Ham recognized the maneuver. Karl had not intended to follow his mark. He wanted to see whether Ham would contact Jesse and compare notes. In which case, he suspected, Karl would have barged in and taken Ham down. Though why, at the moment, he couldn’t fathom. But God and the world could bet that he would.
Angry, befuddled and in the mood to do some damage, Ham didn’t bother with circumspection. If Karl had others watching him, to hell with it. And the hell with him.
He spun on his heels and strode determinedly back to Jesse and his cab. When he came within view Jesse turned away, still playing the game Ham had started.
“No need for that now, Jesse. Quite the opposite, in fact. Let’s hop in and get the hell out of here. We can talk in the car.”
6
TO CATCH A THIEF
Jesse pulled from the curb and merged into the late afternoon traffic. Only when it thinned a bit did he glance at his fare, searching Ham’s eyes in the rearview mirror. “So what was that about? Wasn’t Neely the one you met?” At Ham’s nod, he asked, “So why the game?”
“Well, that clears up one thing. You know him.”
“Neely? Sure, I’ve known him for a couple of years, maybe more. What’s the big deal?”
“The big deal,” Ham informed him, “is that I saw him talking to you before he came inside and I met up with him.”
“Again,” his driver shrugged, “so damn what?”
“The so damn what, Jesse, is that he not only denied talking to you, he denied even knowing you. Claimed he had no idea what I was talking about, figured it must be mistaken identity.”
Jesse abruptly braked, dodged the cars to his side and slid into a spot at the curb. Turning to look squarely at Ham, he frowned in recognition. “That explains the questions, I’m guessing. I couldn’t understand what exactly he was searching for so I suggested he ask you, that you’d probably know.”
“Know what? Tell me exactly what he wanted, what he said.”
Jesse nodded at the back window. “Ask him yourself,” he drawled.
Ham whipped around, saw Karl emerge from the unmarked and he himself jumped to the street. “Well, well, hello again,” he grinned as Neely approached, face set and grim. “What, miss me already?”
The cop shrugged, an apology barely offered. “I’m sorry about this, McCalister, but I got to place you under arrest. I’m going to have to cuff you. Department regs.”
Eyes wide, jaw aching to work but finding no traction, he merely stared Karl down, a dare the dagger in his eyes. Finally, spitting mad as well as words, he snapped, “Try it, Neely. Try it once. It’ll be the last time you’ll have the hands to cuff anyone.”
Karl seemed to size him up, both for intent and for ability to carry out the threat. He took a small step away and demanded, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means, Karl, I’ll break every bone in every finger you got. There’s not a doctor alive who can fix all that and make them function again.”
Neely’s face reddened as he reached for his sidearm. “You want to do it the hard way, we’ll do it the hard way. And you can add felony assault on a police officer. That gets you some serious state time.”
“You don’t have the brains to get yourself locked up, let alone me. You sit out in front of my hotel, talk to my driver and claim you don’t know who the hell he is? Give me a freaking break. And don’t give me any crap about ‘department regs.’ We both know your captain is too afraid to cross the governor to allow you to pull a stunt like that.”
Karl pulled back a bit, whether intimidated or preparing for another try Ham could not be certain. At least until the cop grinned and broke the tension.
“I don’t know, McCalister. It might be fun to spar some time. I’ve got youth on you, not to mention a few pounds and about an inch.”
“Fair enough. What’s this all about, then? What do you want, really?”
“What I want,” he sighed, “is to get back to the damn precinct, send this feed off to the state boys and find me an assassin. But what I have to do first is arrest your ass and haul you off to the station.” He held up a hand to forestall Ham’s rage. “Where I hope we can get this straightened out, and like right damn now.”
“So that’s what you wanted, that’s what all the questions were for,” Jesse accused the cop. “You wanted me to verify whatever the hell you think you found that justifies this crap. Well, as for that,” he spit, “you can fucking well stuff it. And you know very well exactly where the hell you can stuff it.” Trying to calm himself, Ham regarded the cop with a quizzical expression. “You doing a background on me, what I’m doing in the city?”
