“Page him. Tell him it’s extremely urgent — an emergency involving a judge’s life.”
He disconnected and called Irene. To hell with the department. He got her voice mail. “Irene, if you can get out of this appointment with Kerr, please do so. If you’re already with him, warn him — I think Haycroft’s going to try to kill him today — maybe at the ceremony.”
He had no sooner disconnected than the phone rang.
“They found his van,” Reed said. “We’re closing in on the bastard!”
“Where?”
“In an alley near Third and Magnolia.”
“Downtown?” He swallowed hard. “Any sign of him?”
“No, not yet. I’m on my way over there. They told me they took a quick look at the van, but only found a canvas bag with some soap and towels and plastic bags in it. It’s near a church and the library parking lot. The chief ’s down there, and they told him about finding it before I got the call. He’s already sent a dozen guys in to search the library.”
“The chief — oh, Christ—”
“Yes, he’s in some kind of ceremony—”
“Reed, listen to me — we’ve got to get through to Hale immediately. And to Judge Kerr — especially Kerr! They’ve got to clear the plaza. They’ve got to get everybody out of there. Get the bomb squad down there. Now!”
“Frank—”
“Haycroft’s a one-man judge and jury, right? Jesus, Reed — think of who’ll be there! Every attorney, every supervisor, every judge. But especially Kerr. I’m sitting here looking at a shitload of stuff on Kerr. Everything in Haycroft’s files is about him — I think it goes back to the Sudas case, Haycroft’s son’s death.”
“Jesus — I think those files Freeman found on the computer — I think they all had Kerr connected to them, too.”
“Fuck all that, Reed — listen to me — Irene’s at the courthouse interviewing him. She’s there with Seth. Call Kerr and call Hale — and get that plaza cleared!”
Pete came to his feet, anxious now.
Frank hung up, dialed Irene’s cell phone number again. “Come on, Irene, come on, come on, answer it!”
He got her voice mail again. “God damn it!”
The tone sounded. “Irene, please, this is urgent — if you and Seth are at the courthouse, get out now! Get everybody the hell away from there as fast as you can. Get as far away as you can.”
“Go on, go!” Pete shouted to him, tossing him the keys to his car. “I’ll stay here and deal with the search. Get your ass over there.”
“I’ve got to call Kerr’s office—” he said frantically.
“I’ll do that, too,” Pete said in a voice that made him take a deep breath, calm himself a little. “Now go.”
Frank went down the ladder at a speed that had the crew on the ground shouting at him, then ran to the Chevy. He put the light on the roof and peeled out.
50
Friday, July 14, 11:35 A.M.
Courthouse Plaza
Haycroft knew he needed to appear calm.
He was shaking. He was perspiring. He could actually smell his own body odor. He had been jostled and touched again and again by others. The thought nauseated him.
From the sidewalk where he had temporarily stationed himself, he glanced in the window of the sandwich shop behind him. He did not appear calm.
Police had surrounded the van.
It was inconceivable to him. He had nearly been caught then and there. Strolling along, ready to listen to the story of Harriman’s demise. And there was his van, surrounded by black-and-white patrol cars.
How could this be? Had the late Harriman talked more than anticipated?
He stood staring for a moment, then tried not to attract attention as he walked away. He felt as if every eye were watching him, laughing secretly as he headed straight into a trap.
Somehow, he managed to return to the plaza without being seen by the police. And now this, this further ruin.
They streamed around him, hurriedly but calmly leaving. Like cattle drovers trying hard not to stampede their herd, the uniformed officers of the LPPD and the fire department urged the audience to leave. Announcements were being made. He was making himself obvious, he suddenly realized. Standing like a rock in the plaza as the greater and greater rush of hoi polloi flowed past him.
Then came the little thunderclap. The first charge, in the telephone equipment room, had been too small to be heard by anyone who was not near it. This second one, a small charge going off in an elevator shaft, was surprisingly loud. It was just a little device, designed like one he had studied in Wallace’s notes. It had relied on a timer. He was pleased that something was going right.
It freed him to move again, to join the throng that was now panicking, rushing into the street, bringing traffic to a halt. He allowed himself to be carried along by this swell of frightened lawyers and politicians and civil servants, to be deposited by it on the street’s opposite shore. He escaped it by hurrying up into the shelter of the shops that formed the lower floor of the high-rise directly across from the courthouse.
Only a few minutes now.
