“Okay. So I should just go.”
“That’s the best thing for everyone, Mr. D.”
“Hey, Tommy,” I said. “How about this Christmas, instead of sending another bottle to your mother, why don’t you send roses?”
Just then we heard it, the jangle of sheet metal, something slamming to the ground, a bellow, a curse.
“Go,” she said.
“What will I do? Where will I go?” he said.
“Figure it out,” said Kimberly. “And this time, maybe, forgive a little.”
He looked at her, his immobile face filled, for the first time I ever saw, with something close to emotion.
The sound of footsteps came clear, echoing, more than one set, more then two sets.
“Go,” she said.
“Okay,” he said. “Yes. But I’ll be back,” he said, and then, just like that, with surprising quickness, he was gone, sword and all, out the door, down the hall, into some other passage, away.
“Kimberly,” I said.
“Shut up,” she said. “Just shut up for once, all right, V?”
And I did, we all did, with Colfax on the ground and Kimberly holding the gun and Justice Jackson Straczynski now standing, with a sword in one hand and the other around his wife. We stayed there, quiet, as the footsteps thundered, as the thunder closed in, we stayed there, wordlessly, waiting for them to come.
Chapter 74
IT WAS MCDEISS who had tripped on the wire, who had banged his shin on the step, who had bellowed like a walrus and cursed like a sailor. And it was McDeiss who first limped into the room, his revolver drawn, followed by another detective, three uniforms, and an Assistant District Attorney, who seemed, for some reason I couldn’t quite fathom, quite peeved at me.
“Where’s Beth?” I said as soon as McDeiss entered the room.
“She’s fine, she’s being looked after outside.”
“I’ll be right back,” I said, but before I could leave a uniform stood in the doorway, blocking my exit.
“No one, and I mean no one, leaves this room,” said McDeiss in a voice loud enough to shake the hull of that old boat. “No one leaves until we figure out exactly what happened here. And that means you.”
“Me,” I said.
“Oh, yes,” said Slocum.
So I stayed, and I gave my statement, and I answered questions, and all the while Slocum was staring at me with a visible malice in his eye.
“What’s your beef?” I said to him, finally.
“You said you wouldn’t do anything stupid,” said Slocum.
“I can’t help it, it’s in my nature.”
“I won’t disagree. You could be the poster child for adult stupidity. Do you know how much danger you were in?”
“I didn’t know you cared so deeply.”
“Something happened to you, Carl, it wouldn’t exactly ruin my day. But then you go dragging a Supreme Court justice into it and suddenly my day is looking decidedly worse.”
“He dragged himself, Larry.”
“Is that what he did?”
“After you told him where to find me.”
“I knew I made a mistake as soon as I hung up the phone.”
“But I have to admit, he did pretty well for himself,” I said, nodding to the justice, who was standing in the corner with his wife, giving his statement to a detective. With every word his future was disintegrating – even if he had done nothing wrong his nomination to the highest court would be too controversial now – but he didn’t seem to care. In fact, he seemed supremely happy, almost giddy, having come through an adventure with a sword in his hand, still in his incomprehensible marriage, but now, seemingly, relieved of the burdens of his ambition. He lifted his gaze and spotted me, gave me a smile, and I smiled back. I didn’t envy him, his life, that wife, but it was his and it seemed to be exactly what he wanted.
McDeiss, with his notebook out, limped over to Slocum and me.
“Can I go now?” I said.
“Not yet,” said McDeiss.
“I’d like to see my partner.”
“I told you she’s fine. But first we need to get some things clear.” He pointed over to Colfax, on the ground, scowling, his hands cuffed behind him. “So what exactly are the charges to be filed against this Colfax?” said McDeiss. “I want to make sure we don’t miss anything.”
“The murder of Bradley Babbage,” I said. “The murder of Lonnie Chambers. The kidnapping of Beth Derringer, along with various charges of arson and firearms violations.”
“Is that all?”
I put a hand up to my jaw, still aching, blood still oozing from my gums. “You can add battery.”
“What about the Parma murder?”
“He didn’t kill Joey,” I said. “Colfax pretty much admitted everything else he did, but he didn’t say a thing about Joey.”
“So who killed your boy?”
“Larry, did your man in Chinchilla ever track down that bogus bench warrant thing?”
“He traced it back to Justice Straczynski’s chambers,” said Slocum, “just like you suspected.”
“But I was wrong about it being the justice who was behind it. His file clerk is named Lobban, Curtis Lobban. He owns a Toyota. You might want to check if it has a gray interior and, if it does, whether there are any traces of blood in the interior.”
“A clerk?” said McDeiss.
“Not just a clerk. Lobban is connected to the justice’s wife. They had an affair years ago. Alura Straczynski was now helping take care of Lobban’s ill wife. It was almost like she had adopted the family. Joey was trying to blackmail the justice about something that happened twenty years ago at the waterfront. Lobban knew the justice would never submit to blackmail and would probably be forced to resign, so he made a call, arranged a meeting, picked Joey up, and slashed his throat. Then he dumped him right at the scene of the earlier crime. I don’t know if it was a financial thing or a just a brutal, misguided sense of loyalty, but it looks like he saw the threat to his boss and his former lover and eliminated it.”
“What was Parma blackmailing the justice about?”
“You’ll have to ask the justice. But whatever it was, it happened long ago and it is now well beyond the limitations period.”
“Lucky him,” said McDeiss.
“Not with that wife.” I kicked at the floor. “I want to thank you both. The way you charged up here with guns drawn, all just to save little old me, brought a tear to my eye.”
“It looks like you had things under control,” said McDeiss.
“Looks like I did,” I said, and then I gave one of Kimberly’s encouraging punches. “But you guys get an A for effort.”
It would have almost been a touching moment if they hadn’t both been shaking their heads with disgust.
Just then a dark-suited force burst through the doorway, flashing badges, flashlights, barking out orders, taking control of the room. In the middle of the dark suits was the small round figure of Jeffrey Telushkin.
“Where is he?” said Telushkin. “Where is Greeley?”
“Gone,” I said.
“What do you mean gone?”
“He left, escaped, he ran.”
“He was here, right?”
“That’s right.”
“So how did he get away?”
I glanced up at Kimberly, who, while making a statement of her own to one of the officers, obviously overheard our conversation because she was looking at me with a face full of concern.
“There was a gun,” I said to Telushkin, loud enough so that Kimberly could hear. “There was a sword fight, a scuffle, things happened. I don’t know, one minute he was here and then, poof.”
“Where the hell did he go?”
“Don’t know for sure,” I said, “though I heard something about the Cayman Islands.”
Telushkin spun around in frustration, then turned to one of the dark suits and mumbled something. The suit said, “Search the ship,” and then all the dark suits left the room and scattered.
Telushkin turned back to me, gestured toward the justice. “Was he involved?”
“He saved the day,” I said.
“Son of a bitch. You know, Carl, I won’t rest until I find him.”
“And if my guess is right,” I said, “that is going to leave you very very tired.”