“THIS DOESN’T BODE WELL FOR ROBERT,” Burden said, standing with arms folded, approximately ten feet from Mike Hartman’s body. Burden had made it to their location in three minutes, followed a moment later by Yeung and Carondolet.
“Don’t jump to conclusions,” Vail said. “Hartman had information that we think could’ve revealed the offender’s identity. So he was a liability. Far as we know, Friedberg had no idea who the UNSUB was.”
Burden grumbled. “I guess that’s something.”
“He’s tied around the smokestack with an electrical extension cord,” Price said, bending and examining the binding with her flashlight.
“That’s a new one,” Burden said.
Vail stepped closer to check it out. “And possibly significant.”
“And the body’s still warm,” Price said as she strained to see her watch in the scant light. “Which would make sense since he walked out of the cellhouse only about forty, forty-five minutes ago.”
Burden swung around, his eyes probing the darkness. “The UNSUB’s still on the island.”
Carondolet held up a hand. “Not necessarily. Lots of places to land-and hide-a boat here. We take the easiest, most civilized way-the dock. But depending on how hard you want to make it on yourself, if you’ve got a small craft or even something like a Zodiac or a motorboat, there are plenty of spots to come ashore. Except maybe for the sea wall along the south tip of the island, almost anywhere else is possible. In the right spot, with some foliage thrown on top for cover, no one’d even know.”
“His cell still in his pocket?” Vail asked.
“I searched, didn’t find one,” Price said as she leaned closer to Hartman’s head.
“Can you get hold of his office LUDs and cell phone records?” Vail asked Yeung.
“I’ll see what I can do.” He pulled his BlackBerry and started dialing. “This time of night, who knows.”
“Uh…just found something,” Price said as she trained her flashlight on Hartman’s lips. She used a tongue depressor to pry the teeth apart, then said, “Someone give me a hand.”
Burden stepped forward to hold the light while the tech reached into Hartman’s mouth and removed a piece of paper. She handed it back towards Vail, who opened the folded note.
Vail sighed deeply. “Got that light?” She held it toward the illumination that Burden diverted to her hand, then read it aloud. “‘You finally got this one, so I’ll give you one more shot. Look for an old cable in a small dark place, near where California bricks were found long ago. Be quick or bye-bye Bob.’”
“I assume that’s a reference to your kidnapped guy,” Carondolet said.
“At least we know he’s still alive,” Dixon said.
Vail snorted. “If you can trust the word of a psychopath.”
Burden’s gaze was on the ground, and he was mumbling audibly. He looked up and said, “California bricks…San Francisco…the Gold Rush…Gold bricks?”
“Back up,” Dixon said. “Where’s there an old cable?” She pulled the note back into the light. “An old cable in a dark place. What kind of cable? The old type of telegraph?”
“Cables are found, where?” Vail asked.
“The bridges,” Burden said. “There are cables that suspend them. Robert once told me how many miles of cables made-
“Cable Car,” Dixon said. “They run on cables below the street, right? That’s a dark place.”
“Yes,” Vail said. “Is there a train depot for cable cars?”
“Something they call a barn,” Burden said. “They park ’em there overnight.”
“We don’t have time to debate this,” Dixon said. “I think we’ve gotta run with it.”
“What if we’re wrong?” Burden asked.
“Let’s hope we’re not.”
Burden nodded at Carondolet. “Detective. Can you coordinate with my office and help them out with the MacNally backgrounder? We need to know everything possible about the guy. And familiarize yourselves with the file. Have the task force email you everything we’ve got. There’s a bunch of vics to catch up on.”
A boat appeared to be approaching at a good rate, a spotlight sweeping the north end of the island.
Dixon nodded toward it. “Looks like backup’ll be here any minute.”
Burden waved his arms and got a light signal in return. “Have them search the island, just in case he’s still here.”
“He won’t be,” Vail said. “But maybe we’ll get lucky. God knows we need it.”
“And I’ll have an answer on Hartman’s phone logs ASAP,” Yeung said.
“Call us,” Vail said as she backed away, following Burden and Dixon toward the roadway. “Soon as you’ve got something.”
64
November 9, 1962
Alcatraz
Consciousness came in increments but remained far off and dream-like. Initially, MacNally became aware of lying faceup on a table, staring at a light green ceiling. His lids were heavy; his thoughts as foggy as the Bay weather. His eyes fluttered closed and he drifted off to a semiaware state.
two voices
far off
but nearby
“Dr. Tumaco’s on his way,” a woman said.
“Finelli warned us he was going to escape,” a male voice said with a Boston inflection. “We were supposed to keep a close watch over him. But someone screwed up and approved kitchen duty…”
footsteps
fast
coming closer
And then, a second male voice: “What have we got?”
The Boston man: “Inmate Walton MacNally. He was attempting to escape and injured himself out behind the Powerhouse.”
“Vitals?”
The woman: “Stable, but pulse is rapid and he appears to have suffered substantial head trauma.”
“Start an IV, saline drip.”
Fiddling, metal clinking…movement. Air brushing by his face.
fading into sleep
far off
nothingness
then a voice
The doctor: “And you are?”
“Ray Strayhan.”
“So, Officer Strayhan. What happened?”
“Like I said, doc, he was involved in an escape attempt. Killed Jack Taylor.”
“I meant what happened to the patient, not Officer Taylor.”
fingers probing-
stomach
neck
head-
pain!
pain!
“What’s it matter?”