by Ben Follows
“Jake, you have to understand that you’re in shock from Sarah dying. You sound insane.”
Jake pointed the gun at Harold’s head. “You’re consistent, I’ll give you that.” He paused for a moment. “Me arriving in Crescent Point drunk as a skunk, that wasn’t supposed to be part of the test, was it? The director didn’t tell you to do that. You were hoping I’d fuck it up, give you the opportunity to run away with Janet, claiming my fuckup led the authorities to you. Is that it?”
Harold said nothing, but he couldn’t keep the venom from his gaze.
Jake shrugged. “It doesn’t matter.”
He raised the gun and fired, Harold’s head snapping backward as the bullet hit between his eyes. There was a scream from the adjacent room, and Jake wiped off the gun before looking up at Harold, blood dripping down his face. A part of him wanted to use Harold to get to the director, but he was responsible for Sarah’s death. Nothing could make up for that.
Jake walked back into the living room, bringing the bag of weapons with him. Janet was squirming to get herself loose from her restraints.
“Where’s the phone?” said Jake.
“What phone?”
“The phone he used to call the FBI agents.”
Janet bowed her head, but her eyes looked defiantly up through her hair. “Hidden in the seat cushion over there.”
Jake fished out an iPhone from between the seat cushions. He checked the call log and found calls associated with the times of all the major FBI actions. There were also several calls with another number, which Jake made a mental note to look up. The third and final number the phone had ever called was a Crescent Point area code, Janet’s probably. He put the phone in his pocket and turned back to Janet, who was looking past him with more courage than she’d shown before.
“Where are the car keys?” he said.
“Fuck you,” said Janet. “You killed him! You didn’t have to kill him!”
Jake sighed and pulled out his gun. “Where are the car keys?”
Janet swallowed, retreating against the back of the chair. “Hanging up in the kitchen.”
“Good.” He walked up to Janet and untied her left wrist. She looked confused and looked at her free wrist, doing nothing. “When I leave here, take my car and drive it to the police station. Tell them everything you know. Bring them here. Understand?”
She nodded, although she still seemed confused.
“Good. I found this.” He held up her wallet and pointed at the picture of the children in the picture. “I have your address. I know where you live. You are going to go to the police and tell them everything. The complete truth. No matter what. Understand?”
She nodded frantically, and Jake believed her.
He walked into the kitchen, grabbed the car keys off the hook, and walked out the busted front door.
He climbed into the car and started the engine. He checked the gas and the other meters. Everything looked up to date. He pulled out of the driveway and onto the highway, going away from Crescent Point. He didn’t know what was next. All he knew was that he needed to be anywhere else.
Chapter 36
Chief Williams took a deep breath and stepped out of his car. The two squad cars following him pulled onto the curb. He and Agent Thompson had both delegated putting out the fire and organizing a salvage operation. He had something else he needed to do.
As he had driven over with the two cars flanking him for protection—Thompson had insisted—he had listened to a news report from that morning stating Frank Frederickson had been found in Las Vegas, and the Crescent Point newspaper had definitive proof. The chief turned off the radio.
He looked up at the one-story house that Amanda and Zach had shared. He straightened what remained of his thinning hair and made sure his clothes were in order before walking to the front door. He knocked three times and waited.
“Just a minute,” came a shout from within, followed by grunts and strained efforts.
A few moments later the door was unlocked and opened slowly. The chief took the initiative and pushed the door inside, Zach hopping off to one side on his crutches, barely balancing on his one good leg, exhausted from the short trip from the couch to the front door.
Once the door was open, the chief stepped back.
“Thanks,” said Zach. “I’ve been watching the news, it seems pretty hairy out there.”
He looked up at the chief.
“Amanda?”
The chief shook his head. “I’m sorry. She led the team inside. She was still inside.”
Zach looked down at the ground, his eyes vacant. “Thank you,” he said. “Thanks for coming to tell me.”
“If there’s anything I can do, let me know.”
“No. Thank you.”
Zach turned away, maneuvering awkwardly on his crutches as he did so. In a jumbled mess, he threw the door shut, slamming just a few inches from the chief’s face. From inside, there were sounds of the crutches moving along the ground. The chief stood at the door for a few seconds before turning around and stepping off the porch. He stepped onto the brown lawn, just far enough to see through the gap in the curtains of the front window.
Zach was sitting on the couch, his broken leg on the ground, not propped up, his crutches lying on the ground beside him. His face was in his hands, and his body heaved with every sob.
The chief grabbed his notepad from his pocket, wrote a quick note promising he would be able to talk if Zach needed it, and left his personal home and mobile numbers. The note also explained that a squad car would be staying in front of his house until they felt that the danger had passed.
He slid it through the mail slot and walked back to his car, nodding to the squad car that was to remain in front of the house. Also Thompson’s idea. Covering all his bases, he’d said. The chief started his car and pulled out, the second squad car following him as he made his way back toward the factory. He gripped the steering wheel until his fingers turned white.
