“I’m beginning to think you’re right.”
We walked back over and stood in front of Vic, and Henry asked. “Is this the only Medicine Man?”
She placed a hand across the open page and looked up. “Yes.”
I shrugged. “I guess we might as well head back to the hospital.”
Henry had parked the Thunderbird across Edgely Street. We made our way to the car when I noticed a tricked-out, fully chromed Escalade bristling with oversized wheels, brush guards, and enough off-road lights to illuminate the Miracle Mile. It was stopped at a discreet distance, and I was thinking about William White Eyes when the tinted windowed vehicle made a casual U-turn and thrummed its way back toward the reservoir and the depths of Fairmount Park.
“If you were an Indian in the city, where would you hide?” I held out my hand to Henry as we watched the Escalade disappear behind the sloping green of Athletic Field. “Gimme your keys.”
“Why?”
I started around the car toward the driver’s side and tossed the daypack into the backseat, feeling the weight of my .45 inside. “You drive too slow.”
He stopped and looked genuinely hurt. “I do not.”
“Give them to me!”
He handed me the gold-colored anniversary keys that he had put on the lucky rabbit’s foot chain. Vic quickly climbed in the back with Dog, and Henry took shotgun. “Do not wreck Lola.”
In the rearview mirror, I watched as Vic put her arm around Dog. “I’ll try not to.”
I fired up the 430-cubic-inch police interceptor and began intercepting. Fortunately, we were parked in the right direction, so I gunned her and quickly motored across the hill, following the only road the Cadillac could have taken. At Fountain Green Drive we had to make a decision. Vic hung over the seat and pointed left. “Stay on the reservoir road. He’ll either double back or continue the loop back up 33rd.”
She was right. We turned the corner in time to see a black Escalade continuing north on the four-lane. I made a turn on a late yellow, drifted to the right, and pulled in behind a delivery van in the slow lane. Back at Dauphin he stopped at the light, and we slowed behind the truck, but the light changed too quickly. “Damn.”
Henry’s eyes stayed on the black SUV. “What?”
“If he’d stopped at the light a little longer, I was going to get out.”
“Yes, that worked so well last time…”
Vic was still hanging between the seats as I pulled around the step-van and accelerated. The Cadillac made a left without hitting the turn signal, then a hard right on Strawberry Drive. “I don’t suppose either of you got the license number yet?”
I hung back at the turn, but it’s hard to go unnoticed when you are a powder blue vintage convertible with a cowboy, an Indian, a brunette, and a dog inside. He had steadily accelerated as we approached the light at Strawberry Mansion Bridge, and by the time he got to the intersection, he was running a straight sixty. Fortunately, the light was green, and we shot onto the ramp of the bridge about ninety feet behind him, barely missing a bicyclist who shook his fist at us.
The fifty-year-old steering on the big Bird felt a little loose as we dropped over the Schuylkill Expressway and watched as the Caddy continued to gain speed but easily make the corner at Greenland Drive. I hit the brakes a little as I turned the wheel, powered through the curve, and flattened the accelerator to the floor as the bulk of the cast-iron engine exploded internally, shooting us up the tree-lined thoroughfare at eighty.
I noticed that Vic had pulled my .45 from the pack. “There’s a stop sign up here!”
I saw the Escalade blow through the sign with a squealing right and continue up the next street at full throttle. I looked over my left shoulder but couldn’t see anything but the forest for the trees. We were committed, and I only hoped that our luck would hold as I kept the pedal to the classic metal.
I had guessed we’d pushed our luck about as far as it would go when I saw the brand-spanking-new Grand Cherokee pulling the two-bay horse trailer just as we got to Chamounix Drive. I cut the wheel, and we dropped off the road, easily outrunning the laboring Jeep and jumping the street. We missed an oncoming Volvo station wagon in the other lane, slid into the gravel approach to the stables, and clipped the sign as everybody blew their horns. I saw the Jeep turn into the stables as we renegotiated the asphalt and straightened into our lane. I looked down the road ahead of us but could see nothing.
