Chapter 7

What's The Worst That Could Happen?

Ironside sat alone in his office, glaring at phone, unable to concentrate anymore on the work in front of him. He'd read Ed's reports until he felt he could recite them backwards. Ed had done a good, thorough job, all the information was there, but none of it seemed to help with the investigation.

And the telephone had remained infuriatingly quiet all evening.

Obviously, Eve couldn't call in, as she was supposed to be undercover. Ironside had hoped to hear from Mark, but the chances of that seemed to be fading. Ed should have checked in at least twice by now, but if he was tailing Eve he might not have had the chance to get to a phone.

But Ironside was used to waiting for news. That was all he could do at the moment, and he hated it. His team were all out on the streets working, but he was forced to stay put, forced by his useless legs. Frustrated and angry he glared harder at the telephone.

Something was wrong tonight. He didn't normally feel like this when his colleagues were out. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was missing something, something important.

He laid his hand on the files, dragging his gaze back to the papers. The answer was somewhere in front of him, hidden in the reports that Ed had brought, but he couldn't see it. Something in that mass of information was just the lead he needed, but he couldn't find it.

He shifted uncomfortably in his wheelchair, his crippled body as restless as his mind. Before the shooting, at times like this he would have gone for a walk to stretch his legs and clear his head, inhaling the warm familiar San Francisco air.

With a sudden jerk of movement, he pushed himself over to the nearest window. There was the occasional car that drove past, even so early in the morning, and Ironside tried to think about something else and give himself a much-needed break.

It didn't work. He could concentrate for only about half-a minute before his mind was dragged back to those flamin' reports! He knew it was there, that was the most frustrating part of it.

The suspicion that had been haunting him since this morning was likely to be right,

John Carlson was connected but he wasn't the one in charge. Carlson was the obvious choice, but the conversation they'd had earlier had been unexpected in its outcome. Maybe John Carlson really had changed, as this was a feint by someone else.

So maybe Ironside had been wrong. And if he was wrong about that, maybe he'd been wrong to let Eve anywhere near him.

That thought was the last thing he needed at the moment. Letting Eve go out like this, into such danger, was difficult at the best of times. But it was worse now that he suspected that there was something else going on, behind the scenes. Perhaps he had been remiss to leap at the opportunity of going undercover.

He mentally shook his head. No. He had been right; it was the fastest, most succinct way of getting information. And considering the way the bodies were stacking up in this case, they needed all the information they could, as quickly as they could do it.

Not long after three, the sound of footsteps in the corridor stirred Ironside from his stony-faced vigil by the phone. The door opened, and inside he gave a wholehearted sigh of relief.

'You're late!' he growled, turning to face Eve as she walked down the wheelchair ramp.

With a yawn, she sank down into a seat beside him, kicking off her shoes. She leaned into the chair, tipped her head back and closing here eyes for a few moments.

'You should be grateful, Chief,' she said in a low voice. 'I would have been even later, but I told John I had to work in the morning so I couldn't go on!'

'What I would be grateful for is a report!' he replied.

'I have had such a strange night,' she said. 'Music, candlelight. More music. Dancing. He's very good at dancing! I don't think I've ever been wined and dined so much in my life. Certainly not by a crook.'

'What did you find out?'

'About the murders or about fights? Absolutely nothing!' said Eve, lifting her head to look at the Chief. 'We talked about fine art and wines and…'

'When you're ready, Officer Whitfield!' snapped Ironside, 'I would like to hear a proper report!'

'Really, Chief.'

Ironside frowned.

'So this whole evening was a waste of time, is that what you're telling me, Officer Whitfield?'

'No in so many words, Chief, but…'

'Well? You must have found out something!'

'Well, we spoke about business for a while. But that wasn't a topic he was very interested in. He's got some involvement with a lot of things, he likes to keep his options open. But his business manager runs most of the events, and John concentrates on spending the money. And he does that very, very well.'

Ironside picked up one of the larger folders from his desk.

'This is the audit report from his business dealings. And his tax report.'

'So?'

'He's got a lot of money coming in. It has to be from somewhere!'

