Kovacliska - Ashes To Ashes Part 60

toward Lyndale. Elwood checked the rearview, grumbling.

"We look like a funeral procession. There must be nine loads of newsies behind us."

"They'll get everything on videotape. Put away the nightsticks and

saps."

"Police work just isn't the fun it used to be."

"Watch him in here," Liska said as they came to the worst of the

confusing tangle of streets. "We might get him on a traffic violation. I

break nine laws every time I drive through here."

Gil Vanlees didn't break any. He kept his speed a fraction under the limit, driving as if he were carrying a payload of eggs in crystal cups.

Elwood stayed on the truck's tail, riding Vanlees's b.u.mper a little too close, violating his s.p.a.ce, goading him.

"What do you think, Tinks? Is he the guy, or is this the Olympic Park

bombing all over again?"

"He fits the profile. He's hiding something."

"Doesn't make him a killer. Everybody's hiding something."

"I would have liked a chance to find out what, without a pack ofreporters at our heels. He'd be an idiot to try anything now."

"They might not be at our heels long," Elwood said, checking therearview again. "Look at this son of a b.i.t.c.h."

An older Mustang hatchback came up alongside them on the left, two menin the front seat, their focus on Vanlees's pickup.

"That's b.a.l.l.s," Liska said.

"They probably think we're the compet.i.tion."

The Mustang sped up, pa.s.sing them, coming even with Vanlees, thepa.s.senger's window rolling down.

"Son of a b.i.t.c.h!" Elwood yelled.

Vanlees sped up. The car stayed with him.

Liska grabbed the handset and radioed their position, calling for backupand reporting the tag number on the Mustang. Elwood grabbed the dashlight off the seat, slapped it onto the bracket, and turned it on. Aheadof them, the pa.s.senger in the car was leaning out the window with atelephoto lens.

Vanlees gunned ahead. The car raced even with him.

The flash was brilliant, blinding.

Vanlees's truck swerved into the Mustang, knocking it a.s.s end into thenext lane, directly into the path of an oncoming cab. There was no timefor even the screech of tires, no time for brakes, just the horrificsound of tons of metal colliding. The photographer was thrown as thecars. .h.i.t.

He tumbled across the street like a rag doll that had been flung out awindow. A ball of flame rolled through the Mustang.

Liska saw it all in slow motion-the crash, the fire, Vanlees's truckahead of them swerving to the curb, one wheel jumping up, the frontb.u.mper taking out a parking meter. And then time snapped back to realspeed, and Elwood swung the Lumina past the truck and dove into the curbat an angle, cutting off the escape route. He slammed the car into parkand was out the door. Liska clutched the handset in a trembling fist andcalled for ambulances and a fire truck.

Some of the cars that had been tailing them pulled to the side.

Several raced past, making Elwood dodge them as he ran for the burningwreck. Liska shoved her door open and went for Vanlees as he tumbled outof his pickup. She could, smell the whiskey on him two feet away.

"I didn't do it!" he shouted, sobbing.

Camera flashes went off like strobes, illuminating his face in starkwhite light. Blood ran from his nose and his mouth where his face hadevidently met with the steering wheel. He threw his arms up to block theglare and spoil the shots. "G.o.dd.a.m.nit, leave me alone!"

"I don't think so, Gil," Liska said, reaching for his arm. "Up againstthe truck. You're under arrest."

"NOW I KNOW how they break spies with sleep deprivation," Kovac: said,striding toward Gil Vanlees's truck, which was still hung up on thecurb. "I'm ready to transfer to records so I can get some sleep."

Liska scowled at him. "Come crying to me when you have a nine-year-oldlook up at you with big teary blue eyes and ask why you didn't come tohis Thanksgiving pageant at school when he was playing a Pilgrim andeverything."

"Jesus, Tinks," he growled, hanging a cigarette on his lip. The apologywas in his eyes. "We shouldn't be allowed to breed."

"Tell it to my ovaries. What the h.e.l.l are you doing here anyway?" sheasked, turning him away from the reporters. "Trying to get yourselffired altogether? You're supposed to lie low."

"I'm bringing you coffee." The picture of innocence, he handed her asteaming foam cup. "Just trying to support the first team." Even as hesaid it, his gaze was roaming to Vanlees's truck.

The truck was surrounded by uniformed cops and the crime scene teamsetting up to do their thing. Portable lights illuminated it from allangles, giving the scene the feel of a photo shoot for a Chevy ad. Thetotaled cars sitting in the middle of the street were being dealt withby tow trucks.

