"He's not a cop, damn it! I don't know why he is here! He’s supposed to be in jail. How did you fuck that up, Ashland?"
"The money, Peterson, or I swear I will put a fucking bullet through your skull!"
Peterson pointed at the sports bag. "It's right there," he said, reaching for it.
"No you don't," said Ashland. "I'll get it myself.” He was about to step forward to retrieve the bag when MacFarland stretched out for his gun. He got his fingers around the gun grip before Ashland noticed his action. Ashland quickly swung his gun around and pulled the trigger. MacFarland felt the bullet hit the side of his chest. He lost his grip on gun as he slumped back onto the floor.
Suddenly, the sounds of police sirens reverberated outside the house. Ashland took one last look at MacFarland's bleeding body, then MacFarland heard him mutter "Oh, fuck!" as he sped towards the door.
Chapter 79
Wednesday, February 17, 1627 Hours
MacFarland was barely conscious of the events of the next minute or so. He heard a car screech around the curved driveway in front of the house, its tires kicking up stones and gravel as the driver slammed on the vehicle's brakes. A voice--was that Pierson he wondered?--shouted for Ashland to stop. Instead of stopping, Ashland started firing his weapon. There were more shouts, this time from a man as well as a woman, and more shots rang out. Then there was silence.
MacFarland couldn't see the scene outside, but he suspected that Ashland had been shot. Had either Pierson or her partner been shot? He didn't know. All he knew at that moment was that he should have been Pierson's partner. If she was hurt, it was his fault for not backing her up. He had abandoned her, and now he would suffer the guilt if she had been killed.
He was having trouble seeing clearly. He was certain that he was shot, but the pain had become a hazy cloud of abstract discomfort. His throat felt dry and he couldn't swallow. He had trouble breathing; it felt like he was lying under a heavy pile of smelly blankets. He had this image of Maureen Freeman wrapping him up in a soiled Army blanket. If he focused real hard, he could feel a distinct pain in his leg, and maybe there was another pain in his shoulder. Actually, he wasn't sure he had a shoulder any more. Had it been blown entirely off his body?
He perceived rather than saw Peterson moving in the hallway, but he couldn't be sure what the man was doing. Was he getting help? Was he running away? He had the feeling that it was very important to keep Peterson here. Was he going to arrest Peterson? What had the perp done? Oh, yes, he had fucked his wife. And killed her. And he was doing something bad with Ashland. What was it? Yeah, that's right. He was paying Ashland for killing people. That's what MacFarland had to arrest him for.
Where was MacFarland's gun? He needed his gun so that he could arrest Peterson. He had to arrest Peterson, but he was having problems remembering for what crime. So many of them. Yes, Peterson had slept with his wife and ruined his marriage. Peterson should die for that. He had to kill Peterson. Is that what he came here for? He couldn't remember any more.
Chapter 80
Wednesday, February 17, 1630 Hours
MacFarland was suddenly aware that Peterson was by his side. At first he thought the man was going to help him, though he could not imagine what the man could do. Then he saw that Peterson had picked up MacFarland's gun. Now why was it so easy to see that, yet not much else? Peterson stood up and pointed the gun at MacFarland.
"You've ruined everything," he said. "I should just kill you and tell them Ashland did it."
MacFarland had trouble keeping his eyes opened. At first he wished Peterson would just be quiet and let him go to sleep, but the man seemed very insistent on disturbing him. Then Peterson’s words wound their tortuous way to his mind. MacFarland laughed, then regretted doing so because any movement just produced sharp jabs of pain.
"That's my gun, Peterson," he said, trying hard to get the words right. "It will be very hard to convince a jury that Ashland killed me with my own weapon. And guess what? It has your prints on it. I can see now that you're too stupid to have killed all these people. But you're not stupid enough to kill me.” He coughed, finding it difficult to speak. He was searching for another stabbing comment to make, when the door banged open and Lockwood and Pierson jumped into the room. He had a short burst of joy. His partner was not dead!
Then everything went black.
