Ridley Pearson - Chain of Evidence

Dart felt his heart jump. Zeller knew all the right buttons to push …

“You are not gonna bring me in for this. That ain’t gonna happen. So you have to do it, big fella. No aiming that thing as some kind of threat, because it ain’t no threat to me, it’s the solution. You got it?” He waited for Dart to respond, but his patience ran out. “You got it?” he repeated, shouting. “Pull the fucking trigger, Ivy.” He said more loudly, “Pull the fucking trigger before I dust you, asshole.” The end of the shotgun rotated an inch, trained on Dart’s throat. “From here I can take your head clean off your body. You thought about that?”

“It crossed my mind,” Dart hollered.

“So pull the fucking trigger.” Again he waited. “I’ve been inside the system, Ivy. I’m not going through that.” He added, “Not even for something I believe in.”

Dart’s eyes stung. He felt so angry at the man.

Zeller bellowed, “There was a time I wanted to recruit you. Can you imagine that? I convinced myself that you could-that you would -help. But then I feared that Boy Scout attitude of yours. You live in a fucking bubble, Ivy: righteous ignorance. You’re your own morality play. You want to know why Ginny left you? Because you’re too good. You protect this image of yourself. Fuck the image, Ivy.”

Dart felt absolutely still all of a sudden. He could hear the traffic through the wall and, far in the distance, something dripping. The air felt hot and incredibly thin. His finger begged him to squeeze the trigger. It was as if, for a moment, he had connected with God. He had never been in this place before.

“Nice try,” Dart said, realizing that Zeller was attempting to trick him into firing.

“You don’t get it, do you? You still don’t fucking get it! You think you’re so fucking smart, Mr. Detective? Let me tell you something: I avoided your shift because I didn’t want you becoming lead-not on any of them. Give me a Kowalski or a Thompson, but keep me away from Joe Dartelli. Not because you’re such hot shit-but because you’re so well trained ,” said the man who had trained him. Zeller smirked, pleased with himself.

Dart glanced toward the wall, wondering if he could roll fast enough….

“You so much as twitch,” Zeller declared, “and Doc Ray is going to need a sponge mop to bring you home.”

“They’re trying to help,” Dart said. If he was going to be accused of being overly righteous, then he was going to speak his mind.

“Martinson?” Zeller asked. He smiled. Dart knew that smile-it was Zeller’s unforgiving smile, the one that gave way to the anger and fury. “You’re going to tell me about Arielle Martinson? You were always so fucking naive. I thought we broke you of that.” He blinked rapidly. Maybe he had lost enough blood to pass out. “Righteous and naive. You shoulda been a fucking minister, you know that?” Moving the weapon back toward Dart’s eyes, he said dryly, “And no fucking sense of humor either.”

“The suicides were meant to make them scrub the testing,” Dart said, trying to buy himself some time, to find some way out of this. He was not going to shoot Zeller; he was determined to bring him up on charges.

“Gold fucking star, Ivy.” He blinked rapidly again. “And why the fuck would I want to do that?”

If Zeller blinked repeatedly like that again, Dart thought he might manage to knock the shotgun barrel toward the wall. But far enough? he wondered. The spray pattern of a shotgun was far wider than its small barrel opening.

“I know what you’re thinking, because I know you , Ivy. You’re so fucking predictable. That’s your problem. You’re thinking I flipped out; you’re thinking it’s for Lucky-God rest her sweet soul.” This last bit was said in the true voice of Walter Zeller-the Zeller who Dart knew and respected. “But you don’t know shit.” He offered Dart a look of disappointment and said, “Martinson was raped while at the university. Cut up bad.”

Dart recalled the ugly scar behind her ear. Victims everywhere -and he knew by the man’s tone of voice where Zeller was going with it. Dart didn’t want to hear this.

“It took her over a year to recover. After that, she made it her life’s work to do something about sex offense. It became a passion, and from there, an obsession. She became consumed by it. She made mistakes-bad business decisions-based on the conviction that gene therapy was the answer. An unproven technology, mind you! She devoted funds that she shouldn’t have-got herself into trouble. She had to make it work-that’s the hole she dug for herself.” He blinked repeatedly like a man about to lose consciousness. “They’ve conducted three different trials in five years-all to shitty results. Nesbit-the Ice Man-was in the first group. They paroled him early to be part of that trial. That was the only reason he was out and able to kill Lucky-”

The fire door at the top of the stairs cried out over the top of the roar-the door by which they had entered. Dart felt paralyzed by what Zeller had told him-his mind swimming. The cop in both of them knew from the distinct, prolonged sound that it was not a squeak caused by wind. It was not the door settling all of its own.

Someone had come through that door, had entered.

They both lifted their heads at once to listen more clearly, the threats of only seconds before gone.

Footsteps coming down the first set of stairs that lead to the balcony.

Dart wanted the rest of Zeller’s explanation.

Staring up into the darkness, Zeller hissed, “You stupid shit, Dartelli. You led him here.” He whispered incredulously, “You let yourself be followed? Jesus Christ!”

Dart felt himself shrink. He had not checked for someone following him, too preoccupied with the dangers of Park Street.

Zeller’s hand came off the weapon, drew a zipper across his lips, and signaled first to Dart and then to himself-he wanted Dart to follow him. Adversaries, they were suddenly partners.

Again.

The transition felt natural. Dart didn’t question it. Zeller rocked up onto his knees, grabbed the shotgun, checked over his shoulder for Dart, and stood in a crouch, moving along the line of groaning dryers, keeping close to the machines. He lifted his hand and stopped Dart short of the very end. He pointed to a depression in the corner of the floor where a large mesh grate covered a manhole. He signaled that Dart should cover with his weapon as he would go first and lift the grate for Dart who was to follow and enter the hole ahead of Zeller. Dart signaled back that he would hold the grate for Zeller instead, but the Sergeant flashed his middle finger at his former protege. Then he raised his index finger as if to say, Ready?

Dart nodded. He pushed past Zeller, for the first time offering him his back. He edged slowly toward the corner of this last dryer and sneaked his face out just far enough to see around the corner so that he could defend their position.

Zeller’s breath was hot on Dart’s neck. The detective jumped, not expecting it. Zeller placed a hand firmly on Dart’s shoulder and spoke into his ear. “His name is Alverez. You met him at the fire. He was the one in the car. The reason we don’t kill the bastard is that they’ll only replace him. And we don’t want that. Got it?”

Dart nodded.

Zeller glanced around the corner of the roaring machine and gently eased himself away. He went back to hand signals-he had seen someone-and then hurried into the corner with the grate.

His heart aching, Dart edged his left eye around the dryer. The man pursuing them was looking lost, standing motionless in the center of the aisle. He was carrying what looked like an Uzi.