False Witness (40 page)

“Your friends will be here in a second,” said the man. “Remember, whatever happens to them is your fault.”

The big man perched his butt against the side of one of the nearby desks, and Crowe could see it wasn’t just the heat that was causing him to sweat; there was a makeshift cloth bandage wrapped around his right thigh. A saucer-sized clot of blood bloomed in the center of the dark fabric.

The man caught him looking and glanced down at the wound himself. “Your sumo buddy got a shot off before I dropped him,” he said. “He was pretty fast for such a fat guy. Hurts like a sonovabitch, but in hindsight, it’s going to come in handy.”

Crowe glared at him contemptuously. “Yeah?” he said. His voice sounded like sandpaper to his own ears. “How’s that?”

“Makes me a lot more sympathetic. It’s a lot easier to believe a story about a shootout when the hero actually gets wounded.”

“Story?” Crowe flexed his hands behind his back, flattening his thumbs against each other. The circulation had slowed, but he hadn’t been reduced to pins and needles quite yet.

“Of course,” said the man. “Brave cop single-handedly takes out dastardly villains in a gun battle. It might even make the network news down in the States.”

Crowe frowned. “You’re the accomplice,” he said. “Of course. It had to have been a cop.”

“Constable Darcy Flowers,” said the man, clapping. “Walsh was right about you. You’re pretty smart.”

“That’s why I get the big bucks.”

“Actually, I think in this case,
I
got the big bucks. Well, me and my
accomplice
, as you like to say. I prefer the term ‘partner.’” Flowers pushed off from the desk and limped closer to Crowe. “You know, it didn’t have to come to this. All you had to do was cut your losses and leave town. We never would have found you.”

Crowe flashed a grim smile. “I’m funny that way.”

From behind him, Crowe heard a familiar voice say, “Shut up. Flowers, go downstairs and open the door for our guests.”

Tess held Sam’s hand with a grip stronger than any he’d ever felt as they crossed the yard, up to the side door that Shitbox had walked through minutes earlier.
This must be what fathers go through in the delivery room
, he thought stupidly. It seemed to him that they were walking incredibly slowly, as if in a dream. Alex was close behind them.

The steel door swung open, and behind it Sam could see Darcy Flowers, holding the door open for them, Glock in hand. He looked pale; rivulets of sweat ran from his cop’s brushcut down the sides of his face. A glance down showed Sam why: he’d been shot in the leg.

Good work, Shitbox
, he thought grimly.
Too bad you didn’t aim a little higher and to the left, though.

Flowers ushered them into a tight hallway that led to a large, open room. It was punishingly hot inside, though brighter than he’d expected. It still took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the darkness in contrast to the bright sunlight outside. At the end of the room, near the back door of the building, was a staircase to the second floor.

“Up,” said Flowers, motioning to the stairs.

Tess, who had let up on the pressure on his hand, suddenly squeezed it again. Sam gave in to a wild urge and drew the hand to his mouth. He kissed it. She looked at him for a moment before pulling his hand towards her own lips and doing the same.

“Just fucking climb,” Flowers said from behind them.

They reached the foyer at the top of the stairs. It was brighter up here. To his right, Sam saw Crowe seated in a chair, hands behind his back. His eyes were open, but his face was a bloody mess. He’d been worked over bad.

A bit farther away, on the floor beside one of a dozen desks, he could make out a dark figure. His heart dropped as he realized it was Shitbox. Beside him, Tess let out a low gasp, followed by sobs.

“You fuck,” Sam growled. He spun around to face Flowers. “
You miserable fuck!
”

Flowers flinched, and he drew the Glock to a right angle on his hip like a gunfighter in an old movie. “Don’t think I won’t use this, Sam.”

I scared him
, Sam thought with absurd pride.
Good.

Flowers pointed them to a group of three chairs about thirty feet from where Crowe sat. Alex took the first, followed by Tess, then Sam. Oceans of dust seemed to waft through the sunbeams that streamed into the room from the transom windows high up on the walls.

“You okay, Crowe?” Sam asked. He knew the answer, but for some reason, asking seemed like an act of defiance.

“Peachy,” Crowe said, grinning. “You?”

“Same.”

