out of the windshield. There was a lot to process. He was sitting outside an alleged murderer’s home, someone who he might have framed. He was weighing up the options. If I got aggressive, he had a gun.

His left hand was still on the door console. I heard the mechanical clunk of the doors unlocking. I opened the passenger door and got in beside him, shut it behind me.

That right hand moved a little closer to the opening in his jacket.

‘Let’s be clear about this. I just want to talk. Nothing else. So relax.’

His right hand stayed where it was. He kept his eyes on me.

‘I’d appreciate it if you put your hands on the wheel. There’s no need to reach for that piece you’ve got in your jacket.’

His eyes flared, and his finger moved an inch, just inside the zipper.

‘Take a look in the rearview mirror. See that woman in the driver’s seat of the Jeep behind you? She’s showing you a .500 Smith and Wesson Magnum. She calls it Maggie. It’s loaded with seven hundred grain rounds. Armor-piercing. That thing will go through this car like paper. The exit wound would leave a hole in your chest the size of a basketball. So relax. Take your hand away from the gun in your jacket and tell me what the hell you’re doing here.’

‘I’m just sitting in my car. On my own street. Minding my own goddamn business,’ said Bale.