One Clean Shot

by Danielle Girard

  In the months before her husband was killed, she’d been with another man.

  In love with another man.

  Tears streamed down his face. He wiped his palms across his cheeks. “What did he say?”

  She leaned against him, her head on his shoulder, her voice barely audible. “He said, ‘Make sure they’re okay. Take care of her.’”

  Hal wrapped an arm around her.

  “The intruder story was Jim’s idea, but I went along,” she said. “I won’t have her growing up thinking she killed her father. I don’t care what happens, Hal, but it won’t be that.” She pulled back and smoothed her cheeks with the flats of her palms.

  “Is that why you’re protecting Jim? Is he blackmailing you with this?”

  “No.” Her response was adamant. It was the truth. He should have known, but the days of being sure were gone.

  “But you are protecting him. Why? Because he might try to use the truth against you?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “He’s hiding something, but he didn’t shoot himself.” A moment later, she said, “He didn’t kill—” She halted. “I don’t think he’s capable of this.”

  “Does Bruce know—”

  “No,” she said quickly. “Nothing. Not about John or this stuff with Jim. He knows nothing.” She glanced at her hands. “I was breaking things off when he was shot. Since John’s death, I can’t—” She wiped her face. “It just wasn’t going to work.”

  After his father’s death, Hal had seen him differently. His stubbornness, the occasional rages, sank below the surface of his hearty laugh and the joy he took in Raiders football, in his job and his kids.

  The ugly disappeared and it became hard to remember why he and his dad hadn’t always gotten along. He struggled not to blame himself for all the shortcomings in their relationship.

  Hailey was doing the same. No live man could compete with the perfect ghost.

  Bruce Daniels didn’t have a chance. “Did he know? That it was over, I mean?”

  In response to the question, she winced.

  “You told him? In the car?”

  “He probably knew before,” she said. “But yeah. I told him it was over.” Her hair fell forward as she whispered, “Then someone shot him.”

  Hal pushed the hair from her face to see her eyes. He wanted to say something, to tell her she could trust him.

  He would be here.

  Before he could speak, she straightened her shoulders, sat up. Her walls raised again. “You have to do what is right for you, Hal. I’m not asking for any favors, but I’m going to protect Ali and Camilla with every last breath. Nothing matters more to me than them.”

  She started to stand but he grabbed her hand, pulled her back. “Hailey.”

  “I choose them. I always will. No matter the cost.”

  “I’m on your side, but you have to come clean with me.”

  She shook her head. “You can’t be, Hal. You have to fight for the law, for what’s just.”

  “You are just. You are the law. That’s enough for me.”

  Above them a door opened and the hinges cried in high-pitched moans like someone raising the dead.

  A chill ran through him but he kept hold of his partner.

  “I’ve got your back, Hailey,” he whispered. “I swear I’ve got it.”

  Chapter 27

  The doctor was still in Bruce’s room. It seemed like hours had passed. Years.

  “How is he?” Hal asked.

  She had been too terrified to ask, steeled herself for his response.

  “He’s responding to stimuli, so I am still very optimistic,” Baker said. “I’ve requested an MRI to be certain there’s no injury that we’re missing.” He closed the chart. “Other than that, we have to wait.”

  “When will you do the MRI?” Hailey asked.

  “As soon as we can get him scheduled. We’ll probably have results by noon.”

  Noon was hours away.

  Hailey’s phone rang from her purse. Her home number. “Hello?”

  “Mommy,” Ali said and Hailey was relieved to hear the small voice. “We stayed at a really fancy hotel. They left us milk and cookies before bed and we had waffles for breakfast.”

  “That sounds like so much fun.”

  “It was,” Ali agreed. “Now Dee’s taking us to school and I wanted to say I love you.”

  Hailey fought not to cry. Her baby. Every time she heard Ali’s voice, she prayed she wouldn’t remember what happened the night John died. That she wouldn’t realize what she’d done. “I love you, too, Ali. So much.”

  “Are you with the bad guys?”

  Her eyes stung. “No, sweetie. Right now, I’m with the good guys.”

  Hal smiled and followed Baker out of the room while Hailey spoke to Ali then Camilla then finally Dee was on the line. “Everything’s okay?” Hailey asked.

  “It was great,” she said.

  “Thanks for taking them.”

  “No problem. We had fun. Don’t know if you’ve ever had a pajama party at a hotel before…”

  “I haven’t,” Hailey admitted.

  “Well, you’ll have to try it.”

  “Thank you, Dee.”

  “It’s nothing. Is your friend okay?”

  “I think he’s going to be,” Hailey said.

  “Good. We’ll catch up later.”

  Hailey ended the call and held the phone to her chest. She had to be there when they came home today. She needed to hold them, to smell the dirt and raspberry shampoo, the coconut lotion Camilla loved.

  Hal poked his head in. “We’ve got until noon to get caught up. We should go.”

  She nodded and gathered her things. Before leaving the room, she touched Bruce’s hand, reassured by its warmth then followed Hal out to the car.

  They stopped for breakfast burritos at a placed called Millie’s in between the hospital and the station, and while they ate, Hal told her about arresting Gordon Price.

