Blue Rubicon (9 page)

I wouldn’t hesitate this time. Last time it was Kara and I
who’d been attacked. This time, it was my family. I wasn’t even going to ask
questions.

I’d just put a bullet between his eyes.

The wail of sirens drew my eyes back the way I’d come—fire
trucks, an ambulance and two London police cruisers were all coming down the
street. I turned back to the road and looked for the drops of blood ahead of
me. There were more now, every five feet or so. He was bleeding through his
clothing.

I’d seen him limp away after I shot him. The blood would be
pumping as he ran, forcing its way out through the bullet hole and down his
leg. First it would soak into his pants, then it would slowly drip down until
the clothing became saturated and the blood pooled between his ankle and the
top of his shoe.

The drops were getting closer together. They were almost perfect
circles, close enough to make Rembrandt worried. He was moving slowly—the blood
was dropping straight down.

I started running faster, hoping I could catch him. My lungs
were starting to hurt. The heat from the fire had kept the realities of the weather
away. It was an unseasonably cold night and the remnants of smoke mixed with
the frigid air in my lungs making me cough as I ran. The steel in my ankle was
freezing making the asphalt feel even colder on my bare feet.

I rounded the corner at the end of my street and kept
following the bread crumbs left behind. Less than a foot apart now. He’d need
to get to a hospital and when he did, police would be notified. You can’t just
walk in with a gunshot wound and have it kept on the down-low.

Four houses passed by on my right until the blood drops sat
close together, several in a small circle a car’s width from the curb. I
stepped toward the curb and reveled in the heat of the asphalt. My feet tingled
from the warmth. There had been a car parked here, and for quite some time.

He was gone.

WHEN I GOT BACK TO the house the fire was nearly out, only a
few hotspots still burned. From the front the house didn’t look too bad. The
main floor was badly burnt—the first smash had been a Molotov going through the
living room window at the rear of the house, then it was Kasia’s window.
Whoever he was, he moved around to the front for the third. I was certain the
last one was meant for my room. Torch it last once the house is already
burning, once my escape routes were closed off.

Kat was awake and sitting on the back steps of an ambulance,
a blanket wrapped around her. She had a cup of coffee in her hand, courtesy of
the neighbour whose lawn they’d sought refuge on.

“I fainted, didn’t I?”

I laughed. “Yep. Just like on the high dive that day we took
the kids to the pool last year.”

“Did you get him?”

I shook my head. “He got away, had a car waiting. I shot him
though. Hopefully he’ll check into a hospital and we can pick him up from
there.”

A shout came out of nowhere.

“Drop the gun and put your hands in the air!”

I turned my head and saw a young cop pointing his firearm at
me, a steel gaze on his face. His hands were shaking slightly, his feet spread
shoulder-width apart just like they taught at police college.

I didn’t flinch. Anything could give the nervous rookie an
excuse to fire. “I’m OPP, dumbass. If you want my badge you can dig through the
rubble later.”

His face went a number of shades of red before he holstered
his gun and walked back to his cruiser.

I took a few steps and looked around to see Kasia and Link
sitting on the back of another ambulance—paramedics checking them for smoke
inhalation. From where they were, they wouldn’t have seen daddy being held at
gunpoint. Although it would have been a story Link would have loved to retell
at school.

I looked around at the charred remnants of our family home,
at the kids with oxygen masks on and at Kat, bruises forming on her knees, and
I started to cry.

“I’m sorry, Kat. I wanted to keep you safe, I never thought
something like this would happen.”

“I know, Lincoln.”

Her expression was one of understanding but there was anger
in her eyes, a perfect storm of rage brewing beneath a calm exterior.

“We could have died,” she said. “They threw one of those
things into Kasia’s room. If her bed had been a few feet over it would have
landed right on her.”

I hung my head. I’d put my family at risk.

And for what?

Truth?

What was integrity worth now?

“You need to back off, Lincoln. Stop whatever it is you’re
doing. You’re messing with the wrong people and there’s no way this cop being
killed is worth our lives.”

