Джеймс Паттерсон - Liar Liar

‘Harriet Blue is a dangerous individual.’ Woods stood, his barrel chest expanding. ‘While we have not set up this sting to catch her specifically, I anticipate that she’ll come wandering in making a hysterical show of herself, just the way you have, Morris. And I intend on taking her into custody for her own safety and the safety of the man she’s come here to kill. We can apply any relevant charges later. For now, Blue is a danger to herself and a danger to others.’

‘This is bullshit.’ Pops rubbed at his chest, where a familiar ache was beginning. ‘If she does turn up, and she gets killed because of your mistrust of her –’

‘Keep your voice down. You’re –’

‘I’ll be right there at the inquiry, Joe,’ Pops snarled, pointing a finger in the bigger man’s face. ‘I’ll be right there to tell everyone how you handled this.’

‘It’s a date,’ Woods said.

Pops felt a spike of pain run up his ribs. He tried to catch his breath but the air moved through his lips in short, strangled gasps.

‘Give me time to go out there,’ Pops said. ‘I’ll find her. I’ll call her in.’ Woods looked at one of the men over Pops’s shoulder and jutted his chin, a signal. Pops tried to turn, but found his arm seized and twisted behind his back.

‘You can’t –’ he gasped.

‘You’re a suspended officer,’ Woods repeated. He waved at the men behind Pops. ‘Put him somewhere he can’t cause any trouble.’

Pops didn’t struggle as they dragged him away. He was too focused on the straight, tight band of pain spreading across his upper chest.

Chapter

88

I HADN’T SET many traps for offenders during my career in Sex Crimes. Rapists are cowards, and tend to want to fight their way out of trouble in the courtroom, rather than in the street the way drug dealers and thrill killers do. But when I was in basic training, and in my time as a beat cop, there had been plenty of capture-and-chase scenarios.

The first step was to establish the most likely route of entry. The only way to get to the bottom of the valley by vehicle was along the badly disused road running west to east, which had long grown over with towering wild grass and had become misshapen by mudslides over the years. Woods’s team would probably assume Regan would walk or drive in along this road, if he didn’t spot the trap set for him, as I had. There would be a vehicle hidden in the bush off the side of this road that would drive forward and block his exit once he arrived. That meant that there would likely be two men at the road, and eight or so positioned in a semi-circle around the back of the property in the east. The men waiting in the east for Regan’s capture would be within earshot of each other, as would be the men manning the block truck.

That left one man alone. The scout. In training, we’d always put the smallest or least experienced man in the scout position, because all he was required to do was wait outside the danger zone, watching, alerting the team to the target’s arrival. The scout would be high up in the valley, close enough to the road that he could see exactly who was coming in, so that he didn’t command the whole team to attack an innocent bystander. I turned and headed silently through the forest towards the road.

The moon rose. Through the trees as I walked around the curve of the valley, I could see on the valley floor a space cleared of trees where tall grass grew around the charred remains of a house. Pops had been right. The house had been lost. It had been small, a cottage maybe, the foundations thick blocks of sandstone. Whatever this place was, it had not been Regan’s childhood home, or the home of any relative of his. He’d never been fostered by a family who lived here, and yet this was the place where something so terrible had happened to Regan, his parents had instantly lost custody of him. They’d never regained it, and it had been all but erased from history.

Regan wanted me to know what had happened here.

He’d wanted me to discover this place, to arrive stripped of the layers of myself, so that when I stood in the charred remains of the house I was the real me.

The bad Harry. Murderous, vengeful. Just like him.

But when would Regan meet me here? And what did he plan to do when we finally looked each other in the eyes? For all I knew, Regan had already come, been intimidated by the police presence and left. He’d said that he was running out of time. How much time did I have left?

In the darkness ahead of me, I heard a sound. The soft, unmistakable crackle of a radio.

Chapter

89

THE YOUNG MAN was crouched at the edge of a rock ledge, looking down at the road, his rifle leaning against his thigh. I stood in the dark and watched him for a long while, trying to get a feel for my opponent. He was big, but young and inexperienced. Though I could only see the outline of his face as he turned in the moonlight, I saw pudgy, hairless cheeks and big lashes. He wasn’t the best lookout I’d ever observed. The heavy tactical gear was annoying him. He kept adjusting something near his crotch, and the cold was making his nose run. He sniffed, wiped his nose on the back of his wrist, took his eyes completely off the roadway for a full ten seconds. I pulled my gun from the back of my jeans and walked towards him, rolling my feet slowly on the dirt so that I didn’t make a sound. I reached down and twisted the power off on his radio. He heard the click in his earpiece, but by that time I had the gun pressed firmly against the back of his neck.

‘Stand up slowly,’ I said.

He didn’t stand up slowly. Young blood, full of testoster-one and the call of the crime-fighting hero. He swivelled in a flash and smacked the gun away. I wasn’t ready for it, lost the weapon and stumbled backwards as he launched himself at me. He connected, knocking the wind out of me, both of us scrabbling in the dirt for the gun at his hip. I brought my knee up and hit only buckles, hard plastic, the scratchy surface of Kevlar. The big hand that mashed my face, pinning my head against the dirt, was strong as a steel claw. I fumbled in the dirt for something, a rock or a stick to lash out at him with, but he rolled me before I could find a weapon and tried to draw my arm up behind my back.

‘I got you,’ he said, his voice almost breaking with laughter. ‘I got –’

I bucked wildly, taking advantage of the mistake he’d made leaning down to talk to me. I felt the impact of the back of my head against his mouth, not hard, but hard enough to shock him. His hands loosened. I slithered from beneath him and grabbed my gun just as he grabbed his.

‘Don’t,’ I said, flicking the safety off with an audible snap.

His face fell.

Chapter

90

HE LAY ON the ground and breathed shallowly as I put his own cuffs on him. Even in the low light, I could see how disappointed he was with his predicament. He was limp and silent as I took his tactical knife and both his pistols and unhooked his radio, dragging the cord from inside his bulletproof vest.

‘How does a baby like you get on a team like this?’ I asked as I tucked the guns into my backpack.

‘I’m twenty-two,’ he growled.

‘The question stands.’

He sighed, resigned. ‘My dad’s a chief super. I’m third generation.’

‘Well, if I was you, I’d tell Daddy to let you sharpen your teeth on the streets a bit longer before you start trying to hunt serial killers.’

The officer said nothing.

‘How many in your team?’ I asked. Again, no answer. I nudged the young man with my gun. ‘Hey, rookie. Lesson one: someone’s got a gun in your ear, you answer their fucking questions.’

‘Twelve.’

‘They’re across the other side, huh?’ I said. ‘Two on a block truck down on the road?’