Chapter 61
The doorknob jiggled. Metal scraped and clinked. A moment later, the handle twisted and the back door creaked open.
Dressed in all black, wearing a ski mask, Gavin Carver slinked through the house like a ninja with delicate steps. There was no mistaking him. The size of a Mack truck, he was an imposing force.
Carver was good. He picked the lock at the back door like a pro. All that time, breaking into houses as a juvenile.
He crept through the kitchen, across the living room, and down the hallway to the master bedroom. He pushed open the bedroom door and stepped in. His eyes found the bed. We’d stuffed pillows under the cover to make it look like someone was sleeping.
The knife in Carver’s hand glimmered in the moonlight that filtered in through the skylight.
I hid behind the door. When Carver cleared the threshold, I tasered him in the back. I needed the guy alive to turn state's evidence.
Fifty thousand volts jolted through his body. His back arched, his muscles involuntarily contracting. The knife dropped from his hand and fell to the floor. Pops and crackles filled the air.
But Carver was a big guy. He fought the Taser and muscled through it.
The contact points might not have been great. Thicker fabric could have played a role. I'd seen guys whacked out on dope push through a cycle. As a former running back, Carver had a lot of mass to absorb the energy. He spun around like an angry demon and charged me.
He may not have had the same explosive power he had on the field in his prime, but with a rush of adrenaline, he was a freight train.
Carver tackled me into the wall.
Sheet rock collapsed.
The impact knocked the wind from my lungs, and I was a big guy.
I put a knee into his outer thigh, but it was like a brick.
Carver came across with a hard right.
I blocked and responded with an elbow to the face.
The blow snapped his head back, blood spewing from his nose.
Before he could respond, I put a knee into his balls.
That got his attention.
A left hook careened toward my face.
I leaned away, and his fist crashed through the drywall, plumes of dust billowing.
By that time, JD was in the room and shot him again with a Taser.
His back arched, and his fingers curled. Carver’s body twitched and convulsed as the taser crackled.
I took the opportunity to use his face as a punching bag. A hard right wrenched his head aside.
JD and I pounced and tried to bring him to the ground.
Carver was used to this kind of thing. He flung both of us off.
I tumbled back against the wall, and JD flopped onto the bed.
Carver did what he does best. He ran. With a little head fake, he bolted for the door.
I dove for the behemoth, putting my shoulder into his thigh, trying to wrap him up. It brought me back to my high school football days. Only I never had to square off against anybody of his caliber.
I hit hard and squeezed tight.
He ran through me like I was nothing.
His legs broke free of my grasp, but I managed to grab his ankle and hold on for dear life.
Somehow, I brought him down. Carver tumbled like a redwood falling in the forest. His head hit the door frame, and it knocked him out cold.
He hit the ground with a thud that probably registered on seismographs.
JD and I pounced again and ratcheted the cuffs on his wrists before he could regain consciousness.
The impact had opened up a gash in his head, and crimson blood soaked his ski mask. I pulled it off and used it to put pressure on the wound. Jack called dispatch and had them send a patrol unit.
Carver regained consciousness by the time backup arrived.
He was triaged by EMTs, then JD and I read him his rights and stuffed him into the back of a squad car. He was taken down to the station, processed, printed, and put into an interrogation room.
JD and I filled out after-action reports while he simmered.
It was almost sunrise by the time we stepped into the room and started asking him questions. From my phone, I played him a recording of his conversation with Tiffany.
A frown tensed his face. He knew he was screwed. He was mad at himself for buying into it. It was plain to see. Of course, he didn't know we couldn't use the recording.
“Right now, you're looking at conspiracy to commit murder, assaulting an officer, resisting arrest, breaking and entering, just to name a few. You've got a couple of options right now. You can either spend a long time behind bars, or you can make a statement and testify against Tiffany. You’ve made some pretty dumb moves over the course of your career. But I think you’re smart enough to figure out which one you should choose.”