Chapter 40 Bloch

40

Bloch

‘What the hell is up with these guys?' asked Lake.

He sat in the passenger seat of Bloch's Jeep, and sipped at his filtered water. They had been there since the morning. Parked at a position in the street that gave them a view of both Todd Ellis's and Bret Bale's homes. Bale's home was furthest away, but there were no cars parked in front of Bloch, and the elevated driving position of the Jeep made sure they could see if anyone went into or out of those properties.

So far, neither man had left home. And no one had come calling.

‘Something is going on, for sure,' said Lake, and this time he turned to look at Bloch. She hadn't acknowledged his first statement, and was so far ignoring his second.

‘I've never asked you this, but how come you don't talk much?' he asked, his fingers drumming the arm rest.

Turning her head slowly, Bloch looked at Lake. Raised an eyebrow, asked, ‘When are you getting your own car?'

Lake nodded.

That seemed to be enough.

She brought her gaze to the front and sighed. Lake talked too much. His fingers were either tapping on the dash, or his foot thumping on the floor, or he was messing with his hair, humming, or just talking for the sake of it. Lake had the kind of energetic mind that just had too damn much going on.

Bloch was still.

Composed.

Her mind worked in a different way. Logic. Numbers. Facts. Then conclusions. Lake more than made up for what she didn't understand about human behavior, which was a lot. He could think like the men he hunted. Bloch didn't like to consider that too much. Lake had a capacity to put himself in other people's shoes. He had great empathy, but not for ordinary people. Not so much. He studied the worst of humanity, and could understand their twisted motives and desires. Bloch sometimes wondered if Lake saw parts of himself in those monsters.

‘What do you think their play is?' asked Lake.

Bloch was silently praying one of the men would leave home. She would then kick Lake out of the car to keep an eye on the other target, and she would follow the first man in the Jeep. She was trying to think. The case and the events surrounding it were like broken pieces of a mosaic in her mind. She was tossing them around, seeing which ones fitted together and what kind of picture that made. So far, few of them fitted. And, even when they did, there was no clear picture. There were too many missing pieces.

Right then, the contemplative part of her mind shut down and another piece of her brain fired up. Because up ahead, Brett Bale stepped out of his front door and made his way down the porch steps to the sidewalk. He wore a navy Puffa jacket and blue jeans with sneakers. Ball cap and shades. Dressing down. That's what she thought at first, then she glanced at the temperature reading on the dash – 93 degrees. Far too warm for a jacket like that. And it wasn't as if he wore it loosely – he had it zipped up to his neck.

He walked past his sports car, and his Land Rover opened as he approached. His gait had changed. Normally, Brett Bale walked like a man with four billion dollars in cash in his bank account. A certain swagger. Shoulders back. Hands loose. Chin in the air.

Not this time. His right arm swung in time with his footsteps, but his left arm was close by his side and stiff.

Bloch noticed these things. It was her gift. Something that had given her a career. A calling. It was perhaps sometimes a curse too. While she could read a crime scene and observe and see what others could not, she couldn't get a sense of when someone was upset, or vulnerable, sad or happy.

It took the one and a half seconds for Brett Bale to get into the Land Rover for Bloch to interpret what she had seen and come to a logical, theoretical conclusion.

She didn't have to say it either. Lake was just as fast, and he liked to talk.

‘He's wearing a piece,' Lake said.

Bloch nodded. People who don't normally wear a concealed weapon don't know how to carry it. An average-sized loaded handgun weighs between one and a half and two pounds. Plus the holster, if it's a good-quality leather shoulder piece, that's another half a pound at least. It feels alien to those who don't wear it every day. It subtly affects your balance, but more than that – you are conscious of it at all times. It's like carrying around a hammer strapped to your side.

That's why Bale's left arm was stiff. He was holding it against the side of his jacket where he wore his piece. Making sure it was there. That it wasn't somehow going to fall out. And the heat. It wasn't weather to melt the blacktop, but it was hot. No other reason to be wearing a warm jacket on a day like this other than for concealment.

Bloch fired the engine.

‘Should I get out?'

She nodded.

Lake exited the Jeep, Bloch pulled out into the street five seconds after the Land Rover. She followed Bale, keeping her distance. He made a left at the end of the block. Stopped at a set of lights. No other choice but to roll up behind him. She kept her distance, but was now close enough to see into his vehicle. The back window had a dark tint, but not so dark that she couldn't make out the figure of Bale in the driver's seat.

The lights changed.

Bale moved.

She followed.

He didn't touch his indicators, but turned left. Bloch swore under her breath, made the turn with him.

Was he using counter-surveillance techniques? This one was pretty standard. You begin with a few loops of the block, then random turns. Tight and quick. That creates a crazy trail of movement that no other normal driver behind you will make, so you know, right away, if there's still the same car in your rearview after that – then you've got yourself a tail.

The Land Rover indicated left.

Shit.

He was making a loop, now driving back into West 74 th Street.

Bloch contemplated driving on. Not following him. He must've been on counter surveillance.

She should drive on. She knew it.

That's what her brain was screaming at her to do.

But something else happened. She didn't know if it was gut instinct, or that elemental lizard-brain again, but whatever it was, she hit the indicators too, made the left four seconds after Bale.

Then he did something else Bloch wasn't expecting.

The Land Rover pulled into a parking space on the right side of the street.

Bloch drove past the vehicle and, as she did so, she checked her mirrors, got a good look at Bale in the driver's seat and realized then what he was doing. That was a moment which shifted some more tiles in the broken mosaic of this case and caused Bloch to suck in the air.

She drove on up the street another two hundred yards, past Lake who was walking along the sidewalk. She turned the corner. Waited. She saw him in her rearview, flashed the lights. Lake got into the passenger seat beside her.

‘What the hell? He was running a loop! Did he make us?'

‘No,' said Bloch. ‘I'm pretty sure he didn't notice me. Did you see where he parked?'

‘No, why?'

‘He's armed and he's watching a house on this street.'

Lake's eyes widened. ‘He's parked outside the Jacksons' house?'