Liar Liar

by James Patterson

  “I’m all right.” Whitt straightened. “I can go on.”

  He swayed a little. Tox put a hand on the man’s shoulder, inhaled deeply.

  “Why do you smell like hooch?” he asked.

  He’d taken all the Dexes from Whitt and flushed them, poured the contents of the bottles in the motel minibar down the drain. Yet he could distinctly smell whiskey. A pungent odor he knew well.

  Tox’s eyes widened as he remembered.

  “Is that the Blue Label from the back seat of my car?”

  Whitt didn’t answer. He hung his head and drew the narrow, half-empty bottle from the pocket of his coat.

  “Do you know how expensive that shit is? Do you know how long I’ve been saving that?” Tox raised a hand to smack his friend in the head again but softened at the last minute.

  “You really have taken up right where you left off, haven’t you?” he said.

  “I’m okay.” Whitt’s eyes moved to him in the dark. “I just needed to take the edge off.”

  “You’re not okay.” Tox took the gun from Whitt’s other pocket.

  “I have to keep going,” Whitt said. “Harry’s probably out there. She needs all the help she can get. If I’d seen what Vada was doing, I could have—”

  “If!” Tox spat. “If, if, if. You know how many miserable fucking losers have driven themselves into the ground trying to chase down ifs?”

  Whitt shook his head.

  “Let me tell you something, Whitt,” Tox said. “You can hunt your fantasies about what should or shouldn’t have happened in your life all the way back to your daddy knocking your mama up with a future rehab regular. But you know what? I’ve done you a favor. I’ve gone down that road already, and I can tell you there’s nothing at the end of it.”

  Whitt straightened slightly.

  “We’ve all made mistakes trying to catch this murdering arsehole, Regan Banks,” Tox said. “But sitting around crying about it isn’t going to make it happen.”

  Whitt straightened completely. His partner’s words seemed to fill him with vitality. He looked at the whiskey bottle in his hand and seemed to make a decision. He threw the bottle down, shattering it against a lump of sandstone sitting nearby.

  Tox stared at the glass shards in the dirt.

  “You could have just—” He sighed. “Never mind.”

  “Give me back my gun.” Whitt put his hand out. “You’re right. We’ve wasted enough time already.”

  “No chance, mate.” Tox shoved him down against the base of a nearby tree. He wrenched the knife from Whitt’s belt and forced it into his hands. “You’re gonna be the standing sentry. Sit here and wait. If anything comes within five feet of you, close your eyes and start stabbing.”

  “But—”

  “You’re the one who’s got your heart set on the blame game,” Tox said. “It’s not gonna be my fault you got yourself killed because you can’t handle your spirits.”

  He patted Whitt on the shoulder, turned, and left him alone in the dark.

  Chapter 87

  TWO OFFICERS ESCORTED Pops to the tactical truck, rifles up. He was led into the red-lit interior, where Woods was sitting at a foldout table surrounded by maps and laptop screens, a group of men around him. He didn’t even look up when Pops entered. The crew inside the mobile unit appeared to be watching footage fed from a drone fitted with a heat-seeking camera.

  “Deputy Commissioner Woods,” Pops said, drawing the uncomfortable attention of all of the men before him except the man he addressed. “I’m here to officially request that this operation be aborted for the safety of my officer, Detective Inspector Harriet Blue.”

  Woods said nothing, still refused to look up from the screen that was casting a green light on his face. The officers behind him glanced at one another. Nigel Spader was standing in the corner, a headset clamped to his ears, looking at a sheet of numbers. When he spotted Pops, he raked the headset off.

  “Chief Morris,” Nigel said as he advanced toward him, “I can help you with any inquiries you have. Let me escort you to the roadblock.”

  When Nigel grabbed his arm, Pops shoved the junior officer in his narrow chest.

  “Back off, you brownnosing, coattail-riding worm,” Pops sneered. “You’re only here because I clued you in to Banks’s plan.”

  Woods was ignoring the entire exchange unfolding at the edge of his table, as though it wasn’t happening at all.

  “Jeez, the picture quality isn’t great,” he said to one of the officers nearby, pointing at the screen before him. “What’s that? Is that a person or an animal?”

  “The drone camera is brand-new tech,” a young officer said, clearing his throat. “The one on the chopper’s better, obviously, but we don’t want to spook the targets by doing flyovers.”

  “The targets,” Pops said, putting his hands on the table. “Woods, have you briefed these men about the possible appearance of my officer? Is she considered a target? Because if she is, I’d like to know on what authority you—”

  Woods glanced up at Pops and sighed. “Chief Morris, you’re a suspended officer interfering in an active police operation at this very minute. Can you say whatever it is that you need to say and then leave?”

  “Have you authorized the men out there for use of necessary force against Blue?” Pops asked.

  “I have.”

  “You can’t do that without an arrest warrant!”

  “Just watch me.” Woods smiled.

  Pops looked around the room. “You all heard that, didn’t you? Harriet Blue has not been formally charged with a crime. Even if you did try to get a warrant now, all you’d have is resisting arrest at best, which doesn’t justify force. Harry’s wounded. Did he tell you that?”