She took a deep breath then began to cough hard, sputtering
into her sleeve.

“Fuck,” she said. “Where are we going to go?”

“Right now, you need to get to the hospital. I’ll take care
of everything else.”

She nodded, fear and sadness in her eyes.

“Here,” she said, as she handed me my phone.

I clicked the power button, the clock and a photo of the
four of us popped up on the screen. Half past two in the morning. I couldn’t
look at the picture, not without the tears coming back.

I got up and walked over to the paramedics, stifling a cough
that was trying to fight its way out. Kasia and Link no longer had the oxygen
masks on. Now the male paramedic was showing them all of the instruments in the
back of the ambulance.

“You’re taking them all in?”

“Yeah,” said the female. She was no more than twenty-five
and quite pretty. She could have been her partner’s daughter. “You too.”

“No,” I said. “I can’t.”

I couldn’t hold it back anymore, the smoke was sending my
lungs into a spasm and I started coughing harder than before.

“You need to be treated and observed, who knows how much
smoke you inhaled.”

“Look,” my eyes wandered down to her name tag, hard to read
through watering eyes. “Leah. Some asshole just tried to torch my house with my
family in it. There’s no way I’m staying in a hospital and waiting for hours
for a doctor to tell me I’m fine.”

There was something about aggression that made people uncomfortable
and she looked down, away from the sternness of my face. What she saw probably
made her more uncomfortable. I’d forgotten I still had the gun in my hand.

“I’m with OPP,” I said.

“Shit, okay. I was a little scared for a minute. Thought you
were just some nutjob.”

“Thanks,” I said. “But not far from the truth. Take good
care of them and, if you want me to come to the hospital for a checkup, call me
if someone comes in with a bullet in them.”

She gave an uncomfortable nod, probably worried that such a
phone call would turn the emergency room into a scene from a western movie. I
signed off, saying I was refusing treatment thenwalked up to the back of the
ambulance and leaned in toward Kasia and Link.

“You guys are in good hands. Mommy will be going to the
hospital with you-”

The male paramedic spoke now. “She’ll need to go in the
other ambul… ance…” He was focusing on the pistol in my hand. “Umm… we… we…
we’ll take her too.”

“Thanks.” Have gun, will travel.

“You guys be good for the doctors and nurses.” I paused to
cough some more. “And I’ll be there to see you soon.”

I kissed both of them on their soot covered foreheads.

“Love you, dad.” Link.

“Love you more, daddy.” Kasia.

“Love you, babe.” I turned around. Kat.

I held her in my arms and kissed her lips, the taste of
smoke strong on her face. “I’ll take care of everything, just trust me. Anyway,
you’ve been saying for a while that you want a new house.”

MY STREET WAS SWARMING WITH cops now. I’d been gone when the
first London Police Service cruiser pulled up and Kat was still passed out. The
officer decided to talk to Link and Kasia who quickly told him that someone had
thrown a bomb in our house and that their daddy had shot the guy and was
chasing him.

That prompted the first officer—the rookie with the itchy
trigger finger—to radio in to dispatch and within minutes there were more cops
at my house than I had on my unit.

I counted eight constables, two sergeants, a K9 officer
roaming the area with his German Shepherd, four Emergency Response Section
members—ERS sounds less menacing than SWAT—and a staff sergeant.

The K9 officer attempted to track the suspect, getting to
the same point I did—the waiting car—and then did an article search. This
involved the officer and dog checking the area in hopes the dog would sniff out
some evidence, maybe a lighter or another Molotov. Nothing was found. The only
evidence we had was inside the house and likely destroyed, or the Molotov he’d
dropped when I shot him.

The Molotov that exploded when it fell and burned off any
evidence.

ERS held a perimeter along with the uniformed constables
until K9 came up empty on the track. After that, ERS cleared. They were there
more for me then for the suspect. All they knew was that the homeowner had shot
at the suspect. Mention of a gun is all it takes to bring the big boys out.

