“He didn’t really hurt anyone. He couldn’t kill my son, he just thought he could.”
He gave me the kind of smile nut ward attendants reserve for their patients who think they can fly. “He hurt an officer of mine. He hurt you. That wasn’t exactly a tumbling act you folks were doing in there before we came in.”
“No. He was trying to hurt me, all right, but he was out of his head. He wouldn’t do it again. He’s spent. He’s had his shot and he couldn’t do it and he didn’t want to do it.”
“So you’re saying you don’t want to press charges?”
“I am.”
“It doesn’t work like that, Mr. Dane. You don’t have to press charges. We caught him in the act. He hurt one of my men. We don’t need for you to press charges.”
“I think you do.”
“It would make it easier if you did, but we don’t need you.”
“The officer was hurt because he was in my house at your request.”
“And at your agreement.”
“Yes, but I was wrong about that.”
“Come on, what’s with you, Dane? Just a few hours ago you were wrestling this nut around your house, and just before that you were giving me hell for not going after him before he even tried anything.”
“I know.”
“Then what gives?”
I thought about the photographs in the glove box of my car, but I didn’t say anything. Not yet. Something was going on here, and I was sure Price knew what it was. Or at least the department knew. And I wasn’t ready to play my hole cards. I had to put Price to the test.
“I’ll bring a lawyer in on this if I have to. I don’t want to press charges. I want to forgive and forget, and I have a feeling Russel does too.”
“Forgive and forget,” Price said. “That’s cute.”
“It’s what I want.”
“I feel sorry for you,” Price said. “One moment you’re a fucking Nazi right-winger wanting me to get this bastard off your ass, and now you’re a bleeding-heart liberal leaking blood all over the goddamn floor. You’re schizo. You don’t know what you’re asking. This man is dangerous. He tried to kill your son because you had to kill his. He tried to kill you and your wife and he injured one of my men. If I were you, I wouldn’t take that lightly. I’d leave the turn-the-other-cheek stuff to the Sunday school lessons and the five year olds. We’re living in the real world here, Dane, and Jesus wouldn’t last five fucking minutes in it. No one would bother to crucify his passive ass. Takes too long. They’d run him over with a car or cut his guts out with a rusty can opener.”
“I don’t need a lecture.”
“You need something, Dane. Hell, man, you can’t be serious. Think about what you’re asking.”
“I’ve been thinking about it. I want Russel let go. I don’t want to press charges, and if I don’t get what I want, I’m going to bring a lawyer in on this. I promise you that. I want him out now, where I can see him set free, and I want charges dropped. I just want to get on with my life and let him get on with his.”
“You really think I can do that?”
“I think you better.”
He sat and looked at me and tore his empty coffee cup apart and then tore it into smaller pieces. Finished, he put both hands on the table and kept his eyes on me.
“Don’t try and scare me, Price, it just makes me tired.”
“I pity you.”
“You said that. Now either let Russel out, or I call my lawyer and you folks start having problems.”
It was my turn to stare this time, and I gave it all I had. After a moment he stood up, raked the destroyed paper cup into one hand, went over to the trash can and deposited it.
“You’re making a big mistake, Dane. But it’s your life. And your family’s. I may not be there to pull your ass out of the fire next time.”
“As I recall, Ann and I did the pulling. Your man was on the floor.”
He gave me a look that made his handsome face ugly.
“You got it, buddy. I’ll let him out. Just remember when he comes after you, I told you so.”
“I’ll wait out in the parking lot just to make sure he’s set free.”
“You dumb bastard,” Price said, and left the room.
He had failed the test. It had been too easy. There was more to this than met the eye. And Price was in on it.
17
I was in the lot leaning on the hood of my car with Russel’s wallet in my pocket when he came out escorted by Price and a uniformed policeman. The three of them stood there looking at me and then Price gave Russel a slight nudge with his hand and Russel walked over toward me. Price and the uniform stayed where they were.
When Russel got to me he said, “They’re waiting to see if I try and kill you.”
“Are you going to try?”
“No.”
I waved Price and the uniform cop away.
“Leave the lot,” Price yelled back. “Get killed somewhere else.”
Russel turned and smiled at them. “You don’t have faith in me, Lieutenant.”
“You’re both sick,” Price said and went inside. The uniform stayed where he was.
“Get in,” I said. “We have to talk.”
Russel got in and I cranked the car and drove out of the lot and coasted slowly down California Street. “What do you think?” I said.
“I agree with Price. You’re loony. I tried to kill you a little while ago. You know I was really trying.”
“You didn’t kill my son. You had the chance.”
“I couldn’t have… Hell, I don’t know if I could have killed you.”
“You banged me around good enough.”
“I thought I wanted to kill somebody. I hate your guts, you know?”
“Because I killed your son?”
Russel made a noise somewhere between a hummph and a cough.
“I didn’t kill him,” I said.
“Look. You’re crazy enough to get me out of jail… I don’t know how, but you did, but don’t be so crazy as to think I’m gonna believe that shit. Just let me off somewhere, all right?”
“Let me show you something.” I fished the wallet out of my shirt pocket and flipped it open with one hand to the photographs and handed it to him. I turned on the inside light. “That’s your son, right?”
“You know damn good and well it is. If you’re trying to find out if I’ll kill you after all, you’re on the right track.”
“You’re sure the boy and the man in those pictures are your son, Freddy?”
“I know my own son.”
I turned off the inside light. “That’s not the man I shot.”
We drove on in silence until Russel said, “You mean you don’t recognize him from these photographs?”
“I mean that isn’t the man I shot. He couldn’t have changed enough to be the man I shot. How tall is Freddy?”
“I don’t know. Tall. Tall as me.”
“At least six foot?”
“Yeah. I haven’t seen him in a while. We haven’t been in contact. He could have changed a lot.”
“Could his eyes have changed from blue to brown?”
“Contacts maybe.”
“No. This man wasn’t wearing contacts. He was also shorter, darker. It wasn’t your son.”
“What in hell are you saying, Dane?”
“I’m saying something screwy is going on.”
Russel thought for a while and I turned right on Crane Street and hit the main drag and turned left. “Why should I believe you?” he said. “Maybe you’re just jerking me around. I’m told by the cops my son is dead and I find out you did it, and now you want me to believe different just because you say so.”
“What’s in this for me?” I said. “Think about it. You damn near beat my head in earlier and you threatened my son. Not something I’ll forget or forgive you for, even if I do believe you couldn’t have done it. Hell, I could be wrong. You could kill me and my whole family and it would be my fault. But I didn’t kill your son. I knew that when I saw the photographs. I don’t know who I killed or why the police said he was Freddy Russel, but I’m convinced it wasn’t a mistake on their part. They did what they did on purpose. If they hadn’t, they wouldn’t have let you out no matter how many lawyers I threatened. They let you out because they were afraid I’d raise a stink and reveal something else. Something they’re trying to hide about your son.”