“Dashiell Hammett,” Kinkaid and I said in unison, and then all of us laughed.
“What was it about that story that grabbed people so much?” I wondered aloud. “I mean, yeah, the movie was well done, and Bogart was a phenomenal actor, but what about the story itself? How’d that one endure so well? Hell, the book’s still in print after seventy years.”
“It’s all in the ending,” Kinkaid said. “The idea that Spade’s loyalty to his partner means more to him than money or love. He didn’t like his partner much-he’s even sleeping with the guy’s wife-but he’s still got that loyalty…”
He stopped talking abruptly, his mouth still half open, as we all realized what he was saying. Joe and I looked away, and for the first time since he’d entered the office, Kinkaid seemed unsure of himself. I knew why. Kinkaid wasn’t in this case because of loyalty to his partner. He was in the case because he still loved Weston’s wife. If anything, he viewed Weston’s death as an opportunity.
“So,” he said awkwardly, then laughed at himself. He was spared further comment by the ring of the phone. Joe picked it up.
“Pritchard and Perry. Yeah, this is Joe Pritchard. You talked to Lincoln before, he’s my partner. You need to hear the comfort of his voice this time, or can we handle this? Uh-huh. Right.”
Unlike the clerk at the Golden Breakers, this caller spoke in a soft voice, so Kinkaid and I could only hear one side of the conversation, but it clearly was Hartwick. We waited. Joe said a few more words, but nothing that suggested what was being discussed, and then hung up.
“He’ll meet with us,” he said. “But it’s a hell of a place he picked out.”
“Where is it?” I asked.
“Just down the avenue. You know the little cluster of picnic tables behind the take-out Chinese place?”
I took a moment to place the scene in my mind and then nodded. “I can picture it.”
“That’s where he wants to meet. Seems like a strange choice.”
I shook my head. “Makes good sense, actually.”
“How do you figure?”
“Think about it, Joe. If you’re sitting at one of those picnic tables, you’ve got a clear view of everything in front of you and on either side, and the cemetery fence protects your back. There are three parking lots bordering that Chinese place. If he has his car up there, he could get out in a hurry, make a right turn onto the side street and head for Chatfield, pull out on the avenue and head in either direction, or even cut all the way through the Ford dealership parking lot.”
“I’ve already figured that out,” he said. “That’s why it’s a good choice for someone afraid of being set up. But I thought we were playing that role?”
It was a good point. I’d automatically considered the location from the perspective of someone looking to avoid danger. If I were looking to cause it, the location wasn’t so good after all. There was too much open space, and visibility was too good.
“Well,” I said, “we shouldn’t be too disappointed at his selection, then. It indicates he’s not planning to kill us.”
“Yet,” Kinkaid said.
Joe grimaced. “You’re a real optimist, aren’t you?”
He frowned. “In general, yeah, I am. But as I said before, I know Hartwick better than you. If he’s involved in something dirty-and chances are he is-then he’ll be looking to eliminate any threat. As far as I can tell, that’s what you two are going to be to him.”
“It was your idea to call him.”
“I know. It wasn’t my idea to be kept out of the meeting, though. And I’m not about to let you two wander over there alone.”
“We’ve been over this,” Joe began, but Kinkaid held his hand up and interrupted.
“I understand you don’t want him to see me, and even though I don’t like that, I’ll go along with it. I’m just saying you’re going to need some backup with this guy. Now, is there anyplace I can sit with a good look at the scene?”
“Nowhere close,” Joe said. “That’s why this was a good choice for him, if he’s afraid of us. If you’re nearby he’s going to see you.”
“It’s getting pretty dark.”
“Come on, Kinkaid. The guy was a special ops soldier. This is what he’s trained for. I suppose you could hang out across the street, but even that’s a gamble.”
“The cemetery,” I said. “That’s where we can put him. Cemetery access isn’t from the avenue, but once he gets inside he can work his way up to right behind us.”
“That fence is six feet tall,” Joe objected. “It will block his vision.”
“It’s a chain-link fence, so it won’t be that much of a problem. But I wouldn’t have him up close to it anyhow. We’re not wanting him to be right on top of us, we’re wanting him to have a clear line of sight to watch for an approaching threat, right?”
“Right.”
“Okay. On the other side of the fence, the cemetery’s built on a hill. It’s a pretty gradual slope, but if he got up at the top of it he could see us clearly, as well as the rest of the parking lot.”
Kinkaid’s head was oscillating back and forth between Joe and me like a fan, listening to the debate. Joe considered it all, then gave me a nod.
“Top of the hill is the best option. He’s going to be fairly far away, but he’ll be able to see clearly, and that’s the most important thing. And it will be easier for him to get up there undetected than it would be to keep him on the other side of the street or hidden in the parking lot.”
“That’s the nice thing about Hartwick being an out-of-towner,” I said. “He’s got to handle this on the fly. We already know the terrain.”
“Right.” Joe looked at his watch. “And we’ve got to be moving. He said he’s down there now, and he expects to see us soon.” He looked at Kinkaid. “You have a gun and a cell phone?”
“Yes.”
“Good. If you see anything you don’t like, call my phone, let it ring once, and hang up. If Lincoln and I hear that, we’ll clear out fast. If anything starts to go down, call the cops.”
Joe gave Kinkaid his cell phone number and told him how to get inside the cemetery. I opened my desk drawer and withdrew my Glock nine-millimeter. I checked the clip, then chambered a round so I’d be ready to fire instantly. I fastened my holster onto my belt, up against my spine, and then put the gun in it. My heartbeat had picked up a little, my senses heightening. I was ready to go.
Kinkaid left, and Joe and I waited a few minutes to give him time to get inside the cemetery. Outside the sky was darkening quickly, the shadows deepening along the window. Joe checked the Smith & Wesson he kept in his shoulder holster, then replaced it, leaving the buckle open.
“How do you feel?” he said.
“Couldn’t be better. You?”
He was calm, but there was a new tension to his posture. “I don’t know, LP. Something doesn’t feel good about this guy.”
“It’s just Kinkaid,” I said. “All that talk about how dangerous Hartwick is went to your head.”
“Sure.” He got to his feet and pulled his jacket on, leaving the zipper halfway down so he could reach for the gun easily. “Let’s roll.”
We took Joe’s Taurus. The Chinese restaurant was only a half mile from the office. Amy and I occasionally picked up carryout there. Not bad food, but a little heavy on the garlic. Fabulous wonton soup, though. Traffic was still quite thick with the lingering hangover from rush hour. Joe drove while I rode with my eyes on the street. Just like we’d done it thousands of times before. Only now we didn’t have the badges, and there was no dispatcher waiting to send us backup.
Joe pulled into the restaurant parking lot and stopped the car. A Dumpster stood in the corner of the lot alongside the cemetery fence. To the right was another wide expanse of parking lot, this stretch belonging to a drugstore. To the left was a Ford dealership with bright lighting and rows of shiny cars. There were five round picnic tables at the rear of the Chinese restaurant lot. In the summer there would be umbrellas over them, but now they were empty. A lone man sat at one of them, his back to the drugstore parking lot instead of to the cemetery fence as I’d expected. The green Oldsmobile was parked in front of his table, pointed toward the Ford dealership.