Richards grabbed the duffel bag, turned off all lights, and went down into the bar. He walked to the front door and looked out at the parking lot. Empty, except for his Lexus. That didn’t mean the cops weren’t watching; they could be anywhere. But he doubted they were. At this point, it was his belief that the cops saw him as a suspect, not the suspect. He was all but certain Eli hadn’t given him up; nor did he believe Dantzler had uncovered enough solid evidence to make him the primary target of the investigation. Still, he wasn’t about to take unnecessary chances.
He wouldn’t torch the bar-not tonight, anyway-but he would drive the Jetta to his place off Mason-Headley. There, he would make a phone call to an old friend in Las Vegas and schedule a time for him to send his private plane to Lexington. Any phone call was, he knew, extremely dangerous, regardless of how much he trusted the person receiving the call. Friends don’t always remain friends. But he had no choice. It was his only safe way out.
Once those details were worked out, he would return to running the bar as usual. He would offer no hint that he was aware of being in Dantzler’s crosshairs, or that he was, in fact, one step ahead of the detective. When the arrival time for the plane was set, when he was assured of safe passage, he would flip the switch, thus reducing the bar and the shopping center to a pile of ashes in a matter of seconds.
And then he would vanish forever.
CHAPTER FIFTY
By mid-morning the rain was a distant, soggy memory. The sun was steadily climbing in the heavens, its rays pouring down like heated honey. By the middle of the afternoon, the temperature would be in the 90s. A scorcher by any standards.
Dantzler still hadn’t heard from Lisa Kennedy or anyone else at the Justice Department, so he decided to swing by the hospital and see how Scott was doing. Having not visited Scott for three days, he felt guilty for being negligent. There had been daily updates from Milt and Captain Bird, but getting second-hand reports didn’t absolve him of his neglect. As Scott’s immediate superior, Dantzler should have checked in at least once a day.
Dantzler knocked on the door, opened it, and peeked in. Scott was sitting up in the bed, talking to two young women. The room looked like it had been decorated for a kid’s birthday party. Balloons hugged the ceiling like a multi-colored rainbow, heart-shaped balloons with “Get Well Soon” written on them were tied to both ends of the bed, and a giant teddy bear rested comfortably in a chair beneath the window. What must have been seventy five cards of all shapes, sizes, and colors stood like a legion of onlookers strategically placed around the room.
Seeing Dantzler, Scott’s face broke into a huge grin. “Hey, Detective Dantzler, how’s it going?” Scott said, waving his boss in.
“Everything is cool. The better question is, how are you doing, Scott?”
“Being released tomorrow. So I’m feeling good.”
“That’s terrific news.”
“Finally get some good food. Can’t wait for Mom’s cooking.”
“Tired of Jell-O, right?”
“Right.”
The woman closest to Scott punched him on his good shoulder. “What are we? Invisible?”
“Oh, yeah, sorry,” Scott said. “Detective Dantzler, this is my sister, Amy. And my girlfriend, Molly.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Dantzler said, nodding at the two women. He looked at Molly, then at Scott. “Didn’t know you had a girlfriend, Scott. Good for you. But I have to tell you, she’s way out of your league.”
“Don’t I know it,” Scott said, taking Molly’s hand. “I’m gonna try to hang onto her, even if she is too good for me.”
“You’d better keep her, loser brother,” Amy said, adding, “because you’ll never find another one like her.”
Following Amy’s pronouncement, no one seemed to know what to say next. Molly blushed, Amy appeared to be either annoyed or amused-Dantzler couldn’t decide-and Scott had the look of a man who had uttered something he now wished he’d kept to himself. Dantzler wanted to laugh but found the strength to restrain himself. He didn’t want to embarrass Scott or the women, nor did he want to exacerbate what had obviously become an awkward moment.
Finally, Scott broke the silence, saying, “What about Eric? How is he holding up?”
“Eric’s good,” Dantzler answered. “You needn’t worry about him.”
“He saved my life, didn’t he?”
“Eric and Milt get the credit. They’re your guardian angels.”
Scott worked his right hand beneath the cast on his left shoulder and began digging at an itch, grimacing slightly as he did. “Will I still have my job when I get healthy?”
“You mean, will you still be on the force?”
“No. Will I remain on the Homicide unit?”
“Is that what you want?”
“More than anything. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
“Then, sure, you stay with us. But that’s not something you need to worry about right now. You need to concentrate on getting well.”
“I was just thinking, getting shot, well, you know… it might mark me as a loser, a failure.”
“You were wounded in the line of duty, Scott. You were doing your job. People in our business get shot sometimes. Unfortunately, that possibility goes with the territory. Thank God, you survived. You came through it okay. When you get healthy enough to come back, you’ll work the desk until the doctors clear you for field duty. Once they do, you’ll be back out with us, trying to put the bad guys away.”
Scott nodded but didn’t say anything.
“Just be forewarned, Scott,” Dantzler said, moving toward the door. “Having been wounded is not going to shield you against the slings and arrows Milt will toss your way. Knowing him, he’ll probably ride you even harder.”
“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” Scott said, grinning.
Dantzler went from the hospital to the Tennis Center, spending an hour working out on the treadmill, and another hour helping Alice Crawford perfect her serve. It was, he knew, a hopeless cause. But Alice had convinced herself that at age forty-one, with Dantzler’s help, she could be the next Martina Navratilova. He didn’t have the heart to tell her tennis really wasn’t her game.
After concluding his futile efforts with Alice, he showered, dressed, and went to Rafferty’s, where he had soup and a salad. Then he headed straight to the office for a one o’clock meeting with Captain Bird. Dantzler had requested the meeting for the purpose of bringing Bird up to date on the case, what he wanted to do, and how best to go about doing it. However, when Dantzler arrived at the office, he was informed that Captain Bird had been summoned to a meeting with Mayor Elizabeth Anderson. Dantzler was only too happy to have escaped an invitation to that little tete a tete. The mayor was one tough, no-nonsense go-getter. A pit bull in a skirt was the closest analogy Dantzler could come up with. Having a sit-down with her, especially one she requested, was rarely a pleasant experience.
At three-thirty, Dantzler was alone in the office when his cell phone buzzed. He flipped it open, said, “Detective Dantzler.”
“Detective, this is Jeff Walker. I’m with the Department of Justice.”
“Lisa told me you might be getting in touch with me. I appreciate the call.”
“Sorry it took so long, but… it’s kinda busy around here these days.”
“No problem. Like I said, I appreciate you taking the time to talk to me.”
“So… you want to know about Johnny Richards, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Better get a pen and some paper, Detective. This could take a while.”