Chapter 81
Wednesday, February 17, 1633 Hours
The first thing Cynthia Pierson saw was Peterson holding a pistol as he stood over MacFarland's body. "Drop it, scumbag!" she shouted, pointing her gun at Peterson. Peterson looked blankly at her, then let the gun fall to the ground. Lockwood immediately grabbed hold of Peterson and spun him around, pulling his arms back and snapping handcuffs onto Peterson's wrists.
At that moment, it seemed that all pandemonium broke out. Sirens screamed as several police cars pulled into the driveway. Some of them pulled onto the lawn as the officers inside of them jumped out, guns already drawn. The Lakewood Police force had arrived. Both Lockwood and Pierson had put away their guns and pulled out their badges to hold them up to show they were police officers.
Peterson was trying to see what had happened to Ashland. "Is he dead?" he asked. Pierson ignored him, shouting instead to the Lakewood officers who raced up to the door. "We need an ambulance here! An officer--a man is down with multiple gunshot wounds."
One of the Lakewood Police nodded. "We've got two on the way, ma'am. What's the situation?"
She knelt down and checked MacFarland. "Hang in there, Mac, help is on the way.” She looked up at Lockwood. "He's still breathing, but it looks really bad."
"We're still trying to sort the situation out," said Lockwood to the Lakewood cop.
"He saved my life," said Peterson quietly.
"What?" said Pierson, suddenly aware that Peterson was still standing there.
Peterson turned and looked at her. "MacFarland. If it weren't for him, I would be dead. He's a hero."
Pierson looked up at him. "Yeah, he's a hero. Just keep your cool and don’t make any sudden movements, Mr. Peterson. You don’t want the cops outside thinking that you did this, do you?”
Chapter 82
Thursday, February 18, 1500 Hours
Pierson sat next to his bed in the recovery room, watching him anxiously. MacFarland had spent several hours in the Emergency room. The doctors were all very optimistic about his chances, constantly reassuring her that none of his wounds were life-threatening. The most serious wound was the one to the shoulder, but the bullet had avoided most of the major osseous and vascular systems, but the doctor insisted it would be months before he would sufficiently recover to have full use of his arm. The leg shot hit primarily muscular tissue and was expected to heal fairly cleanly. The wound to his side was superficial, though it would leave a very noticeable scar.
Undoubtedly one he will proudly show to future girlfriends, thought Pierson.
Around three in the afternoon, Bob Chamberlain came to see how he was doing.
Pierson looked over at MacFarland. "Four years in the Marines, eight years on the force and he isn't shot once. Now he gets shot three times."
"At least it was by the same person," said Chamberlain.
Pierson gave him an angry look.
"Hey, I was just joking. The way Mac treats people, we're lucky it wasn't three different people shooting him. How soon will he be out?"
"Probably by the end of next week. He might have some problems walking, but he should be up on his feet fairly soon."
"Any idea why he was there?"
Pierson hesitated. There was no denying that Chamberlain knew of Mac's hatred of Peterson, so there was no point in sugar-coating that. The truth was always the best course. "He thought Peterson might be involved with Ashland in some way. He wanted to talk to him abou
t that."
"I got Peterson's statement. He claims that Mac came over to warn him about Ashland, but may have actually led Ashland to his house. MacFarland tried to take out Ashland, but got shot in the process. Peterson says he picked up MacFarland’s gun and chased Ashland out of the house.”
Pierson’s look was dubious. “Anything else?”
“The forensics lab was able to match fibers from Ashland's jacket to samples found at the Newsome crime scene. I’m pretty sure that we will be able to get the DA to drop the charges against Mac for that crime. Judge Clements may not be too happy though about Mac going to Peterson's house or possessing a weapon."
"Do what you can, okay Bob? Despite being an asshole, Mac is a good guy."
"And he's still a pretty good detective. If it hadn't been for him, I don't think we would have caught Ashland. And here's another thing you might be interested in. Chicago Police think that they might be able to pin a couple of homicides on Ashland. It seems our boy has been doing this kind of work for quite some time."
Chamberlain left as Pierson continued to sit beside MacFarland's bed. Finally, she took his hand and held it. "I just wish you would learn to listen to me, Mac. You don't know how much you mean to me, you stupid ass. What am I going to do if you get yourself killed?"
