Chapter 3

Broken Silence and a Burnt Out Car

Ironside had no desire to talk to anyone on the way back to his office home, he made that perfectly clear. Mark drove in silence, and though he must have been anxious to discuss what had happened, or at least find out what the Commissioner had said, he didn't disturb his boss.

Even in the elevator up to the attic, Ironside remained deep in thought, his mind constantly drifted back to his colleagues. He thought of Eve, wondering where she was, wondering if she was safe, wondering why he hadn't heard from her.

But mostly, he thought about Sergeant Ed Brown, the young ex-marine that had joined the force and worked his way up to become Ironside's indispensable right-hand man. Through everything, Ed had always been there when Ironside needed him, even smuggling bourbon into his hospital room after the sniper shooting, risking the wrath of the formidable Sister Agatha on the way.

And Ed had never let him down. Never, ever, in all the years they had known each other. Not until today. The feeling of betrayal sat uncomfortable with Ironside, but at the moment, that's what all that facts pointed to.

What had happened? What had gone wrong?

This morning, Ed had appeared at the office his usual, contented self. There was no hint that anything was wrong. There was nothing over the past weeks or months either, Ed was known for his exemplary work record; it was only to be expected from someone who worked for the Chief.

And the more Ironside thought about what had happened, the more incomprehensible it became. He needed answers.

Fortunately, Lieutenant Reese was waiting in the office, an older lady waiting with him. She was about sixty, with a delicate look to her, dyed red hair and a faded blue dress that was at least two sizes too large.

Ironside smiled at her as he rolled through the doorway, and she smiled uncertainly back, fidgeting with the handbag on her lap.

Once again, Carl looked like he'd been given a death sentence and he was holding yet another file. But since he clearly didn't want to discuss it in front of the old lady, Ironside let it pass for the moment.

'This is Mrs Whittaker, the owner of the Bayside Motel,' explained Reese. 'Mrs Whittaker, this is Chief Ironside.'

'Pleased to meet you,' said Ironside politely.

The old lady smiled again, looking less nervous.

'Mrs Whittaker was with Ed and Eve this morning,' Carl explained.

Ironside looked to the woman eagerly.

'You were?'

'Oh, yes! That nice Mr Brown came round to see me this morning, about eleven o'clock. The young lady was with him.'

In spite of everything, Ironside smiled. Ed had a very natural and charming way with women of all ages.

'Did they spend long with you?'

'They stayed for a cup of tea, and some of my sponge cakes,' she said. 'But the person they were looking for, that Mr Brant, didn't come back, so they left after about half an hour. Maybe more like three-quarters. We did talk for a long time.'

'It sounds like you enjoyed yourself,' said Carl.

'Oh, I did,' she beamed. 'I don't get many visitors, and they were so friendly. Nice to see young people with such good manners. I didn't think policemen were so courteous. We had a lovely chat.'

'And you saw them leave?' asked Reese. Mrs Whittaker nodded.

'Well, I could see them from my front room, you see,' she said. 'And I waved goodbye. It was only polite.'

'They just drove off?' Ironside asked, trying to calculate the time difference, and see if it fitted in with the call Ed had made before lunch. But he didn't get the answer he expected.

'Well… not exactly drove off, no. Not right away.'

'No?'

'Mr Brown waved back, he's such a gentleman. But the car stayed there under the tree for quite a few minutes. It seemed so odd that I kept watching. After a minute, Mr Brown got back out. And another man. They stood in front of the car. They seemed to be talking.'

Carl and Mark exchanged glances, but Ironside kept looking at Mrs Whittaker.

'The other man, did you see him? Would you recognised him?'

'I'm not sure,' said Mrs Whittaker, sounding worried. 'It was quite far away, my eyesight isn't what it used to be. I know I should use glasses but the don't seem to make any ones that I really like and I'm not vain but…' The sentence trailed off and she looked to the ground.

Ironside leaned back, turning to Mark.

'Get on to Records, have them get the mug files ready downstairs. And find the police artist, just in case.' Mark nodded and picked up the phone. Ironside turned back to Mrs Whittaker.

'What happened with Ed and the other man? Did they talk? Did they argue? Could you make out what they were talking about.'

'I'm not sure I'm afraid, Mr Ironside. It seemed that the other man did most of the talking. Mr Brown had his back to me. But he didn't seem very well afterwards, the other man had to help him to the car.'

'Was Sergeant Brown driving?'

'Oh, yes.'

Ironside frowned more deeply.

