The Overlook - Michael Connelly [77]
The crowd moved by, and then Bosch looked around the pillar. The market was now empty. There was no sign of Maxwell but then Bosch picked up movement in one of the cold cases that fronted a butcher shop at the end of the aisle. He looked again closely and realized that the movement came from behind the case. Looking through the front and back glass panels and over the display of cuts of beef and pork, Bosch could see Maxwell’s face. He was on the ground, leaning his back against a refrigerator in the rear of the butcher shop.
“He’s up ahead in the butcher shop,” he whispered to Walling. “You go to the right and down that aisle. You’ll be able to come up on his right.”
“What about you?”
“I’ll go straight on and get his attention.”
“Or we could wait for backup.”
“I’m not waiting.”
“I didn’t think so.”
“Ready?”
“No, switch. I go head-on and get his attention and you come around the side.”
Bosch knew it was the better plan because she knew Maxwell and Maxwell knew her. But it also meant she would face the most danger.
“You sure?” he asked.
“Yes. It’s right.”
Bosch looked around the pillar one more time and saw that Maxwell had not moved. His face looked red and sweaty. Bosch looked back at Walling.
“He’s still there.”
“Good. Let’s do it.”
They separated and started moving. Bosch quickly moved down an aisle of concessions one over from the aisle that ended at the butcher shop. When he came to the end he was at a Mexican coffee shop with high walls. He was able to protect himself and look around the corner at the butcher shop. This gave him a side view behind the counter. He saw Maxwell twenty feet away. He was slouched against the refrigerator door, still holding his weapon in two hands. His shirt was completely soaked in blood.
Bosch leaned back into cover, gathered himself and got ready to step out and approach Maxwell. But then he heard Walling’s voice.
“Cliff? It’s me, Rachel. Let me get you some help.”
Bosch looked around the corner. Walling was standing out in the open five feet in front of the deli counter, her gun down at her side.
“There is no help,” Maxwell said. “It’s too late for me.”
Bosch recognized that if Maxwell wanted to take a shot at her the bullet would have to go through both the front and back glass panels of the deli case. With the front plate set at an angle it would take a miracle bullet to get to her. But miracles did happen. Bosch raised his weapon, braced it against the wall and was ready to shoot if he needed to.
“Come on, Cliff,” Walling said. “Give it up. Don’t end it like this.”
“No other way.”
Maxwell’s body was suddenly racked by a deep, wet coughing. Blood came to his lips.
“Jesus, that guy really got me,” he said before coughing again.
“Cliff?” Walling pleaded. “Let me come in there. I want to help.”
“No, you come in and I’m going to—”
His words were lost when he opened fire on the deli case, sweeping his gun and shooting out the glass doors all the way down. Rachel ducked and Bosch stepped out and straightened his arms in a two-handed grip. He held himself from shooting but keyed on the barrel of Maxwell’s weapon. If the muzzle zeroed in on Walling he was going to shoot Maxwell in the head.
Maxwell lowered his weapon to his lap and started to laugh, blood rolling down from both corners of his mouth and creating a freak clown look.
“I think . . . I think I just killed a porterhouse.”
He laughed again but it made him start to cough once more and that looked painful. When it subsided he spoke.
“I just want to say . . . that it was her. She wanted him dead. I just . . . I just wanted her. That’s all. But she wouldn’t have it any other way . . .