The Fregoli Delusion (31 page)

40

Hank went down to the end of the
passage. In a loud voice, he identified himself and held out his badge beyond
the corner of the church where the uniformed officer guarding the back door
could see it. Then he cautiously looked around the corner. They made eye
contact. The officer nodded.

“Okay, I’m talking to the hotel
manager and desk clerk right now,” Horvath said in his ear. “The vic’s apparently
a guest in the hotel. She came out to find a taxi, but it’s pretty crowded here
and it’s hard to find one. Looks like she started walking down to the corner
and someone shot her from behind. So far no one’s saying they saw it happen.
Someone ran into the hotel to tell them to call nine-one-one. Nobody can figure
out why she was shot. She’s still alive, but she’s unconscious. Here’s EMS now.”

Hank looked around the parking lot.
It was completely filled with vehicles, but there was no one in sight other
than the officer. Presumably the drivers had all gone off for a coffee and a
cigarette while the celebrities were inside celebrating H.J. Jarrett’s life.

He stepped out of the passage and looked
past the officer at the back door of the church, down the laneway to Simpson
Street. There was no sign of the uniformed officer who’d been stationed there.
Presumably he’d been drawn down to the corner by the sound of the gunfire and the
ensuing panic. Something occurred to him.

“Jim, who ran in to get them to
call nine-one-one? Male or female?”

“Stand by, I’ll ask,” Horvath
said. After a moment he came back on the line. “Two people, a man and a woman,
both came in.”

“See if you can find the man. Make
sure it wasn’t Holland.”

“On it, Lieutenant.”

Hank ended the call and
speed-dialed Martinez. He heard the call answered, heard the faint sound of
someone speaking over the public address system inside the church, and knew
that Martinez was making her way to the back where she could take the call.

“There’s been a shooting,” Hank
said when she came on the line. “A woman was shot on the sidewalk in front of
the Warrick Hotel. It might have been Holland, creating a diversion. I’m at the
parking lot behind the church. I—”

He broke off as a door at the rear
of the hotel, across the parking lot, began to open. Over the tops of the
limousines and passenger cars, he could just see the top two feet of it as it
slowly swung out.

Three shots were fired, and the
uniformed officer standing guard in front of the church door folded to the
ground.

“Officer down!” Hank yelled into
the phone. “Ann—”

A bullet snapped off the wall
about six inches above his head.

41

Hank dropped into a crouch and
edged along the length of a blue four-door sedan. He took out his gun and quick-peeked
around the tail light. No movement. The officer’s outstretched arm was visible
on the pavement, beyond the last car in the row.

Hank duck-walked into the space between
the rows of cars. He started down toward the officer, but a bullet skipped off
the pavement about three inches behind his heels. He pitched forward, rolled,
and came up behind a Cadillac Escalade. Another bullet skipped between his
feet. He looked under the Escalade, through the maze of wheels and low-hanging
exhaust systems, and saw a shape on the pavement in the far aisle, nearest the
hotel.

Holland was lying down, watching
his feet, trying to hit him as he moved.

Hank hastily put the rear wheel of
the Escalade between himself and Holland, then stepped up on the passenger-side
running board and edged forward, looking over the front windshield.

No luck. He couldn’t see Holland
from here. He waited for a moment, hoping that Holland would shift into his
line of sight. After a moment he heard a scraping noise, but Holland must have
moved in the other direction. He stepped down, again behind the rear wheel, and
peeked back into the space between the rows.

Nothing.

Hank could now see the top half of
the shot officer’s body. His hat lay a few feet from his head, his service
weapon about six inches from his limp hand. Hank was reluctant to move across
the parking lot toward the hotel because he wanted to stay between Holland and
the church door, so he moved back behind the Escalade and scuttled down the row,
taking refuge behind the rear wheel of a black Mercedes S-class limousine
hogging both parking spaces, front and back, in the middle of the lot.

Something tapped along the
pavement behind him. Hank held his ground, suspecting that Holland had thrown a
stone or something to distract him. He glanced quickly behind him, saw nothing,
and scuttled forward to the next car.

Now he had an unobstructed view of
the fallen officer. It appeared that the shots had all struck him in the torso,
where the soft body armor beneath his uniform shirt had stopped them. The
officer’s hand moved slightly. It was a good sign, suggesting he’d been stunned
by the blows but not wounded. He’d have a hell of a set of bruises, though.

“Checkmate, Donaghue,” a voice
said behind him.

Hank froze.

“Put your gun down and slide it
under the limo.”

Hank set his gun down on the
pavement and slid it away from him, hating the scraping sound it made as it
spun between the tires of the limo. Then he turned around, still crouching.

“You’ve messed with me for the
last time,” Holland said. “That’s right, get a good look. It’ll be the last
thing you ever see.”

“You don’t want to do this,” Hank
said. “You’re throwing away a promising career. There’s still time to make
restitution.”

Holland laughed. He moved the
Ruger from Hank’s head to his torso. “Head shot or gut shot? Hmm. Probably
wearing a vest, like that guy. Head shot it is, then.”

“You’re out of bullets, Holland. I
kept track. You’re empty. Put it down.”

Holland shook his head. “No, I’m
not. This thing holds nine shots. One for the woman—who provided a great
distraction, by the way—three for your cop buddy over there, and three at you.
That makes seven. One more for you, and one for Diane.” He tapped his pants
pocket. “I’ve got the rest of the box here, but I don’t think I’ll bother.
Suicide-by-cop instead. Go out in a blaze of glory.”

“You miscounted, Holland. I—”

“You’re stalling. Goodbye.”
Holland pointed the gun at Hank’s head.

Hank threw himself sideways as
Holland pulled the trigger. He crashed against the back fender of the limo as
the round struck the pavement beside him. He hit his head and saw stars, but he
heard a volley of shots ring out above him and saw Holland pinwheel backwards,
out of his sight.