MacFarland, of course, didn't respond, so Pierson gathered up her coat and headed for the door. As she walked out of the hospital room, MacFarland opened his eyes and stared after her. I wonder if that means she likes me, he thought. He smiled and then fell back asleep.
Chapter 83
Friday, February 26, 0945 Hours
The Denny's store at Santa Fe and Alameda was always busy, and it was sometimes difficult to find a table. Jerry Baker had gotten there before everyone else and was staunchly defending a table. When he saw Pierson and MacFarland enter the store, he waved them over. Pierson helped MacFarland navigate his way through the tables. MacFarland tried not to wince when stabs of pain tore at his shoulder or when Pierson inadvertently pressed against his side as she tried to help. Surprisingly, his leg was doing quite well, and though he felt a dull throbbing sensation in his upper thigh, the pain killers he was on numbed most of the pain. It was just his shoulder that hurt with every movement.
"Let me sit on the outside," MacFarland suggested when they reached Baker's booth. Pierson nodded, and sat down, sliding over to the far inside corner of the booth.
"I think I saw Benny Lockwood pull up, looking for a parking space," said Baker, peering out the window. "And there's someone else here, Mac, who wanted to see you."
MacFarland settled himself gently into the booth, wincing briefly and trying to cover up his pain with a grin. He looked around, seeing at first only a lot of noisy, chattering customers. "Who?"
"He's in the restroom, trying to get cleaned up. I brought him a suit."
A waitress stepped up to the table, a coffee pot in one hand, her order book in another.
MacFarland was puzzled by Baker's comments, but he had the sense to focus on highest priority things first. "Coffee," he told the waitress, who was automatically pouring him a cup already. "A stack of pancakes, a side of sausages, two eggs over easy, and a glass of orange juice.”
"It's good to see you have your appetite back," said Baker.
"He's never lost it," grumbled Pierson. "All he wants me to do is cook for him."
MacFarland stage-whispered to Baker, "She's really quite a good cook! A woman of many and diverse talents!"
At that moment, Rufus walked up, incongruously pulling a dark maroon carry-on luggage case. MacFarland stared dumbly at his friend, his coffee cup poised in transit to his open mouth. "Rufus, is that you?"
"Yeah, boss, it's me," said Rufus. Not only was Rufus pulling a piece of luggage he would never have, he was wearing a suit! His face was shaved, probably for the first time in years, and while he still had his beard, it was somewhat trimmed and neat. His hair, however, still looked like birds nested in it. Rufus spoke to Baker. "Sir, I got all my stuff in the suitcase. I can keep this, can't I?"
"Of course, Rufus," said Baker. "And I don't expect you to wear the monkey suit all the time, but if I am going to hire you, I wanted you to be able to get into my building without the security guards having a conniption."
MacFarland was puzzled. "Why does he have to get into your building?"
"I'm hiring him," said Baker. Baker gestured for Rufus to sit down next to him who did so, although he looked quite uncomfortable.
"It's been a long time since I sat in a restaurant," he explained sheepishly.
Lockwood finally arrived and sat down next to Rufus. Benny stared at him a moment. "Rufus?"
Headley grinned at the young detective. "Yep, it's really me."
"What are you hiring him to do?" asked Pierson.
Baker smiled, patting Rufus on the shoulder. "Several things. Courier primarily. He will have a bicycle that he can use to get around the city. We will store the bicycle at the office, so he won't have to worry about it being stolen. That was his idea. It's a personal services contract, and it will give him a little money every month."
MacFarland looked at his friend hopefully. "Will you get off the streets?" he asked.
Rufus began to get a glazed look on his face, and Baker quickly interceded. "We are keeping options open, Mac. As Rufus has pointed out to me, we have to be careful of Charlie and all their sympathizers. Right Rufus?"
Rufus seemed to breathe a little easier. "That's right, boss. I need to reconnoiter before I move into a new territory."
"What prompted all of this?" asked MacFarland. "I think it's great, but I am just surprised."
