Cold Fire, page 25
THIRTY-NINE
Tess wanted to tend Po’s wounds before seeing to hers. She had benefitted from the administrations of Felicity and Ellie, and although some blood had seeped through the bandage, she didn’t believe the injury had grown worse. On the other hand, her man’s wounds were fresher and hadn’t as much as seen the lick of a damp cloth. When Harper launched his ambush outside the decommissioned quarry he’d fired through the body of the car at Po, and though he hadn’t scored a direct hit, some shrapnel had torn furrows in his flesh. He bled and would probably go on bleeding for a while yet if she didn’t staunch the flow and get it to coagulate.
‘I’m fine, stop your fussin’ will ya, gal?’
‘Alex wasn’t exaggerating when he said you’re bleeding worse than a stuck pig. Come on over here and let me take a closer look at you.’ Tess was beside a washbasin, running lukewarm water from the faucet. She had collected a wad of paper towels from a wall dispenser, which she ran under the trickle until they were dampened. ‘Drop your pants,’ she instructed.
‘Ha! Any excuse to get me naked, huh?’
‘Don’t flatter yourself. Seeing your naked butt covered in cuts and blood doesn’t get me amorous.’
‘Dang, it never stopped you before.’
She shoved him playfully.
‘Hey, one minute I’m being treated like the walking dead, next a sexual plaything, and now I’m to be pushed around?’
‘Don’t say I’m ever predictable,’ she quipped. ‘Come on, Po, lift up your shirt.’
He finally conceded. He doffed his leather jacket, laying it down on the floor. She pulled up his shirt, checking with an expert eye. By now his body was as familiar to her as it could get. She spotted abrasions, contusions and cuts. Some of the injuries were old enough that the surrounding skin had discolored; others were fresher. By the look of things, his fights with Bruce Harper had been seriously bruising. She dabbed at some of the bloody scrapes with the towels, cleaning them, but almost immediately fresh beads of blood seeped from the scratches. In his side there was a deep groove from which blood had trickled down his hip and upper thigh. His jeans were sopping.
‘Looks as if you’re going to need stitches,’ she commented, even as she leaned in and pressed the towels to his side.
He hissed and moved aside. ‘Let it be, Tess. It hurts like a sumbitch.’
‘I don’t believe it, my man actually admitting that he’s in pain.’
‘I never claimed to be indestructible.’
‘How’s your head?’
He cupped the back of his skull. ‘Worse than my side.’
‘Sit down.’
‘Where? On the can?’ He nodded at a row of stalls. There wasn’t room for them to maneuver if he sat on one of the toilets.
‘At least prop your butt against the sink. I’d hate for you to get light headed and fall over.’
‘I ain’t light headed.’
‘You might be when I get you to bend forward.’
‘Oh, right.’ He did as asked, using the sink for support. Gripping the edge with his left hand, he propped his other hand against his right knee and then leaned down so that Tess could check the damage to the base of his skull. The redhead, Siobhan, had given him quite a hefty smack with the barrel of her pistol. Po kept his hair cut short at the back. The flesh at his nape was swollen and raw. A gouge from just behind his right ear extended past where his skull met his spinal column. She delicately probed at the damaged area, feeling him wince to each touch, but he didn’t vocalize his discomfort.
‘I don’t think you have any fractures, but I’m no expert. You’ll probably need an X-ray along with those stitches.’
He stood again and she studied him for any sign of wooziness. He returned her perusal with a steady gaze. ‘If my skull is fractured and I’m bleeding on the brain, I think I’d know it by now.’
‘Not necessarily.’
‘It’s been hours,’ he reminded her, ‘and I’ve had no hint of a concussion. It hurts worse than a sumbitch, but I ain’t out of the game yet. I asked Alex to check on Ratcliffe. She took some buckshot in the face, she probably needs a medic more than I do.’
‘You know,’ she said, ‘the presence of all those other shooters proves there’s more going on than we first thought. There’s the guy Jake’s brothers allegedly attacked and burned, and then those two women in the van that shot at Ratcliffe. Harper isn’t just a murderer chasing a witness to stop her identifying him; he’s one of several cleaning up shop to protect somebody else.’