Reporters hung around the perimeter of the scene, backed off by theuniforms, their interest in the accident made all the more keen by theirown involvement in the drama.

"Any word on your replacement?" Liska asked.

Kovac lit a cigarette and shook his head. "I put in a word for you withFowler."

She looked surprised. "Wow, thanks, Sam. You think they'll listen?"

"Not a chance. My money's on Yurek because they can scare him.

"So what's the latest here?"

"Vanlees is at HCMC getting looked at before we haul his sorry a.s.sdowntown. I think he broke his nose. Other than him, we've got one dead,one critical, one in good condition." Liska leaned back against the carshe and Elwood had been riding in. "The driver of the Mustang is toast.

The cabbie broke both ankles and cracked his head, but he'll be okay.

The photographer is in surgery. They think his brain is bleeding. Iwouldn't be too optimistic. Then again, I wouldn't have said he had abrain, doing what he was doing."

"Do we know who these guys are-were?9) "Kevin Pardee and Michael Morin.

Freelancers looking to score with an exclusive photo. Life and death inthe age of tabloid news.

Now they're the headline."

"How'd Vanlees get behind the wheel if he was drunk enough you couldsmell it on him?"

"You'd have to ask the reporters that. They were the ones crowded aroundhim as he left the building. All our people had to watch him from adistance or spark a lawsuit for hara.s.sment."

"Ask the reporters," Sam grumbled. "They'll be the first ones to raisequestions about our negligence. Scurnsuckers. How's Elwood?"

"Burned his hands pretty bad trying to get Morin out of the car.

He's at the hospital. Singed his eyebrows off too. Looks pretty d.a.m.ngoofy."

"He looked goofy to start with."

"Vanlees registered .08 on the Breathalyzer. Lucky for us. I was able toimpound the truck. Gotta inventory everything in it," she said with ashrug, blinking false innocence. "Can't know what we might find."

"Let's hope for a b.l.o.o.d.y knife under the seat," Kovac said. "He lookslike he'd be that stupid, don't you think? Christ, it's cold. And it'snot even Thanksgiving."

"Bingo!" called one of the crime scene team.

Kovac jumped away from the car. "What? What'd you get? Tell me it's gotblood on it."

The criminalist stepped back from the driver's door. "The economyself-gratification kit," she said, turning around, holding up a copy ofHustler and one very disgusting pair of black silk women's panties.

"The pervert's version of the smoking gun," Kovac said. "Bag it.

We may just have the key to unlock this mutt's head."

WHAT'S THE WORD on getting a warrant to search Vanlees's place?" Quinnasked, shrugging out of his trench coat. He wore the same suit he'd hadon the night before, Kovac noticed. Heavily creased.

Kovac shook his head. "Based on what we've got, not a chance in h.e.l.l.

Not even with Peter Bondurant's name attached to the case. We went over every inch of that truck and didn't come up with anything that would tiehim directly to any of the murder victims. We might get lucky with thepanties-a few weeks from now when the DNA tests come back. We can't evenrun the tests now. The underpants are just part of the inventory of hisstuff at this point. We don't know who they belonged to. We can't say hestole them. And whacking off ain't a crime."

"You hear that, Tippen?" Liska said. "You're in the clear."

"I heard those were your panties, Tinks."

"Tinks wears panties?" Adler said.

"Very funny."

They stood in a conference room at the PD, the task force minus Elwood,

who had refused to go home and was now sitting with Vanlees in an

interview room down the hall.

"Why couldn't he be dumb enough to keep a b.l.o.o.d.y knife under the seat?"

Adler asked. "He looks like he'd be that stupid."

"Yeah," Quinn agreed. "That bothers me. We're not exactly dealing with a brainiac here-unless he's got multiple personalities and one of the alters keeps the brain to himself. What do we know about his background, other than his more recent escapades?"

"I'm checking it," Walsh said. His voice was almost gone, choked off by

his cold and his pack-a-day habit.

"Nikki and I have both talked with his wife," Moss said. "Should I see if she'll come down?"

"Please," Quinn said.

"She's gotta know if her husband's this kind of a sick pervert," Tippen said.

Quinn shook his head. "Not necessarily. It sounds like she's the

dominant partner in that relationship. He's likely kept his hobby a secret from her, partly out of fear, partly as an act of defiance. But if he's got a female partner-and we think he has-then who is she? The wife is clean?"

"The wife is clean. Jillian?" Liska ventured.