He returned to considering plans for Harriman’s demise. Any number of them could be set up within the next few hours. And in the meantime he would take steps to throw Harriman off his scent. He would then stay in Las Piernas only long enough to fulfill his most important obligations before making his escape.
Escape. Far from engendering visions of a carefree life, the word saddened him. Once the Looking Glass Man retired, who would see to it that justice was done? Who would be able to stop the next Judge Lewis Kerr?
The Looking Glass Man acknowledged to himself that it was all coming to an end. He had always known that it would have to, sooner or later. He was, of course, prepared for the possibility of discovery. As years of work for the Las Piernas Police Department had taught him, there was a vast difference between being discovered and being caught. He had no intention of being caught.
He had a great deal to do, then.
He would need to go to the several banks where he had stored cash and identification papers of one sort or another. Once he had gathered these, he would go to the airport and, staying below radar, fly his lovely Cessna to Mexico. He would not stay there, of course. Depending on the actions of law enforcement personnel, he had several alternatives available. At the moment, he was considering a cool climate.
He would have to part with the Cessna at some point, probably in Mexico. The loss would be painful to him. He had not owned a Cessna ten years ago. He had only rented planes. All the same, destroying Lefebvre’s Cessna had bothered him almost as much as it had bothered him to kill Lefebvre. Now he would have to leave his own plane behind. Harriman deserved everything that was coming to him.
The Looking Glass Man had only two other remaining objectives: Whitey Dane and Judge Lewis Kerr.
Kerr was hardly a worry now. Everything was already in place. He consulted his watch. In a little more than twenty-four hours from now, Judge Lewis Kerr would no longer be able to lead justice astray.
Whitey Dane was proving to be a bigger challenge than the judge — the Looking Glass Man feared that he would have to wait even longer for his revenge against Dane. Years, perhaps, when it was safe to return to Las Piernas.
Dane’s workers were a vigilant and suspicious lot, so one could not dress as a gardener or a florist or an alarm systems repairman and get past them. The Las Piernas Police Department’s relentless pursuit of Dane had resulted in making him a less vulnerable target — Bredloe, a captain of detectives, had been easier to harm.
The Looking Glass Man had tried to needle Dane into exposing himself to danger — teasing him in ways that might tempt him to come out into the open. He had hoped for a more personal response to the flowers. Instead, he had almost caused that poor florist to lose her life.
Harriman had done what was expected of him, though. The Looking Glass Man smiled, picturing what Frank Harriman’s face must have looked like when Mrs. Garrity called him the illegitimate brother of Lefebvre’s!
“I’m glad to see you perk up a bit,” a voice said beside him, causing him to jump.
He looked up to see Mrs. Greenleaf, exchanging his cold cup of coffee for a fresh, hot one.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said. “I startled you.”
“I was daydreaming, that’s all,” he said, and thanked her before she went back to the kitchen.
He glanced around. The café was still empty, but that would change soon. He had taken a few precautions at work, but needed to stop by a drugstore before going back there — there were a few inexpensive but necessary purchases to make. His other errands would need to wait until this afternoon. He was an efficient man and knew he could manage everything before him, but still… He looked across the street again at the police department. With so many errands, he wouldn’t be able to spend as many hours inside that beloved building as he’d like. Very little time remained for him there.
He took out his wallet, in which all the bills were facing the same way, smallest denomination to largest, and left a large tip. Just before he refolded the wallet and put it away, he allowed himself a brief glance at the single photograph within it.
He felt the same surge of grief and hopeless longing that he felt every time he saw it.
Yes, he must do something about Mr. Dane.
The idea of killing Harriman troubled him less and less. Harriman deserved some sort of punishment for not listening to his superiors. Hadn’t everyone in the department told him what must be done? But had he listened? No. Just like Lefebvre and Trent Randolph — if they had only left well enough alone! To have his work disrupted by meddlers who never would be able to grasp the importance of it — who would never see that the criminal justice system was damaged beyond repair, that he was fighting the evil that men like Judge Lewis Kerr set loose upon the innocent — no, that sort of interference was not to be borne!
As these thoughts occurred to him, he felt a little hum within his bones, a little heat within his blood. He looked at his reflection to see if he looked different to himself. He did — he really did! He knew what it was now, this heat and hum, and how to handle it. It was a mixture of fear and anger. Just a little of each. This time, he knew how to mix it up right. Yesterday he had let the fear dominate. Today it would be anger.
He put the wallet back in his pocket and stood. Although he knew the restroom in the Greenleaf Café was as clean as it was possible for a public restroom to be, he decided to wash his hands at work, where he could use the brand of soap he preferred, and his own towels and hand lotion.
36
Thursday, July 13, 12:18 P.M.
Office of Michael Pickens
Commissioner Michael Pickens agreed to talk to him, but warned that he could spare only a few minutes. Pickens owned a large chain of tire stores and managed them from a building not far from the department.
Frank rode the elevator up to a suite of plush executive offices. The door to Pickens’s office was closed, but even through it, Frank could hear him haranguing someone. His secretary, who had timidly asked Frank to wait, cast a worried look at the door, then resolutely returned to her paperwork.
“One of his good days?” Frank asked.
She glanced up nervously.
“So they’re all this good, right?” he said. “Or does he ever take a vacation?”
“Never,” she said sadly.
“If you tell me he also enjoys perfect health, I’m going to really feel sorry for you.”
“Never sick a day in his life,” she said, but smiled.
“How inconsiderate can a man be?” he asked, and she laughed.
The door opened and a red-faced employee strode past them, eyes downcast.
Pickens stood in his office doorway, watching him go. He held a sheaf of papers in his hand.
“Mr. Pickens,” the secretary began, “this is—”
“Betty, let me show you something,” he said. The large man marched over to her desk and began berating her — he disliked the angle at which she had placed the staple in the corner of several reports. “That’s not the way to do it!” he said again and again, not sparing her anything on account of an audience.
When he finally acknowledged Frank’s presence, it was to say, “I suppose I’ll have to talk to you now.” He turned on his heel and marched toward his office. As Frank passed Betty’s desk, he surprised her by picking up her staple remover. He rapidly worked it like a set of maniacal teeth, chasing after Pickens’s back end.