Double Jeopardy

23

2:00 A.M.

TRAVIS WHEELED HIS CAR onto Walnut Hill Lane, passed his apartment building, and parked his car on the far side of the block. Maybe he was being overcautious, but he wanted to play it safe. After all, he might be slow, but he wasn’t stupid. Those goons had known him by name, and they hadn’t shown up at the West End just then by coincidence. They might have followed Moroconi—God knows he was making enough noise—but if so, how did they get into position with that searchlight so quickly? It just wasn’t possible. And that left two scenarios. Either they had followed Travis, or they had eavesdropped on his phone conversation with Moroconi.

Travis didn’t have to be an ex-cop to know how painfully simple it was to bug a telephone line. Any fool with the right equipment and a vo-tech course in electronics could accomplish it. And based on recent experiences, Travis didn’t think he was dealing with fools.

Travis spent the drive to his apartment considering his choices. He could go to the police—but men, the goons behind the searchlight had claimed to be police. They sure as hell didn’t act like the police, but someone must’ve helped Moroconi break out of jail. He couldn’t have done it without inside help. If the police department was tainted, going to them would be risky—possibly suicidal. No, he had a better, safer plan, at least for starters. But to exercise it, he needed to get inside his apartment.

He eased out of his car slowly, checking both sides of the street. He started jogging down the block, wincing at the sharp stabbing sensations in his chest, then he decelerated to a brisk walk. He just hoped all this stress didn’t trigger his ulcer. That was the last complication he needed now.

Travis cautiously rounded the corner and peered down the street outside his apartment. A green four-door sedan was parked about ten feet north of the entrance. Exactly where he would be, Travis reflected, if he were staking out the building. Travis spotted two heads slumped low in the front seat.

He turned back the way he’d come, careful not to attract any attention. He couldn’t risk being spotted while he was so far away from his car.

His head ached. What was he going to do now? He couldn’t possibly go through the front door without being seen. And the back entrance was boarded up.

He had to get in there, though. Otherwise he didn’t stand a chance.