The door had been locked from the inside. Was Harriman putting everyone on? Was he a drama king? But then how did the back porch light become unscrewed unless the blind man did it himself.
She thought about all the possibilities as she flattened herself against the wall. Then her brain shifted into pure focused energy. Hand on the knob, she shouted, “Take positions!”
Throwing open the door.
Nothing happened.
“Hold your positions!” Marge was still squashed against the wall, and something told her not to move. It was the smell of sweat…the smell of fear.
The air became very quiet. Her breathing was amplified in her brain, as if listening through a stethoscope. Heart pounding in her chest.
Breathe in, breathe out.
Slow it down, Marge.
“Hold your positions!” she repeated.
Listening carefully, she finally heard it; inhalations and exhalations that didn’t match her own breathing rate.
Someone was definitely inside, hiding.
“Police!” she shouted. “You’re surrounded! Come out with your hands in the air!”
Again, no one stirred.
“I’m giving you to the count of three and then we’re going to shoot-”
“No, don’t do that!” a voice pleaded.
“Get out, get out, get out,” Marge ordered.
Something rose from the corner, and Marge caught a glint of metal. “Drop the gun! Drop it! Drop it! Drop it!” When she heard something hard fall with a thud, she said, “Hands up, hands up, hands up!”
As the creature from the black lagoon emerged, Marge told him to hit the ground. As soon as he did, he was pounced on by four officers while two others searched the closet. The gun was a.32 Smith and Wesson, one of the weapons used in the Kaffey shootings.
What were the chances that it matched anything? She supposed it depended on who was lying spread-eagle on the floor. She shined a light on the face, seeing if he looked familiar while Rangler rifled through the man’s back pockets. He pulled out a wallet and then a driver’s license and showed it to the sarge.
Marge grinned. “Well, hello, Joe. Welcome back to the USA.”
THIRTY-EIGHT
THE PACING SERVED a twofold purpose. It kept Decker warm and it shook off some nerves. At three in the morning, the hospital loomed like an electric ghost as he held the phone to his ear.
He was shaking, but from excitement. “You got Cruces and Pine in custody?”
“Not bad for a day’s work-a very full day. I’ve been up around twenty hours.”
“Who’s down at the station house besides you?”
“Oliver, Messing, and Pratt. Who should interview whom?”
Decker thought a moment. “Okay, here’s the thing. The optimum would be that neither Pine nor Cruces gets a deal, but we may have to flip one against the other. With Pine, we’ve not only got fingerprints, we’ve also got Rondo Martin’s eyewitness testimony. He mentioned Pine before I did.
With Cruces, Rondo Martin remembered him, but only after I mentioned his name. His memory with Cruces is less clear. It makes more sense to have Cruces flip on Pine. So you and Oliver take Pine. If you don’t get anywhere, bring in someone else for a fresh perspective.”
“That sounds good. Where are you at up there, Rabbi?”
“There’s a team from Herrod P.D.-which is the next town over-that’s taking over our positions at the hospital in about a half hour. Tim England-Sheriff T-said he’d drop in in the morning. Martin’s in good hands.”
Marge said, “Now that Pine is in custody, maybe Martin can breathe a sigh of relief.”
“Maybe a little sigh, but not a big one until we find out who El Patrón is. Did anyone go back to interview Truillo, the bartender, at Ernie’s El Matador?”
“By the time Bontemps and Lee reached the place, it had closed for the night. I’ll make sure someone’s there when it opens tomorrow. Maybe it won’t be necessary once we talk to Cruces and Pine.”
“Rechecking is always necessary. Willy and I are taking the first flight down in the morning.” Decker checked his watch. The plane was set to leave at six-thirty-four hours from now. “We’ll see you at around eight in the morning.”
“Get some sleep, Pete.”
“Too wound up. Any word from Gil Kaffey or Antoine Resseur?”
“Nope.”
“No idea where they are?”
“Not a clue, but if they’re like most people at this time of night, they’re sleeping.” Marge paused.
“Unless they’re dead. In that case, nothing’s gonna wake them up.”
THE FIRST THING Marge did was check Joe Pine’s fingerprints against José Pinon’s school fingerprint card. When it was confirmed that Joe/José was the same person, Marge and Oliver steadied themselves for a long night. Watching from the video camera, they saw Pine go through a series of nonverbal gesticulations almost as meaningful as speech. There was the pacing, then plopping in the chair with the head in the hands, then laying the head on the table, then pacing again. There was one quick swipe at the eyes, wiping away tears, crying for no one but himself.
Pine had on a lightweight nylon jacket over black jeans and a black T-shirt and the usual B and E ski cap. He was built on the small side, around five seven with wiry arms. His face was long, and his complexion was mocha with cream. His dark brown hair had been snipped a few millimeters shy of a crew cut. His round brown eyes gave him a boyish expression mitigated by a strong, masculine cleft chin.
When Marge and Oliver came into the room, Pine was sitting, his eyes at his feet. He glanced up and then looked back down. The room was around eight-by-six feet with a steel table pushed up against the wall and three chairs. Pine occupied the chair on the right side, the one farthest from the door.
Marge took up the seat closest to him while Oliver sat opposite.
“Detective Scott Oliver.” He placed a cup of water in front of Pine. “How’re you doing?”
Pine shrugged. “Okay.”
Marge introduced herself and placed her clipboard on her lap. “We’re a little confused,” she told Pine. “What was going on back there, Joe?”
“What do you mean?”
“What we mean is we found you hiding in a closet with a gun.” Marge tried to make eye contact, but his focus was elsewhere. “What was that all about?”
“No big deal.”
Oliver nodded. “How’s that?”
“Just what I said…no big deal.”
Oliver said, “To the guy living there, it was a big deal.”
Marge said, “Tell us why you were there.”
“In the closet?”
“In the closet in the condo that didn’t belong to you.”
Pine said, “I heard you banging on the door and I knew you’d take it the wrong way. So I hid.”
“Okay,” Marge said, writing down notes. She stopped and regarded his face. “How would we take it wrong? What way were we supposed to take it?”
“It isn’t like you think. It was just a game, you know?”
“A game?” Oliver repeated.
Marge said, “Explain it to us.”
“You know…a game.” Pine leaned his head against the wall until he couldn’t move any farther.
Beads of moisture were forming on his forehead. “To get in with the right people, you gotta play the game.”
“Which right people?” Oliver said.
“My bros, you know?”
“Which bros?”
“In Bodega 12th.” Pine shrugged. “It’s all a big game.”
Marge said, “I thought you were already a member of Bodega 12th.”
“To move up.”
Marge nodded. “How does that work? Moving up?”
Pine snickered. “Hey, you been in your business for a while, no? You know how it works.”
“So tell me anyway.”
“You gotta prove yourself. If you don’t, there are plenty others who will. So that’s what I was doing.”
“You committed a breaking and entering to get into a higher position in the gang?”