  They had compared his injury to the rebar up at James Robbins’s house. From a medical exam, the wound appeared to be a match to the rebar.

  Same blood type, too.

  DNA would come later. Now, they had to hope that Price started talking. The DA had issued a warrant to the funeral home for the payment records on Fredricks’s burial. Hal had sent a patrol officer to stand over the funeral director until he coughed up those records. He also had Naomi Muir researching Regal Insurance. Hailey had almost forgotten about that.

  Roger had mentioned the cork to Hal, so Hailey used their car ride to explain the comparison the lab was running between the cork they’d found in Fredricks’s casket and the one she’d taken from the house.

  “Where’s the cork now?”

  “I had Roger give it to Kong to book into evidence.”

  Hal set down his burrito and wiped his fingers. “This thing is circling Jim.”

  “I know. You’ve known that for a while now.”

  “What is his relation to Donald Blake?”

  “If I had any idea, Hal, I swear I’d tell you.”

  She was afraid the moment would be awkward but Hal laughed. “I know you would,” he said.

  Her cell phone rang again. The lab. “Wyatt,” Hailey answered.

  “It’s Roger. Where are you?”

  “Hal and I are just coming from the hospital.”

  “How is he? Daniels, I mean?”

  “Still in a coma.” Hal watched her.

  “I heard,” Roger said. “I’m sorry.”

  Just like John’s death. Why did people apologize for tragedies?

  Only fourteen hours in and she was already sick to death of the condolences.

  She pushed the speaker button and set the phone between them. “Hal’s here, too, Roger. What’ve yo
u got?”

  “We struck gold.”

  “We could use some of that,” Hal said.

  “We got a partial print off of the inside of the blue box—the one with the severed thumb.” The couple behind Hal turned to look at stare. Hailey lowered the volume.

  “Who’s the match?” Hal asked.

  “Guy named Marty Schrauder.”

  Hal looked at her and Hailey shook her head. “We don’t know the name.”

  “There’s no history on Schrauder—only a driver’s license. It’s why we didn’t catch it yesterday. But last night, we ran all the prints through Sacto.”

  “All registered California drivers,” Hal said.

  “Right,” Roger said.

  “But who is he?”

  “Schrauder is a nobody. No credit cards, no bank accounts. Only a driver’s license.”

  Hal started to talk but Roger cut him off. “Hold on. This is the gold—Schrauder’s prints also show match someone in the Chronicle’s employee database.” Roger paused a moment for effect.

  “The Chronicle,” Hailey said. “That would be—”

  “Donald Blake,” Roger interjected.

  Hal slapped the table and the folks behind him almost jumped up from their table. “Blake.”

  Blake wasn’t dead. They ID’d him by some dental work. A bridge, Tomaso had said. He had planted it on another body. Faked his own death.

  “And,” Roger went on. “I just got a call from O’Shea. Officer Shakley’s police sketch matches Blake, too.”

  “Blake isn’t dead,” she said out loud, the reality sinking in.

  “There’s more,” Roger said. “Schrauder has a registered firearm. A .38—same caliber as the bullet shot at the senator and the one that hit Daniels.”

  “You have an address on Schrauder?” Hal asked.

  “Yeah. I’ve got it right here.”

  Hal wrote it down and stood from the plate. “You want to take that?”

  She had barely touched her burrito. “No.”

  “Come on, partner. Let’s go get this guy.”

  “I’m ready,” she said.

  It was time to put this case to bed.

  Chapter 28

  Hal promised Hailey that they would go back to the hospital at noon. She wouldn’t have left otherwise. She needed the break—as much for her sanity as for their cases.

  Sitting in a room watching a man live or die was the last thing she needed.

  She insisted they go back by the hospital before going to check out Donald Blake.

  Hal gave their cell phone numbers to the nurses’ station. Hailey had gone in to see Daniels, went by the desk to double-check that the nurses had the correct phone numbers.

  As they walked to the doors, she kept a look out over her right shoulder. Like she was waiting for them to call her back. To tell her that he’d woken up.

  Or that he was dead.

  Shivers raked down his neck. Not yet. Daniels wasn’t gone yet. He had to believe this one would work out.

  Hadn’t she been through enough?

  At the entrance to the stairwell, she straightened her chin. Hal wanted to say something encouraging—or distracting—but they had already talked so much today, so much more than they’d ever talked in one sitting. He couldn’t think of anything else to add.

  Walking down the stairs, he was raw, exhausted.

  The air was cool and moist without the rain. A breeze caught in the collar of his shirt and circled his neck. He slowed to savor a moment in the air and noticed Hailey was not beside him.

  She stared back at the hospital.

  He waited a few feet behind her. When she faced him, she forced a smile.

  “Breeze feels good,” he said. Something to break the silence. He wanted a way to draw her out, to save her from the pain of waiting, praying.

  “It does.”

  From the car, she called the house. She spoke to her mother-in-law. Her tone was friendly, informal but not intimate. He remembered the day they’d come to the hospital with Cameron Cruz. Hailey had sat in back, speaking to Jim.

