Blood Hunt

indifference ended when Art glanced toward him and immediately away again.

Cohen eyed him coldly. “Lien keeps asking why you haven’t come to see Harry. Everyone else has. Don’t you give a damn how he is?”

That stung as hard as he knew Cohen meant it to. He wanted to yell back that of course he cared, just been afraid to ask. Now he knew Harry was at least alive! “I didn’t think I’d be welcome.” He paused. “How is he?”

“Hanging on.” Cohen turned away.

Art looked up from his typewriter, his expression kinder. “He hasn’t regained consciousness. You need to go see him.”

Garreth’s stomach lurched. So Harry might not be safe yet? “I’ll go…after…” He pointed up.

He left them looking torn between I hope they rake you over the coals and Better you than me and took the stairs up to the I.A. office on the fifth floor.

Now he sat…had sat for days it seemed, minus his glasses, head pounding with the misery of daylight…with Sergeants Fong and “Merciless” Mercer taking him over and over Friday’s nightmare. Making him feel like the fuckup of all time. A blackboard in front of him had a schematic drawing of Wink’s hideout, marked with x’s and o’s at the front and back doors, and big X in the middle of the livingroom marking where Harry had lain bleeding. The four uniforms had already given their versions of course.

Fong said, for maybe the hundredth time…or maybe the fiftieth — he and Mercer took turns asking the questions — “You weren’t on duty at the time, were you?”

But for the hundredth time, Garreth made himself reply in a calm, even voice. “No.”

“You were on sick leave because of the recent attack on you.”

“Yes.”

“And had an appointment that afternoon for a psych evaluation.”

“Yes.”

“Was Inspector Takananda aware of this?”

“Yes.”

“Tell us again, then, how you happened to be accompanying Inspector Takananda.”

A question not answerable with yes or no. “Harry had an interview with a witness in an unrelated case we had been working and I asked to ride along…not to participate, just to hear what the witness had to say. We expected to return in time for my appointment with Dr. Leonard.”

“Yet you did participate in the apprehension of Wink O’Hare.”

Garreth’s gut started to twist. “Yes.”

“Which Inspector Takananda permitted, despite your medical status.”

Each time, that question brought a flare of anger. Garreth bit it back once more. “I’ve told you, I talked him into it.”

“Despite your medical status.”

“I wasn’t thinking of that at the time.”

“What were you thinking, Inspector?” Mercer asked.

Blame the oppression of daylight, the repetitive questions, the fire in his throat from smelling their blood. Anger boiled over in him. Garreth jerked to his feet. “I’ll tell you what I was thinking! Here was this scumbag who killed a sweet old man for less than a hundred bucks, just for not opening the cash register fast enough, and now, if we hurried, we could nail the son of a bitch’s ass! That’s what I was thinking, that and nothing else!”

He caught a glance of satisfaction between the two of them. For cracking his seeming patience, which might have bothered them? Or were they thinking: cowboy, or loose cannon. Let them. Either could apply.

“So, now are we going through the deal with my gun all over again?”

The.38, which he let them examine in the first round of questions. It had been affirmed as his personal weapon, not issued by the department, but practiced with regularly so he was proficient with it and knew it to be in working order. The malfunction, he had admitted over and over, was him, not the weapon.

They were eyeing him, assessing his sudden aggression, when the door opened and Serruto came into the room, wearing a polo shirt, jeans, and a grave expression.

Garreth’s heart contracted in fear for Harry. He dropped back into the chair, dry-mouthed, while Serruto pulled Mercer aside and murmured in his ear.

Mercer came back to Garreth. “You haven’t told us everything about that day, have you, Inspector? You’ve left out the incident in the restaurant when you and Inspector Takananda went to lunch.”

Garreth stared at him, and then at Serruto. There was only one way for them to know about that. Relief and elation made him feel boneless. “Harry’s conscious? He’s talking?”

Serruto gave him a thin smile.

“Tell us about it the restaurant,” Fong said.

So overjoyed about Harry that now nothing else did matter, he told them, omitting only his knowledge of the cause. That gave them a whole new set of questions to ask, of course, hitting even harder on why he ignored the warning of that “anxiety attack” to go along on the arrest. Eventually they ran out of even those questions, returned his gun, and let him go. With instructions to come back tomorrow and sign his statement.

Serruto walked out with him. “Don’t miss your next appointment with Dr. Leonard. You understand now you’re in for a whole series of them.”

“No.” Garreth put back on his glasses. “I’m out of here.”

Serruto frowned. “Excuse me?”

“At the hospital I gave you the nearest I had to a badge. I meant it then and that hasn’t changed.” At the elevator he pushed the Down button. “I don’t deserve to be a cop and I’m resigning.”

“No,” Serruto said. “You’re too emotional right now to make decisions like that…sick about Harry, guilt-ridden — deservedly, though you might cut yourself a little slack for extenuating circumstances — angry for reasons I’ll bet you can’t articulate.”

He had that wrong. Garreth knew exactly why he was angry, and at whom.

“Take sick leave. Talk to the shrink. When your head’s straight again, then decide.”

Garreth felt too tired to argue. His head pounded. He wanted nothing more than to crawl on top of his pallet and pass out for as long as possible. “Okay, fine. Harry urged me to get away for a while. First, though, I’d like to clear my desk…finish reports I would have worked on if Barber hadn’t attacked me.” He felt no shame in pulling off his glasses, ready to exert as much persuasion as necessary.

Serruto eyed him narrow-eyed before answering. “All right…as long as that’s all you do…sit at a desk. Nothing else. Understood?”

“Yes.” That was mostly what he planned.

“Okay. We’ll get you an office key. But then, before you do anything else, you go see Harry.”

4

A pale, worn-looking Lien flew into his arms, hugging him hard. “You bastard! Why haven’t you come before? I couldn’t leave but I kept calling and calling and you never answered. I was so afraid after the way you stormed out that you’d done…something stupid!”

Beyond her, Harry looked like a cyborg, almost unrecognizable amid the tubes and monitors and eyes like bruises. He smiled weakly and whispered in a faint croak, “It’s turnabout, huh.”

Garreth broke loose from Lien to go to the bed. “I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault. You were right, I shouldn’t have been there. I fucked up. I fucked you up.”

“Mik-san…” The beeps of the heart monitor picked up in rhythm. “It’s not all your — ”

“No!” Lien cut him off. “You’re not pointing fingers today, not even at yourselves.” Lien shook Garreth’s arm. “Come sit down and relax.”

Instead, he leaned close, fighting off the hunger lit by the reek of blood. “You’re right, Harry. It isn’t all my fault. It’s Lane Barber’s…because of what she made me.”