Glory hounds.

My home was a crime scene now. Yellow tape strung up around
the trees in the front yard and cruisers parked outside. I watched with tears
in my eyes as firefighters tore into the roof and ceilings, digging away at the
house to make sure every last bit of fire was out.

I felt a hand touch gently on my shoulder and I turned
around, unsure of whom to expect.

“You okay?”

The question was too much and I began to cry again, salted
tears running through the soot on my face and bringing the smell of the fire
back to fill my nostrils.

“How—”

“Kat called me. She figured you could use a friend right
now.”

A friend. She was right. But I didn’t have many friends.
Only an ex-mistress.

Wait. Why not Chen?

“Thanks for coming, Kara. What’s with our houses becoming
crime scenes?”

“What the hell is going on here, Link?”

I knew I could trust her, but I couldn’t put anyone else at
risk.

“It’s nothing, I’ll take care of it.”

My gun was still firmly clasped in my right hand. It was
like a security blanket now, the only thing keeping me feeling safe. When I was
on homicide I kept my gun at home, never knowing when I’d be called out to work
and unable to go to the detachment to pick up my weapon. When I found out I was
transferred back to the street I went out and bought my own. I’d grown used to
having one at home, having that feeling of safety and security. It was a
decision I was glad I’d made.

“Link, tell me what’s going on.”

“No. It’s on me, Kara.”

“Fuck you. After all we’ve been through. You helped me when
I was attacked, but if you won’t let me help you then go ahead. Do whatever you
have to do. Just don’t do anything that will make me have to arrest you.”

“Whoever it was almost killed my fucking kids, Kara. You
won’t have to worry. If I find out who did it, there won’t be a body to
identify.”

She was looking deep into my eyes, searching for something
that would tell her I was kidding.

It was something she wasn’t going to find.

* * *

There was nothing left for me to do at the scene—at my
house. Our vehicles had been in the garage and were now buried under debris and
covered in soot. There was no getting them out. I thought of my Mini and hoped
it had made it through unscathed.

Every London officer kept asking me the same questions.
Describe
the person you saw.
A shadowy figure with a Molotov in his hand. Male,
judging by height and weight. Dark clothing.
Do you know who would have done
something like this?
No idea.

“Bullshit, Sergeant.”

“Look, Staff, I don’t have a fucking clue.”

The Staff Sergeant looked at me, eyeing me from top to
bottom, staring at my gun, staring at my eyes. He wouldn’t get anything from
me. I’d been trained to detect when a person was lying. That training worked
both ways.

“I’ve been back on the street for less than two weeks,
haven’t had time to piss anyone off. I spent the four months before that on
leave after shooting Saunders, remember him? Good guy.”

“Think someone from his family would have come after you?”

“The only family he’s got is in jail in Millhaven, his son.
Last time I talked to him, he told me he didn’t care if I had to kill his old
man.”

“Jealous ex?”

I glanced at Kara. Jealous? Maybe. Homicidal. Definitely
not.

“No. None for my wife either. Maybe one of my daughter’s
Grade One friends was angry she kicked their ass on a spelling test.”

He was getting annoyed.

“It’s your case, do your job and figure it out.”

“Watch your mouth, Sergeant.”

“You may outrank me, Staff Sergeant Peters, but I don’t
answer to you. Give Staff Ramirez a call if you’ve got a complaint. Otherwise,
fuck off.”

“I need your gun, Sergeant.”

Standard. I shot someone, my gun was part of the
investigation now. If they caught the guy and recovered the bullet they could match
it to my gun.

I turned around. “You armed Kara?”

She pulled her jacket back revealing a pistol strapped to
her right hip.

“Here,” I said, handing the gun over. I then reached into my
pocket and gave him the two magazines. “I only fired two rounds.”

I slipped my hand into my other pocket, feeling for the
Ziploc bag and making sure it was still there. My fingers traced the thumbdrive
and the folded warrant, Carter’s note tucked within the pages.

