good-sized, the other even larger, emerged from the darkened hall and were silhouetted in the doorframe. He knew who they were right away, and their presence froze his blood.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” he snapped, hoping the anger masked his fear.
“Just so you know, we knocked and the door pushed open, so we entered,” Behr, the investigator, said.
“Bullshit,” Riggi practically shouted. He could see down the hall that the bookshelves in his study were swung out from the wall. The quiet partner stood behind Behr, one hand balled into a fist, the other clenching one of his folders. A wave of panic hit Riggi low in the gut, and he fought a sudden dizziness.
“Time to talk, Riggi.”
“You sick son of a bitch.” The quiet one finally spoke, his words a snarl coming from deep in his throat. The man stepped around his partner toward him.
Riggi began backing away toward the kitchen. “I ’ m calling the cops,” he said, his last word hanging in the air over the sound of his feet scuffing over the floor as he turned and ran.
He flew through the door into the garage and slid into his car. He barked the tires against the painted garage floor and chunked the car into gear, ripping out of his driveway. He turned right onto the street, made another right at the corner, checked his rearview, and saw them running across a lawn after him. He glanced back at the road in time to miss a gardener ’ s truck that was double-parked by a neighbor ’ s. He sped onto Bayhill Drive. He had no idea where he was going.
The way to catch somebody, Behr reminded himself, is to stay calm and remain objective. It went for running down evidence, same as it did for a car chase, and while breaking into Riggi ’ s house might have showed judgment affected by emotion, he was determined not to let it interfere now. They ran across the lawn toward the car, Paul clutching a folder. It would have been better to leave it behind, but there was no time to go back and return it. They couldn ’ t afford to wait for Riggi to go lawyer up and use the cops against them. When they got in and he turned the engine over, Behr spent the extra five seconds it took to buckle his seat belt.
“Put it on,” he instructed Paul, not waiting for him to do so. His injured arm throbbed as he spun the wheel and gave chase down Heatherstone.
Behr kept his car up well and the automatic transmission shifted smoothly, pressing their backs against the seats. He could see Riggi up ahead, maybe six hundred yards away, just making the turn onto Bayhill. The important thing when chasing someone in a car is to drive faster than he or she does on the straights, and for longer, then brake harder going into the turns in order to take them at the same speed. Behr had learned and practiced the technique in weekend driving courses over the past decade of his life. He was driving with both feet now, left on the brake, right on the accelerator, so he could keep up his RPMs even as he was finishing braking on the turns. The net result was a gain of two hundred yards on Riggi ’ s car. They were on the same block now. Behr cut his eyes left and right as he crossed an intersection, as much looking for oncoming cars as for police on patrol. If the cops got involved, it would be trouble. There was no good way to explain what they were doing and it could result in an arrest. He didn ’ t look forward to it for himself, and it would kill what was left of his reputation in the business if Paul was brought in, too. He looked over at his passenger. Paul was sunk low into his seat, one hand gripping the armrest on the door, the other braced against the dash. He didn ’ t utter a sound, nor did he look frightened. He peered out the windshield with the intent eyes of a hunter. Riggi ’ s car went loose on the next corner, the rear end swinging wide as he took the turn.
Riggi did not know what a thirty-second lead meant in a car chase. He thought it ’ d be enough time to turn a few corners and leave them completely behind. Moments later he saw he was wrong — a maroon Olds filled his mirrors.
“Damnit,” he said, slapping the wheel and mashing the pedal, asking the Cutlass for speed. The car was a beast on straight shots. The thing quartered in some ridiculous time — fourteen or fifteen seconds flat — but corners weren ’ t the American car ’ s strength. He made several turns as fast as he could, glancing back to see Behr ’ s Olds getting closer, looming larger after each one. He tried to think of where to go. He could head for his attorney ’ s office, but it was a good half hour away even at this speed. His thoughts narrowed, as did his vision, and he was unable to think ahead. Destinations left his mind, as did any plan, as did a good choice of route, as did the next turn, and everything else but the blacktop streaking underneath his tires.
The back end swung out going around the corner onto Hazel Dell Parkway. Riggi oversteered in correction and swept the side of a parked Explorer. It changed the angle of the front end and sent him up over a high curb. He felt the front tires blow as he hit the curb, then the car got air and began a yawning roll. White sky filled the front windshield. I ’ m going passed through his mind, and then there was brown tree and green grass. The caustic smell of radiator fluid filled his world. The sound of crushing metal and glass seemed to catch up a moment later and washed over him. Then there was blackness.
TWENTY-NINE
Behr pulled over and left his car idling. Paul was a step behind him as they crossed to Riggi ’ s wrecked vehicle. The car was upside down, dripping colored liquids, the tires slowly spinning down. A broken and bloodied Riggi lay half out of the driver ’ s-side window, the steering wheel lodged in his midsection. The windshield was blown out. From the looks of things, Riggi hadn ’ t been wearing a seat belt and his head had done that work. Drivers began to pull over and gawk at the carnage. Behr took out his cell phone and dialed 911, wondering if Riggi was dead already, when he began to stir. Behr asked for an ambulance and gave the address, then shut off his phone just as Riggi ’ s eyes opened and rolled around a little, struggling for focus. Then his right hand reached out across the torn-up grass. Behr tracked what he was going for, but Paul saw it first: a crucifix attached to a rosary that had been flung free of the wreck. Paul kneeled and picked up the beads, clenching them in his fist out of Riggi ’ s reach.
It was clear the man was dying, and Behr girded himself for what he had to do. He squatted close to the man ’ s bloody face.
“You use the medical offices in your centers to target kids?” he asked.
Riggi shook his head weakly from side to side.
“What do you do with them?” Behr asked, insistent.
Bad. I know it. I ’ m dying. Things were broken and winding down deep inside of him. His thoughts were disconnected from his words. He didn ’ t feel he could work his mouth. If only he could ’ ve reached his rosary, perhaps he wouldn ’ t pass on to damnation. He looked up at the quiet one, who held them, and mouthed the words, “Who are you?” No answer came, and he wondered if he ’ d spoken at all.
Light clouds moved across a pale sky. Blades of grass near his face stirred in a faint breeze. His mind drifted to Ramon Ponceterra, to the recent and future orders that would remain unfilled. He was slapped across the face a few times and he felt himself returning once again.
“Do you kill them when you ’ re done with them?” the big one asked, breathing old coffee in his face.
No answer came from Riggi, just shallow breathing.
“C ’ mon, it ’ s over for you. Give,” Behr said, demanding information even though it caused his stomach to churn.
“They ’ re gone,” Riggi rasped.
For some reason Behr didn ’ t think he meant that he ’ d killed them. “You keep them somewhere to use, is that it?”
Riggi shook his head again and spent a precious breath saying, “No.”
Behr felt weak and wondered whether he could do what he had to do. He reached out and grabbed Riggi ’ s jaw. “Do you want me to make this last moment painful for you?” Riggi was probably beyond pain, but Behr squeezed up under the man ’ s trachea hard, wondering the whole time if it would do any good besides causing him to relive the deed for the rest of his life. Riggi ’ s eyes changed, though, and the act dislodged a statement.
“They ’ re worth more to me than you could pay.”
Behr and Paul looked at each another in horror at the words.
The tumblers in Behr ’ s mind clicked like a series in a combination and understanding came to him. “Because you sell them,” he said.
Riggi blinked. The lying went out of his eyes. It was a yes.
