Chapter 41 Eddie

41

Eddie

‘How do you think it went?' asked Alison.

We were on our way out of the building. Staff exit. I tried, when possible, never to leave a building the same way I came in. There was still a sniper and God knows how many other people who wanted me dead.

No reporters waiting for us. I knew most of the security personnel. I couldn't always get out this way, but if a few friendly faces were working those back corridors, we could skip out onto the sidewalk unnoticed. I held the door open, letting Alison and John through first, then Kate, who met my gaze as she walked past.

I didn't know how to answer Alison's question. Soon as I took one step out of the courtroom, the first thing that banged into my brain was the image of my friend lying unconscious in a hospital bed. Even though I knew there were no new messages on my phone, I would check it anyway. In some ways I feared hearing from the nurses. A message from them could only mean one of two things – either Harry was awake or, more likely, something far worse.

My mind was still on my friend, and it was taking too long to get my head back into the game to give our client a fair assessment. Kate saw me struggling, and didn't want to leave Alison hanging.

‘We were never going to win this case on the first day,' said Kate. ‘All that we could have hoped for is to make the jury curious. We want them to be asking questions. Who else might have been involved in this murder and why didn't the police investigate? I think some of the jurors are at least beginning to wonder. We have to build on that tomorrow.'

‘Thank you both, so much. I mean it . . .' said John, his throat thick with fear.

‘This was the first battle. Stay strong,' said Kate. ‘The war is just getting started.'

My phone buzzed. It felt like the thing was wired into my heart, the vibration like an electric shock. Instantly, I was panicking, scrambling to get my phone out of my jacket, already silently pleading that this wasn't bad news from the hospital.

It was Lake, and my eyes closed for a second. The tension left my shoulders and I hit the answer button.

‘Are you with the Jacksons?' he asked.

‘Yes.'

‘Step away for a second. I don't want them to see your reaction.'

‘Give me a minute,' I said, and moved underneath the scaffolding that currently enveloped this side of the building.

‘What's wrong? Is it Harry?'

‘No, he's still the same. I saw him this morning. It's Brett Bale. We think he's carrying a gun and he's in his Land Rover parked outside the Jacksons' address. He's watching the house.'

‘What the hell is going on?'

‘We don't know.'

‘Is the babysitter still in the house with Tomas?'

‘Yep.'

‘Has he made any attempt to get inside?'

‘Not yet. He's just sitting there, but he's watching the place. I think he must be waiting for John. I don't want to have to kill one of our suspects to save our client. Not when we don't know if he's really the one who killed Margaret Blakemore.'

I felt a stabbing pain at the back of my neck. The beginnings of a bad stress headache. I used to get them a lot. Five years ago, I would've gone to a bar. Two shots of something hard and then a beer. That took the edge off the pain. Nowadays I was on coffee and soda, which didn't do the same trick. I rolled my shoulders, stretched my neck and breathed slow. Checked my pockets. No Advil.

‘How long has he been outside?'

‘Coming up on an hour now.'

I looked over at my client and his wife. They were standing with Kate. She was trying to keep them from crashing. John had to hang tough for a few more days, on the off chance we could pull off a miracle and get him an acquittal. Right now, that seemed very far away. It felt like I had to win a crap shoot in Vegas, but I wasn't even in Nevada – I was in Brownsville trying to start a rusted Buick with four flat tires.

‘Okay, hang tight. Let me know if there's any movement.'

I ended the call and politely pulled Kate away from our client.

‘There's a problem at the Jacksons'. Brett Bale is watching the house. He's armed. I need you to stall John and Alison for a while. Tell him you want them to go back to the office for just a half-hour. Go over his testimony and brainstorm this anonymous witness some more.'

‘What are you going to do?' she asked.

‘You know me – I'm going to do something stupid.'

I had hidden my car in a parking lot three blocks from the courthouse. Before I'd stowed it away, I'd had Bloch check it for GPS trackers and other less savory devices. Even checked the fuel tank. It was clean. I'd made sure no one had followed me into the lot or out of it. I picked up the old Mustang and for a second enjoyed the purr of the V8 when I fired it up, then drove to West 74 th Street.

A light rain was falling. Just a shower. The sun was still high and casting blues and purples through the fine mist. I parked behind Bloch, got out, approached the driver's window. Bloch buzzed it down.

‘Any change?' I asked.

Bloch shook her head.

‘Alright, I'm going to go talk to him. When he looks in the rearview mirror, show him Maggie. Then put it away. One more thing. If he shoots me, kill him.'

Bloch began to protest as I walked away from the car and headed straight for the Land Rover. I stood in front of the passenger door. His attention was in the other direction, looking directly at the Jacksons' home. I knocked on the glass.

Startled, he turned and looked at me. Held my gaze for a second. I gestured that he should open the window. He waved me away.

I didn't move.