“We need to get a statement from you.”

“It can wait.”

“No, it can’t.”

“I’ll come in tomorrow and do it on video.”

“If you want us to solve this, I need it now.”

All I could think of was calling him a douche and turning on
my heels.

“Woke up to glass smashing, alarms going off, got my gun
from under my bed, heard more glass smash, smelled smoke, smoke alarms went
off, got the kids, couldn’t go downstairs because of the fire, went to my
window, saw a figure with a Molotov, tall, average build, likely male, dark
clothing, shot him, broke through the window, jumped down, caught my kids then
my wife, followed the suspect’s blood trail to where a car had been parked,
came back. Happy?”

I walked away leaving him fuming. I imagined cartoon steam
gushing out of his ears as his hat rose three feet off his head. Kara was trying
to stifle a laugh and doing a poor job of it.

“Wishing you lived in OPP territory right now?”

“Yeah. Not that there’s anything wrong with London cops, it
would just be a lot easier if it was our guys investigating. The case wouldn’t
be put aside for a pissing contest.”

“Well, I don’t suggest sticking around.”

“Nothing for me to do here, anyway.”

“Come back to my house. Grant left some of his clothes
behind. They should fit.”

I’d forgotten I was still dressed in a pair of worn-out
sweatpants, an ill-fitting shirt and no shoes or socks. No wonder I got held at
gunpoint. I looked like a bum with a gun.

“Thanks.” I looked back in the direction the suspect had
fled. “Do you have a Q-tip in your purse?”

“Should. It’s in the car.”

We walked back to her car and she reached in then handed me
two Q-tips from a small plastic container. I walked over to the blood trail,
found a drop and knelt down. The Q-tip turned crimson as I rolled it in the
blood droplet. I crouch-walked to the next droplet and did the same, rolling it
until the second tip was soaked through.

We walked back toward the crush of cruisers and I gestured
to Kara to stay back. One of the constables was sitting in his vehicle, engine
on, windows down and heat blasting. I sidled up to the car and leaned my head
in, the Q-tips in my left hand hidden behind the door.

“I don’t know where I’ll be heading from here. I’ll give you
my cell number.”

He looked over then took out his pen and prepared to write
on the scratchpad stuck to the dashboard. I gave him the number then gazed at
the house, a lengthy, meditative gaze that made him follow suit.

“It was a nice house,” I said. “Four bedrooms, open concept
main floor, nice hardwood too. Bet that went up fast.”

He stifled a chuckle.

I continued, making sure he was staring at the house. “Nice
big two-car garage as well. I hope my car’s all right, a red 2008 Mini Cooper
S. Love that thing.”

I talked incessantly, prattling on about my home and my
beloved belongings, all the while watching the back of the constable’s head as
he followed my words, looking at the different parts of the rubble that used to
be my house. I slipped my right hand through the open window and reached into
the open pocket of his duty bag, silently searching for the feel of plastic.
The noise of the heater fans hid any sound I made, and what it didn’t cover was
obscured by the music coming from his cellphone.

I found what I was looking for, a small evidence bag, and
stole it without a sound. With both hands now behind the door and hidden from
view I thanked him for his time.”

“Catch the fucker, please. I won’t stop hearing it from my
wife until you do.”

“Rog,” he said, barely looking back in my direction. I
should have taken his gun too, I doubt it would’ve been hard.

I walked back toward Kara and slid the bloody Q-tips into
the evidence bag then sealed it.

“What’s next, then?”

“I’m going to the airport.”

She wasn’t sure how to take that comment. Buying a ticket so
I could flee the country after killing whoever torched my house and tried to
kill my family was probably the first thing she thought of.

“Actually we need to go to the detachment first, then I’m
taking Kat and the kids back to Poland. It won’t be safe here for them until
this is all over. Once I get back I’ll find a hotel room somewhere.”

Kara was about to speak.

“No. I can’t stay with you, but thanks for the offer.”

A faint smile was all she could give.