In Dark Places

Chapter Forty-four

Hammond was feeling very good about things. He had taken a risk, and it had paid off. Cowards like Banner might hesitate, but Hammond hadn't risen in the ranks by playing it safe. Now Gray was cornered, and it was only a question of playing out the endgame.

En route to the scene, he'd put in a call to Susy Chen. She was on her way over, and where Susy went, the rest of the media would follow. He would have a lot of cameras and microphones recording his triumph. Tonight's success might be enough to secure him the chief's job when a replacement was sought.

He got out of his car, followed by Banner and Lewinsky. He found the first officer and received a briefing. The suspect's car was a blue Firebird of the right model year, with a single male occupant who was refusing to come out. The plate number was wrong for the stolen car; it had been traced to a resident of the Hyde Park area near Inglewood. Presumably, Gray had switched the plates, a common ploy. Inquiries had been made at the Hyde Park man's address, but he wasn't answering his phone. A Seventy-seventh Street Area unit had been dispatched to that address.

"All right," Hammond said, ignoring the Hollywood officer and addressing Lewinsky, "this is a crisis-team situation. We need SWAT on the scene, negotiators, traffic control, a comm team. If we're lucky, we can talk Gray out of the car in time for the eleven-o'clock news. If we're really lucky, he'll surrender at eleven on the dot and we'll lead the news with live coverage of his arrest."

On cue, a news chopper appeared in the night sky, competing with the Air Support unit for airspace.

"And if he opens fire and SWAT has to take him out?" Banner asked. "That won't look so good on TV."

"Won't it?" Hammond smiled. "Wasting a serial killer might get the ACLU crowd riled up, but I'll bet it goes down pretty smooth with Ma and Pa Six-pack. Of course," he added piously, "I hope it won't come to that. Now let's get going on that SWAT call-up."

"Chief," Lewinsky said, "that may not be necessary."

Hammond saw his adjutant staring past him. He followed Lewinsky's gaze to the end of the street, where the door on the driver's side of the Firebird had swung open.

"Hell," Hammond said. "Except for the chopper, there's not a single news crew here. I don't want just aerial shots. The bastard gave up too soon."

Slowly, Justin Gray emerged from the car, head lowered, hands raised. The hovering police helicopter pinned him in its searchlight.

The Firebird's passenger door opened. A second figure emerged into the glare.

"Who the hell is that?" Hammond said.

"Maybe it's the girl," Lewinsky offered. "The daughter. We got ourselves a twofer."

It was a girl, but not Megan Cameron. This girl had the skanky, strung-out look of a habitué of the street. Her hair was a frazzled pile, her arms skeletal and blotchy, her thin frame clad in a micromini and tank top. Everything about her said whore.

The driver lifted his dazed face into the light. He was not Justin Gray.

"God damn it," Hammond whispered.

He knew what had happened, of course. Some bozo from Hyde Park, the actual owner of the Firebird, had been cruising Selma Avenue, where the strawberries hung out ever since they'd been chased off Hollywood Boulevard. He'd picked up a hooker, and he'd been driving her somewhere, maybe to a motel, when a squad car had fallen in behind them. The John had panicked and tried to flee, leading Hollywood's finest on a pointless chase.

"I don't get it," Banner said. "The patrol units reported the driver alone in the vehicle. No passenger."

Hammond understood that part, too. "She was bending low."

"Keeping out of sight?"

"Giving him head."

Banner took this in. "During the chase? That's pretty impressive. I mean, you've got to admire that kind of focus."

"Shut up, Phil."

The driver and his passenger were on the pavement, being patted down and handcuffed by patrol officers. The hooker was laughing. The John looked like he was about to throw up.

"It's not a problem, Chief," Lewinsky said. "We're not any worse off than we were before."

The KNBC news van bearing Susy Chen turned the corner at that moment. There would be others.

"We're not, are we?" Hammond shook his head in gathering fury. "Every station will lead with this. Cops let a serial killer slip through their fingers while they nab a perv with a party girl."

"It's a setback, is all," Lewinsky said with exasperating optimism.

"It's a fuckup. And I'm the one who has to take the blame." He caught Banner flashing an I-told-you-so look and answered it with a cold glare. "Phil, start working the Channel Four crew. Put the best spin on this. I'll make a statement once the rest of the TV assholes show up."

Only TV mattered. Radio and newspapers were strictly minor-league ball.

"Got it, Chief. Meanwhile, you gonna get some background on the driver?"

"Fuck the driver. I want to talk to Wolper. I want to know what in Christ's name went on here."

Hammond stalked toward Wolper's Sable, Lewinsky trailing him like an eager puppy.