He was certain that media outlets were listening with rapt attention to their police scanners, sending the same teams who had been there to investigate the Frank Tanners case in the first place back to find the new answers.
“Chief Williams, please call into the station,” said the police scanner.
The chief pulled onto the shoulder and called the station from his cell phone.
His receptionist answered. “Chief? You’re going to want to get back here.”
“What happened? I should be out there helping with the rescue effort.”
“Dimitri Kulovich and Paul Vincent just turned themselves in.”
The chief stared out his windshield for a moment before answering. “Are you sure?”
“I’m looking at them being taken into the interview rooms right now.”
“Don’t let anyone talk to them until I get there.”
He hung up without waiting for an answer. He swerved across the road and into the opposite lane, his siren blaring. He rocketed past the other squad car and caught the confused expressions of the officers, watching in his rear-view mirror as they replicated his maneuver and turned on their sirens as well.
They had to drive on the shoulder of the road once they got to the main drag to get past the tourists trying to get out and the media trying to get in. He parked and ran into the station.
The receptionist stood the instant he walked through the door. The station was abuzz with activity. It seemed as though every reporter within a fifty-mile radius was there. The chief was bombarded with questions, which he ignored with a stony-eyed stare until he walked through the gate into the bullpen.
The receptionist fell into step beside him. “The media wants a statement.”
“Forget it. They’ll get it when they get it.”
“A man came in claiming that a man matching Jake Lavelle’s description stole his car.”
“Shit. I knew he was still alive. Get the make of the car from him. Where’s Thompson?”
“He wen
t in with Dimitri and Paul.”
“I told you to—“
“I know, but he’s—“
“I know, I know. Keep the media back. I need to talk to him.”
“They’re in rooms two and three.”
“Thank you.”
He walked into the viewing room for room two and saw Thompson standing behind the chair, his back to the two-way mirror, his hands on the back of the chair, staring down at Dimitri Kulovich, who seemed unfazed by whatever Thompson had said.
The chief was surprised Dimitri was really there. It went against every theory he had. He knocked on the glass, and Thompson turned, scowling at the two-way mirror before exiting the room.
Thompson stepped into the viewing room a moment later. “I was wondering when you were going to show up.”
“What the hell, Thompson? This is my station. You can’t just come in here and interrogate whoever you damn well please. And what the hell is going on at the video store? You can’t commandeer my men like that.”
Thompson laughed and pulled out his badge. He shoved it at Williams. “You see this?” he said. “This says that I can do whatever the fuck I want. Now, are you going to keep being the police version of the Pillsbury Doughboy or are you going to help me nail these fuckers? We need some answers.”
“No.” The chief slapped the badge out of his face and stepped up to Thompson. “This is my city, my station, and my convict. I know you lost your partner, but I lost someone too. We can sort out whatever jurisdictional bullshit you want to throw in my face later, but until this case is over, this is my town, and everyone out there in that bullpen is loyal to me. They like me, and you know why? Because I respect every one of them, even though I outrank them. You might want to try it sometime.”
He walked past Thompson and grabbed the door handle. “If you want to be my second in these interrogations so we can sort out what the fuck is going on, you’re more than welcome, but you’re in my dojo, remember that. Jake Lavelle is alive, by the way. You might want to check your sources.”
He exited the room and stepped into the bullpen without waiting for Thompson’s response. Among the crowd he saw Judith Frederickson. She was shouting for someone to listen to her, and when she saw the chief she met his eyes and continued screaming.
Also standing in the crowd, a few feet back from Judith and far less noticeable, was Karen. She was looking up at the chief with a questioning expression.
He sighed. He would deal with her later. In the bullpen there were a few people the chief didn’t recognize being interviewed. They were witnesses who claimed to know something about the factory explosion.
He heard Thompson speaking behind him and turned to see him on the phone. “Who is this? What are you talking about? Who are you talking about? Who—shit.”
He hung up and looked up at the chief.
“Okay,” said Thompson. “You were right. Someone who is not my source has my source’s phone.”
“Lavelle got to him?”
“I think so.” Thompson stared forward and squeezed the bridge of his nose. “Fuck.”
“Who was your source, anyway?”
Thompson shook his head. “I can’t tell you that. It’s above your clearance.”
Williams considered pushing the point but dropped it. “We should interrogate Dimitri before he changes his mind about talking. You follow my lead?”
“Yeah, sure, whatever.” Thompson looked around the station and nodded a few times before following the chief. The chief grabbed a few bottles of water from his office before walking into the interrogation room and handing them to the others. Thompson took a seat beside him.
“Thank you,” said Dimitri, accepting the water and taking a long gulp before placing it on the table. “Nice to see you again, Chief. It’s such a tragedy what happened. I want you to know that I am willing to completely cooperate in the investigation to find out who is responsible for this. It was an attack on me and my livelihood just as much as it was on you and this city. That factory was all I had. Let’s get the fuckers who did this.”
“All right,” said the chief. “Thank you very much for coming in to speak with us. I’m sure you can understand you were our first suspect, what with the record of your inner circle and everything.”