“I cannot believe you just dented Lola.”
I ignored him and slowed, asking over my shoulder. “Where does this go?”
She slid the mechanism back on the semiautomatic. “It connects with Conshohocken Avenue, turning back where we came from, or down Falls Road and the expressway.”
I yelled over the engine and wind noise. “Which way would you go?”
“Expressway!”
We rounded the corner, drove behind a large mansion, and suddenly the point became moot. There were large sawhorses across the road that effectively blocked entry and declared in large black and orange letters, ROAD CLOSED DUE TO CONSTRUCTION.
I hit the brakes, and we all looked at each other. Vic gestured with her chin. “Go on ahead around the circle and back down.”
I followed her directions and continued around and back onto the drive, where we could see straight down Chamounix. There was no Escalade. She gestured to the right, where an unlabeled road disappeared into the trees. “There.”
I made the turn and hit the throttle again. “Where does it go?”
“Nowhere. It dead-ends in about a quarter mile.”
I made a sweeping turn and looked down at a pastoral idyll. I could see the Cadillac backing up with the beginning of a three-point turn at the end of the road. I hit the gas and barreled down the two-lane drive with no name, rapidly coming up on the black Caddy. He finished the turn and whipped the big vehicle straight at us. My nerve stayed steady as we approached each other at a climbing sixty.
Henry grabbed the dash. “What if it is not William White Eyes?”
Almost in answer, I felt and saw two things: the tinted side window on the Caddy was down and something was being thrust between the side-view mirror and the windshield. At the same time, I felt Vic rise and shoot just as the tick-tock compressed fire of a fully automatic weapon blistered the surface of the road in front of us and ripped its way up the front of the Thunderbird.
I veered to the right as the windshield exploded, and I tried to yank Vic down by her leather jacket. The return fire of the big Colt had struck home, and I watched as the heavy slugs bit into the hood, windshield, and door of the Escalade as it rushed by us and glanced off the side of the T-bird.
I hit the brakes and turned the wheel, stretching our momentum into a sliding turn, but at least two of the tires were flat, and we warbled to a stop; the Escalade was about fifty yards back down the road. I threw the door open and pushed off from the side of the car. I’m not sure what I thought I was going to do without a sidearm, but I figured I’d think of something when I got there. I heard Dog barking and coming up fast behind me.
In the reflection of the Cadillac’s side mirror I could see someone frantically attempting to do something and desperately hoped that he wasn’t about to reload. I got about halfway there when Dog overtook me, and I yelled at him to come.
The man in the Cadillac turned, roared the motor, sprayed grass and turf as he reached the curve, and was gone. I slowed to a stop and stood there in the middle of the road with the spent shells of the 9 mm scattered across the pavement. I made a few silent vows to myself as my jaw muscles clenched and stretched at the sutures.
Toy Diaz. Had to be.
I placed my hands on my knees and attempted to catch my breath as Dog came over and stuck his nose in my face. My sides were killing me as I made the slow walk back to the T-Bird. I was dizzy, and I was sweating, and it seemed very hot as I looked up at the big convertible, which was stretched across the road. Henry was in the back, and I picked up my pace
. There was blood on the white leather of the cavernous seat, a lot of blood.
Henry had pulled her down and had cradled her head while applying pressure to the wound with his shirt. One of the slugs from the assault rifle had caught her in the side, just under the arm at the oblique muscles. It was hard to say where else the slug had gone. I leaned in and looked at her tarnished gold eyes, which were already glazing with shock. She raised a blood-coated hand and smiled. “Stop being weird.”
15
It was as bad as it looked and maybe a little worse. The 9-mm slug had taken a hard left where her love handle would have been if she’d had one, and a second had clipped her just above the collarbone and had taken a bit of the shoulder blade with it. My attempts at filling the available beds at the Hospital of the University of Pennsylvania had not gone unnoticed, and Rissman had asked if I wanted all my people in one wing. I noted that it’d be convenient.