‘Nothing so drastic,” Karl assured him. “The manager at the store where you got the feed called in a complaint. Said it was stolen and you were the last to see it.”
“That little punk,’ Ham snapped. “I paid that son of a bitch for the feed. I take it he got busted and I was his out.”
Karl shrugged, looking as though he already had thought that through. “Yeah, maybe, it could well be. That manager, what’s his name, Derek something, he’s the one who filed the theft charge against you. It could be his boss caught him and he’s trying to save his own ass. That’s what I told the captain. He pretty much agrees that it’s likely it happened that way. But it’s not our call, we got to check it out, I got to take you in. I’m powerless to do otherwise, to use my own judgement.”
“Bring the manager in,” Ham ordered. “You bring that dickless wonder in and let me have a go at him. I think we can resolve this before more than minutes go by.”
“I know it’s hearsay,” Jesse added, “but he did tell me about this after he came out of the shop.”
“Don’t worry,” Karl smiled, “we won’t need your testimony in court, since I don’t think it’s going to end up there, not against McCalister at any rate. But thanks. I will damn sure use your witness statement to throw the fear of god into Derek Fister’s lying punk ass.”
“Tell me something,” Ham demanded. “Is that why you hung back, waited and watched until I came out of the casino? To see what I’d do?”
Karl had the sense to appear abashed as he nodded. “Look, let’s face it. I don’t know you. We had a good conversation, passed information back and forth, and you struck me as an honest cop, albeit a former one. Just one last check to make before I gave you that clearance. I meant no disrespect. I just had to be certain that I could trust my instincts, you know what I mean?”
“Yeah,” Ham nodded, thinking of his recent crap-o-meter readings. ‘I know exactly what you mean.”
“Tell you what. You and your driver follow me. And stick close. I’m going to break a few traffic laws here, and you,” he said pointing at Jesse, “how good are you at this? Can you keep up?”
“I’ll tell you what,” Jesse responded with a grin. “How about I lead and we’ll see if you can keep up with me.”
“Maybe another time,” the cop replied. “Okay, let’s get to it. And crap, I can’t find my cuffs.” He winked at Ham. “Guess I’m going to have to trust you not to take it on the lam.” With that he jogged back to his car, hit the grill lights and siren and eased out and around Jesse’s vehicle.
True to his word, Karl weaved in, through and around the heavy traffic flowing along Virginia Street, sped under the iconic arch and nearly spun out taking a right at a speed too high and reckless for the big little city streets. And true to his boast, Jesse hung on his tail, literally, Ham noted, within a foot of that bumper at all times.
He sweated his way down the streets and on toward the station, trembling inside but not wanting to betray his inner coward by mewling in fear at the chances both drivers repeatedly took. Chances that had Ham viewing his lifeless body at the scene of the multivehicle disaster, with visions of Charlie and Dylan wearing black as they laid him to rest, and of his first terrifying plea to God that He not cast him straight to hell. That his whole life had been an accident, he didn’t mean any of it, so how could h
e be held accountable for his uncountable actionable sins?
Just as Ham resolved to toss his manhood card out the window and curl into a whimpering pool of cowardice on the vehicle floor, they pulled into the precinct station, Karl’s siren still blaring, Jesse still flying, as both cars raced to the lot, hit the speed bump and took flight over the pavement. Karl landed first, with a thud, a crash and a screeching of protesting metal, followed more than immediately by Jesse, whose own vehicle mimicked the cop’s, and then outperformed it. For as he landed, his bumper hit just above Karl’s, locked and pulled it down and into his own, leaving the cop’s car higher in front that in the weighted-down back, the one that now found itself wrapped in a lover’s embrace with the cabbie’s eager fender of flirtation.
Karl cut the siren and lights before he leapt from his unmarked to gape at the damage. Despite his scowl, he broke into laughter, much, apparently, to the relief of a sheepish looking Jesse. “Well, I will just be damned,” the lieutenant smiled. “I’m thinking we need you on traffic patrol.”
“Sorry about that,” Jesse assured him. “Guess I should have hit the brake a tenth of a second sooner.”