'I don't think he cares where, or knows,' said Eve. 'He just spends it.'

Ironside slapped the file on the desk and scowled.

There was a pause.

'Have you heard from Mark at all?' asked Eve cautiously.

Ironside shook his head.

'Nothing all day. All flamin' day! He's missed his last two call-ins. I have no idea where he is or what he's doing. Or even if he's still alive.'

Eve laid a hand on his arm, squeezing it gently.

'Mark will be ok, Chief. We knew it would be difficult for him to contact us.'

'I shouldn't have sent him out. I shouldn't have put him in this position.'

'He did agree.'

'Of course he did! But undercover work is different from day-to-day police work. I wanted a quick result and I used him to get it.'

'Mark will be ok,' said Eve confidently. 'Remember, he's not a cop.'

'Eve, that makes it worse.'

'He can take care of himself, he's lived on the streets, he knows what its like.'

Her hand tightened on his arm, and he nodded, though the exchange hadn't helped him feel any less responsible.

But now at least one of them was back safely from their undercover assignments. He drew a great deal of comfort from her presence and the knowledge that the evening had passed without incidence. He put his hand on her hand, grateful for her reassurance.

'So what did Ed have to say about tonight?' asked Ironside, filling in the silence. 'And where is he?'

'I didn't see him,' said Eve.

'At all?'

Eve looked uncomfortable, but she shrugged.

'Well, I saw him at the bar when John collected me,' she said. 'But after that he kept his distance, just like he was supposed to do.'

'Even so…' Ironside glanced behind her, frowning at the closed door. 'So he should be here if he was tailing you. It doesn't take that long to park a car!'

'You did tell him to get some sleep, Chief. Maybe he went home after John dropped me off.'

Ironside didn't like the way she felt the need to defend Ed in this conversation, as if somehow Ed's sudden dislike of the office was his fault!

'Then he still should be here, since Mark's still out he's supposed to come back here!'

'Well, did you tell him that?'

'I don't need to tell him something like that!' snapped Ironside. 'Ed knows!'

'But surely you don't think that…'

'Check downstairs!' interrupted Ironside.

Eve phoned the duty officer on the lower level and spoke for a short time.

'George hasn't seen him,' she said, putting the phone down again. 'Not since this afternoon.'

'Then where the blazes is he!'

'It's not like Ed not to call in,' said Eve. 'Not even to leave a message.'

'Get him on the flamin' car phone! Get an explanation. Now!'

Eve picked up the phone again, looking more anxious than before, and Ironside waited.

'There's no answer.' Eve said.

Sinking down into his wheelchair, Ironside glowered.

'Maybe he has gone home?' she suggested at last. She clearly knew what kind of response that idea would get, and Ironside did not disappoint her.

'Or maybe he grew tired of his job, picked up some female company and gave up for the night!' snapped Ironside.

'Chief!' The horrified look on Eve's face made Ironside looked away. Ironside had never said anything like that about his sergeant before. Ed's reputation with women was well known; though few knew why he was so wary of a serious relationship. But the outburst was a measure of just how angry the Chief was.

'Ed wouldn't do that,' insisted Eve sternly. 'And you know he wouldn't.'

Ironside nodded. He did know. But he was damned if he was going to apologise!

'Well, call his house.'

It only took a minute, but there was still no answer.

Ironside looked up slowly. He knew he should have been furious, and he was. But he wasn't just angry at Ed, he was angry at himself, as if he should have known something was going to go wrong. He'd had that feeling all night.

'Chief, where could he be?'

The phone rang and Ironside picked it up before it had even finished its first ring. Ironside listened to the voice at the other end in growing confusion.

'Chief? Chief, what's wrong?' asked Eve.

'I want them found!' he said. 'I don't care if you have to search the whole Goddamn city!'

Ironside put the phone down with a thump. Eve was staring at him, wide-eyed, wanting an explanation. The look of worry on her face was almost heartbreaking. And Ironside knew it was about to get worse.

'That was Tom Donnelly from Traffic,' he said. 'A couple of joy-riders just smashed Ed's car into a utility pole.'


