John caught Paula’s eye, and he tapped his earpiece. She shrugged in response. As deep as Sherman’s obsession with Paula ran, she showed little discomfort with the man less than twenty feet from her. She had her weapon out and hidden under the flap of her jacket. The barrel pointed at Sherman. A sour knot flipped in John’s gut.
Simmons kept glancing at his phone, and the more time that passed, the more the anger became palpable. Even his biker friends backed a few feet away.
“Brian? Do you have eyes on the three bikers in the rotunda?”
“We do, and the exits are covered. Want us to move in now?”
“Hold for now. I’m moving,” John said.
John cut across the wide expanse of the rotunda, keeping the statue of Columbus making an appeal to Queen Isabel between him and Simmons. At the last moment, he cut left to the elevator bank as one of the cars opened.
A holdover from days past, an elevator operator sat on a narrow stool inside the door. “What floor?” she asked.
“Two, please.”
The old car moved up and sounded a loud bell when it arrived at the next floor. John stepped out onto the circular walkway that overlooked the rotunda below and looked up to the elaborate dome. The walkway was also a main passage between the old and new parts of the capitol building. An oddity of architecture, the third floor of the new building aligned with the second level of the old structure.
John stepped into the flow of pedestrian traffic and spotted Paula and Sherman at the railing directly ahead. They were on the opposite side of the circular walk, both focused on Simmons below.
John took a position on the rail, to Sherman’s left and in Paula’s view. She glanced up and gave a slight nod, one that said, “I’ve got this.” John moved a few steps closer to Sherman with each passing group of tourists.
“Nice of you to join us, Detective,” Sherman said.
“Paula, what are you doing?” John asked.
“Walk away, John.”
“Paula—”
“I’m tired of picking up the pieces of my life because of him.” Paula punctuated her statement with a jab of the gun barrel against her jacket. She’d closed within a few feet of Sherman.
“And here I thought you came to apologize to me and take care of our friends down there.”
“You mean Beavis, Butt-Head, and friend of the Brotherhood? Not much of a show,” Paula said.
Sherman took his cell phone from his pocket.
John tensed. “Easy now.” His hand covered his weapon.
Sherman held the phone with two fingers to show it wasn’t a threat. He tapped a text message and hit send, then pointed at Simmons below.
Simmons grabbed his cell and glanced at the message. “I’m tired of these God damned games!” His voice echoed under the capitol dome.
“What did you say to him?” John said.
“I told him to hang tight, and he’ll get what he wants.”
“This is your big plan?” Paula asked.
“You haven’t got a clue. You put me in there with them. You and your high-and-mighty act.”
“Nobody twisted your arm to steal drugs. You’re the one who took everyone down with you. And look at them now: they’re all dead.”
“Their blood is on your hands, Newberry,” Sherman said.
Paula’s weapon came out. “How the hell can you say that? Your blood—literally, your blood—was on their hands.”
“Paula, he’s not worth it. He’s trying to get you to—”
Sherman’s expression darkened. Paula’s comment shook him and he stepped back from the rail. “What did you say?” He looked confused and unfocused.
“I said it wasn’t my blood on those guys, even though you tried to make it look like I killed them.”
“I—I didn’t kill Burger. Who—who else?” Sherman asked.
“Wing, McDaniel, Ronland almost—” she said.
“Wallace—” Sherman hissed.
“What about him?” Paula said.
Sherman pointed over Paula’s shoulder. Wallace stood ten feet away, his arms down, but the tip of a ceramic knife peeked out from his right hand. The perfect weapon to carry through a metal detector.
Paula faced Wallace, her back to the railing, and held a hand out.
“Stay where you are. Don’t come any closer,” Paula said.
John closed up ranks and edged closer to his partner while grabbing Sherman by the shoulder.
From behind Wallace, a ring of CHP security fanned out and began to move tourists from the area.
Wallace took a step closer. “You cut a deal with the DA.”
“What deal?” Sherman said.
“You and the others were gonna roll on me.”
“What are you talking about?” Paula asked.
Sherman dangled the cell phone over the railing. “Your friends down there would be interested in what I have to say. It’s right here in my phone. You want it? Come get it.”
Simmons caught the motion above and recognition crossed his face when Sherman and Wallace came into view.
Wallace sidestepped closer to the railing, and Paula blocked his path.
“Drop the knife,” she said. She aimed her weapon. “Put it down.”
Simmons saw Paula with her weapon pointed at someone but decided he and his sidekicks shouldn’t stick around and find out who. He kicked a trash can as he passed but hadn’t realized it was concrete, and the only thing that gave was his toe. He limped down the hallway toward the south exit. He sent one final message to Sherman.
“You’re a dead man” popped up on Sherman’s screen.
With one hand, Sherman tapped in the final piece of the address that Simmons needed and the location of the keys in the rolled-up bag near the capitol steps. He tossed the phone off the balcony. The phone shattered when it hit the marble floor.
Wallace rushed forward and swung his knife hand. Paula lined up a shot and as her finger covered the trigger, a large group of middle school students on a tour crossed behind Wallace. Any misplaced shot or a bullet that went through Wallace could take out a kid. John’s line of sight was also compromised.
