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“Stay down.”
I swung south on Sixteenth and blew past Roosevelt doing seventy, swerving between cars. Unfortunately, the rear view gave me no peace.
“Fuck.”
I don’t know how he crossed that many lanes of freeway after overshooting me by ten car-lengths, but the purple car was a block behind, the streetlights making it glow. The driver was expert. And determined. I unholstered the Python and set it on the seat.
Shooting the driver might slow them down.
Then I hit on a better plan.
Phoenix’s traffic lights are generally set so that if you do the speed limit, you’ll hit green. So I doubled the speed limit and went effortlessly through Van Buren, Washington, and Jefferson, then crossed the railroad yards on the narrow overpass. Our pursuers easily matched me and bumped us twice. But I kept changing lanes. He wasn’t going to get alongside, or get ahead and pull a PIT maneuver: Tactical ramming.
All I needed was one more intersection and in a few seconds Buckeye Road flashed past. Susie’s Mexican food was closed and dark. Another half mile and I turned right into the central city precinct of PPD. It was close to shift change and cruisers were coming and going. Scores of marked units were parked and off-duty cops were walking to their civilian cars. The Kia continued on south, not changing speed.
They knew they’d get another shot.
It took a long time before my heart rate dropped down or before I would allow Robin to get in the front seat. It took even longer before we ventured out, behind a police SUV heading north.
“Aren’t we going inside? Report this?”
I said no. I had no license tag or decent description of the suspects, and I didn’t want to spend the rest of the night in Kate Vare’s clutches. I followed the PPD unit all the way to Roosevelt. It was one a.m. and no purple car was behind us. At Roosevelt, I turned left and slipped through the dense old Garfield district, then past the darkened art galleries on the other side of Seventh Street, bumped over the light-rail tracks by Trinity Cathedral, and headed home. I circled the house twice with the car lights off. Our PPD minders were off tonight. The street seemed empty. Then I took the chance of turning down the alley, where we could be hemmed in and ambushed. I kept the lights off. But the only commotion was the barking dog two doors down.
Later, after some time spent on the computer, I lay in bed in a T-Shirt and sweatpants. The Python under my pillow, the Five Seven on the nightstand, and I went through the events of the evening and tried to formulate a plan. How had they picked us up at the Sonic? I didn’t see any tail when we had first pulled out of the garage into the alley, then onto the street. Nobody had been watching us; my late-night walks around Cypress told me that. I had missed something, screwed up…what? I lost it in a deep sleep. When I woke up, Lindsey was next to me. But it wasn’t Lindsey. It was Robin, curled against me, facing away, with her hair in my face. It was soft and fresh smelling. I wasn’t startled and thought about running her out, but I could hear her quietly crying, feel her chest shaking and heaving. I put my arm around her and pulled her closer, felt her warmth radiate against me, and we were both quiet. In the morning I was alone on the mattress and sure I had imagined the whole thing.
9
Kate Vare stood on the doorstep a little after nine. She held a coffee travel mug with the city of Phoenix logo wrapped around it. She said she was there to take the evidence seal off the garage apartment. We could use it again. I led her up the stairs and she pulled the label off the door.
“So this means what?”
“To me, it’s misdemeanor homicide,” she said. “Asshole-on-asshole crime. Now we have one less asshole in the world. I’ve got plenty of cases where real people have been hurt or killed.”
She was enjoying this way too much.
“And what about Robin? She’s a real person.”
“If she’s telling the truth, we don’t have any further questions.”
“A beheaded Sinaloa cartel hit man and no further questions?” I stared past her, taking in the view at treetops from the walkway. The air was yellow brown. “What happened to your big media event? Your major case?”
“Things change, Mapstone.” She cocked her head and looked up at me. “Do you see any media? I don’t see any media. Meanwhile, we’ve got a new round of layoffs coming.”
“I’m sure Wal-Mart will hire you.”
“Oh, I’ll be around,” she said, sipping her coffee.
So I told her about the chase the night before with the Kia. She shrugged.
“Did you file a report?”
I shook my head.
“Maybe it was a robbery attempt.” One eyebrow went up. “Maybe you imagined it all. You look fine now. So if you’re worried, file a report. Meanwhile, if Ms. Bryson remembers anything she wants to tell us, call me.”
Vare turned like a figurine on a music box and stalked away. I swear she was smiling.
“She’s told you the truth.” Mostly. “Do your damned job, Kate!” I spoke to her back, which disappeared into the house.
