In Dark Places

Chapter Forty-three

Wolper pulled out his cell phone and called 911, identifying himself as a police officer. "I'm in pursuit of the fugitive Justin Gray. Request patrol units at the corner of Hollywood and Cahuenga. Gray is inside the video arcade, rear of the building."

"Dispatching units now," the 911 operator said.

"Patch me through to Dispatch."

He and Brand rounded another corner and saw an exterior door swinging shut.

"Control," a new voice on the phone said, using the official term for the dispatchers' command center.

"Suspect has exited the building via a rear door. We need Air Support." A helicopter could keep Gray in view as long as he was outdoors.

The door opened on an alley. Wolper and Brand went through the doorway fast, ready to return fire if Gray started shooting. He didn't. He was already behind the wheel of the stolen Firebird, facing into the alley.

Wolper caught a blurred glimpse of Gray's face through the windshield before the headlights snapped on, blinding him. His gun was drawn, but he had no shot. He stared into a wash of bright light that concealed the driver in the glare.

He ran down the alley. The car's engine gunned, and there was a bad moment when Wolper thought Gray might accelerate and run him down.

A skid of tires, and the car retreated out of the alley at high speed, fishtailing onto the street.

And it was gone.

"He's in a car," Wolper gasped into the cell phone as Brand reached his side. "Blue Firebird'ninety-five, 'ninety-six model. Eastbound on Selma. Didn't get the plate number, but it's got to be the car he boosted when he dumped the Saab."

"We have two units on Selma," the dispatcher said. "They've been alerted."

"Stay on the line."

"What now?" Brand asked.

"We drive. Come on." Wolper led Brand out of the alley and around the corner to the side street where his Sable was parked. He saw Robin standing by the car.

"What are you doing here?"

"Waiting for you," she said. "I take it Gray got away."

"Not for long."

"I was starting to make a connection. If you hadn't spooked him"

"Shut up," Wolper snapped. He wasn't in the mood. He unlocked the car and slid into the driver's seat, Brand riding shotgun. He was pulling away from the curb when he noticed Robin in the backseat.

"You can't come with us."

"You can't stop me."

Wolper sighed. That was probably true.

He steered into traffic, cutting east on Selma. With the cell phone pressed to his ear, he said, "Control, you still with me?"

"I'm here. Six-Adam-eight has spotted the vehicle."

"They're in pursuit," he told Brand. Into the phone he said, "Location?"

"Still on Selmawait. He's just turned south on Bronson. Ran a red."

Wolper accelerated, knifing through traffic as he veered from lane to lane. He wished he had a siren or one of those bubble flashers, but the Sable was strictly his personal ride.

At Bronson he swung south. "Any word on Air Support?" he asked the dispatcher.

"Inbound. ETA five minutes."

In five minutes this could all be over. Justin Gray could be in custodyor dead.

"There," Brand said, pointing.

Ahead, the strobing light bar of a Hollywood patrol unit was visible. As Wolper watched, a second squad car pulled onto Bronson from a side street, siren caterwauling.

He still couldn't see the Firebird, but it had to be just beyond the two black-and-whites.

"Adam-eight is reporting that the license plate is wrong," the dispatcher said. "Doesn't match the stolen Firebird."

"He could've switched plates," Wolper said. "Can they make out the car's occupant?"

"They say driver is alone, hunched over the wheel."

"It's gotta be him."

Wolper had closed in on the nearest of the two squad cars. Just beyond the first car, the Firebird weaved across lanes as Gray fought for an opening in the traffic.

"Son of a bitch is panicking," he said with satisfaction.

"They can't kill him," Robin said from the backseat.

"What?"

"They have to take him alive. So he can tell us where Meg is."

The Firebird slewed onto the shoulder and barreled onto Fountain Avenue, westbound. The two squads followed, with Wolper right behind.

"He's trying to lose us," Wolper said. He shouted his location into the phone, even though he was sure the two Hollywood units were relaying the same information, then tossed a quick glance at Brand beside him. "Thrill of the hunt, huh, Al?"

"Absolutely. This puke thinks he can outrun the whole fucking police department."

"No chance. This is the end of the line for you, pal."

Gray hooked right onto Vine, then pulled a quick left onto a side street, De Longpre Avenue.

"Like a rat in a maze," Brand said. He glanced back at Robin. "Though I guess that's your department, Doctor."

Sudden brightness washed the street. A searchlight beam from a police chopper. Air Support had arrived.

"Got you now," Wolper breathed.

The blue Firebird struggled to escape the searchlight, taking street after street after street, seeking a way out.

The amplified voice of a cop in the lead patrol car ordered the driver to pull over. Gray ignored him.

Down the block, another black-and-white screamed into view, and Gray cut left onto Las Palmas, trying to outdistance this new enemy.

The third patrol car fell in behind the Sable. Bursts of color from the light bar pulsed over the car's interior, lighting up Wolper's hands, white-knuckled on the wheel.

Gray cut left again, cut right, cut left, never escaping the white circle of the chopper's beam. Another left, a right amp;

"He's fucked." Brand punctuated the comment with a fist pump.

Wolper saw what he meant and laughed. He braked the Sable. The three patrol cars stopped, slant-parked on the street.

It was a dead end.

The Firebird slowed as Gray realized his mistake. The street ended at the brick wall of an industrial building. Low-income homes flanked the cul-de-sac, some of their windows barred, others boarded up. A dog barked fitfully.

