by Erik Carter
More thinking.
“He robbed a bank he said belongs to Abe Ruef. I tried to convince him not to, but he overpowered me. Took over completely from me and the alters. I didn’t know Felix would do something so radical. I thought he was going to make speeches or something. The police captured him. We went to… to Napa State Hospital. ‘Innocent by reason of insanity.’ I pushed Felix away at this point and took total control.”
Melbourne held up a black-and-white photo. “Did you meet this man at the hospital?”
“Yes,” John said, nodding as more recollection flooded him. “Lee Kimble. He was a… prosecutor.”
More memories came back to John. Long talks with Kimble at the cafeteria and in the common space.
“Lee took an interest in my earthquake findings. Someone with a shared interest in history. He believed my theory.”
“And was this when Felix returned?” Yorke said.
John thought about this.
“Yes, as a matter fact it was. Kimble started asking me about multiple personality disorder. He was very curious. Everyone always is. And he asked about the personality who had landed me in the hospital. He ... he wanted to meet Felix. And then...”
He stopped. Because now he had to think hard. The memories were getting foggier.
“Then the two of them began having conversations. Felix and Kimble. Felix grew stronger and kept the rest of us away when the two of them would talk.”
“Were you ever able to hear what they were talking about?” Melbourne said.
“Just once. I was pulled through for a moment. Just a few seconds. What Felix was saying sounded familiar to me. He was talking about something that couldn’t be felled. Not ‘filled.’ ‘Felled.’ Like, knocked over. He said people kept trying to bring it down, but they couldn’t. Even nature couldn’t bring it down. And then Kimble said something like, ‘Then that will be our safe house. Isolated. Far from the city.’ Then I faded out again.”
Melbourne and Yorke looked at each other.
“You shared your theory with Kimble,” Yorke said. “What did he share with you?”
“He told me he didn’t commit the crime he was sentenced for.”
“Everyone’s innocent in jail,” Melbourne said with a grin. “Or a state hospital, in this case.”
John shook his head. “Kimble didn’t just say that he was innocent. He said he was set up. That he was framed. By Beau Lawton.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
El Vacío wore a shaggy Beatles wig, a pair of cheap plastic glasses with square frames and no lenses, and a tie-dyed T-shirt with big white letters that read, Where, Oh Where Is Jonathan Fair?
It was almost completely dark, the sky still faintly pink. The air was already a bit cool. He stood among the teeming mass of people on the steps of the San Francisco Hall of Justice.
If he’d thought the mob mentality was disturbing back in the Financial District when he’d witnessed Jonathan Fair’s arrest, here it was positively revolting. A circus atmosphere. Vendors selling the souvenir shirts and glasses. People with deranged, perpetual smiles and nothing better to do with their time than latching onto this phenomenon, which evidentially gave them some sense of worth. Scum-sucking reporters staring at the building, idly discussing angles with their cameramen as they awaited the latest activity.
El Vacío had his own reasons for monitoring the building. Of course, he knew that the cop had already brought Jonathan Fair in. But not long ago, Fair’s sister, Jane, had also entered the building. When the deputy marshal had made her announcement to the press, she’d ask that Jane come in to help them break through to Jonathan. This meant that they likely had Jane and her brother in the same room.
Which would complicate things further for El Vacío...
If he chose to raid the building.
Suddenly there was a bustle of activity in the crowd. All of the reporters rushed toward Bryant Street, their cameramen in tow, turning on their cameras’ lights.
A fleet of luxury vehicles slowly pulled up, parking among the cars and news vans. A rear door on a Rolls-Royce opened. And out walked the massive Big Paul, head of the Fair family. He stood for a moment, buttoning his jacket and looking at the Hall as the reporters approached him. Then he glanced to his left, where someone else was exiting a limousine. It was Angelo Alfonsi, San Francisco’s other mob boss, Big Paul’s rival.
The two men gave each other a nod. And then they both headed toward the Hall, meeting up and walking together as the reporters converged upon them.
The crowd shifted toward the men as they worked their way toward the building, hounded by the media. El Vacío moved with the crowd.
Almost nothing surprised El Vacío in his line of work, but a collaboration between the Fairs and Alfonsis was extremely unexpected.
And it might very well change his plans entirely.
Chapter Forty
Dale bolted up in his chair. He glanced at Yorke. She shifted uncomfortably.
“I’m sorry,” Dale said to Fair, “but did you just say that Kimble told you he was set up by Beau Lawton?”
Fair nodded. “Before he and Felix started talking, Kimble began opening up to me. He told me about his problems with Lawton. They’d been best friends when they were both climbing the ranks in the DA’s Office. Lawton felt threatened by Lee. And when their office was working the Red Riding Hood case, Lee was arrested after they found the red sweatshirts and girls’ underwear in his apartment. He told me Lawton had access to the apartment. Lee had given him a key, a place to stumble back to on the weekends. Lawton also had access to the crime scenes. Lee said Lawton was the only one with access to both the evidence and his apartment.”
“Why would Lawton do it?” Dale said.
“To eliminate the competition. Lee said Lawton’s dream was to become DA.”