“Hell, no,” Karl grinned. “I’d of paid to see this. Anyway,” he added, “the guys from the repair shop will take care of it. Doesn’t look to be much of a problem. You ready, McCalister?”
Ham pulled himself out of the backseat, hoping his knocking knees would not collapse and expose him as the only emotional weakling in the group. Or at least that they not knock so loud as to be pounding on the door demanding attention. Once out of and away from the death trap, he attempted to get his tongue untied, gave up and merely grunted agreement.
Karl left his wounded, now marked, unmarked car idling in the middle of the lot and led them to a police entrance around to the side, away from the public access portal. “Let’s not run into that security manager as he arrives,” Neely suggested. “We’ll settle in, look comfortable and in charge, and let that eat at him a bit.”
“Standard practice,” Ham nodded. “And there’s a reason that it’s standard. Because it works.”
The cop led them to a smallish room with little more than a desk, extra chair and filing cabinet. “Jesse, I’m going to leave you here in my office until I need you. If you want anything, coffee or whatever, just give a yell out to the desk sergeant. I’ll tell him you’re here and to get you whatever you need.”
As Jesse nodded his thanks, Karl spun on his heels and headed out through the bullpen. He paused long enough to fulfill his promise to Jesse then continued on to an interview room near the rear of the station. “Have a seat, McCalister. I’ll get us some coffee. Assuming you want some?”
Ham nodded acquiescence and sat back, an attempt to catch his breath after his near brush with imagined death. Only then did his crap-o-meter turn itself back on and flash him a warning. Crap incoming. Take cover.
Puzzled at the thought, the insight as it were, he wondered where his mind had gone, what uninvited voyage had left such illogical garbage in its wake. When it hit, it hit with heat and shame. The upcoming with Derek Fister, the interview his cowardice in the car had stripped from his conscious thoughts. Thoughts that now took a clue from the subconscious, that he was in for a room and a heart full of lies.
Stay focused.
When Neely returned, Ham nodded at his carefully balanced handful. “Why three cups? Who are you expecting? Surely it’s not for Derek.”
Karl appeared surprised. As if he’d forgotten. “Oh, that. Lydia will be joining us.” The door swung open just as he finished. “Here she is now. Lydia, this is Ham McCalister, Ham, this is Lydia Riley.”
He rose to shake hands as she moved to the table, returned the greeting and sat down opposite. “I’m just here to witness,” she announced. “Karl’s the guy.”
“Don’t listen to that bull,” Neely stated. “She’s our best interrogator. She could get me to confess I’m not a man.”
“Interesting line,” Ham mused. “No details needed, wanted or warranted.”
Lydia studied him over the rim of her cup as she sipped at the brew. She set it down, looked him in the eye and half stated, half asked, “So you’re the governor’s boy that’s got everybody in such a state. What, are you her bro or something?”
Before Ham could sputter a reply, the door opened and a uniformed cop escorted Derek into the small and intentionally drab room. Ham noticed the quick eye movements, back and forth, up or down, anywhere but steady and straight. A nervous reaction not inappropriate to the situation, he knew, and therefore not a specific inference to draw. “Have a seat,” the uniformed lawman instructed as he pointed to the lone remaining chair.
The erstwhile manager of Barton Mellows sat, glanced at each in turn and squirmed his discomfort. “Relax,” Lydia instructed. “This is not an interrogation.” A visibly relieved Derek leaned back and color returned to his face as she added, “We just have a few questions to follow up on regarding Detective McCalister’s visit. Specifically, the report that he stole a feed from your office. Want to tell us about that?”
Derek’s eyes pled confusion. “What are you talking about? What report? Who reported it?”
A room and a heart full of lies. Ham leaned across the table, not caring he was about to step on toes. This was his reputation and freedom on the line and he’d be damned if he’d delegate the outcome. “You didn’t call and tell them I stole the feed of the shootings on Virginia Street from your shop?”
“Can I get in trouble if I tell the truth?” the young man asked. “I think I better get a lawyer before I answer any questions.”