Sherman laughed. “You were never one of us. First chance you got, you bailed.”
“We had a deal,” Wallace said.
“You shouldn’t make deals with people in prison psych wards. They tend to be unreliable.”
“I took those guys out because they knew. You’re next,” Wallace said. He was quivering as he spoke; the knife pulsed with each word.
Wallace lunged forward, slashing the air as he advanced. One slice flashed in Paula’s face and she fell aside, leaving nothing between Wallace’s knife and Sherman. All Sherman did was extend his arms, offering himself as a sacrifice.
Wallace raised the blade overhead and thrust the knife down. Paula dove between the men and threw her hip into Wallace. The move pushed the attacker off-balance, and the tip of his knife shot past her shoulder.
Sherman sidestepped the attack and backed away, blending into the frantic crowd.
Paula’s forward momentum pulled Wallace off his feet and sent him over the railing to crash on the marble floor below.
“What were you thinking?” John asked.
“I need Sherman to prove my innocence,” she said. “Where is he? Do you have him?”
John craned his neck and scanned all the bystanders who’d gathered to watch events unfold. Cell phone videos and selfies were being taken all around, but Sherman had slipped away in the turmoil.
“He’s gone.”
SIXTY-TWO
“I’m so sorry, Paula; I let him slip away,” John said.
“It wasn’t your fault. But I’m pretty much screwed now.”
“Sherman used the crowd as cover to get past the security. He dropped his dark jacket and the camera missed him. We got Wallace though. The fall from the rotunda wasn’t enough to do more than break a few bones. I’ve got a couple uniforms watching him, so—”
“He’s here
, right? Is he talking?”
“Wallace is getting bundled up by the paramedics. He’s gonna need a good orthopedic doctor after his humpty dumpy act.”
“I gotta talk to him.”
“That can wait. Besides—”
“No, it can’t wait. Sherman is still out there, and Wallace knows more than he’s let on.” She pushed John aside and cut down the rotunda stairs to the landing zone, where Wallace was being loaded on a gurney.
Wallace lay on the gurney with both legs splinted, a neck brace, and a bruise, already purpling, on his shoulder, suffered during his tumble from the balcony.
He was awake, and his eyes narrowed when Paula came in.
“Where is he?” Paula said.
“If I knew, I wouldn’t tell you,” Wallace said.
“What do you owe him?” she asked.
“Owe him? He owes me.”
“For what? Getting him in and out of prison?” Paula said.
“I’m not talking to you. I want a lawyer.”
John took a plastic bag and collected Wallace’s smaller belongings. He sorted them with the end of a pencil; a cell phone, two sets of keys, a watch, and a wallet. John hooked the end of the pencil in one of the rings of keys.
John lifted a set of keys so she could see them—and the P. N. monogram on the key fob.
“You son of a bitch. You were the one in my home. You took the hammer and my butcher knife. There’s one key missing. You give that to your buddy Sherman?”
Wallace held back his reaction. “I want a lawyer.”
“Where’s Sherman?” Paula asked.
“Why do you think Sherman cut our good friend Wallace out of his drug business?” John asked Paula.
“He didn’t need him anymore. Sherman got what he wanted from him and cut his useless ass loose,” Paula said.
A flicker of recognition registered on Wallace’s face and dissipated, but he was shaken.
“You heard Sherman: Wallace ran and bailed the first chance he got,” John said.
“What do you suppose the deal was that Wallace was crying to Sherman about?” Paula said.
Wallace tried to move, but the splints and neck brace stopped him the second he put pressure against them.
An officer ducked over to the detectives. “Excuse me, Detective Penley, I have some gentlemen here. They say you asked for them to meet you here.”
“I’ll be right there,” John said. Then to Paula, “Can you entertain our guest here for a moment?”
She nodded.
“Why were you trying to kill Sherman?”
“I want a lawyer.”
“He made a deal with the AB and left you hanging.”
“I want a lawyer.”
“How’s it feel to be a loose end, worthless and disposable?”
He turned away from her as far as the neck brace allowed.
Two men approached the gurney with John. The first was Bullet, followed by a weakened but stone-faced George Ronland.
“You’re a popular man,” Paula said.
“So Bullet, what do you say?” John said.
“That’s him. That’s the guy I saw up on the highway that night.”
“You’re sure?” John asked. “This guy?” John tapped one of the leg splints.
Wallace grimaced and moaned.
“It’s him. Now I remember where I saw him before. He worked at the jail and took my fingerprints the last time I got arrested. I swear, it’s him.”
“Now, Wallace, you recognize Mr. Ronland here, don’t you? You two worked together.”
Wallace’s glance flicked in Ronland’s direction, but he couldn’t maintain eye contact.
“Why did you stab Mr. Ronland?” John said.
“Yeah, how come? I tell you I don’t want to play in your game to rip off Sherman and you do this?” Ronland gestured to his chest.
“I want a lawyer.”
“You always were a weak piece of shit. Scurrying off when things got tough. Like a rat,” Ronland said.