Dale faced Yorke. “You did say that Beau was power-hungry.”
Her face was long, eyes confused. She slowly shook her head.
“But he would never frame someone. Remember, Lee Kimble said all this at a mental hospital where he’d been declared insane.”
Fair interjected. “But Lee said pursuing the insanity plea was his only hope to avoid prison. He knew that the evidence was overwhelming. And he said that he would get his revenge on Lawton.”
“Revenge…” Dale said. “Kimble blames Lawton for being arrested as the Red Riding Hood, so he uses someone he met at the mental hospital, takes advantage of the man’s condition and passion. He breaks the two of them out along with several other guys, prominent guys, people whose escape would lead to a confusing mass manhunt. He convinces the Felix personality that he can help him with his mission, that he can lead him to Abe Ruef’s establishments. As long as Felix agrees to put John to sleep. But in reality, Kimble was attacking the Alfonsis by way of a member of the Fair family, creating a mob war between the two criminal families through which District Attorney Beau Lawton built his career.”
Yorke shifted in her chair again. Clearly she was uncomfortable with Dale’s theory, but she was starting to believe it.
She finished for him. “Thinking he was going to destroy both the man’s credibility and his career. When, in fact, Beau was able to use the mob war Kimble created to his advantage, stopping the attacks before they happened and making a string of highly-publicized arrests. And then you brought in Jonathan Fair.”
“We brought in Jonathan Fair,” Dale said.
Yorke strummed her fingers on the table. “Kimble’s revenge scheme was ruined. What does he do now?”
“He finds a new way to get his revenge.” Dale thought about this for a moment. His eyes lit up. “Yorke, where is Beau right now?”
The question rattled Yorke. Her lips parted. “I think he—”
There was a sudden commotion from the hallway.
Yorke went to the door and opened it. She stood for a moment.
“Something’s happening. Everyone’s watching the news.”
She closed the door and wal
ked back in. She got on her tip toes to turn on the television set mounted in the corner of the room toward the ceiling. She flipped the channel dial. A live news program appeared.
A female reporter with a microphone was on the steps of the Hall of Justice, the very building Dale was in, wrangling for position with the crowd as she followed two suited men heading for the doors. One of the men was gigantic, maybe 300 pounds. The other was of average build with an immaculate suit, slicked back hair, and a small mustache.
“Oh my god!” Jane said. “My father! He’s come for us!”
She reached across the table for Jonathan.
“Mr. Fair,” the reporter said to the large man. “Why have you suddenly shown up here at the Hall of Justice?”
“To meet with the district attorney. I understand he has two of my children,” he said, not looking at the woman.
“And why have you brought Angelo Alfonsi with you? Are your two families not at war?”
“Don’t believe everything you hear. Solidarity. We’re here to set the record straight.”
The two men made it through the doors. The crowd continued to shout questions at them.
The reporter turned back to the camera. “An amazing turn of events here at 850 Bryant. Only time will tell what—”
Yorke killed the TV. She turned to Dale, a grim expression on her face.
Jane bolted out of her chair.
“I knew it! I knew I shouldn’t have come here! I knew he’d come for us.” She looked at her brother. “Come on, John. I’m getting us out of here.”
Dale grabbed her wrist, guided her back down into her chair. “You know I can’t let you do that. Your brother’s been arrested.”
“But he’s come for us!”
She had reached full hysteria. She was nearly hyperventilating.
“Jane, listen to me, please. There is no safer place in the city for you than this building.”
It was right then that the lights went out.
Chapter Forty-One
It was dark. Nearly pitch black. Just a tiny bit of light creeping in through the cracks of the door.
Next to him, Dale could hear Jane’s panicked breathing. He could just see in the darkness as she reached across the table for her brother again.
And then there were shouts from the hallway. Commotion. Fearful screams.
And a gunshot.
Jane shrieked.
Dale tried to find Yorke. He could just make out her form.
“There hasn’t been an alarm,” he called out to her. “How the hell could someone get a weapon past security?”
“It’d have to be someone really familiar with the building,” Yorke said in a prompting tone.
Dale took her meaning.
“Like a former assistant district attorney,” he said.
Lee Kimble.
Jane was breathing harder now.
“Or criminals who know the building inside out!” she screamed. “Like my father’s men.”
Dale drew his gun. He saw Yorke move through the darkness and lock the door.
“Everyone up,” Dale said.
The others stood, and Dale tipped the metal table onto its side. It hit the floor with a loud clang.
“Behind the table,” he said.
Dale and Yorke positioned themselves on either end of the upturned table, guns aimed around the edge and with John and Jane protectively between them.
More screams and chaos from outside. Another gunshot.
The door handle rattled.
Jane wailed.
The handle rattled again, harder. Violently.
Jane moved frantically next to Dale. He could feel her wrapping her arms around her brother.
A voice screamed from behind the door. A man.
“Open it!”
Sounds of keys jingling.
A pause.
And the door opened.
Squeaking hinges.
A small, bright light. It darted over the room, bouncing, streaking. Searching. A flashlight.
Two figures. Barely illuminated.
In the scant light, Dale could see a gun.
The voice called out again.