He took another few seconds and looked me over. I was in a suit. My hair was a mess and my tie was undone but I clearly wasn't a homeless person looking for change.

He pressed a button on the door panel and the window cracked an inch.

‘You going to let me in. It's raining. I think we need to talk.'

‘Who are you?'

‘My name's Eddie Flynn. I represent John Jackson.'

The information rolled around in his head for a few seconds. His hand reached for the zipper on his jacket.

I tensed. Stood my ground.

He moved the zipper down below his chest, then put his hand on his stomach. The gun in his jacket could be in his hand and pointed at me in under a second if he moved fast.

‘What do you want?'

‘I already told you. I want to talk.'

His gaze shifted and he stared out of the windshield. There was a lot to process. He was sitting outside an alleged murderer's home, someone who he might have framed. He was weighing up the options. If I got aggressive, he had a gun.

His left hand was still on the door console. I heard the mechanical clunk of the doors unlocking. I opened the passenger door and got in beside him, shut it behind me.

That right hand moved a little closer to the opening in his jacket.

‘Let's be clear about this. I just want to talk. Nothing else. So relax.'

His right hand stayed where it was. He kept his eyes on me.

‘I'd appreciate it if you put your hands on the wheel. There's no need to reach for that piece you've got in your jacket.'

His eyes flared, and his finger moved an inch, just inside the zipper.

‘Take a look in the rearview mirror. See that woman in the driver's seat of the Jeep behind you? She's showing you a .500 Smith and Wesson Magnum. She calls it Maggie. It's loaded with seven hundred grain rounds. Armor-piercing. That thing will go through this car like paper. The exit wound would leave a hole in your chest the size of a basketball. So relax. Take your hand away from the gun in your jacket and tell me what the hell you're doing here.'

‘I'm just sitting in my car. On my own street. Minding my own goddamn business,' said Bale.

‘So why did you drive around the block and park outside my client's house?'

‘It's a free country.'

‘No, it isn't. I don't know if it has ever been that. But it sure as shit isn't free for you. Not today. So tell me what you're doing here. Or would you rather talk about Margaret Blakemore?'

His face registered the name. He tried hard to keep his expression neutral, confident. But his pupils dilated and his lips parted when that name came out of my mouth.

‘I don't want anything to do with your client or his family. I don't want to talk to them. I have no intention of harming them,' he said.

My father was an Irish conman. My mother was Italian, from a long line of strong women that hailed from Palermo. There was nobody on this planet that my father couldn't fool – except one. My mom. She could spot a lie on a fly's ass at five hundred yards, or, more accurately, she could read the lie in my father's face before he even opened his mouth. You can't grow up in a household like that without picking up some of those skills.

When Brett Bale said he wasn't there for my client, he was telling the truth.

‘So what the hell are you doing here, then?'

He said nothing.

‘It's just . . . someone parked outside my client's house with a gun makes me nervous. Especially someone like you. It's not a good idea to make me nervous, Mr. Bale.'

‘Someone like me? What have I ever done to you?'

‘Nothing yet. Wasn't your last wife a swim champion? And yet she drowned swimming off your boat, in a calm sea with perfect weather. It seems accidents happen around you, Mr. Bale. Did Margaret Blakemore have one of your accidents?'

His teeth began gnawing at his lip, then grinding together, his jaw muscle working back and forth. He had a strange, detached look in his blue eyes.

‘You've got enormous financial resources,' I said. ‘You're ruthless, determined, possibly sociopathic. For many people, you are the worst enemy they could possibly have. But I've had worse. And I'm still here. So don't get any bright ideas. Here's what's going to happen now – I'm going to get out of this car and you're going to drive away. My people will be here all night, keeping watch. You won't see them. But they will see you.'

He checked the rearview mirror again. The sight of Bloch with a Magnum that could punch a hole in an armored Humvee is not a pleasant one. Bale was a psychopath, but he wasn't stupid.

‘Get out.'

‘Keep that gun in its holster. Until next time, Mr. Bale.'

I opened the passenger door, but gave Bale a parting gift before I left.

‘Actually, there won't be a next time. I don't think we'll meet again. If I come for you, you won't even know about it until it's all over.'

I stepped onto the sidewalk and slammed the door shut. The engine came to life, and Bale pulled out of the space and hit the gas. Bloch drove the Jeep forward, level with me, and then stopped and opened her window.

‘What do you think?'

‘He's not after the Jacksons. He said as much, and I believe him.'

‘Then what is he doing here?' asked Lake.

‘I don't know, but he's dangerous. I'll need you two to take it in shifts tonight. Keep an eye on our people. Bale is the immediate threat, but I need to know if Ellis makes any moves.'

‘You think he killed Margaret Blakemore?' asked Bloch.

‘I'm not sure yet. And for God's sake, Gabriel – go buy a car.'