The Hollywood squad cars opened up, and patrol officers leaned out, bearing riot guns at port arms, shielded by the car doors. Standard felony-stop configuration. A voice on the lead car's PA system told the driver to exit his vehicle, keeping his hands in sight.

There was no response. The Firebird sat motionless in a puddle of light from the hovering chopper.

"Ten bucks says he makes a run for it," Brand said.

"There's nowhere to run," Robin whispered from the back.

"Guys like this always think they have one last chance. They don't know how to surrender peacefully."

"If he runs, they won't shoot him, will they?"

"He's not going to run," Wolper said. "Look at him. He's just sitting there."

"Pissing his pants, I bet," Brand said.

A long moment passed. The dog kept barking, and another joined it. One of the homeowners took a cautious step onto his front porch. A patrol car's siren burped a warning before the PA system ordered him to stay inside his residence. The man withdrew.

"So what happens now?" Robin asked.

"We wait him out." Wolper put the phone to his mouth again. "I guess you've heard the suspect is cornered."

"That's affirm."

"They scrambling a crisis team?"

"That'll be the D-chief's call. He's en route."

"Of course he is." Hammond wouldn't miss this action. "Okay, Control, I'll let you go. This is one you can tell your kids about." Wolper ended the call.

Robin leaned forward. "As long as we're just sitting here, I want to know what Sergeant Brand was doing in the arcadeand why he ran when we saw him."

Brand shifted in his seat. "I already explained all that to the lieutenant."

"Explain it to me." Her voice was hard.

"Okay." Brand sighed. "Here's the thing. I staked out Parker Center, and when you left the garage I followed you."

"Why?" Robin asked.

"I thought you might know something about Gray. He was your patient, after all."

"I don't understand."

"Everybody else was focusing on the desert areas, but you came into Hollywood. It was obvious you were looking for him. Why else would you come here? I thought you might have some kind of, you know, insight. An inside track, a hunch. Way things turned out, I guess you did."

Robin wasn't satisfied. "That still doesn't explain why you came after us."

"Doesn't it? Look, Dr. Cameron, my career's been going down the shitter ever since the Valdez shooting. People are saying I've lost it. They look at me funny. They treat me like a has-been. And maybe they're right. Hell, I been spending more time at the dogfights and the bars than on the job."

"I don't see what this has to do with"

"With tailing you? I need a break. I need to get back in the game. Helping take down Gray would go a long way toward doing that. If you found him, I'd be there to assist in the collar. Then I'm not a burnout anymore."

"If that's true, why sneak around? Why not just accompany us?"

"You don't trust me, that's why. I'm not sure exactly what I said under hypnosis"

"It's not hypnosis."

"Whatever. I'm not sure what I said, but you were giving me a look I didn't much like. The kind of look you'd give a rattlesnake. What the hell did I say, anyhow?"

"That's not something I can discuss right now."

"Right. Because you don't trust me. So I kept my distance. Figured I could help out if you spotted Gray. Or maybe I'd even spot him first."

"It's not even your job to make an arrest. You're off duty."

"So's Lieutenant Wolper. Cops make arrests when they're off duty. Hell, it makes an even better story. 'Off-duty cop nabs serial killer.' Let 'em try to call me a burnout after that."

Robin was silent for a moment. "Why did you run?" she asked finally.

"I panicked."

"Why?"

"I thought you got a glimpse of me. And I figured amp; well, if you were suspicious of me already, you'd be twice as suspicious if you thought I was sneaking up on you."

"You were sneaking up on us."

"I was just keeping you in sight, so I could be part of the action if you spotted Gray. I had to stay close or I would have lost you in that mob scene."

"This is what you told Lieutenant Wolper?"

"That's his story," Wolper said.

"And do you believe him?"

Wolper hesitated, looking at Brand beside him, Robin Cameron in the rearview mirror. "I've worked with Sergeant Brand for a lot of years. What he says makes sense, I guess. And I patted him down. He wasn't carrying."

"He's got a gun," Robin protested. "He had it out when you were chasing Gray."

"Like I told you," Wolper said patiently, "a cop always carries a gun, even off duty. Standard procedure. What I meant was, he wasn't carrying a gun he could use if he wanted to get away with something."

"Is that what you were looking for?" Brand asked. "A goddamn throwdown? Saturday Night Special with the serial number filed off?"

"I had to cover all the angles," Wolper said.

"Some fucking shrink plays head games with a mind machine, and now you're frisking me? Jesus, this really sucks."

"Shut up," Robin snapped. "You don't have a right to complain. By your own admission, you were following us. You skulk around in the shadows, then act like a victim when you get caught"

"I wasn't skulking. I told you, I thought you might have a lead on Gray. Which you did. And here we are. We got him. So what's the problem?"

"The problem is, I don't know if he's the one who took my daughter. I don't know if he's the one who attacked me."

Brand turned in his seat. "You think I did that shit? What are you, fucking paranoid?"

"That's enough, Sergeant," Wolper cut in.

Brand ignored him. "Some shrink you are. You got your head so far up your own ass, you don't even know how to think straight when your kid's life is at stake"

"Enough," Wolper said.

Brand settled back in his seat with an explosive sigh. "Fuck."

There was silence in the car and outside, broken finally by a squeal of tires as a new vehicle parked behind Wolper's Sable. He glanced at the side-view mirror and saw Deputy Chief Hammond getting out with his entourage.

"No more worries, people," Wolper said. "Here's our fearless leader now."