Mark sat with his eyes half-closed gazing out of the apartment window in a drink-induced haze, watching the cityscape weave a lurch. He was as hammered as he could hope to get away with, with the prospect of more drinking later. Very soon he was going to drink himself into a coma.

Fortunately, for the moment, his two drinking partners were about as far gone as he was. Mikey looked like he was asleep, Archie was sitting hunched up on the sofa, holding a cushion tightly against his chest, staring sightlessly at the back wall. He hadn't moved from that position in about two hours.

There had been very few times over the previous twenty-four hours that Mark had seriously questioned what he was doing.

Knowing that the Chief was relying on him to get something, Mark had thrown himself into his undercover persona. It had been a long, long time since he'd cut loose, properly cut loose and done whatever he felt like at that moment, good or bad.

He'd discovered that he and Mikey had had a lot in common, it seemed, and Mark had grown to enjoy his company. Since he'd started to work for the Chief he'd hung around in different place, and with different people and it had been fun to run with a different crowd. But now he felt he was back where he'd started. There was a rough, dangerous edge that Mark had missed.

After the spar fight earlier, Mark had gone on to two other fights, more vicious, more aggressive and more illegal. Then he'd gambled away all the money he'd had on him, and he'd at last come up with more by pawning his watch and his ring. That he'd just spent more money in one day than he'd been paid in a year didn't bother him as much as it should have.

As he started out of the window, Mark knew that he was likely wasting time with Mikey and Archie. There were plenty of other fighters in the city, and plenty of other fights.

He knew if he called in to the Chief, he would have had to justify his reason for sticking to these two, and not checking anyone else.

The Chief wasn't going to believe that he thought he was right. The Chief was going to want an explanation, he would want a tricky thing called proof!

And Mark didn't have proof. All he had was a connection to John Carlson and the hunch that, underneath the façade, Archie was an extremely dangerous man.

If there was anyone he'd met during his time on the fight scene that was capable of killing, it was Archie.

Everybody sensed it. That was why everyone avoided him.

There was a ringing noise, and Mark turned sluggishly. It was the telephone. He watched it for about a minute, the sound hurting his aching head, before Mikey twitched and wriggled across the floor slightly to reach out and answer it.

'Man, you'd better have a good reason for this call,' he drawled into the receiver. There seemed to be talking from the other end of the line, and Mikey's expression grew thoughtful.

'On the level?'

More talking, and Mark pushed himself up from his reclining position to watch what Mikey did next.

'You found one? Tailing the man?' There was silence for a few moments. From the muffled sound of the voice at the other end of the line, Mark thought that Mikey had had good news, but his expression remained serious and uneasy. 'You sure that he's said it's on?'

Whatever the person at the other end said, Mikey didn't like it.

'Ok! Ok! I'll get Archie. I know where and when. Yeah.'

He put the phone down.

'Hey man, bad news?' asked Mark.

Mikey's smile was gone, and he looked to Archie, who hadn't reacted at all, then back to Mark.

'You play hard and loose, man,' Mikey said. 'But how deep does it run?'

'What do you mean?' replied Mark suspiciously.

'You really want some action?' he asked, leaning forward. 'You really in?'

'Yeah, man, I thought you'd know that!'

'How far in would you go?'

'Just what are you asking?' said Mark. 'In to what?'

'And it'll cost you.'

'I don't have the bread on me,' said Mark. 'You know that. Those last two must have been ringers to f…'

Mikey looked at him, his eyes narrowed as if he was trying to make up his mind about something.

'I don't mean money. You're gonna have to prove it. But if you want in, in to something big, you'll have to come with me. Right now.'

Mark tried not to show his anxiety to Mikey, but he wasn't sure if he'd pulled it off. He knew what Ironside would say he should do; but then he was sure Ironside would have done exactly the opposite himself, if he could have. There had to be a way of tipping the Chief off, or getting some kind of message to him.

'But I should…'

'No!' said Mikey, his voice brittle, like a snap of a broken bottle. 'You're either in, or not. No second chances, no questions. In or out.'

What else was Mark going to say? Whatever it was, it was big. Perhaps even as big as murder. And it was worth the risk.

'Ok. I'm in.'