I called the Moretti family, although Vic had told me not to, and sat down in the hallway to await the onslaught. Chavez had taken our statements; he said that Asa Katz would be here momentarily but that Gowder was still being queried about the Shankar DuVall shooting.
“How’s that going?”
He shrugged and slipped the papers into his aluminum clipboard. “I’d put it down as a service to society, but you never know.”
Henry said he had a few loose ends to tie up and that he’d be back in a couple of hours. I apologized for getting dents and bullet holes in Lola, but he didn’t say anything. He took Dog, and I figured I was in deep trouble.
I went up to Cady’s to wait for Vic to get out of surgery and found Jo Fitzpatrick sitting in a chair by my daughter’s bed. Jo was incognito in jeans, a worn pair of rough-out boots, and a weathered Carhartt coat that looked familiar. They were deep in the throes of a one-sided conversation concerning the case of the Atlantic City company that had attempted to do a little under-the-table trading. Evidently the case had been transferred to Jo, and she was getting Cady up to speed, even if all my daughter could do was look at her while she talked and occasionally squeeze her hand. It was hard to breathe when I went into that room.
“What happened to you?”
I had a tendency to forget what I looked like as of late. “I thought I might blend in better if I had a few more bandages.” She looked at me doubtfully as I stepped to the other side of the bed and reached out to hold Cady’s other hand. “How is she?” Cady squeezed back, and I watched as her eyes slowly tracked from Jo to me. I sighed and listened to my breath rattle as she squeezed my hand again.
“She’s looking much better, don’t you think?”
“Yep.”
She waited a few moments before speaking again. “I had a little time this morning and thought I’d come over and help out.”
“Thank you.” I kept my eyes on Cady’s, but hers had closed. I gently slipped my hand away. “Jo, do you mind if I ask you a question?”
It was a slow response. “I guess not.”
“What would you say your firm’s position is toward Cady?”
“I’m not sure I understand.”
I swallowed. “I’m thinking of taking her back to Wyoming and, without the ability to consult with her in all this…”
She stepped a little forward and into my line of sight, and I could see from the general attitude of her body that she was more relaxed. “Cady is one of the best lawyers in the firm.” Her voice broke a little, and I could hear the wind outside the windows and in between her words. “David Calder, the senior partner, called me up to his office yesterday morning to make sure that we were doing everything we could for her.” When I glanced over, tears were on her face. “He said that no matter what it took, and no matter how long it took, we were to be committed to Cady’s recovery and her continued position in the firm.”
I nodded and looked back at my daughter. “Then I think we’re going to go back home.”
“To Wyoming?” She sounded a little relieved.
“As soon as she can.” I squeezed Cady’s hand again, but she was asleep. “I’ve got a few things to attend to and so does she.” I smiled and looked at the young lawyer on the other side of the bed. “Can I ask you another question?”
She smiled back and wiped her face. “Sure.”
I waited. “Who assigns the pro bono cases at the firm?”
She coughed and swallowed, wiped her eyes some more, and then cleared her throat, gesturing with her hand to explain the time it took to respond. “That would be me.”
I nodded. “You.”
“Yes.”
I nodded some more. “So, you assigned William White Eyes to Cady?”
She stayed steady. “Yes.”
“Jo…” I smiled again, just to let her know I wasn’t going to jump over the bed and handcuff her, and went and sat in one of the chairs beside the window. I thought that maybe if I sat down it would be easier for her. I picked up the book on the public art of Philadelphia. She didn’t move, and her back was to me. “The way I figure it, Osgood pressured Devon…”
“I told them to not let Cady find out about any of this stuff.”
I kept looking at the book. It was an old trick, but she didn’t fall for it and stayed as she was. “Well, it looks like you were right.” I waited, but she stayed silent. I flipped through the book to the section on northwest Fairmount Park. “Where’s Riley Elizabeth?”
At that, she turned and looked at me. “What?”
“I was wondering where your daughter is?” I studied the book as she crossed to the other chair, sat, and folded her hands in her lap.
“My mother is taking care of her.” She turned her head and looked out the window.
