Майкл Коннелли - Fair Warning

I turned to look out the back window and saw headlights sweep across the roadway as a car slowly made the turn and followed us onto Tyrone.

“There he is,” I said.

Rachel glanced back and then forward, obviously better versed in this maneuver than I was.

“Where’s the cutoff?” she asked.

“Coming up,” Amin said.

I scanned through all the windows, wondering what the cutoff meant. Just as we passed an opening on our right I saw the lights of a car backed into a driveway flash on. The car then lurched into the street behind us and stopped dead in front of the tail car, creating a barrier between us and the tail. I watched it all through the back window. Simultaneously, another car pulled from a driveway behind the tail car, boxing it in.

I saw agents tumble out of the two passenger-side doors of the first car and take cover behind the front of it. I assumed the same happened with the car on the other side of the box.

Amin kept driving, putting more distance between us and the takedown operation.

“Stop here!” Rachel yelled. “Stop!”

Ignoring Rachel, Amin started to bring the van to a slow stop as we reached the terminus of the street at a fence that enclosed the concrete aqueduct known as the Los Angeles River. Rachel was reaching for the release on the side door before he brought it to a halt.

“Stay in the van,” Amin said. “Stay in the van!”

“Bullshit,” Rachel said. “If it’s him, I want to see this.”

She jumped out the door.

“Goddamn it,” Amin said.

He jumped out next and pointed through his open door at me. “You stay right there,” he said.

He headed off after Rachel up the street. I waited a beat before deciding that I wasn’t going to miss this either.

“Fuck that.”

I climbed through the door Rachel had left open. Looking around, I saw Rachel up near the blockade. Amin was right behind her. I moved over to the right sidewalk and started up the street behind the cover of the cars parked along the curb.

The horseshoe was now lit by headlights and the spotlight of a helicopter that had swung in from over the freeway. I heard the shouts of men in the street up ahead, rising in urgency.

Then I heard one word clearly and repeated by many voices. “Gun!”

A volley of shots immediately followed. Too many to separate and count. All within five, maybe ten seconds. I instinctively ducked behind the line of cars on the curb but kept moving up the street.

The gunfire ended and I straightened up and kept moving, my eyes scanning now for Rachel to make sure she was safe. I didn’t see her anywhere.

After an eerie silence the shouting started again and I heard the all-clear signal.

When I got to the box I cut between two cars and into the light from above.

The man from the bar was faceup on the ground next to the open door of an old Toyota. I saw gunshot wounds on his left hand and arm, his chest and neck. He was dead, his eyes open and vacantly staring up at the helicopter above. An agent in an FBI raid jacket was standing eight feet away, his feet spread on either side of a chrome-plated pistol lying on the ground.

When he turned slightly I saw it was the agent I had met after Roger Vogel had been run over by the Shrike. Metz.

And he saw me.

“Hey, McEvoy!” he yelled. “Get back! Get the fuck back!”

I raised my hands wide to show innocence. Metz signaled to another agent standing nearby.

“Get him back to the van,” he ordered.

The agent moved toward me. He grabbed me by the arm, but I jerked free and looked at Metz.

“Metz, you gotta be kidding!” I yelled.

The agent moved in to grab me more aggressively. Metz left his position over the gun and moved toward me, holding his hand up to stop the agent.

“I’ll handle it,” Metz said. “Watch the weapon.”

The agent changed direction and Metz came up to me. He did not touch me but spread his hands as if to block my view of the man on the ground behind him.

“Jack, look, you can’t be here,” he said. “This is a crime scene.”

“What happened?” I asked. “Where’s Rachel?”

“Rachel, I don’t know. But Jack, you gotta move back. Let us do our job here and then we’ll talk.”

“He pulled a gun?”

“Jack...”

“Was it him? The Shrike didn’t use a gun.”

“Jack, listen to me. We are not talking about this right now. Let us work the scene and then we’ll talk. Get back on the sidewalk now or we are going to have a problem. You’ve been warned.”

“I’m media. I have a right to be here.”

“You do, but not in the middle of the fucking crime scene. I’m really losing my patience with—”

“Jack—”

We both turned. Rachel was standing between two parked cars behind me.

“Rachel, get him out now or bail him out later,” Metz said.

“Jack, come on,” she said.

She waved me to her. I looked back at the dead man on the ground and then turned and walked toward her. She moved between the two cars and up onto the sidewalk. I followed.

“Did you see the shooting?” I asked.

“I just saw him go down,” she said.

“He had a gun. That’s not—”

“I know. We’ll get answers but we have to back off and let them do their thing.”

“This is crazy. Twenty minutes ago, the guy was sitting there in the bar right across from us. Now he’s dead. I just realized, I’ve got to call Myron. I’ve got to tell him we have one more story to do.”

“Let’s just wait on that, Jack. Let them do their work and then let’s see what Metz says.”

“All right, all right.”

I raised my hands in surrender. And then I spoke without thinking about the content or consequences of what I said.

“I’m going to ask him about that day, too. Metz. See if he denies it was a setup.”

Rachel turned and looked at me. She didn’t say anything at first. She just slowly shook her head.

“You idiot,” she said. “You did it again.”

An Ohio man stalking an investigator on the Shrike serial killer case was cut down in a volley of FBI gunfire in Sherman Oaks last night when he drew a weapon and pointed it at agents who had cornered him, federal authorities said.

Robinson Felder, 35, of Dayton, was killed at 8:30 p.m. on Tyrone Avenue just north of the 101 Freeway. Agent Matthew Metz said Felder had been following Rachel Walling, a private investigator who had played a pivotal role three months ago in revealing the killing spree of a murder suspect known as the Shrike.

Metz said that evidence collected from Felder’s car indicated that he was involved in online groups that have idolized the Shrike in the months since his killing spree was revealed. Metz said the evidence, most of which was found on a laptop computer and Felder’s online history, excluded him from possibly being the Shrike himself.

FBI agents stopped Felder on the dead-end street and ordered him out of his car. Metz said Felder initially complied but then pulled a gun from his waistband once he had stepped out of his car. Metz said Felder pointed the weapon at agents, provoking fire from several of them. Felder was fatally wounded and died at the scene.

In addition to the weapon recovered at the scene, agents found what they called an abduction-and-torture kit in Felder’s car, Metz said. He described the kit as a duffel bag containing zip ties and duct tape as well as rope, a knife, pliers, and a small acetylene torch.

“We believe his intentions were to abduct and kill Ms. Walling,” Metz said.