‘Yeah,’ he agreed. ‘I figured that the minute he showed up with that redheaded bitch, and I’m betting you did too. He’s the killer, no doubt about it, but that motive for killing the family sounds like bullshit. Does he strike you as the disgruntled employee type? Even without a living witness, he was certain to be identified as the killer. Y’ask me, Tess, he’s being paid richly for his services, enough for him to agree to take his earnings and skedaddle once the deed was done.’
‘And the reason he chased Joanne so assiduously was because she could finger the one rewarding Harper,’ Tess finished for him. ‘If he goes to jail Harper doesn’t get paid, and all of this will have been for nothing. Can only be one person, right?’
‘Carl Blackhorse,’ they said simultaneously.
‘The grieving father and husband,’ Tess said scornfully.
‘If we’re right, he’s even more of a dirt bag than Harper. Let alone his wife, how could any man wish harm on his own babies? I swear to you, Tess, I’d kill myself sooner than lay a finger on you or my kids.’
‘It’s hard to fathom,’ she agreed. ‘And not something a decent person like you could ever contemplate.’
‘Joanne’s been fixated on Harper, but we could do with hearin’ from her if we’re on the right track before I shift all of my hatred off him and on to Blackhorse.’
‘I’ve enough hatred for the both of them. In fact, count that bitch Siobhan in with them too.’ She worked her hand inside its bandage. It was painful but nothing compared to the alternative if she’d failed to stop the knife intended for her womb.
Po tucked in the tail of his shirt and then stooped to retrieve his jacket.
‘Your other wounds still need cleaning.’
‘Later. For now, let’s go confirm things with Joanne before the feds whisk her outta here.’
He’d made up his mind and from past experience she knew that haranguing him was pointless. She dumped the damp towels in a trashcan and followed as he exited the washroom into the police station. She spotted Pinky, standing in an open doorway with a large paper cup poised under his chin. She smelled strong coffee from across the hall, and was reminded how thirsty she was. She opened her mouth to ask where she could grab a cup, but her words were drowned under the high-pitched warble of an alarm. As did everyone in her vicinity, Tess stood, unsure what to do or where to go. A klaxon joined in, followed almost instantly by the ringing of an old-fashioned alarm bell. Lights flashed in warning. Then she was under no illusion: the building was on fire and they must evacuate.
‘What the hell is this, man?’ Po asked of nobody in particular.
Pinky said, ‘Too timely to be a coincidence.’
‘Don’t tell me those stupid Wolsey brothers have chased us here? This is a police station, are they insane?’ Tess’s questions were rhetoric, but whom else would she associate a sudden fire with but the arsonists targeting her?
‘I don’t like this one bit,’ said Po. Unconsciously he took Tess by her elbow and began steering her towards where they’d last seen Ratcliffe and Joanne. Tess worked out of his grip, capable of walking unassisted.
Pinky aimed a nod at nearby signage. ‘Says the fire exits are over there.’
‘We need to check on the others,’ Po told him, ‘then we’ll leave together.’
‘Nicolas, I get you, me, but Joanne’s the cops’ problem now. Our priority’s getting out before we end up burned to ashes. Don’t know about you, but I don’t like the idea of a police station for my final resting place.’
Portland PD had taken charge of Joanne Mason, and protecting her was now their responsibility until she was handed over to the feds, or the cops traveling up from Massachusetts. But that was beside the point; until she was safely transported out of Portland Tess still felt a personal duty of care towards the young woman. Plus there was Detective Ratcliffe, and also her brother Alex to consider, both of whom Tess cared for. She’d hate to later find either had become trapped by a blaze that she could have helped them escape.
‘You smell that?’ Po asked.
‘You don’t mean this slop masquerading as coffee, do you?’ asked Pinky as he set aside his cup.
‘Smoke,’ said Po.
‘So this isn’t a false alarm,’ said Tess, equally needlessly.
‘Couldn’t say where it’s originating. I think it’s being carried in and coming through the air vents.’