  The men shifted, looked away.

  “This man is endangering her life by setting up a sting for an innocent officer of the law.”

  “Harriet Blue is a dangerous individual.” Woods stood, his barrel chest expanding. “While we have not set up this sting to catch her specifically, I anticipate that she’ll come wandering in, making a hysterical show of herself, just the way you have, Morris. And I intend on taking her into custody for her own safety and the safety of the man she’s come here to kill. We can apply any relevant charges later. For now, Blue is a danger to herself and a danger to others.”

  “This is bullshit.” Pops rubbed at his chest, where a familiar ache was beginning. “If she does turn up, and she gets killed because of your mistrust of her—”

  “Keep your voice down. You’re—”

  “I’ll be right there at the inquiry, Joe,” Pops snarled, pointing a finger in the bigger man’s face. “I’ll be right there to tell everyone how you handled this.”

  “It’s a date,” Woods said.

  Pops felt a spike of pain run up his ribs. He tried to catch his breath, but the air moved through his lips in short, strangled gasps.

  “Give me time to go out there,” Pops said. “I’ll find her. I’ll call her in.”

  Woods looked at one of the men over Pops’s shoulder and jutted his chin, a signal. Pops tried to turn but found his arm seized and twisted behind his back.

  “You can’t—” he gasped.

  “You’re a suspended officer,” Woods repeated. He waved at the men behind Pops. “Put him somewhere he can’t cause any trouble.”

  Pops didn’t struggle as they dragged him away. He was too focused on the straight, tight band of pain spreading across his upper chest.

  Chapter 88

  I HADN’T SET many traps for offenders during my career in Sex Crimes. Rapists are cowards and tend to want to fight their way out of trouble in the courtroom rather than in the street the way drug dealers and thrill killers do. But when I was in basic training, and in my time as a beat cop, there had been plenty of capture-and-chase scenarios.

  The first step was to establish the most likely route of entry. The only way to get to the bottom of the valley by vehicle was along the badly disused road
running west to east, which had long grown over with towering wild grass and had become misshapen by mudslides over the years. Woods’s team would probably assume Regan would walk or drive in along this road, if he didn’t spot the trap set for him, as I had. There would be a vehicle hidden in the bush off the side of this road that would drive forward and block his exit once he arrived. That meant that there would likely be two men at the road, and eight or so positioned in a semicircle around the back of the property in the east. The men waiting in the east for Regan’s capture would be within earshot of one another, as would be the men manning the block truck.

  That left one man alone. The scout. In training, we’d always put the smallest or least experienced man in the scout position, because all he was required to do was wait outside the danger zone, watching, alerting the team to the target’s arrival. The scout would be high up in the valley, close enough to the road that he could see exactly who was coming in, so that he didn’t command the whole team to attack an innocent bystander. I turned and headed silently through the forest toward the road.

  The moon rose. Through the trees as I walked around the curve of the valley, I could see on the valley floor a space cleared of trees where tall grass grew around the charred remains of a house. Pops had been right. The house had been lost. It had been small, a cottage maybe, the foundations thick blocks of sandstone. Whatever this place was, it had not been Regan’s childhood home, or the home of any relative of his. He’d never been fostered by a family who lived here, and yet this was the place where something so terrible had happened to Regan, his parents had instantly lost custody of him. They’d never regained it, and it had been all but erased from history.

  Regan wanted me to know what had happened here.

  He’d wanted me to discover this place, to arrive stripped of the layers of myself, so that when I stood in the charred remains of the house, I was the real me.

  The bad Harry. Murderous, vengeful. Just like him.

  But when would Regan meet me here? And what did he plan to do when we finally looked each other in the eyes? For all I knew, Regan had already come, been intimidated by the police presence, and left. He’d said that he was running out of time. How much time did I have left?

  In the darkness ahead of me, I heard a sound. The soft, unmistakable crackle of a radio.

  Chapter 89

  THE YOUNG MAN was crouched at the edge of a rock ledge, looking down at the road, his rifle leaning against his thigh. I stood in the dark and watched him for a long while, trying to get a feel for my opponent. He was big, but young and inexperienced. Though I could only see the outline of his face as he turned in the moonlight, I saw pudgy, hairless cheeks and big lashes. He wasn’t the best lookout I’d ever observed. The heavy tactical gear was annoying him. He kept adjusting something near his crotch, and the cold was making his nose run. He sniffed, wiped his nose on the back of his wrist, took his eyes completely off the roadway for a full ten seconds. I pulled my gun from the back of my jeans and walked toward him, rolling my feet slowly on the dirt so that I didn’t make a sound. I reached down and twisted the power off on his radio. He heard the click in his earpiece, but by that time I had the gun pressed firmly against the back of his neck.

  “Stand up slowly,” I said.

  He didn’t stand up slowly. Young blood, full of testosterone and the call of the crime-fighting hero. He swiveled in a flash and smacked the gun away. I wasn’t ready for it, lost the weapon, and stumbled backward as he launched himself at me. He connected, knocking the wind out of me, both of us scrabbling in the dirt for the gun at his hip. I brought my knee up and hit only buckles, hard plastic, the scratchy surface of Kevlar. The big hand that mashed my face, pinning my head against the dirt, was strong as a steel claw. I fumbled in the dirt for something, a rock or a stick to lash out at him with, but he rolled me before I could find a weapon and tried to draw my arm up behind my back.

