us.”
Vail managed a slight chuckle. “The offender probably did this whole thing with Robert for two reasons. One you know-to fuck with us. Show his superiority. The other was…to keep us occupied.”
“Occupied?” Dixon asked. “Occupied while he did what?”
“Exactly,” Vail said. “That’s the problem. I have a feeling some bad shit’s gonna go down.”
The male medic who was hunched over Friedberg’s left arm straightened up. “IV line established.”
“Hang saline and give him O2,” the woman said as she applied a compressive pack to Friedberg’s leg. “Neuro intact. No other wounds. Looks like he might’ve nicked the femoral.” She turned to Vail while she finished wrapping the bandage. “The Inspector probably would’ve bled out if you didn’t get him out of there when you did.”
Thanks, lady. But I was more worried about the goddamn cable severing his head.
“Vitals stable.” The male medic placed the oxygen mask over Friedberg’s face. “Ready to transport.”
The medics moved to either end of the gurney, released the legs, and then pushed it into the open ambulance bay.
As the woman grabbed the right door to swing it closed, she said, “Anyone riding with him?”
“Yes…” Friedberg said weakly, the clear plastic mask riding up and down with the motion of his jaw.
“I’ll go,” Vail said. “Burden-I think you should come too. Roxx, you wanna follow in the car? See if you can reach Carondolet and Yeung, maybe they’ve got something on Hartman’s phone.”
Vail and Burden climbed in behind the male paramedic, who sat at Friedberg’s head. He immediately began adjusting the IV line and the two hanging bags.
“So weak,” Friedberg said.
The man reached across Friedberg’s body and reseated his oxygen mask. “You’re one tough hombre, Inspector. To think clearly, let alone talk-pretty impressive. Soon as we get your fluid levels up, you’ll feel a little stronger.”
Vail leaned a hand on the gurney’s frame. “Can you tell us what happened? Did you see the offender?”
“Smoke. Want…one.”
The medic swiveled, nearly knocking out the IV. “A cigarette? Are you crazy?”
Friedberg lifted the left corner of his mouth in a one-sided grin, then rolled his head toward Vail. “Thanks. For saving my life.”
She lifted the mask an inch away from his mouth. “Tell us about the offender.”
“Hit from behind, never saw him. Woke up in a dark place. Never spoke.”
“Any idea where he had you?” Burden asked.
“Oil smell, grease. Heard noises…but he had something over my ears.” Friedberg closed his eyes.
Vail looked over at Burden. “The cable car barn?”
Friedberg said, “He moved me once-no, twice, I think. Gave me something, drugged me.”
“How long’s he gonna be laid up?” Burden asked the medic.
“The doc’s gonna be able to give you a much better answer. But assuming no internal injuries, infections, or neurological damage, two to three days. Best case.”
Friedberg closed his eyes again. “Sorry.”
“You’ve got nothing to be sorry about,” Vail said. She rested a hand on his shoulder. “Get your strength back. We need you. Apparently, the offender is fixated on San Francisco bakeries.”
“Bakeries.” Friedberg’s eyes opened. “I’m reading a book-”
“I know.” Vail grinned, then gently set the mask back in place. “Get better. And get back on the street.”
Vail and Burden left Friedberg at the entrance to the Saint Francis Memorial Hospital emergency room. Dixon, following in the Taurus, swung by and rolled down her window. “Get in-we’ve got something.”
She didn’t need to say it twice. The moment Burden hit the backseat and Vail the front, Dixon accelerated.
“Yeung got Hartman’s cell phone logs. He’s working on it with our guys at Bryant Street, but I can tell you one name stood out like a bullet hole in the forehead.”
“Someone we know?” Burden asked.
“Stephen Scheer.”
Vail’s mouth dropped open. She immediately held up her hands. “Hold on. Let’s think this through before we pull the trigger. They both live in San Francisco, Hartman handled major crimes and Scheer’s a police reporter for a major newspaper. Maybe Hartman had a case Scheer was covering.”
Dixon, driving twice the speed limit and weaving through the light traffic, was nodding at each of Vail’s suggestions. But then she said, “Certainly possible, and very logical. But it doesn’t appear to be the case. The calls all came within the last few days. And all of them were before you got that note from the offender.”
That’s not good.
“As if that’s not enough, his last call was tonight. While we were at Alcatraz.”
Burden grabbed the front seat and pulled himself forward. “That’s who called Hartman when he left the cellhouse?”
“Looks like it.”
Can that be? Was I standing right next to the offender and didn’t see it? Is that possible? No. Yes.
“Where’s he now?” Burden asked.
“Funny you should ask,” Dixon said, blaring her horn at a truck that pulled in front of her. “Yeung and Carondolet are on their way to Scheer’s house right now. And, coincidentally, so are we.”
THEY ARRIVED AT THE NARROW two-story home on College Avenue in Berkeley twenty minutes later. A Ford was double-parked haphazardly, blocking the narrow street.