Perhaps he was right. If the fire alarms had been tripped, she assumed that the doors were primed to close automatically to slow down the spread of a blaze. The fire doors would slow the smoke, but some would still find a way to them via ceiling voids and conduit and vent routes.
A police officer entered the corridor, heading towards them. He had a look of grim purpose on his face. Tess recognized him as one of the party that had met them outside. He signaled them to turn around. ‘We have to evacuate,’ he said, and ushered them to go back the way they’d just come.
‘We need to check on the others,’ Po said.
‘No. You need to evacuate. Right now, sir.’
The cop continued to direct them towards the exit, arms out to his sides as if they might rush him and attempt to squeeze past. None of them was about to disobey him, besides, his demeanor left no room for argument.
‘Where’s Alex?’ Tess asked the cop.
‘Sergeant Grey’s your brother, right?’ The cop asked for confirmation. ‘He’s with that out-of-town officer and her sister.’
‘The suspect we brought in,’ said Po, meaning Jake Wolsey. ‘It’s probably his brothers who’re responsible for this fire. They’re the ones been setting half of Portland alight in the past twenty-four hours, stands to reason it’s them again this time.’
The cop tapped the microphone clipped to his shirt, indicating from where he’d gotten his information. ‘From what I heard, the fire’s down in the parking garage. Car was driven inside on fire. Sounds like it was a suicide mission.’
‘How’s that?’ asked Tess, though it was obvious. ‘They’re dead?’
‘One unsub is. Can’t be certain there isn’t a second person, nobody can get close enough to confirm for the heat and smoke.’
‘Jeez,’ Tess wheezed. The length the Wolsey brothers were seemingly prepared to go for revenge was beyond madness. So much so that it felt wrong.
They passed under the sign that Pinky had previously pointed out. They found a space of about ten feet, faced by another door. This one led into a stairway with a short flight of steps to a final door secured by a push bar. Pinky was at the door first, so did the honors. He poked his head out, then glanced back. ‘Takes us into a public plaza.’
‘Yeah,’ the cop confirmed, as they bustled out, ‘whenever there’s an evacuation we rally on the far side of the square.’ He aimed a finger, as if it wasn’t obvious where he meant. Already a couple of civilian staff had made their way to the prearranged fire point.
Tess asked, ‘Where do other exits let out? Specifically, where will any detainees be brought out during an evacuation?’
‘Usually into the parking garage and from there taken in a secure vehicle to another station.’
‘And if that option isn’t available to them because of where the fire is?’
‘Then they’d use the side exit where we greeted you earlier, or through the main entrance on to this square.’
Tess looked for where she knew the entrance was and saw a uniformed officer emerge. They were unaccompanied. The officer moved across the plaza, heading to the rendezvous site. He was an older copy, carrying a paunch and silver hair. He spoke into his radio as he walked. She couldn’t hear his words through the other cop’s radio as he was wearing an earpiece to ensure communications were discreet. The cop answered, and the older one acknowledged them with a raised hand. Instantly Tess noted a change in the cop’s demeanor. His face was pale to begin with, but all color drained out of him. She noted a look of consternation pass between the two cops and then the older, heftier man was jogging towards an access door into the parking garage.
‘Go and wait over there,’ the younger cop instructed and stabbed a hand at the rally point. ‘Somebody will be there to check on you soon.’
Without another word to them, he ran a bit swifter than his colleague for the same access door.
Tess exchanged quizzical glances with Po and Pinky and saw that they’d even less intention of following evacuation protocol as she. Pinky, who’d put away his pistols drew one and offered it to Tess. She shook her head: she was still armed with Siobhan’s pistol, having failed to turn it over as evidence yet. He didn’t bother making the same offer to Po because he already knew the answer. Po had put aside his earlier hatred of his knife, and by instinct had dipped his knees and drawn it from his boot sheath. There was muffled gunfire. They again glanced at each other, then in mutual agreement galloped across the plaza, in the opposite direction to the door the cops had just gone through.
