Ironwood

Chapter 50

AS STILWELL WATCHED, Lambert turned his head and leaned his left ear to the door to listen to the voices inside. Stilwell saw that he was holding a gun in a standard combat grip.

As Lambert took a step back from the door and readied to breach it, Stilwell pocketed his phone, raised his own weapon in two hands, and moved quietly out of the hallway and into the jail.

He moved toward the squad room on a line leading directly toward Lambert’s back.

He was closing in on him when Lambert raised a leg and kicked the office door open; his momentum carried him into the room with his gun up.

The room was empty. Stilwell’s recorded interview of Gonzalo Kalas was playing on the computer screen.

Stilwell moved in swiftly and put the muzzle of his Glock to the back of Lambert’s neck.

“Put the gun on the desk,” he said calmly, “or I’m going to put your lights out.”

“Okay, okay,” Lambert said. “I thought something was wrong. I was just trying to help.”

“Sure you were. Just put the gun on the desk and slide it to the other side. Now.”

“I’m doing it, man. Don’t worry. There. I slid it over. Can we talk now?”

Stilwell kept his gun hard on Lambert’s neck. With his free hand, he reached under Lambert’s windbreaker and ran his fingers along his belt line until he found his cuffs. He yanked them out of the clip-on holster, reached around, and tossed them onto the desk.

“Okay, without turning around, I want you to cuff your right hand and then reach it back to me,” he ordered.

“Are you sure you want to do this, Stilwell?” Lambert said.

“Do it. Now.”

“All right, all right, your call.”

“Yeah, it’s my call. Do it.”

Stilwell heard the snick sound of the cuff’s teeth as it closed. Lambert slowly reached his arm back as instructed. But then he started to turn with the motion.

“No!” Stilwell yelled.

He threw his weight into Lambert and bent him down over the desk. Lambert’s gun was now within his reach and Stilwell swiped it off the desk. It clattered to the floor.

“Give me your fucking left hand,” he ordered. “Now.”

Lambert complied.

“I wasn’t going to do anything, man,” he said. “I still think we can talk this out.”

“Just stay down!”

Stilwell took his weight off Lambert and grabbed his left wrist. He yanked it behind him, put the gun down on his back, and quickly snapped the second cuff on. He tightened both cuffs and picked up his gun. Lambert was secured.

“Come on, man, they’re too tight,” he protested.

“That’s too bad,” Stilwell said. “Are you carrying any other weapons?”

“No. I mean, yes. I’ve got a pocketknife, front right pocket.”

“Stay where you are.”

Stilwell holstered his weapon, then put one hand on Lambert’s back to hold him in place while he reached around with the other to check the pocket.

He pulled out the knife and dropped it to the floor.

He then proceeded with a standard pat-down, finding a badge wallet, a clip of cash, and burner phones in his pants and jacket pockets.

He put them all down on the desk. When he moved down Lambert’s legs, he felt a hard object above his right ankle.

“You forget to mention the boot gun?” he said.

He pulled up the cuff and pulled a zip-lock bag containing a small handgun out of Lambert’s sock. He stood up and looked at it through the plastic. It was a two-shot derringer.

“Huh, not a boot gun, exactly,” Stilwell said. “And not really a throw-down. You brought this for me, right? That’s why you have it in plastic. I was going to be a suicide. Was that the plan?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Lambert said. “I came over here to pay my respects to my man Quigley—who you didn’t protect, by the way.”

“Of course you did. Get up. Let’s go.”

Stilwell grabbed the chain between the cuffs and yanked Lambert up off the desk.

“Ow, man,” he protested. “Take it easy. I told you these are too fucking tight. I can’t feel my hands already.”

“Then why’d you say ow?” Stilwell asked.

He used his grip on the cuffs and one hand on the back of Lambert’s collar to pivot him toward the door and walk him out of the office, through the squad room, and into the jail.

He marched him into the first cell and closed it.

It was an old-fashioned cell with a key lock.

He pulled out his keys and secured the cell door.

“You’re making a huge fucking mistake here,” Lambert said.

“Well, it’s mine to make,” Stilwell said. “Turn around and back up and I’ll take off the cuffs.”

Lambert did as instructed, and Stilwell used his universal cuff key to release his wrists. Lambert immediately started rubbing his hands to get the circulation going again.

“I’ll be back,” Stilwell said.

He headed toward the squad room.

“You can’t do this to me!” Lambert called after him. “Your career, what was left of it, is fucking over!”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Stilwell said to himself. “I’ve heard that before.”

He went back to his office, collected the weapons off the floor, and put them on the desk. He held up the baggie containing the two-shot derringer. He was sure that the plan had been for Lambert to use it on him and then build a suicide scenario.

He placed the weapon down on the desk and picked up the burner. He opened it but saw it was password-protected. He put it down and called Tash on the desk phone.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

“Yes, everything’s fine,” he said. “You can go home but I need a favor first.”

“Anything. What do you need?”

“You have the radar still on?”

“No, I shut it down, but I can turn it back on.”

“Okay, I’m looking for a thirty-six-foot-long boat that is going to be anchored close to shore on the south end. Probably near the boatyard or the cargo dock. I need its exact GPS coordinates. Can you get that?”

“I’m on it.”

“Good. Call me back.”

“Will do. And Stil, I love you too.”

“I knew that.”