I took a deep breath and let out with a heavy exhale, attempting some comic relief but probably sounding more like a tire going flat. “William White Eyes wasn’t supposed to get out.”
“No.”
I looked at Cady. “Leave it to ‘The Greatest Legal Mind of Our Time’ to mess up the appeal.” I laughed, and Jo turned to look at me. Her hair hung back on her shoulder, providing a stark contrast to the cream-colored luster of her skin. I smiled at her. “You want to hear something funny?” She waited. “I partially believe you.” I thought about it. “It’s pretty obvious that when Billy Carlisle went native he became a problem, but when he met Cady, he took Devon and Vince Osgood into the liability column with him. I might be a problem for Diaz, but nothing on the level of Devon Conliffe, Vince Osgood and, worse yet, the now named William White Eyes.” I continued to look at Cady and interrogate Jo Fitzpatrick. “Did you know that Osgood was in business with Toy Diaz and Shankar DuVall?”
“No.”
I went back to the book and read about a statue near the Rex Avenue Bridge on Forbidden Drive, of all places. She didn’t say anything more. “What more do you know about William White Eyes?”
“Nothing.”
She had waited just a moment too long, so I gave her one more opportunity. “You’re sure?” I listened as the severity of all the things I had told her settled like a sedimentary layer of criminal activity, making us both feel unclean. Her lips trembled and her mouth opened, but it took a long time for no words to come out. I looked at the waning afternoon sun as she quietly picked up her things and left.
I studied Cady and sighed, thinking about the photograph in her office of her and Jo. “The tiniest reason I have for wanting you back is so you can help me figure out all of this.”
* * *
Katz was coming out of the elevator when I got to it, so he did an about-face and followed me in as I pushed the button and stuffed the book on Philadelphia statuary under my arm.
“You might want to skip the third floor.”
“I take it the entire Moretti family is in attendance?”
“En tutti.”
He adjusted the glasses on his nose with an index finger. He looked at me for a while longer, but I continued to stare at the numbers as the elevator slowly descended to three. “So,
it was Toy Diaz?”
“Yes.”
I felt suddenly tired. “Let me guess; the Escalade was stolen.”
“Off a lot in Wynnewood.”
“Where’s that?”
He was distracted and looking at his notes. “The Main Line; Toy has expensive tastes.”
“Is that near the area of the Medicine Man statue?”
“Not particularly.” He looked up at me. “You have a theory?”
I thought about it. “Not anymore.”
“Tell me anyway.”
“We know that Diaz is looking for William White Eyes.”
“Yes.”
“With all the notes, it’s pretty obvious that White Eyes was tailing me for Cady’s sake, but with Osgood dead I think he realized that he was the one who needed protection and so has come to the conclusion that we’re the only thing standing between him and a Salvadorian necktie.”
“Okay.”
“The Indian statues are the key, and the trick is knowing which one is next.”
He closed his notebook and grimaced, leaning against the elevator wall. “That may be a little difficult.”
“Maybe not; there’s only one left.” I opened the book from Cady’s library and held it for him to see as the door to the third floor opened.
Lena was standing alone in the hallway as we stepped out of the elevator. I handed Katz the book and reached an arm out to her. She looked up and smiled sadly. She didn’t take my hand. “I hear she’s doing all right?”
“Yes, thank God.” Her smile weakened. “She was asking for you, so you better go in.”
I stood there, glancing down at my scuffed-up boots. “I’m sorry.”
I listened to her take a deep breath and watched as she folded her arms across her chest and looked past me. “Hello, Asa. You might want to stay out here with me.” There was no edge in her voice, just fatigue. I glanced back at Katz, who quietly closed the book, looked at her through the split lenses, and put a hand out to touch hers.
I stood there for a moment more and then continued down the hallway. I opened the door and stepped into the room. Vic the Father and a group of young men were gathered around the bed; there was a younger version of Victor, a variation on Alphonse, one that didn’t look like anybody in the family that I knew, and Michael, who glanced up and smiled.
The Walt Longmire Mystery Series Boxed Set Volume 1-4 Page 89
