Open Season (Alex Delaware #40)

Chapter 43

Chapter

43

Day Four he called at eight fifty p.m. and said, “If it’s too late to bop over, tell me.”

Robin was back in her studio, French-polishing the top of another vintage classical guitar, a hundred-year-old Simplicio with a gorgeous carved headstock. More repetitive work with the pad and the spirit varnish. She finds it relaxing and sometimes saves it for quiet nights.

I returned to the house, called Milo, and said, “Bop.”

He was at my door half an hour later.

—

This time he beelined to the fridge, peered inside as if examining a crime scene, then reached in and drew out half a turkey breast, roast beef nearing the end of its shelf-life, dry Genoa salami, tomatoes, lettuce, mustard, and mayo. Adding rye bread from the bin, he set about constructing a monumental sandwich.

Humming.

I said, “You got a ballistics match.”

His feet performed a little shuffling dance as he built a tower of intemperance.

“Coupla hours ago. Fast-tracked the arrest warrant and a search warrant for Flick’s house and his car. So why am I here?”

“Sharing good news with a pal.”

He brought the sandwich to the table. “I want to take him into custody with minimal risk to us, his landlady, neighbors. Him, too. Figured you might have some wisdom on that. If you’ve been eating finny critters, as I suggested.”

“Sorry, tonight was turkey. Where’s Flick now?”

“Home. Petra and Raul have been on him since three, now they’re sitting on his block since he got home at six ten after five tutoring gigs. Hopefully nearly a grand’s worth of fees will keep him mellow for the night and we can grab him when he walks to his car tomorrow morning.”

“Too many guns in his house to go frontal.”

“And it’s a tough layout, only one way to his door, way too much time for him to prepare.”

He sat down, tucked a napkin under his collar, chomped, wiped his chin, took another bite. “Delicious. Especially the turkey.”

Two bites later:

“He registered his pistols but not the rifle, so yeah, who knows what kind of arsenal he has in there. Also, your comment about the Unabomber got me thinking. What if he’s also stockpiled lunatic stuff? Grenades, explosives, has the place booby-trapped. So the plan is to box him in the moment we see him. I’ll be there with all the kids.”

I said, “No SWAT guys. Too conspicuous and likely to set off a war.”

“That was my thought. You agree?”

“I do.”

“Any other suggestions?”

“If he’s carrying his rifle or any other weapon, wait until he’s inside the car and you can see that his hands are clear. Then move in as quickly as possible. He’s a planner so maybe not great with surprises.”

He thought about that. “Okay, then, it’s set. I’ll finish this repast and notify the troops about tomorrow.”

—

He was enjoying a final bite of sandwich when his phone rang.

He listened for a while, gulped with effort, as if the food had dehydrated. Frowned and said, “Okay, time for Tac Four, keep me posted.”

Standing, he pocketed his phone, drew out his police radio, and set it on a tactical band. “That was Petra. Flick just left his house, got in his car, and is driving west on Venice.”

I said, “Did he take the rifle with him?”

“She doesn’t know, too dark. But even if he wasn’t carrying, he could be keeping weapons in the trunk. I’m going to notify the troops then meet up with Petra and Raul.”

“I’ll tell Robin then we’ll go.”

“Forget the plural. You’re staying put.”

I was somewhat prepared for that.

A couple of cases ago I’d gone along on a surveillance and been attacked by a psychotic killer. My body had healed quicker than Milo’s guilt but I thought he’d settled down. Then again, self-blame can be a chronic disease, going into remission then popping up without warning.

I said, “Don’t worry, not a comparable situation.”

“Feels comparable to me. I thought I was being careful by having you stay behind. Who knew the asshole would be coming from the opposite direction.”

“I was outside the car. This time I’ll remain inside. With the doors locked.”

“Forget it, Alex. What’s the point?”

“I’ve been on this from the beginning. Kind of helped develop the suspect, wouldn’t you say?”

“Oh, please.”

“Also,” I said, “you’ll likely want me in on the interview so the more I can observe him, the better equipped I’ll be.”

Flimsy even to my ear, and a total lie. The real reason: I like the excitement.

Milo said, “What if he does have the rifle within arm’s reach and it does turn into a war?”

“I’ll duck.”

“Not funny.”

“Six cops on one suspect who has no idea he’s under investigation? It’ll go smoothly.”

“You and your optimism.”

“Let’s go out to the studio. If Robin objects, I stay here.”

“You’re willing to take that bet?”

“Yup.”

He said, “What if the pooch objects?”

“I’ll risk that, too.”

—

Fourteen minutes later I was in the passenger seat of the Impala as Milo idled the engine and radioed Petra for the third time.

She said, “This guy drives weirdly. He started off pretty briskly on Venice, then turned north onto Sepulveda and gradually slowed down. I thought he might be looking for something or preparing to stop but he just kept going and slowing, all the way to the Sepulveda Pass, which he just got onto…uh-oh, he has pulled over…just past that two-lane 405 on-ramp…nothing here, why would he—nope, wrong about that, just a momentary stop. He is different.”

Milo said, “Maybe he prepped a weapon.”

“God, I hope not…but you’re right, that makes sense. Okay, I’m appropriately nervous and hanging back—you get that, Raul?”

Biro said, “Totally. I’m half a block behind you.”

“Stay that way unless something changes,” she said. “All right, he’s back in motion. Crawling. The Pass is totally open but he’s doing twenty. Wonder if that’s good or bad.”

Milo looked at me.

I said, “He could be in planning mode and getting closer to his goal.”

He passed that along.

She said, “Okay, we’ll be super-careful. Can you call everyone else and catch them up? I want to concentrate on every move Flick makes.”

Milo said, “Will do, then we’ll set out ourselves.”

“You and Alex? Good. Flick’s for sure not normal. He goes total-freakin’-psycho after we nab him, we could use the help.”

I kept my smile to myself but Milo felt it.

Grinding his teeth, he said, “Don’t gloat,” then he texted Alicia, Sean, and Moe to go on Tac Four and radioed them to keep their phones active in order to stay aware of Petra’s location.

They all lived in the Valley, which could turn out to be a bit of luck, cutting the drive-time if Flick’s northward drive ended up in one of the bedroom communities on the other side of the Santa Monica Mountains.

Moe: “Copy, L.T.”

Alicia: “Ditto, L.T.”

Sean: “Ready, Loot.”