Darker Than Night

68

Fedderman was closest to Jubal, which was why he might have been the first of the good guys to move. He took a long step and reached out for Jubal but was met with a stiff left jab. Pearl was there. She slipped another left and got inside Jubal’s arms so he didn’t have leverage to punch hard. He immediately backed away and raised both arms in surrender.

She spun him around and shoved so he was pressed with his chest and the right side of his face against the wall. He didn’t resist as she worked his hands behind him and cuffed his wrists.

“You can’t do this!” he said in a shocked voice as he felt the handcuffs dig into his flesh. He turned around unsteadily and stared at everyone.

“Can and are.” Pearl pulled her shield and held it up where he could see it.

The door opened and the two uniforms from downstairs, who’d been on the last elevator ride, came in with guns drawn.

“We got him,” Pearl said, waving at them to lower their weapons. “We nailed the bastard before he could get out the door!”

“Jubal?”

Everyone turned to look at Claire standing in the living-room doorway. She was sagging against a wall, staring uncomprehendingly at her husband. “You’re in Chicago….”

“He’s here,” Quinn said. “And he’s under arrest for murder.”

“Don’t listen to this bullshit! Call me a lawyer, Claire!”

“Jubal…?”

“A lawyer!”

Fedderman read him his rights, then grabbed his left arm above the elbow. Pearl had the other arm.

“I notice you didn’t ask if your wife was hurt,” Pearl said to Jubal.

He glared at her in a way that made her glad he was cuffed.

Quinn looked over at Campbell. His left arm was bleeding, but he otherwise seemed all right. The knife wound didn’t look too serious.

“Knife’s in the bedroom,” Campbell said.

Quinn sent Fedderman in to bag it. Fedderman seemed awfully reluctant to release his grip on Jubal, as if nobody in his right mind finally captured something so elusive, then didn’t hold tight to it.

“Looks like this is what we want,” Fedderman said when he returned holding up the plastic evidence pouch containing the knife. He displayed it like a prize. “Thin blade about ten inches long, sharp edge and point.”

“It’s goddamn sharp, all right,” Campbell said.

“You want an ambulance?” Quinn asked, making sure but knowing the answer.

“Fuck a bunch of ambulances,” Campbell said.

Tough old bastard. We need more like you. Quinn glanced at one of the uniforms, the younger of the two, black, with a calm look about him, eyes never still.

“We’ll drive him to the hospital in the cruiser,” the cop said. He looked at Campbell and grinned. “You’ll need some stitches, Sarge, if you’re not too scared.”

Quinn expected Campbell to explode.

Instead, he said, “This little prick’s kinda my protégé.”

The cop nodded. “I’ll see the old fart’s taken care of.”

“And I’ll see you spend the rest of your career chasing Times Square sketch artists,” Campbell growled.

They threatened each other all the way down the hall to the elevator.

Claire was staring at her husband, still trying to grasp the metamorphosis. This man who looked exactly like her husband was one of the most brutal and dangerous killers in the city’s history. “Jubal? Can you explain? Will you tell me what’s going on? Please?”

“Are you hurt?”

“No, I’m okay.”

“I shouldn’t talk without a lawyer, Claire. You know that. I’m sorry. Just get me a lawyer.”

“We don’t even have a lawyer.”

Quinn knew Jubal was being smart, but he didn’t say so. “Do you want someone to stay here with you?” Quinn asked Claire.

“No. Really, I’m all right.”

“Take the suspect down to the elevator and wait for me,” Quinn said to Pearl and Fedderman.

Each of them gripped Jubal by an arm, and Fedderman used his free hand to bunch the back of Jubal’s collar. They marched him toward the door he’d been so anxious to exit.

They could have been more gentle.