He scrambled to his knees and
stood up, rubbing his forehead. Holland lay spread-eagled on the pavement, a
neat grouping of three entry wounds in the middle of his chest leaking blood
steadily into his shirt.

Ann Martinez stared at Holland’s
body, her weapon still outstretched. Commander Stone ran forward, kicked
Holland’s gun away, and knelt down, feeling for a pulse.

Martinez lowered her weapon and
walked up to Hank as a police cruiser entered the laneway from Simpson Street,
lights flashing.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

“I had it under control, Ann. He
only had one round left.”

“He would have shot you with it,
you idiot.”

“Probably.” Hank grinned at her.
“Thanks for your help.”

“I told you before,” she said. “I’ll
always
have your back.”

42

The church was now empty, except
for the rector and a crew breaking down the audio equipment, as Hank walked up
the center aisle and out through the open oak doors onto the sidewalk. Across
the street, the media were still solidly entrenched in the plaza, most of the
networks having assigned separate crews to cover the interment at the cemetery.
Word had spread of the shooting of Jarrett’s killer in the parking lot behind
the church; Chief Bennett and Martinez were already over there holding an ad
hoc press conference.

The funeral home vehicles were
gone from the curb in front. The coffin, followed by Diane Benson, Ned Jarrett,
Chrissy Jarrett, and the rest of Jarrett’s family and inner circle, had exited
the church without incident. The VIPs had all followed, anxious for media
exposure of their own. Most of the spectators had also disappeared, although
the steel barricades still remained on the sidewalks and vehicles were still
being rerouted away from the block.

There was only a black Mercedes
S-Class limousine remaining at the curb as Hank descended the three steps down to
the sidewalk. He raised his hand in greeting to Earl Day, his mother’s driver,
who nodded to him from behind the wheel. The rear passenger-side window was
down. Hank squatted and looked in at Roberts, who leaned over from the far
side.

“All right, Hank?”

“Yes, thank you, General.”

Roberts nodded in approval and
straightened, his eyes returning to the perfect-bound report lying open on his
lap.

Hank stood up and turned to
Meredith and his mother, who were waiting for him on the sidewalk.

“How was the show?”

“If you’re talking about the
celebration of life,” Anna said, “it was damned boring. I nearly fell asleep
three times. My ribs are sore from where Roberts kept poking me. But if you’re
talking about the show that went on outside, I understand it was a little more
touch-and-go. You’re all right, son?”

“I’m all right.”

Meredith’s eyes traveled from the
scuffs on the knees of his uniform trousers to the red lump on his forehead.
“You’re hurt.”

“Only my pride. I head-butted the
back end of Mother’s limo. Clumsy.”

“But it’s over? The threat’s
over?”

“It’s over,” Hank nodded.

Anna sighed. “
This
one’s
over, but the next one’s just around the corner. I’d be willing to bet my
pension that your phone’s going to ring again before the swelling goes down on
that bump of yours.” She shook her head. “There are more than thirty-five
people murdered in this country every day. One-point-two every day in this
state. One in this city every day and a half. It’s a steady business.” She
raised an eyebrow at him. “Am I correct, or am I not?”

“Unfortunately,” he said, “you are.”

“I understand,” Meredith said, to
both of them. “I get it.”

Over her shoulder, he saw a Crown
Vic with flashing grill lights edging through the barricade down at the corner.

“I had a quick word with Constance
before she left,” Anna said as they watched the Crown Vic move up the block
toward them. “Walter called her after the ordeal at the house, so she had a
word with your chief. Your detective’s approval rating is going back up, I’d
say.”

“Mother,” he began, “I hate it
when you and your friends—”

“Interfere? Yes, it’s terrible,
isn’t it? We’re just a bunch of old workhorses who won’t stay in the barn.” She
turned to Meredith. “Let’s not bother with the graveside visit, shall we? How
about a bourbon and a cigar in my garden, instead?”

“Well, the bourbon sounds nice,”
Meredith said, “but I’ll pass on the cigar.”

“Tell you what,” Anna patted her
arm mischievously, “you can save it for him, later.” She winked at Hank and got
into the limo next to Roberts, who closed his report and slipped it into a
briefcase at his feet.

Meredith rolled her eyes at Hank
and followed Anna into the limousine.

Karen pulled into the space vacated
by the limo and exploded out from behind the wheel.

“Damn it, Lou, I missed him, I
missed him, I missed him. I wanted to nail that fucker’s ass. God damn it!”

“I’m fine, thanks for asking.”

“Yeah, I heard Martinez covered
your six. Somebody’s gotta. Wish it had been me, though, God
damn
it! I
knew it was that bastard. I just knew it!”

“Yeah, you did. It was a good
call. How’s Truly?”

Karen came up for air, rolling her
eyes at him. “Christ, I’ve got a new fan. She wants to go to the firing range
with me now. Wants me to show her how it’s done. Like I needed a little
four-eyed sidekick.”

“Humor her. You’re the big sister
she never had.”

“Oh Christ, just shoot me now.”

“Horvath’s in front of the
Warrick,” Hank said. “Holland shot a woman on the sidewalk to create a
diversion so he could go through the hotel to the parking lot behind.”

“Christ.”

“He could probably use a hand.”

“Okey doke,” she said. “What about
you?”

He sighed and ran a hand through
his hair, looking at the media circus across the road. “Bennett’s expecting me
over there to make a statement to the press.”

“Ah, fame awaits.”

He made a face. “Something like
that.”

He watched her walk away,
disappearing around the corner, and smiled at her confident strut.

Then he brushed at the grit and
dirt still clinging to his uniform, and started toward the plaza.

Halfway across the street, his
cell phone began to vibrate.