A concrete arch gave access to a shadow-filled underpass, which opened on to a set of steps. On one side there was a steel-covered access door and another shorter flight of steps. These gave access to the road and also on to a ramp at the bottom of which was a roller shutter. Tess recognized the location where they’d first drawn up their vehicles to hand over Joanne and Jake Wolsey to the PD welcome party. The steel door had been open then and gave access to the station, but now it was resolutely shut having recently disgorged a mixed group of cops and civilians on to the street. Anyone evacuating under normal circumstances would have gone through the underpass and joined their colleagues on the plaza. But these were not normal circumstances.
Tess saw Detective Ratcliffe kneeling, her sidearm raised, but without a clear target because of a police van partially blocking the road. Ratcliffe shouted wordlessly, as did somebody beyond Tess’s view. Another figure was on the ground, curled in a fetal position in snow that had been trodden to brown slush by many boots. They wore a helmet and Kevlar vest emblazoned with the POLICE logo, but Tess recognized the layers of clothing underneath and realized that the unthinkable had happened.
After everything they’d done to keep Joanne safe from Harper, his fiery diversion tactics had worked to lure her from safety and he’d gunned her down.
FORTY
Scant minutes earlier, Joanne would have sworn her ears were still ringing from the shotgun blasts fired from the van into her sister’s car. She considered that she was lucky getting off so lightly, whereas Karen had been cut first by flying glass and then seconds later by buckshot. They’d both since thanked God that Karen ducked away at the opportune time to save her skull from being blown apart, and only gotten a few ricocheted balls of lead shot in her cheek. One or two had also skimmed her jaw and some her scalp. The thick lenses of Karen’s glasses had saved her eyesight. Joanne had heard guns before but never as close as they’d been discharged from the van, and was surprised by how compressed her hearing had been since. She’d tried pinching her nose and blowing out her cheeks, but had failed to equalize the pressure. There was an underlying ringtone, one that suddenly warbled, and several seconds later began to ring like a turn-of-the-twentieth-century fire engine. It took several more seconds before clarity struck and she separated her enforced tinnitus from the alarms wailing throughout the police station.
Ratcliffe stood slowly from the chair she’d sank into on entering the room. She gripped the arms of the chair for stability, knuckles pronounced and stark white beneath her skin. She looked to Sergeant Alex Grey for answers, even as Joanne grabbed for her sister’s arm. ‘Please tell me you have a fire drill scheduled?’
She was being sarcastic and Alex knew it. He didn’t reply, only rushed to the door and opened it. He looked into the corridor. The two officers guarding the room turned to him for direction, but he was as lost as anyone else.
Ceiling warning lights began to strobe.
‘This is not a drill,’ he emphasized.
Joanne didn’t hear the instructions he gave his men, because she was too intent on begging answers from her sister, who, under those circumstances she thought of as Detective Ratcliffe. Surely her sister knew what was going on and what they should do during a dilemma such as this one.
‘I don’t know, Jo, so give me a break, for God’s sake!’ Karen responded. She sounded angry, but Jo knew her big sister was stressed, so she didn’t pay her tone any mind.
Together they moved towards Alex. He hadn’t gone beyond the threshold of the room yet. Joanne heard the two officers rush away, probably with instructions to help with an evacuation of station personnel. They too should leave but Alex blocked their passage.
‘Let me confirm what’s going on first,’ Alex asked. ‘This could be a false alarm.’
‘We both know it isn’t,’ said Karen.
‘Just give me a minute to find out. Don’t worry, you’re safe here for now.’
Alex had previously explained that the room he’d chosen to keep Joanne safe was an excellent choice. It had no windows and only one door, on which he’d doubled the guard. To get to the room, any intruder must first pass through the front public areas, and into the office block used exclusively by PD staff. The station wasn’t designed to hold prisoners, and only had the minimum two cells required for male and female detainees, and those were very rarely used. He didn’t deem the lockups suitable accommodation for her, not now he knew she was innocent of the horrible crimes she’d originally been accused. She dreaded to think where she’d have been held had he not had his mind changed. The room was comfortable enough, though airless. It was warm, and at first she’d been thankful, but then it had grown stuffy. She couldn’t wait to leave it, but not exactly under these circumstances.