He went back into the jail and looked into the cell. He held up the burner.

“You want to give me the password so I can tell your pal Bessemer to come ashore for the pickup?”

Lambert said nothing. Stilwell could read the shock on his face. He’d had no idea how much Stilwell knew.

“I didn’t think so,” Stilwell said. “For the record, you are under arrest for murder and conspiracy to commit murder. Do I really need to read you your rights? I’m sure you can say them in your sleep.”

“Fuck you, Stilwell. This is going exactly nowhere. You’ll get a call in a minute, and you’ll be told to cut me loose. Then you’re going to have to look over your shoulder for me for the rest of your fucking life.”

“I’m totally—”

Stilwell’s phone started buzzing.

“I told you,” Lambert said. “Now who’s in the cage? You or me?”

But it was Tash calling back. She said she had located the boat anchored near the cargo dock.

“Can you text me the coordinates?” he asked.

“They’re on the way,” she said. “Anything else?”

“That’s it. Go home, and I’ll get there as soon as I can.”

Stilwell hung up and called Akins. He answered right away.

“You still want to help?” Stilwell asked.

“You bet,” Akins said. “What do you need?”

“I’m going to send you the coordinates for where the Bullet is anchored. It will be south of the harbor here. I need you to go grab that boat and hold the guy you’ll find waiting on it. Walter Bessemer.”

“Hold him on what?”

“Conspiracy to commit murder.”

“I’ll be on the water in ten minutes. Send me the coordinates. I’ll call you when we have him. Is this still top secret?”

“Not for long.”

Stilwell sent a copy of Tash’s text with the GPS coordinates to Akins. He then looked at Lambert through the bars. He had made the call to Akins in front of him to get his wheels turning.

“So, your pal Bessemer,” Stilwell said. “How do you think he’s going to hold up under the lights?

A guy like that… I mean, once he was a warrior, but now he’s living the good life.

Boat worth half a mil, house on the Grand Canal in Venice.

You think he’ll stand up and lose all that just for his pal Chopper?

I don’t know, man. I’m thinking he’s going to flip like a bug on a hot plate first chance he gets. ”

“Fuck you, Stilwell. You have no idea the shit that’s about to rain down on you.”

“You really got me shaking, Chopper. How high up does this thing go in the department? Is it about cartel payoffs? Is that what Quigley was going to reveal in his divorce? That his kids might end up living with a cartel bagman?”

Lambert didn’t reply. He stared at Stilwell through the bars with dark, hateful eyes.

The moment was broken by the buzz of the phone in Stilwell’s hand. He looked at the screen. It was Captain Corum. When he looked back up, he saw that Lambert was smiling at him.

Stilwell took the call.

“Captain?”

“Stil, I’m looking at the camera feed from the jail out there and I see we have a big problem.”

Stilwell glanced up at the camera mounted in the upper corner of the room.

“What kind of problem, Captain?” he said.

“I don’t think I need to explain it to you, Stil. What I need is for you to let Lambert go. You keep his weapons so everybody’s safe, and you let him walk out the door.”

“He came here to kill me and make it look like a suicide.”

“I am sure that’s a misunderstanding. How about we talk this out in the morning? After you let him go.”

“What were you going to do about the camera feed? Just erase it all? I guess with you in charge of the investigation, it wouldn’t really matter.”

“You’re talking nonsense, Stil. You have to listen to me. You let Lambert walk. I’ll send a helicopter for him tonight. He’s off the island and everybody’s safe.”

“And what if I don’t let him go?”

There was a long moment of silence before Corum responded.

“Your career is on the line here, Stil,” he said.

“You know that, right? You know what I have on my desk here? A report that holds you responsible for the escape of a prisoner suspected in the shooting of two deputies, one fatally. That’s a career killer.

You know that. Now, I can file it and let it take its course.

Or I can shred it. What do you want me to do, Stil? ”

Stilwell said nothing. He walked out of the jail and into the squad room. He opened the door to the audio/visual equipment closet and hit the main power switch, shutting down the cameras and every screen in the office.

“Come on, Stil, I want to see what’s happening,” Corum said.

Stilwell maintained his silence. He walked back into the jail.

“Talk to me, Stil,” Corum said. “How do you want me to handle this? Don’t you want to stay out there on your island with your pretty little girlfriend and your happy life? Or do you want it all to go away?”

“Like the way you made Simon and Trestle go away?” Stilwell responded.

“Simon retired, and Trestle’s on a cruise to Hawaii. Nothing’s happened to them. What we need to do is fix the situation at hand. Can we do that, Stil? It would be best for everybody.”

Stilwell realized he was pacing in front of Lambert’s cell. He also realized he was at a point of no return. If he didn’t stand down now and let Lambert go, he could lose everything he had built for himself on the island.

“Captain, I gotta go,” he said.

“Stilwell, don’t hang up on me,” Corum said.

Stilwell disconnected and looked into the cell at the man who had killed Alton Quigley and ruined Ilsa Ramirez’s future.

“What are you going to do?” Lambert asked.

“The right thing,” Stilwell said.

He walked out of the holding area and back to his office. He sat down behind his desk and contemplated things for a long moment before raising his cell phone and punching a name. It was answered right away.

“This is Lionel McKey at the Catalina Call. How can I help you?”

“Lionel, it’s Stilwell. Are you busy? I have another story for you.”