Flowers leaned on the edge of an old metal desk that was perched at a thirty-degree angle from the group of chairs. On the surface of the desk sat a Glock and Shitbox’s combat shotgun.

“Hey, Flowers,” said Sam. “Where’d the extra Glock come from?”

“You didn’t believe that line about not bringing my weapon into B.C., did you?” The cop held up the one in his hand. “I had to switch it out once me and Shithead got inside. Wouldn’t do for a cop to shoot a criminal with a gun that’s had the serial number filed off.”

Tess looked up at the big man. “That’s what this is about, isn’t it?”

Flowers touched his nose. “Right the first time.”

“How did you know we were coming here?” Sam asked.

“You told me.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Flowers laughed. It reminded Sam of the times they had sat around chewing the fat and taking shots at each other, but now, it made his stomach turn.

“I think your exact words were ‘avenge my death if it comes to that,’” said the cop.

Sam slammed a hand on the chair. “You did get the message,” he said. “Goddamit.”

“More than you know,” said a familiar voice from behind them. Sam could hear the
shoosh
of soft-soled shoes along the surface of the old linoleum floor. He turned to his left as a figure walked out of a side office and into the foyer. The man was dressed in a tee-shirt and cargo pants, with a shoulder holster strapped around his upper body. The light from the transoms illuminated a face he knew well.

Sam’s jaw dropped. “What the fuck?” he hissed. It was barely audible, even to his own ears.

From behind him, he heard Alex say, “Hey, Chuck. I was wondering when you were finally going to come out.”

Chuck Palliser’s hair had started to grow out, and he had the beginnings of a beard on his cheeks, but those golden mountain lion eyes were unmistakable. He sat down on a desk next to Flowers, cocking one leg over the other.

He looked down at Alex, not unkindly. “Like the old movie line, I’m back from the dead and ready to party. The great thing about C4 is it melts everything into a slag heap. Almost impossible to determine human remains. When did you figure it out?”

“First things first: where’s Angie?”

“She’s safe. You have my word. Now spill.”

Alex sighed. He didn’t know what Palliser’s word was worth anymore, but he had to believe she was all right.

“I finally let myself believe it a few minutes ago,” he said. “Right around the time I recognized Flowers’ voice.”

“I
wondered
if that was what happened,” said Flowers. “I could see something weird going on behind your eyes.”

“How did you put it together?” asked Palliser.

“Looking back now, I should have figured it out sooner.”

“Yeah?”

“How could the person who killed Tom Ferbey have found me so easily? Simple: he followed me.”

Palliser smiled. “I always said you were smart.”

“The part that never occurred to me until just a few minutes ago was
how
. How could someone know to follow me? Again, the answer was as plain as the nose on my face: he was the one who told me to get lost in the first place.”

Palliser slapped his hands down on his thighs, grinning. Alex could see pink, irritated skin along the surface of his ropy arms. His tattoos had faded significantly.

“Hot damn!” he hollered. “That’s pretty fucking amazing detective work, Alex. Especially given the circumstances. You must have been scared shitless.”

“I still am,” he said.

Palliser nodded and stood up from the desk. “I know you are, buddy,” he said. “And I’m sorry for that. Sorry for all of this, really.”

Alex heard Sam scoff next to him. “You’re
sorry?
” he said. “How are you
sorry
about this?”

“This didn’t have to happen, you know,” said Palliser, his eyes blazing. He began to pace slowly around the open foyer. “If you’d all just done what you were fucking
supposed to
, none of this would have happened. Everything would have worked out just fine for everyone.”

Tess’s eyes narrowed as they followed Palliser around the room. “What do you mean, what we were ‘supposed to’ do?”

“I think I know,” said Alex. The picture was all too clear in his mind now. He finally understood the true level of his involvement in the events that had led to this moment.

Palliser raised his eyebrows and opened his arms to Alex. A professor inviting feedback.

“You and Tess weren’t part of this,” Alex said to Sam. “I was supposed to go into hiding and write a book about the night of Tom Ferbey’s death, and the trial of Rufus Hodge. Crowe was supposed to run for the other side of the world after Duff and Chuck were killed.”

He looked at the dead man in front of him. Palliser motioned for him to continue.