“I’ve come for Jonathan Fair!”
Beside Dale, Jane’s body closed in tighter around her brother, pulled him down.
“Drop your weapon!” Dale said.
One of the figures raised the gun at the other figure’s head.
The second man was a hostage.
“I’ll kill him! Where’s Fair?”
Yorke yelled out. “Drop it now!”
The lights came back on.
Dale squinted.
A fraction of a second. That’s all it took him to register.
Two men. Lee Kimble with a gun aimed at the other man, his hostage...
Beau Lawton.
Lawton’s eyes fell on Dale’s for a moment. Fear. Panic. Not an ounce of the grit and determination Dale had grown accustomed to.
Kimble bolted to the right side of the table. Toward Yorke.
A crackling noise from the ceiling.
The lights went out.
Darkness again.
Confusion. A hand grabbed at Dale. He swung blindly. Hitting nothing but air. The hand wrapped around Dale’s arm, twisting, and his gun fell to the floor.
The lights fluttered on.
Kimble was over him. His eyes pierced down, glaring into Dale. A deranged look. Kimble had one arm—the one holding his gun—wrapped around Lawton’s neck, and with his free hand he reached toward Fair, forcing Dale away with his knee.
Jane pushed between them, tried to get Kimble away.
A gunshot.
Squeaking. Shoes on cement. Dale glanced. Yorke. Stumbling backwards. Squeezing her arm. A grimace on her face. Blood flowing between her fingers.
The lights went out.
Blind again.
More struggling. Dale landed a good punch to who he thought—hoped—was Kimble.
Then something cold and hard struck across his head. Metal. A gun.
And Dale was out.
Chapter Forty-Two
Dale woke up, and there was a beautiful woman looking down upon him. For a moment, he was happy and peaceful.
Only for a moment. Until he heard an alarm in the distance and realized where he was and the situation he was in, the reason why the beautiful woman was there.
“You’re awake,” Jane said, gently touching the throbbing area on the side of his noggin.
The Hall of Justice. The attack. The blow to the head. Yorke getting shot.
Dale bolted up. “Yorke!”
“Careful,” Jane said.
Dale spotted Yorke, at the front of the room, speaking rapidly, urgently into a phone, blood down the side of her body.
The side of Dale’s head exploded with a dull, throbbing pain. He assessed the situation.
Just him, Jane, and Yorke.
No Jonathan Fair.
And no Kimble or Lawton.
An alarm blared in the hallway. People shouting.
Yorke hung up. She stepped closer, dragging with her one of the chairs that had been thrown to the far wall. Her right sleeve was soaked in blood, and the injured arm hung at her side. She grimaced as she sat.
“They’re gone,” she said. “No one saw how they got out.”
Dale looked at her arm. He couldn’t tell exactly where the wound was, but there was a massive amount of blood. And her face was pale.
Dale scooted over to her and took out his pocketknife, placed a hand on her leg.
“Don’t worry, Yorke,” he said and gave her a wink. “I’m not getting fresh with you.”
He pinched a fold into the fabric of her khakis then pierced it with his knife. He yanked, tearing the lower half of the pant leg off. Her calf was exposed. Smooth and shapely. Dale admired it for only half a moment before he slid the loop of clothing over her boot then grabbed it from the top and tore down, making a big, wide strip of cloth. He folded it over, slid it under her a
rm, and tied it tight around the wound.
“Did you call an ambulance?” he said.
“They already have one coming,” Yorke said. “But it just grazed me. I need to help you find them.”
“No, you need medical attention.”
“I’m fine.”
“Yorke, you—”
“I’m going with you.”
“Yorke…”
“I’m fine, Conley.”
“Hanna!” Dale said. It was the first time he’d used her first name. “You. Were. Shot.”
Yorke didn’t answer. She exhaled slowly. Finally, she said, “You know that’s why Beau personally picked me for this assignment.”
“What do you mean?” Dale said.
“Doesn’t it seem odd to you that when there was an escape so significant it came to be called the ‘Second Alcatraz,’ the DA personally chose a deputy marshal who hasn’t had a fugitive case in a year, whose last case was a disaster resulting in the deaths of innocent people?”
Dale shook his head. “It seems to me like a guy trying to give his ex-girlfriend an opportunity to prove herself again on the biggest stage possible.”
“No, Conley. No. Let’s assume Beau really did frame Lee Kimble. Then of all the Second Alcatraz escapees, Kimble is the one Beau would want brought in with the least amount of fanfare—the guy who he framed as a child-killer. The longer Beau could keep the media circus surrounding Jonathan Fair going, the more he could keep attention off the other escapees, including Kimble. So he brought on the screwup to hunt for Fair, the person he assumed would fumble about foolishly and not be able to bring him in.”
Dale thought over her idea. And he reluctantly agreed with her. But he couldn’t tell her that.
So he didn’t reply.
Yorke looked at the floor. Her face was long, defeated. And growing paler from the blood loss.
Voices from the doorway. The medical crew had arrived.
Dale put a hand on Yorke’s shoulder. “Go with them. Please. I’ll handle this.”
She gave him a long, resigned look and stood up. The medical crew led her out of the room.