Baker gestured nonchalantly. "While you were out investigating for me, Rufus often supplied me with my daily nourishment. We got to talking, and I discovered that beneath his gruff exterior was a man of exceptional talents. So, I've decided to use those talents to our mutual benefit.” Baker laughed. "Besides, I have to repay him for all those free bratwursts he gave me!"
MacFarland looked pained. "Hey, those were my bratwursts he gave you! What do I get out of this?"
Baker grinned from ear to ear. "Well, pertinent to that, I have some very good news. With the death of Mr. Wayne Ashland, and the statements by Mr. Norris Peterson, all charges against Mrs. Freeman have been dropped. She was released on Wednesday.” Baker reached into his inside jacket pocket. "Yesterday, in gratitude for what you have accomplished, Mac, she asked me to give you this.” He handed an envelope to MacFarland, who took it uncertainly. MacFarland opened the envelope and pulled out a check.
"This is for twenty-five thousand dollars," he said. "I can't accept this."
"Yes, you can," insisted Baker. "Without your help, Mac, I’m not sure if I would have been able to get my client off. I might have raised some reasonable doubt with a jury, but you got her cleared of the charges. That's a big difference, and she appreciates what you've done."
MacFarland was momentarily choked up. "Hell, I've never even met the lady."
"We can fix that," laughed Baker.
"Now that we're sharing good news," said Pierson, "I have something to say. Chamberlain was able to get in touch with Colleen Beltane and got her reinstated in the Crime Lab. She’s back at work in the Lab, thanks to you, Mac. She examined the clothes and car used by Ashland, and was able to confirm that he also had been at the locale where Freeman had been. Bob thinks that we will be able to wrap up the Freeman murder fairly quickly and close that case."
MacFarland nodded thoughtfully. "I’m glad to hear that," he said.
"So, what are you going to do with your money?" asked Baker.
MacFarland stared at the check. "I guess that I will get a new hot dog cart," he said. "After all, I’m just a hot dog vendor."
Lockwood shook his head. "No, Mac, I think you are a lot more than that. You are one helluva detective, too!"
Chapter 84
Friday, February 26, 1005 Hours<
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MacFarland was embarrassed by Lockwood's comment, but thankfully their breakfast orders arrived, and he could hide his confusion by eating his breakfast. He thought once more about Chamberlain's offer to bring him back onto the force. The fact that Lockwood had finally decided that he was acceptable as a detective meant a lot to him. Maybe he would be accepted back into the community that he had abandoned, and which had in turn abandoned him. Normally he was not the kind of guy who worried about what other people thought, and he certainly didn't need anyone's approval. But he did miss being a cop. There was something about the job that grew on you, unlike just about any other profession. He had felt the same way when he was in the Marines. Perhaps it was just an extension of the same thing. But while he would always be a Marine, he had turned his back on the police department.
Besides, he had a new group of people who needed him. If he didn't keep selling hot dogs, who would take care of the homeless people he counted among his friends?
"You know," said Pierson as she took a sip of water, "Peterson has really been singing your praises."
MacFarland looked up, his brow furrowed. "What?"
"I said that Peterson claims that you were a hero."
MacFarland smiled. "Get real," he said.
Lockwood nodded in agreement. "Yes, it's true. His story has changed a bit, because when we first went to his house, he was suggesting that you had brought Ashland with you, but in his written statement to the police, he claims that you came to warn him that Ashland was coming for him and when Ashland did show up, you fought with him."
"Well, some of that is true. I certainly didn't go there to warn him though. I went there to question him."
"At least you didn't go there to kill him," said Pierson.
MacFarland didn't say anything, but he wondered if Pierson was wrong. Had he brought his gun with him along with an unconscious desire to kill Peterson? He wished that he could definitively say no, but he knew that wasn't true. What he did know, however, was that he did not want to be called a hero by Peterson. The thought of having done a good deed for that scumbag really nauseated him. He pushed his plate away from him, unable to finish his breakfast.
The Avid Angler - The Hot Dog Detective (A Denver Detective Cozy Mystery) Page 23
