Faye Kellerman - Blindman’s Bluff

“Is Truillo tending bar there now?”

“I don’t know, but whoever is pouring tap should know the boss’s name.”

“If Wanda gets any kind of resistance, tell her to haul the son of a bitch in.”

“I couldn’t have said it better.”

HARRIMAN PUSHED THE end call button on his phone and plugged it into the cord for recharging.

Lying in his bed in cotton pajamas that were too heavy for the weather, he felt sweat trickle down his neck and onto his back. The days were getting hotter and his air-conditioning didn’t seem to be working too well. He had cranked up the fly fan to max whirl, but he was still hot. It could be a psychological heat. Who didn’t sweat when nervous?

For the last ten minutes, his ears had perked up…heightened to every little nuance of sound. Foreign sounds. Sounds he shouldn’t have been hearing at eleven at night. The noises lasted about ten minutes, and then seemed to fade.

Precisely why he didn’t leave a message. He felt silly.

Take a chill pill. Relax and read a book. He had four of them piled up on his nightstand. What the hell was he waiting for? Because the noises were probably nothing more than his overactive imagination. If it hadn’t been for that car across the street from Mrs. Decker’s house, he wouldn’t have given the scratches a thought.

You’re safe.

He was more than safe. For Chrissakes, there was a cruiser outside his town house watching his front door. How much more security could a person ask for?

But the sounds weren’t coming from the front of his unit. His place was on ground level, and there was a back entrance. That’s where he heard the scratching. True, that entrance had three locks on it, but still…

It wasn’t just that he heard things. He smelled things, like the odor of male sweat. And then there was that kid in the parked car across from the Decker house. Nowadays, it seemed that everything was making him nervous.

So why hadn’t he bothered to leave the lieutenant a message?

That was an easy one to answer. He felt uneasy about being anxious. It reminded him of his childhood, his feelings of being a ’fraidy cat. It took him years to get over his fear of darkness, and damn if he was going to let it get to him again.

Thinking back over his youth, he recalled how terrified he had felt every time his mother dropped his hand. He was little-five or six or seven-but too old for boys to cry. His father castigating his tears; the old man believed in him, though. He had psychologically and physically pushed him to his upper limits. By the time he was twelve, he could use a cane to expertly navigate his way around anywhere.

His mind jumped from topic to topic.

How many times had he tripped and fallen as a youngster?

How many things had he bumped into?

How many times had he felt like an imbecile or a clod?

People treating him as if he was subhuman?

Even now it was painful to think about it.

The old man had been rough but only because he had known the world that his son had to face as a blind man. Harriman had been grateful to his father, but he had always sensed two primates on his back-the monkey of his sightlessness and the much bigger gorilla of his father.

One of his proudest moments had been the day that he had reconciled with the old man, the two of them great friends in adulthood up until the old man’s heart exploded.

Harriman thought of his father as his ears continued to listen for intrusion. Sometimes, he doubted his own sanity. He was glad he didn’t leave Decker a message. God only knew what the lieutenant really thought about him, but Harriman must have been believable enough for the lieutenant to send out a black-and-white to watch the front door.

Finally, he was sufficiently calm to get comfortable in bed. He took off his pajamas and felt the cool air of the fan wash over his body. He had to go to work tomorrow-a carjacking/murder case-so he’d better get some shut-eye because he needed to be alert in the morning.

He turned his iPod to his classical mix of symphonies. The grandiose nature of the music was usually enough to lull him to sleep. He positioned himself on his right side…his favorite side. Closing his eyes.

No need to turn out the light.

THE NEWS CAME into the station house just as the clock struck the witching hour.

Cheers soon followed.

After comparing the fingerprints from the cards located inside the high school files of Martin Cruces, José Pinon, Alejandro Brand, and Esteban Cruz against the unknowns taken from the murder scene, Oldham found a number of hits. Next came the painstaking process of evaluating whorls, swirls, and lines and he was magically rewarded when Cruces’s index finger and Pinon’s thumbprint proved to be a five-point match to two previously unidentified images lifted from a cabinet and a table.

An eyewitness plus physical evidence: Decker was in seventh heaven.

“Who’s picking Cruces up?”

“We’ve got a group from CRASH on its way to Cruces’s apartment. Messing and Pratt are going to the scene as well. Oliver and I are sticking close to home. As soon as they nab him, we’ll go in for the kill. I’m doing the interview. You want to talk strategy?”

“Sure. Get a confession.”

“Thanks, boss, I wouldn’t have thought of that.”

“Find out who ordered the hits.”

Marge said, “You know, Pete, I figured out that one as well.”

“Find out where Joe Pine is.”

“We’re three for three, Rabbi. Mi strategy es tu strategy.”

Decker smiled. “It would also help if Cruces implicated Alejandro Brand and Esteban Cruz in something bad. I’d love to get those psychos off the streets. How’re my wife and kid doing?”

“Haven’t heard of any problems. Anything else?”

“Actually, yes there is. How much time do you think you’ll have between now and the Cruces interview?”

“How much time?”

“Yeah…like supposing all goes smoothly and they pick him up. How much time between now and before he’s ready to be interviewed?”

“They have to pick him up and process him…” She did mental calculations. “He should be ready for interviewing in about an hour.”

“Then do me a favor, Margie. I got a missed call the last time I spoke to you. It was from a restricted number and no one left a message. It could be a number of people, but I know Harriman has a restricted number. Could you swing by his place?”

“Isn’t there a cruiser outside his unit?”

“So swing by and talk to the officers on watch.”

“Why don’t you call up the officers? Better yet, why don’t you call up Harriman?”

“I don’t have his number on me, and besides it’s close to midnight.”

“I can swing by, no problem.” She paused. “Are you worried about something?”

“Not worried. I just want to make sure everything’s okay.” Decker switched ears. “Even if we nail Cruces tonight, I don’t know where Joe Pine or Esteban Cruz is. Harriman is vulnerable. Just drive by, okay?”

Marge stood up and slung her sweater over her shoulder. “Okay, I’m on my way. I’ll call you if anything’s up. Will I be able to reach you?”

“Call the hospital because my cell won’t be working. While Brubeck’s babysitting Rondo Martin, I’m going to try to grab some shut-eye. I’m sure there’s an empty bed somewhere in these corridors. If not, there’s always a slab in the morgue.”

IF THE COPS out in front of the place weren’t bad enough, the gringo had three locks on the door.

But that was rich dudes for you. Thinking that a single piece of metal could prevent a pro from coming in and stealing the gold. The facts were that anything you owned could be taken if the stakes were high enough.