“I understand, but both Dirk and Paul are good men. This is nothing but bad luck for us.”
“It certainly seems to follow them.”
“That it does. It doesn’t mean they’re guilty, though, and neither does my association with them.”
“Of course not. Now, if you don’t mind, please tell us exactly what you were doing this morning. Then we’ll interview Paul and Dirk and look for any discrepancies between them. If everything works out, then you’ll be free to go, at least until we figure out how the explosion was caused.”
“I understand.”
The chief turned to Thompson. “Anything you want to add?”
Thompson shrugged. “No, you covered the bases well. I’d like to hear Dimitri’s story, and I might interrupt to ask questions, but for now I’m good.”
“Go ahead,” said the chief to Dimitri.
“I don’t know how much I can tell you,” said Dimitri, putting his hands together in front of him on the table, “the only thing I can tell you is that there is this guy, Jake Lavelle, who was pretty damn suspicious to us.”
“Yes,” said the chief. “We know all about him. Dirk filled us in.”
Dimitri nodded. “Dirk and Paul’s criminal histories have resulted in quite a few people, yourselves included, assuming there were criminal activities taking place at the factory. I’m sure that when you finish your excavation, you’ll find that there was nothing illegal there. We are the ones who are going to take this on the chin. Do you think that insurance is going to pay that out? Hell no. You know what I think happened?”
Thompson held out a hand. “No, but I’m sure you’ll tell us.”
Dimitri smiled. “Let me guess, Jake Lavelle was at the factory. That’s why you questioned Dirk about it.”
Thompson just crossed his arms. “You aren’t interviewing us. We’re interviewing you. Tell us the theory.”
“Thought so,” said Dimitri. “Well, I think Jake Lavelle is somehow connected to Dirk or Paul’s histories and isn’t happy with them being successful with the factory, so he sabotaged it. He snuck into the factory with explosives and blew it up. Based on the skills we’ve seen, it isn’t impossible.”
Thompson nodded, and the chief realized he had lost control over the interview. “Interesting theory,” he said. “I have a few questions for you.”
“Actually,” said the chief. “If you don’t mind I’ll do the asking.”
Thompson paused for a moment. “By all means.”
“Where were you this morning?” said the chief to Dimitri.
“Me and Paul went into Boston to buy supplies. We met with a supplier and were on the verge of making the deal when we heard the news on the radio. We rushed back here as quick as we could, and here we are. I can give you the name of the supplier if you want it.”
“Please do.”
Dimitri told them and the chief wrote it down, fully expecting the sources to corroborate Dimitri’s story. That didn’t mean he was innocent.
They asked a few more questions, switching off between the chief and Thompson, each fighting for the spotlight, and then finally it came to the last question, which the chief had completely failed to think of.
“Do you know where Keelan Ochre is?” asked Thompson.
The chief and Dimitri both stared at him, bewildered. Chief Williams had absentmindedly assumed he had died in the blast, but he had been going after Jake Lavelle. If Jake was alive, Keelan Ochre might be as well.
“What are you talking about?” asked Dimitri. “I thought he and his entire team were caught in the blast and the fire.”
“Almost all of them. You were right about Jake Lavelle. He was there. He knocked out one of Keelan’s men to get in.
Ochre followed him, and then we lost contact. We found another one of Keelan’s men knocked unconscious behind the factory and took him to a hospital to await questioning, but no sign of Ochre himself. We don’t know where he went, and we do know that Jake Lavelle is alive, so that leaves the question open of what happened to him.”
“Lavelle is still alive? Why the hell aren’t you going after him? He destroyed my factory!”
“Mr. Kulovich, we are doing everything we can, but we need your cooperation. Have you heard anything concerning Ochre or his location?”
Dimitri shook his head. “No. I hired him as security just the other day. I don’t know anything about him.”
Thompson stood and walked around the table, putting a hand on Dimitri’s shoulder. “It isn’t your fault.”
“Thank you,” said Dimitri.
“However,” said Thompson, “until we confirm your story, you will be kept here. Is that understood?”
“I understand.”
“Perfect. Thanks for your time. Chief?”
The chief stood, realizing that he had once again lost control of the interview. He followed Thompson into the bullpen. The crowd had grown, and a number of cops were standing in front of the reception desk to hold back the tide of reporters and worried citizens.
“So,” said Thompson, turning back to face the chief, “what did you think?”
“I think his alibi is going to be rock solid, but he's still our number one suspect. I also think that Dirk and Paul are going to have similarly bulletproof stories.”
“Agreed. We need something else. Somewhere they made a mistake. We have questions without answers and answers without questions. We need to interview Paul, but I’m betting it will be useless.”
As if on cue, the man whose car Jake Lavelle had stolen stood and pointed frantically toward the front door of the police station. “That my car! That’s my fucking car!”
All eyes turned to the front of the police station. The chief marched through the crowd to the front. He reached the doors and saw the red clunker sitting just in front of the station. Inside the car was a woman leaning on the steering wheel, staring straight ahead. Her wrists were bloody and her makeup had run down her face.
