"Suspect has exited the building via a rear door. We need Air Support." A helicopter could keep Gray in view as long as he was outdoors.
The door opened on an alley. Wolper and Brand went through the doorway fast, ready to return fire if Gray started shooting. He didn't. He was already behind the wheel of the stolen Firebird, facing into the alley.
Wolper caught a blurred glimpse of Gray's face through the windshield before the headlights snapped on, blinding him. His gun was drawn, but he had no shot. He stared into a wash of bright light that concealed the driver in the glare.
He ran down the alley. The car's engine gunned, and there was a bad moment when Wolper thought Gray might accelerate and run him down.
A skid of tires, and the car retreated out of the alley at high speed, fishtailing onto the street.
And it was gone.
"He's in a car," Wolper gasped into the cell phone as Brand reached his side. "Blue Firebird'ninety-five, 'ninety-six model. Eastbound on Selma. Didn't get the plate number, but it's got to be the car he boosted when he dumped the Saab."
"We have two units on Selma," the dispatcher said. "They've been alerted."
"Stay on the line."
"What now?" Brand asked.
"We drive. Come on." Wolper led Brand out of the alley and around the corner to the side street where his Sable was parked. He saw Robin standing by the car.
"What are you doing here?"
"Waiting for you," she said. "I take it Gray got away."
"Not for long."
"I was starting to make a connection. If you hadn't spooked him"
"Shut up," Wolper snapped. He wasn't in the mood. He unlocked the car and slid into the driver's seat, Brand riding shotgun. He was pulling away from the curb when he noticed Robin in the backseat.
"You can't come with us."
"You can't stop me."
Wolper sighed. That was probably true.
He steered into traffic, cutting east on Selma. With the cell phone pressed to his ear, he said, "Control, you still with me?"
"I'm here. Six-Adam-eight has spotted the vehicle."
"They're in pursuit," he told Brand. Into the phone he said, "Location?"
"Still on Selmawait. He's just turned south on Bronson. Ran a red."
Wolper accelerated, knifing through traffic as he veered from lane to lane. He wished he had a siren or one of those bubble flashers, but the Sable was strictly his personal ride.
At Bronson he swung south. "Any word on Air Support?" he asked the dispatcher.
"Inbound. ETA five minutes."
In five minutes this could all be over. Justin Gray could be in custodyor dead.
"There," Brand said, pointing.
Ahead, the strobing light bar of a Hollywood patrol unit was visible. As Wolper watched, a second squad car pulled onto Bronson from a side street, siren caterwauling.
He still couldn't see the Firebird, but it had to be just beyond the two black-and-whites.
"Adam-eight is reporting that the license plate is wrong," the dispatcher said. "Doesn't match the stolen Firebird."
"He could've switched plates," Wolper said. "Can they make out the car's occupant?"
"They say driver is alone, hunched over the wheel."
"It's gotta be him."
Wolper had closed in on the nearest of the two squad cars. Just beyond the first car, the Firebird weaved across lanes as Gray fought for an opening in the traffic.
"Son of a bitch is panicking," he said with satisfaction.
"They can't kill him," Robin said from the backseat.
"What?"
"They have to take him alive. So he can tell us where Meg is."
The Firebird slewed onto the shoulder and barreled onto Fountain Avenue, westbound. The two squads followed, with Wolper right behind.
"He's trying to lose us," Wolper said. He shouted his location into the phone, even though he was sure the two Hollywood units were relaying the same information, then tossed a quick glance at Brand beside him. "Thrill of the hunt, huh, Al?"
"Absolutely. This puke thinks he can outrun the whole fucking police department."
"No chance. This is the end of the line for you, pal."
Gray hooked right onto Vine, then pulled a quick left onto a side street, De Longpre Avenue.
"Like a rat in a maze," Brand said. He glanced back at Robin. "Though I guess that's your department, Doctor."
Sudden brightness washed the street. A searchlight beam from a police chopper. Air Support had arrived.
"Got you now," Wolper breathed.
The blue Firebird struggled to escape the searchlight, taking street after street after street, seeking a way out.
The amplified voice of a cop in the lead patrol car ordered the driver to pull over. Gray ignored him.
Down the block, another black-and-white screamed into view, and Gray cut left onto Las Palmas, trying to outdistance this new enemy.
The third patrol car fell in behind the Sable. Bursts of color from the light bar pulsed over the car's interior, lighting up Wolper's hands, white-knuckled on the wheel.
Gray cut left again, cut right, cut left, never escaping the white circle of the chopper's beam. Another left, a right amp;
"He's fucked." Brand punctuated the comment with a fist pump.
Wolper saw what he meant and laughed. He braked the Sable. The three patrol cars stopped, slant-parked on the street.
It was a dead end.
The Firebird slowed as Gray realized his mistake. The street ended at the brick wall of an industrial building. Low-income homes flanked the cul-de-sac, some of their windows barred, others boarded up. A dog barked fitfully.
The Hollywood squad cars opened up, and patrol officers leaned out, bearing riot guns at port arms, shielded by the car doors. Standard felony-stop configuration. A voice on the lead car's PA system told the driver to exit his vehicle, keeping his hands in sight.
There was no response. The Firebird sat motionless in a puddle of light from the hovering chopper.
"Ten bucks says he makes a run for it," Brand said.
"There's nowhere to run," Robin whispered from the back.
"Guys like this always think they have one last chance. They don't know how to surrender peacefully."
"If he runs, they won't shoot him, will they?"
"He's not going to run," Wolper said. "Look at him. He's just sitting there."
"Pissing his pants, I bet," Brand said.
A long moment passed. The dog kept barking, and another joined it. One of the homeowners took a cautious step onto his front porch. A patrol car's siren burped a warning before the PA system ordered him to stay inside his residence. The man withdrew.
"So what happens now?" Robin asked.
"We wait him out." Wolper put the phone to his mouth again. "I guess you've heard the suspect is cornered."
"That's affirm."
"They scrambling a crisis team?"
"That'll be the D-chief's call. He's en route."
"Of course he is." Hammond wouldn't miss this action. "Okay, Control, I'll let you go. This is one you can tell your kids about." Wolper ended the call.
Robin leaned forward. "As long as we're just sitting here, I want to know what Sergeant Brand was doing in the arcadeand why he ran when we saw him."
Brand shifted in his seat. "I already explained all that to the lieutenant."
"Explain it to me." Her voice was hard.
"Okay." Brand sighed. "Here's the thing. I staked out Parker Center, and when you left the garage I followed you."
"Why?" Robin asked.
"I thought you might know something about Gray. He was your patient, after all."
"I don't understand."
"Everybody else was focusing on the desert areas, but you came into Hollywood. It was obvious you were looking for him. Why else would you come here? I thought you might have some kind of, you know, insight. An inside track, a hunch. Way things turned out, I guess you did."