Day of the Dead - J. A. Jance [143]
Behind him, he heard the faintest wail of a siren. Maybe Brian had managed to summon help after all. If that was the case, using the Suburban as a roadblock hadn’t been such a smart idea after all. It might keep the Strykers from getting back on the highway, but it would sure as hell keep backup from getting through as well.
Great planning, Brandon told himself grimly. Hell of a good plan!
Come on, PeeWee,” Brian shouted at his partner. “Brandon needs help.”
Clambering up and over a mountain of spilled gravel, he saw the two cars—Brandon’s dark green Suburban and a white sedan—sitting nose to nose. Brian set off at a gallop, but even as he did so, he knew that with him on foot, they were too far away—much too far.
Loping down the highway, Brian heard the sickening sounds of gunfire. Pop. Pop. Pop. He tried not to think about what that meant. He kept running, juggling his cell phone as he went.
“Nine one one. What are you reporting?”
“Shots fired,” Brian gasped into the phone. “Officer needs assistance.”
He saw a cloud of steam billowing from under the Suburban’s hood. He saw the Lexus take off. He heard more shots and saw puffs of smoke as Brandon returned fire. The Lexus wavered and slowed, but it didn’t stop. Brian kept running, but he wasn’t close to making up the distance when Brandon shoved the steaming Suburban into reverse, turned, and took off after the Lexus.
Brian stopped then. There was no use running anymore. He would never catch them. He stood doubled over, breathing heavily.
“Sir,” a tiny voice whispered to him from very far away. “Are you still there? Sir?”
He looked down. His cell phone was still clutched in his doubled fist. “Yes,” he gasped. “I’m here.”
“What is your position? Are you at the scene of the gravel-truck rollover?”
“Yes. No. I’m on Highway 79, but I’m a quarter mile or more north of the gravel truck. I’m Detective Brian Fellows of the Pima County Sheriff’s Department. An armed homicide suspect is fleeing northbound on Highway 79. A private citizen—a private investigator—is in pursuit.”
“A DPS unit is on its way, coming southbound from Red Rock. It should be there in a few minutes.”
“Good,” Brian managed. “Maybe he can intercept them, but remember to tell him ‘Shots fired.’ The guy in the Lexus should be considered armed and dangerous.”
Two more southbound vehicles went past, but Brian made no effort to flag them down. Instead, he started back toward the gravel truck—toward PeeWee and the Crown Vic’s police radio. With that he’d have a better idea of what was going on.
It was only a matter of two or three minutes until he heard the wail of a distant siren. At first Brian wasn’t sure if it was from emergency vehicles arriving at the gravel truck from the other direction or the DPS unit responding from Red Rock. As it came closer and closer, though, he realized it was coming toward him from the north, and it didn’t turn off. When Brian saw the flashing lights, he realized that the State Patrol officer must have disregarded his request to intercept the fleeing Lexus.
Brian Fellows stepped onto the pavement and waved frantically. The cruiser screeched to a stop. The passenger-side window rolled down and a female officer peered out at him. “What’s the problem?” she asked.
“Didn’t you get the call?” Brian demanded. “I sent word for you to intercept a pair of homicide suspects fleeing north in a Lexus.”
“You’re Detective Fellows, then?” she asked, which meant she had gotten the message. Why the hell had she ignored it? Brian nodded.
“I’m Officer Downs,” she said, unlocking the door. “Get in. I never saw any Lexus.”
“What about a Suburban, then?” he asked as he clambered into the vehicle. “A green Suburban driven by a private detective. It would have been smoking. I think the suspect nailed the radiator to put it out of commission.”
Officer Downs was already turning her vehicle around. “Oh,” she said. “I saw that.”
“The Suburban?”
She nodded.
“Where?