The Narrows - Michael Connelly [130]
“There.”
“Bob, we did a lot of good work together. Why are you doing this?”
He looked down at her and smiled.
“I don’t know. But let’s talk about it later. I have to finish with Detective Thomas. It’s been a long time coming for him and me. And just think, Rachel, you get to watch. What a rare opportunity for you.”
Backus turned to Thomas. He stepped over and yanked the gag out of his mouth. He then reached into his pocket and pulled out a folding knife. He opened it and in one swift movement sliced through the cuff holding Thomas’s right arm to the chair.
“Now, where were we, Detective Thomas? Line three, I believe.”
“More like the end of the line.”
Rachel recognized Bosch’s voice from behind her. But when she turned to look for him the chair back was too high.
I HELD THE GUN STEADY, trying to figure out the best way to handle him.
“Harry,” Rachel called out calmly. “He’s got a gun in his left and a knife in his right. He’s right-handed.”
I steadied my aim and told him to put the weapons down. He complied without hesitation. This gave me pause, as if he was moving too quickly to plan B. Was there another weapon? Another killer in the house?
“Rachel, Ed, you all right?”
“We’re fine,” Rachel said. “Put him on the ground, Harry. He’s got snap-cuffs in his pocket.”
“Rachel, where’s your gun?”
“In the other room. Put him down on the ground, Harry.”
I took a step further into the room but then paused to study Backus. He had changed again. He no longer looked like the man who had called himself Shandy. No beard, no hat over gray hair. His face and head were shaved. He looked completely different.
I took another step but stopped again. I suddenly thought about Terry McCaleb and his wife and his daughter and his stepson. I thought about the shared mission and what had been lost. How many bad men would roam the world free because Terry was taken away? A rage as strong as the river built inside me. I didn’t want to put Backus on the ground, cuff him and watch him driven away in a patrol car to a life behind bars of celebrity attention and fascination. I wanted to take from him everything he had taken from my friend and all of the others.
“You killed my friend,” I said. “For that you —”
“Harry, don’t,” Rachel said.
“I’m sorry,” Backus said. “But I’ve been kind of busy. Who might your friend be?”
“Terry McCaleb. He was your friend, too, and you —”
“Actually, I wanted to take care of Terry. Yes, he had the potential of becoming a stone in my shoe. But I —”
“Shut up, Bob!” Rachel yelled. “You couldn’t carry Terry’s lunch. Harry, this is too dangerous. Put him down! Do it now!”
I broke off my rage and focused on the moment at hand. Terry McCaleb retreated in the gloom. I stepped toward Backus, wondering what Rachel was telling me. Put him down? Did she want me to shoot him?
I took two more steps.
“Get on the ground,” I ordered. “Away from the weapons.”
“Whatever you say.”
He turned as if to move away from where he had dropped his weapons and to choose a spot to get down.
“Do you mind, there’s a puddle here. Leaky fireplace.”
Without waiting for an answer from me he took a step toward the window. And I suddenly saw it. I knew what he was going to do.
“Backus, no!”
But my words did not stop him. He planted his foot and dove headfirst into the window. Its framework softened by years of sunlight and rains like this day’s, the window gave way as easily as a Hollywood prop. Wood splintered and glass shattered as his body went through. I quickly ran to the opening and saw the immediate muzzle flash from Backus’s second gun. Plan B.
Two quick pops and I heard the bullets zing by and hit the ceiling above and behind me. I ducked back behind the wall and fired off two quick returns without looking. I then dropped to the floor, crawled beneath the window and came up on the other side. I looked out and Backus was gone. On the ground I saw a little two-shot derringer. His second had been a little vest gun and he was now unarmed, unless there was a plan C.
“Harry, the knife,” Rachel called from behind me. “Cut