“Hodge was supposed to end up dead in his prison cell,” said Alex. “It was the frame job to end all frame jobs. You set up all the circumstances so that your opponents couldn’t move against you without snaring themselves. Hodge and Crowe couldn’t even talk about the money you stole, because the second they did, they were admitting to a crime. They let you and Singer railroad Hodge, believing that they could appeal any conviction because of a complete lack of physical evidence.”

Palliser raised a finger. “Hey, don’t forget the photo.”

“A photo you seized that very night, and no doubt altered.”

“Guilty again. Okay, go on.”

“But you fixed that by convincing Larocque that his daughter had been attacked,” said Alex. “How’d you manage that one, by the way?”

“I did it almost the same way I told you Hodge had done it,” said Palliser. “As soon as I found out Greg was assigned to the case, I knew I had to get dirt on him. Old Let-Em-Walk would throw a total fuck into everything. I’d heard rumors about his after-hours life; all it took was a search of his former staff to find Christine Payne, and then Sarah Payne. She was more than happy to get a nice, big payday for a simple phone call to a father she hated with a passion.”

Alex nodded. “Piece of cake,” he said. “And Hodge was sentenced immediately, which put him in the Badlands that very day. All you had to do was take him out in there, and you were done. No defendant, no appeal.”

In his peripheral vision, Alex saw Crowe’s body begin to shake. His head was down, chin resting on his bloody chest. Everyone in the room followed Alex’s gaze over to Crowe’s chair.

“Crowe!” Sam called. “Are you all right?”

Crowe raised his head suddenly, and Alex was surprised to see a grin across his blood-smeared face. Then he gave voice to his shakes – a dry, papery laugh that rocked his whole upper body.

Flowers frowned. “What’s so funny, tough guy?”

“You,” Crowe hooted. “Even after everything you tried, Hodge is still alive.”

“Barely,” said Palliser. “His odds aren’t so good.”

“Doesn’t matter,” said Crowe. His shakes had begun to subside. “He made fools outta you.”

Palliser strode over to Crowe and slapped him hard.

Tess gasped. “Leave him alone!” she cried. “Hasn’t he been through enough?”

Palliser rounded on her. “Hasn’t
he
been through enough?” he parroted, wide-eyed. “Lady, do you have any idea what kinds of shit this guy has done in his life? The crimes he’s committed? Not to mention dragging you and Walsh into this whole thing?”

Tess was silent but defiant. As Palliser and Flowers were looking at her, Alex moved his hands to his lap and began picking absently at his crotch.

“Crowe is a professional bad guy,” Palliser said in a lecturing tone. “Organized criminals pay him to make people disappear. To launder money. In fact, if rumors are correct, he’ll even lead a private army into a war, for the right price.” He made a face of mock commiseration. “But then he flashes you that sexy grin, and suddenly, you get moist in the crotch. He’s not a bad guy, he’s just misunderstood. You can change him.” He straightened up and slapped Crowe again.

“I’ve been embedded with people like your friend here for years,” he continued. “I put my life on the line every day. I’ve eaten with them, partied with them. I’ve even committed crimes with them.
They’re fucking animals
. They have no respect for anyone or anything. If they ever found out who I really was, they would have fucked me with a cattle prod before they skinned me alive. I mean that literally.” He scowled. “And believe me, Rufus Hodge is the worst of them all.”

Sam nodded beside Alex. “I get it now,” he said. “You think you’re Robin Hood.”

Palliser looked at him. “What?”

“You’re Robin Hood. You rob from the rich and give to the poor. That’s how you justify what you’ve done. Only in this case, the rich are bad guys, and you’re the poor.” He turned to Flowers. “And you thought the same thing. You had no qualms with Hodge being murdered in prison. You thought it was
funny
, for Christ’s sake. I should have turned your mutant ass in to your superiors, you sick fuck.”

Flowers leveled his gun at Sam for the second time. “Shut your mouth,” he said. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I think I do,” said Sam. “You two see guys like Crowe here making millions, while you work your ass off day in and day out for chump change.”

Palliser walked over to Sam’s chair. “What’s wrong with that?” he asked. “Why can’t we take out a piece of shit like Hodge and make a little money for ourselves? The world will be a better place when he’s gone. When
all
the Wild Roses are gone.”