  “Girls okay?”

  “Yeah. They’re at school for now.”

  “You nervous?”

  “We’re ready for our own place,” she said.

  “Anything I can do to help?”

  She shook her head.

  She was alone with small children. He had no idea how complicated it was. At least his mother’s children were grown when his father died.

  How angry he had been at her when she’d told him she was going to L.A. to live with his sister. “You don’t understand, Hal. Someday you will.”

  He had disagreed. He’d told her he would never understand. Maybe he’d been wrong. Certainly he had.

  With the radio off, the car was awkwardly silent. He resisted the urge to fill the car with vacant noise and wondered why he felt the need to keep talking.

  He was thankful when his cell phone rang and felt pure relief to see that it wasn’t Sheila. At least, not unless she was calling from the station.

  “Harris,” he said.

  “O’Shea here. Calling to tell you Price made his call.”

  “And?” Hal punched the speaker button. “Price made his call,” he said to Hailey.

  “He called an attorney, but you’re not going to believe who it is,” O’Shea continued.

  “Martin Abbott,” Hal said.

  “Good guess,” O’Shea said.

  “Yeah,” Hal said. “I’m kind of psychic about attorneys. What did Abbott say to our Mr. Price?”

  “Actually, Price wasn’t calling to talk to Abbott.”

  “I thought he called Abbott’s office.”

  “He did,” O’Shea said. “Turns out Gordon Price’s mother is the main receptionist at Abbott’s office.”

  “Price arranged for Carson and Robbins to get Abbott’s business card,” Hailey said.

  “And then his mother took their calls. She told Gordon Price when they called. Then he could follow up on whether or not they were released from jail.”

  “That’s the theory,” O’Shea said. “Now we’ve just got to get Price to admit it.”

  “You bring the mother in yet?”

  “Not yet, but we’ve got a couple of uniforms on her,” O’Shea said.

  “Listen, Sheaster,” Hal said, buttering him up with the nickname O’Shea loved. O’Shea swore someone had given it to him in the academy, but those who graduated in his class said it had been O’Shea’s own invention. “Don’t let Price go anywhere. Not until I get back there. Last guy called Abbott ended up dead in front of the station. Didn’t make it a full block. You hear me?”

  “Loud and clear, my friend,” O’Shea agreed. “Maybe by the time you’re back, he’ll be ready to talk.”

  “Here’s hoping.” Hal ended the call as Hailey was typing on her phone.

  “Oakland PD got us a warrant for Blake’s house. I’ve got directions. Head to the bridge.”

  Lights flashing, Hal crossed two lanes of traffic to make a right on Bryant and head to the onramp for 80 eastbound toward the Bay Bridge. Even midday, traffic was backed up as it narrowed down to four lanes on the bridge.

  As they crossed over Treasure Island, Hailey drew something from her purse. The whoosh whoosh of her inhaler was faint but unmistakable.

  “You okay?”

  She nodded.

  Blake lived on Harrison Street, in Oakland, in a section of street almost directly under highway 80. Off the exit, they came around a curved ramp and ended up a half block from his house. Blake had faked his own death so that he could orchestrate this whole thing. But what did Abby and Hank Dennig have to do with the people who killed his family? Were they killed because they were in the gun business? The same as Colby Wesson?

 
Did Blake figure out that the guns that killed his family had been made by Wesson’s company and distributed by Dennigs? How in the world could he have known that?

  And it still didn’t explain why he shot at Jim or Hal or her…

  Hal turned right at the next corner and made a U-turn, parking in view of Blake’s front door. They waited in silence for the Oakland black and white.

  Hal pulled his bulletproof vest off the backseat and strapped it on, put his jacket back over it. Hailey did the same, moving a little more slowly as she fiddled with the straps. She wore a man’s vest because the women’s were cut short, leaving the abdomen exposed. But the man’s vest was heavier and the straps were built for wider shoulders. She complained that they bit uncomfortably into her narrower ones.

  The black and white arrived about fifteen minutes later, did its first pass as a drive-by first before circling back around and parking in front of the house, blocking off the driveway. Two officers emerged from the car, each with his hand on his weapon.

  By law, he and Hailey had no jurisdiction here.

  Guests only, they stood on the street while the Oakland officers approached Blake’s door.

  The officers knocked twice. “Schrauder!” they called, referring to him by his new name, which Hal hoped might make Blake less violent than hearing his real name.

  “Police,” one yelled, pounding a fist on the door then stepping back. Both officers remained carefully shielded by the doorframe and Hal had the strong sense that Blake was in there. Still, the apartment remained quiet.

  Hal scanned the street for civilians, but it was empty. This was a working neighborhood, so most people would be gone this time of day. If they needed to talk to Blake’s neighbors, they would have to come back later.

  The two officers spoke into their radios and circled the house. Hailey started pacing. Had made it two houses down when the two officers returned to the front of the house.

  “We’ve called for backup,” one said. “They should arrive within a few minutes.”

  Hailey started to speak but Hal nodded.

  “Okay,” he said and stepped back so that he was in her path, turned and led her a few steps down the sidewalk. “Soon.”