“Listen to me,” Ham ordered. “You want a lawyer, I’ll get you a lawyer, free of charge. His name is Gary Larsen and he’s on his way here to Reno even as we speak.”
Karl’s mouth dropped halfway to his chest, almost as wide as Lydia’s eyes flew in shock. “I take it you guys know him,” Ham chuckled into the silence.
“Don’t know him, but I know of him,” Lydia explained. “He’s murder on the legal profession. What’s he got against cops, anyway? And district attorneys?”
Ham pulled out his cell phone, punched up Gary’s number. As he waited for the connection, he responded to Lydia’s questions. “He’s got nothing against the police, nor does he have anything in particular against district attorneys.” The emphasis on “in particular” caused a snort of amusement from both cops at the table as Ham concluded, “What he does have is a boatload of loathing and contempt for the bad apples that suborn perjury, meaning unethical district attorneys, and for those who plant evidence, meaning dirty cops.”
“He shows that,” Karl agreed. “I’ve seen him take on one of my partners a couple of times. Always made me glad I wasn’t the poor bastard testifying.”
Ham held his hand up, a request for silence. “Gary, I’m calling you from the Reno PD precinct. As soon as you land, grab a cab and get over here. You’ll be glad to know that for once it’s not me. I’ve got a client of ours sitting here with a couple of Reno’s finest,” he added as he rang off and holstered the phone.
“Right, then, Derek, I told you I’d get you a lawyer. I fulfilled my promise, I got you the best one in Nevada. He’ll be in charge of your case should any charges be leveled, and I will be his private detective on same. Any questions?”
Derek blinked, his eyes uncertain, his hands twisted in knots and massaging the fingers. “I don’t know what to do. Can we wait until your attorney gets here?”
Ham eyed the other two in the room and nodded to the door. “That’s your cue. Turn off the tape so I can talk to him, with confidentiality as Gary’s work product. I’ll come out and get you when we’re through.”
As they rose, the obviously nervous manager interrupted. “Wait a minute. You’re not arresting me?”
Lydia smiled in reply, a sweet and wide denial. “Certainly not. We have no proof that you committed any type of crime whatever. If it turns out you made a false police report, we’ll want to
know why but I don’t see us charging you.”
“Unless,” Karl amended, “you’re covering up the crime on Virginia Street, either on your behalf or on the behalf of others.”
“In which case, we’ll go for the jugular, starting with conspiracy, maybe including aiding and abetting and/or accessory after the fact,” Lydia agreed. “Either way, you’re looking at prison time, or to use the more technical legal term, a boatload thereof.”
Derek’s cheeks turned ashen and his tongue sought to moisten what must have been suddenly dry lips. “I didn’t have anything to do with what happened out on the street,” he pleaded. “I didn’t know about it before hand and I know nothing about the particulars even now.”
“The particulars?” Lydia prodded.
“Yeah, you know, like who did it or why or anything else for that matter. I just know the scene from the feed.”
“What about McCalister?” Karl queried. “Did he steal from your firm or not?”
Derek opened his mouth to reply but the blast from Ham’s phone caused him to pause in response.
Ham noted the ID, saw Gary’s number and mumbled to Derek, “Hang on a minute. This is the attorney now.”
He completed the connection and as soon as he did Gary notified him of the situation. “We’re taxiing to the hangar. I’ve got a cab standing by so I should get there in about twenty minutes unless traffic is unusually bad. Meanwhile, keep our client mum. You might want to join him in that endeavor.”
“It’s a little late for that.” Ham heard the angry sigh from the other end and he rushed to reassure his fighting pit bull. “He asked for a lawyer, since then he’s denied any involvement in the crime per se.”
“That’s it? Nothing else?” When Ham confirmed the fact, Gary demanded, “Let me talk to the lead investigator. Right now.”
Even Ham snapped to obey such a pointed order from an iron-voiced attorney at work. With a wicked grin, he held out the phone. “Which of you is the lead investigator?” Though he had expected Karl to take the bait, Lydia reached for the instrument. An action that clearly belied her initial claim as nothing more than a witness.
The Biggest Little Crime In The World (A Ham McCalister Mystery Book 3) Page 8