  “I got you,” he said, his voice almost breaking with laughter. “I got—”

  I bucked wildly, taking advantage of the mistake he’d made leaning down to talk to me. I felt the impact of the back of my head against his mouth, not hard, but hard enough to shock him. His hands loosened. I slithered from beneath him and grabbed my gun just as he grabbed his.

  “Don’t,” I said, flicking the safety off with an audible snap.

  His face fell.

  Chapter 90

  HE LAY ON THE ground and breathed shallowly as I put his own cuffs on him. Even in the low light, I could see how disappointed he was with his predicament. He was limp and silent as I took his tactical knife and both his pistols and unhooked his radio, dragging the cord from inside his bulletproof vest.

  “How does a baby like you get on a team like this?” I asked as I tucked the guns into my backpack.

  “I’m twenty-two,” he growled.

  “The question stands.”

  He sighed, resigned. “My dad’s a chief super. I’m third-generation.”

  “Well, if I was you, I’d tell Daddy to let you sharpen your teeth on the streets a bit longer before you start trying to hunt serial killers.”

  The officer said nothing.

  “How many in your team?” I asked. Again, no answer. I nudged the young man with my gun. “Hey, rookie. Lesson one: someone’s got a gun in your ear, you answer their fucking questions.”

  “Twelve.”

  “They’re across the other side, huh?” I said. “Two on a block truck down on the road?”

  He turned his head slightly and frowned at me, bewildered. I took that as a sign that I was right.

  “I’m going to give you two choices,” I said. “When I leave here, you can kick and holler and scream and try to get the rest of your team to come over to this side of the valley. If that’s your plan, I’ll leave you cuffed. You’ll look like an idiot, and you’ll blow the whole operation, which is probably why you haven’t tried that already.”

  He lay silent, his face in the dirt.

  “Or”—I pointed into the dark—“if you stay quiet, I’ll leave your rifle leaning against a tree two hundred meters that way. I’ll hook the handcuff key on the front sight. You can uncuff yourself and walk back to the mobile-command unit with some dignity.”

  The young officer didn’t answer. He was giving me the silent treatment.

  I nudged him in the side. “Hey.”

  “Option two,” he grumbled.

  “Good choice.” I patted him on the shoulder and walked off into the dark.

  When I was a good distance away, the rifle and key left for the young man I’d subdued on the ridgeline as promised, I hooked his radio onto the waist of my jeans and fed the earpiece into my ear. As I made my way through the dark, moving quickly down the slope toward the bottom of the valley, the speaker in my ear burst into life.

  “Command to ground units, unit one has been compromised.”

  There was silence, and then a flurry of male voices.

  “Command, can we have more information?”

  “Command, this is unit five. Is there a casualty report?”

  I heard fear in the voices ringing over the radio. I didn’t know if that fear was directed at me or Regan. No one had asked who had taken out the scout. For the first time, I felt a chill rush through me at the thought that the men out there in the dark might be afraid of me, might be assuming that I had hurt or killed one of their number. I knew I had a violent reputation among my colleagues, but just how dangerous did these men think I was? If they found me, what degree of force had they been authorized to use? Would they kill me to take me down?

  I stopped and pushed the button on the radio.

  “Come in, tactical units,” I said. “This is Harry Blue speaking.”

  Chapter 91

  THE RADIO WAS silent for a good twenty seconds. I guessed suddenly hearing the voice of one of their quarry might have stunned them into speechlessness. When no one spoke, I clicked my radio open, hardly knowing myself what I wanted to say. The bush
around me was unnaturally silent and still.

  “I just took down one of your men,” I said. “I didn’t hurt him. I’m not here to hurt any of you.”

  No answer. I crept slowly farther down the slope toward the clearing where the house was situated.

  “I came here to stop Regan Banks,” I said. “Regan is a merciless killer. I’ve seen his handiwork. I’ve seen it, because it was meant for me. This is my fault. If anyone’s at risk trying to stop this man, it should be me. If he has as much trouble taking one of you down as I just did, you’re all in real danger right now.”

  There was a small crackle on the radio, two of the men out there speaking to each other.

  “Unit seven, are you hearing this?”

  “Yeah, two.”

  The men’s voices were shocked, high with tension. Still, no one answered me directly. I clicked the mic again.

  “I’m asking you not to consider me a target,” I said. “And I’m asking you to leave now, while you still can.”

  The radio cracked to life again. A voice heavy with anger, clipped with the certainty of someone in command.

  “All tactical units, this is Command. Switch radio frequencies, and disregard rogue transmissions,” the voice said.

  My radio fell silent. I tore it from my ears and dropped it in the dirt. I’d never find the secondary tactical frequency, even if I scanned the airwaves all night. All I could hope was that the men had heard my plea, and that they would at least pair up so that if Regan came, he would have two men in each position to contend with.

  I also hoped that if I ran into any of them, they’d remember what I’d said and not shoot me.