“Rat,” Paula said the word, and John saw the gears working in her mind. “You were the informant. You’re the one who originally tipped off the DA’s office about SSPNET,” she said.
“The files burned in your house. Those were his informant files. Sherman got ahold of them somehow. He knew what Wallace was up to—Wallace was doing anything he could to avoid being exposed as a rat against his former task force buddies,” John said.
“But Sherman planned to expose him the whole time. Sherman wanted us to find those files. That’s why he didn’t pour gasoline all over the house.”
Ronland shuffled forward. “You dropped a dime and ran out? You were as involved as the rest of us, as much as Sherman, Burger, Wing—all of them.”
John stepped between Ronland and Wallace’s gurney. It didn’t take much to hold Ronland back; a palm on the shoulder stopped him short. “George, that’s enough. Thanks for your help. Go on back home and finish healing up.”
“Come on, man, they got cheap coffee down in the basement,” Bullet said to Ronland. “My treat.”
Ronland backed away. Bullet nodded to Penley and followed Ronland out of the rotunda.
“I have to ask. Was Junior with you at all the killings, or did he trust you to do it all by yourself like a big boy?” Paula said.
“Screw you, Newberry. The DA isn’t about to let me go down like that,” Wallace said. “Besides, she knew the task force was skimming the take. She looked the other way as long as she got the convictions.”
“You’ve got nothing left to play. DA Clarke isn’t going put her reputation at risk for you. She wanted Sherman, and you can’t deliver.” Paula let that thought linger for Wallace.
Paula went to his side and ratcheted a pair of handcuffs. She put one on Wallace’s wrist and the other on the gurney rail. It wasn’t like he could get up and run off, but it felt good.
“An ex-cop in prison is bad enough, but an ex-cop rat in prison? Well, your quality of life is about to take a real nasty turn,” she said.
SIXTY-THREE
Paula watched the paramedics wheel Wallace out of the capitol. She met two officers outside and told them to go with the ambulance and not let Wallace out of their sight.
“Until Sherman is off the board, Clarke will keep coming after me for her case falling apart.”
“We have Wallace dead to rights on Burger and Ronland and for trying to stab you,” John said.
“That’s not enough. Sherman put all this together from behind bars and tore my life apart.”
“You can’t make this personal—”
“The hell I can’t. Sherman set me up, burned my home, and tried to have me killed. Of course it’s personal.”
“We have everyone out looking for him.”
Paula pushed past her partner and headed to the exit. “I don’t expect you to understand. I have to do this.”
He grabbed her by the arm. “I get it. After almost losing Tommy to a killer, there’s probably no one who’ll understand it more. But we have to be careful about how we go after him. We can’t risk screwing up the case against Sherman for revenge. Clarke would love to throw us under the bus.”
She tugged her arm back from him, but her resistance weakened.
She pulled her cell phone and stopped short.
“What is it?”
She held the phone and said, “Sherman was texting Simmons, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Where’s his phone?” she asked.
“Probably still in the capitol rotunda. I think it broke into a million pieces when he tossed it.”
“He was making a deal with Simmons for the whole drug stash. If the phone has the information, we might be able to pull the location from it.”
“Maybe with some time and a few tubes of super glue. That thing shattered when it hit the marble floor.”
The door at the security screening area was locked. They shut the detectives out when they escorted Wallace to the ambulance. A sign notifi
ed visitors that the capitol was temporarily closed. Paula noticed a huddle of highway patrol officers inside. She rapped on the glass door, and one of them saw the detectives but returned to the conversation with the others.
Paula banged on the glass with a closed fist. This time, one broke from the group and came to the door. He didn’t unlock it; he jabbed at the closed sign with a stiff index finger.
Paula pointed at him, but not with the same finger. In the other hand, she held her badge.
The officer flicked the lock open and parted the door. “You’re gonna have to come back some other time.”
He started to close the door, and she shoved her foot in the opening.
John cut Paula off before she unleashed an F-bomb on the highway patrolman. “We need to see Sergeant Wilson. It’s about the incident in the rotunda.”
The patrolman opened the door and told them to wait while he contacted the sergeant. He kept glancing over at them while he was on the phone. He hung up and came back to them.
“The sergeant says you can meet him in the rotunda. You know how to get there?”
“Yeah,” Paula said and walked past him.
The sergeant was standing next to the Columbus statue while another patrolman took photos of the floor where Wallace had landed. There was very little blood from the fall against the hard marble surface, but the space was littered with black shards of plastic and gauze wrappers left behind by the paramedics.
“We’re all done with the diving competition for today,” Brian said.
“Yeah, the degree of difficulty was good, but he lost points for artistic interpretation,” John said. “We just left Wallace at the ambulance. He’s gonna live to dive another day.”
“You able to get a tail on the other guy—Sherman?”
“That’s why we’re here,” Paula said.
“You need to look at more video?”
“Sherman had a phone,” she said, pointing to a couple of the larger pieces of the phone spread out on the marble. “Can we take a look?”
Sergeant Wilson looked to the patrolman taking photos, who nodded, meaning he was all done.
Bury the Past Page 26
