William Rabkin - A Fatal Frame of Mind

Of course, the brass knew that. But he could practically hear the conversation in the chief’s office. Sure, he was a fine cop, but this is his son we’re talking about.

If he’d been there for the discussion, Lassiter would have made sure that everyone knew the truth-that would only make Henry Spencer more certain to make the call. Because he’d know that if Shawn was innocent, the fastest and safest way to prove that would be to turn him in.

Instead, they assumed that Henry was as weak and foolish as the average member of the citizenry. But if he were, would he be standing by the squad car, handing the officers frosty glasses of lemonade?

If Lassiter had been in charge of this investigation, things would be running differently. But he wasn’t. He wasn’t even allowed in on briefings. All because that quack of a shrink didn’t understand how a man was supposed to react to a bad situation.

Well, he was going to show her what a real man did when the chips were down.

At least he would if those two cops would move.

Lassiter needed to talk to Henry Spencer. He was the only one who would understand. But if he was spotted, word would get back to Chief Vick that he’d been at Spencer’s house, and she would leap to the assumption that he was trying to work the case even though he was on suspension.

Of course Lassiter could always do what Spencer was doing now-walk right up to the squad car and sweet-talk the surveillance team. In normal circumstances that would have been his first move. But he knew what he’d feel about any other cop-particularly one as high in the command structure as he was-who’d allowed himself to be taken hostage in his own station and been responsible for freeing a suspect wanted for murder. Lassiter wouldn’t be in a mood to do any favors for that loser. He couldn’t imagine that these two would be, either.

If only there was a burglary in the area. Or a hit and run. A flasher, even. Anything to pull those two away from Henry’s door. But this was a good neighborhood, and the presence of a squad car only made it safer. There was no way Lassiter could get to see Henry without Chief Vick finding out. He couldn’t even call. With Shawn on the wanted list, the cops would have put taps on Henry’s home and cell phones.

Henry was heading back to his house. In a second he’d be back in his comfortable living room, and Lassiter would have lost his chance. But before Spencer reached his front door, he made a hard right turn and disappeared into his garage. After a moment, Lassiter saw a glow of red. Henry’s truck was backing out.

Lassiter put his Impala back into drive and eased away from the curb as Henry headed down the street, shielding his face with his hand as he passed the two cops in the squad car. But they didn’t even glance up in his direction as he cruised past. If this were my case, I’d have those two on report, he thought. There’s no excuse for that kind of sloppiness.

Henry’s street was residential and quiet; there was no traffic in either direction. Which made it easy for Lassiter to keep Henry in sight, but also for Henry to spot him. Which might be a problem. Lassiter was certain that Spencer would be cooperating with the police in every way possible, but he was also sure Henry would draw the line at being followed wherever he went. If he called Chief Vick to complain about the tail, he was cop enough to give her Lassiter’s plate number. And there was no way he could claim this was part of his therapy.

Henry wasn’t making it any easier for Lassiter to remain inconspicuous. He couldn’t have been going faster than fifteen miles an hour. Any normal driver would have passed him right away, and all but the most saintly would have flipped him off as they did. The fact that Lassiter considered to dawdle along behind him had to look suspicious.

Henry did the full grandpa down the street for two blocks. Then he reached an intersection, and instead of slowing further to check for cross traffic, he accelerated furiously, taking the right turn at thirty-five. What the hell was he doing? Lassiter hit the gas and screamed around the corner.

And then slammed on the brake to keep from hitting Henry’s truck. It was sitting at the curb, exhaust chugging from the tailpipe. Lassiter could see Henry sitting completely still behind the wheel.

Again, Lassiter wondered what he was doing. It was possible he’d pulled over to take a cell call, but both hands were on the steering wheel, and his head wasn’t moving in the way most people’s do when they’re talking. He was just sitting in his truck.

And then he wasn’t sitting anymore. He snapped off the ignition and opened his door. Lassiter assumed he’d come to see a neighbor, although it surprised him to see that Henry would drive rather than walk such a short distance. The cop in him wanted to watch Henry to see which house he went to, but the suspended-cop part of him won out, and he slid down in his seat so that Henry wouldn’t see him.

Since he couldn’t tell which direction Henry would be going in, Lassiter decided to give it a slow ten-count before rising to look out the window again. Before he could get to eight, there was a loud rapping on the passenger’s window.

Henry Spencer was standing outside, staring down at him.

Lassiter straightened in his seat, then reached over and opened the passenger’s door. Henry got in and slammed the door closed.

“You wanted to talk to me?” Henry said.

“When did you make me?” Lassiter said.

“My house has this amazing new invention called windows,” Henry said. “I saw you pull up behind the idiots in the cruiser. I almost brought you your own glass of lemonade.”

“Did they spot me?”

Henry scowled disgustedly. “No,” he said, “and don’t think that isn’t something else I’ll be bringing up with Chief Vick.”

“Something else?” Lassiter said. “Besides what?”

“I don’t know,” Henry said. “Maybe a level of incompetent police work that was directly responsible for my son becoming a fugitive from justice.”

Lassiter’s instinct was to argue. He’d take the blame for a lot, but to make him responsible for Shawn Spencer’s irresponsibility was more than even his guilty conscience could take. One look at Henry’s face, however, suggested that if he wanted any help at all, he’d let that go unchallenged.

“I screwed everything up, Henry,” Lassiter said. “I treated Langston Kitteredge as a cooperating witness, and it never even occurred to me that he was the perp we were hunting.”

“Is that all?” Henry said.

Lassiter didn’t want to answer the question. He didn’t want to think back to that moment. He never wanted to face it again. But he needed Henry’s help. And Henry would know if he was holding something in, and then he would get out and go home without a look back.

“It’s not all,” Lassiter said. “Although God knows that was bad enough. But there was a moment when I could have turned everything around. When I could have apprehended Kitteredge and kept any of this from happening.”

“Go on,” Henry said.

Lassiter let the images from the interrogation room back into his mind. As he did, he realized how much effort he’d been putting in to keeping them out. He could feel the muscles loosen in his forehead, his temple, even his jaw. The headache he’d been fighting for days began to ease.

And he realized something else. He wanted to tell Henry Spencer about that moment.

“Kitteredge was giving his statement,” Lassiter said. “I have to admit-I wasn’t paying as much attention to what he was saying as I should have.”

“Why?”

“Believe me, if you ever talked to the man, you’d understand,” Lassiter said. “Let’s just leave it at that for the moment.”