Michael Connelly - Blood Work

He went through the door then, leaving it open behind him. McCaleb pulled the two chairs in front of the desk away and turned them so they faced each other from about five feet apart. He sat down on the one closest to the door and waited. He quickly thought about how he would handle the interview and decided to come at Bolotov strong. He wanted to engender a response, get some kind of reaction to which he could register his own feel for the man.

He felt a presence in the room and looked at the door. The man he had guessed was Bolotov stood there. He was about five ten, with black hair and pale white skin. But the bulging arm muscles and tattoos-a snake wrapped around one arm, a spider’s web covering the other-made his arms the focal point of his image. McCaleb pointed to the empty chair.

“Have a seat.”

Bolotov moved to the chair and sat down without hesitation. McCaleb saw that the spider web apparently continued under the shirt and then came up both sides of the Russian’s neck. A black spider sat in the web just below his right ear.

“What is this?”

“Same as before, Bolotov. My name’s McCaleb. The night of January twenty-second. Tell me about it.”

“I told them before. I work here that night. It was not me you look for.”

“So you said. But things are different now. We know things we didn’t know then.”

“What things?”

McCaleb got up and locked the door and then retook his seat. It was just a little show, an underlining of his control. Something for Bolotov to think about.

“What things?” he asked again.

“Like the burglary of the house over on Mason, just a few blocks from here. You remember, the one with the Christmas tree and all the presents. That’s where you got the gun, wasn’t it, Bolotov?”

“No, I am clean on these things.”

“Bullshit. You did the break-in and you got that nice new gun. Then you decided to use it. You used it up in Lancaster and then again around the corner from here at the market. You’re a killer, Bolotov. A killer.”

The Russian sat still but McCaleb could see his biceps drawing tight, better defining the artwork on his arms. He pressed on.

“What about February seventh, you have an alibi for that night, too?”

“I don’t know that night. I have to-”

“You walked into the Sherman Market and you killed two people that night. You should know it.”

Bolotov suddenly stood up.

“Who are you? You’re not cop.”

McCaleb just looked up at him, keeping his seat, hoping not to show the surprise he was feeling.

“Cops are in twos. Who are you?”

“I’m the one who’s going to take you down. You did it, Bolotov, and I’m going to prove it.”

“Wha-”

There was an angry knock on the door and McCaleb instinctively turned to look. It was a small mistake but it was all Bolotov needed. McCaleb saw the black blur coming at him in his peripheral vision. Instinctively he began bringing his arms up to protect his chest. He wasn’t quick enough. Suddenly he was hit with the impact of the other man’s weight and his chair went over with him still in it.

Bolotov had him down on the floor while Toliver or whoever was out there continued to knock angrily on the door. The bigger, stronger man held McCaleb down while he went through his pockets. His hand hit the gun and he tore it off the belt and threw it across the room. Finally he found McCaleb’s wallet in the inside pocket of his sports coat. He pulled it out, ripping the pocket, and opened it.

“No badge. See, no cop.”

He read the name off the driver’s license, which was held behind a plastic window in the wallet.

“Terr-ell-Mack-Cow-leeb.”

Bolotov then read off the address. McCaleb felt relieved that it was actually the address of the harbormaster’s office, where he had a postal box.

“Maybe I pay you a visit one day, yes?”

McCaleb didn’t answer or move. He knew there was no chance of overpowering the man. As he was considering his predicament, Bolotov dropped the wallet on his chest and jumped up. He jerked the chair out from beneath McCaleb’s hips and raised it over his head. McCaleb raised his arms up to protect his face and head, realizing in the same instant that he was leaving his chest unprotected.

He heard the shatter of glass and looked between his arms to see the chair crashing through the office window. He then watched as Bolotov followed it, leaping with ease through the opening and down to the manufacturing floor. Then he was gone.

McCaleb rolled to his side, folding his arms across his chest and bringing his knees up. He spread a hand flat on his chest, trying to feel the beat. He took two deep breaths and slowly got to his knees and raised himself. The pounding on the door continued, now accompanied by Toliver’s panicked demands that McCaleb open up.

McCaleb reached over to unlock the door. He felt a wave of vertigo hit him then. It was like sliding down a twelve-foot trough into the valley of a wave. Toliver burst into the office and started screaming at him but McCaleb didn’t understand his words. He put his hands flat on the floor and closed his eyes, trying to steady himself.

“Shit,” was all he managed to whisper.

Buddy Lockridge jumped out of the Taurus when he saw McCaleb approaching. He ran around the front of the car and came to McCaleb’s side.

“Jesus, what happened?”

“Nothing. I made a mistake, that’s all.”

“You look like shit.”

“I’m okay now. Let’s go.”

Lockridge opened the door for him and then went around to the driver’s side and got in.

“You sure you’re okay?”

“Come on, let’s go.”

“Where?”

“Find a phone.”

“There’s one right there.”

He pointed to the Jack in the Box restaurant next door. There was a pay phone on the wall near one of the doors. McCaleb got out and slowly walked to the phone. He was careful to keep his eyes on the pavement in front of him, not wanting to set off another slide into vertigo.

He called Jaye Winston’s direct line, expecting to leave a message, but she picked up immediately.

“It’s Terry. I thought you had court.”

“I do but it’s the lunch break. I have to be back at two. I was just about to call you.”

“Why?”

“Because we’re going to do it.”

“Do what?”

“Hypnotize Mr. Noone. The captain signed off on it and I called Mr. Noone. He said sure. He just wants us to do it tonight because he’s going out of town-back to Vegas, I guess. He’s going to be here at six. You can do it then, right?”

“I’ll be there.”

“Then we’re set. Why were you calling?”

McCaleb hesitated. What he had to tell her might change the evening’s plans but he knew he couldn’t delay.

“Can you get a photo of Bolotov by tonight?”

“I already have one. You want to show Noone?”

“Yeah. I just paid Bolotov a little visit and he didn’t react too well to it.”

“What happened?”

“Before I could ask him three questions, he jumped me and ran.”

“Are you shitting me?”

“I wish.”

“What about his alibi?”

“It’s about as solid as a loaf of bread.”

McCaleb briefly recounted his interview with Toliver and then Bolotov. He told Winston she should put out a wanted notice for Bolotov.

“For what, did you or Toliver make a police report?”

“I didn’t but Toliver said he was going to make a report on the window.”

“All right, I’ll put out a pickup. Are you all right? You sound punchy.”

“I’m okay. Is this going to change things? Or are we still on for tonight?”

“Far as I’m concerned, we’re still on.”

“Okay. See you then.”