'And that was all?' he asked.

Mrs Whittaker nodded.

'The car drove off after they got back inside,' said Mrs Whittaker. 'And that was all I saw.'

'I see. Thank you, Mrs Whittaker, that's very helpful. Very helpful indeed.'

In the uncomfortable silence that followed, Ironside's gaze automatically went back to the file under Reese's arm. Ironside waited for the lieutenant to say something, but instead, Carl kept fidgeting with it.

Next to Ironside, Mark put the phone down with a click.

'The mug shots will be ready in a few minutes,' he told Ironside. 'George is downstairs too, whenever you need him.'

'Good,' replied the Chief. 'Mrs Whittaker, if you don't mind, we would like you to take a look through some of photographs, and maybe even see George the police artist if you don't make any headway with the mug-shots. We need a picture of the man Sergeant Brown was with. Lieutenant Reese will show you the way.'

At that, Ironside gazed pointedly at Carl, and at last, he handed over the file.

'You're not going to like what's in there,' Carl said.

'But at least you won't be here when I read it and start shouting,' said Ironside. 'And next time, you have my permission to send someone else with all the bad news.'

'No one else dared,' Reese replied, taking Mrs Whittaker by the arm, escorting her out of the office.

'Well?' asked Mark, unable to wait until the door closed behind them. 'What is it?'

Ironside opened the file, glancing at the top sheet.

'There was nothing at Ed's apartment,' he said.

'That's good. I suppose.'

There was an uneasy silence as Ironside turned over to the next page.

'Hey, what is it man?' asked Mark.

'It's not totally unexpected,' he said with a sigh. 'They found Ed's Ford down in the warehouse district.'

'That's good, right? I mean, it has to be good that they found his car.'

'It's burnt to a cinder.'

'What!'

'Just what I said, Mark,' Ironside snapped. 'It's a burnt out shell. It was set alight with gasoline.'

'Was anyone…? Did they find…?'

Mark had to wait a few moments for a reply, as Ironside was reading the report.

'They can't be sure,' he said. 'But it looks like it was empty.'

Mark tipped his head back, glancing to the ceiling.

'Man, this is some bad trip,' he said.

Ironside was still reading, only half-listening to Mark.

'It was totally gutted,' he said. 'Everything inside was incinerated. Everything.'

Mark jerked his attention back to Ironside.

'D'you think…? Well, that…?'

The Chief looked up at him, his expression as neutral as he could make it.

'You mean, do I think that a million dollars worth of junk just went up in smoke?'

'Well, yeah?'

'I have no idea,' said Ironside. 'We'll just have to wait for the forensics report.'

'That report will take days!' said Mark, his frustration showing clearly for the first time. 'And all we get is more waiting!'

Ironside couldn't have agreed with his friend's sentiments more. The possibility that the evidence had just been destroyed was demoralising. It really was that simple a strategy to get McDonald off.

'But, you know, this helps, right?' said Mark. 'Even with the car, what the old lady said helps.'

'It doesn't help or hinder,' said Ironside heavily. 'All it means is that someone else is involved. It doesn't tell us how deep Ed is in.'

'But surely…'

'No!' snapped Ironside. 'Stick to the facts and don't speculate. Ed was the one who walked into Property with a forged order. Ed signed for the evidence. And Ed was the one who walked out with the junk. That's the bottom line at the moment.'

Mark scowled at the Chief.

'Ok then, what about Eve?'

Ironside's dark look grew more intimidating.

'What about Eve?'

'Where is she? No one's seen her since the Bayside.'

Ironside didn't answer. If Ed was on the level and had decided to change sides, he couldn't have persuaded Eve to go along with it. He kept expecting the phone to ring, with Eve at the other end, talking as if nothing had happened. There had to be a reasonable explanation.

'I don't know where she is, Mark,' Ironside said heavily.

Mark pursed his lips, clearing wanting to say more, but he didn't. There was a long silence, and Mark was staring at him. He could guess what was coming next, Ironside knew Mark well.

'Come on, Chief,' he said at last. 'You've got to level with me. What do you think?'

'All the evidence…' started Ironside.

'No!' interrupted Mark. 'I know you. I know him. You can't really think that Ed's on the take?'

'Can't I?'

'No,' said Mark firmly.

'It is damning evidence,' said Ironside. 'There's no hint that he was forced to do anything.'

'Come on, Chief! This is Ed Brown we're talking about, and he's about as likely as you or the Commissioner to sell out.'

'Mark…'

'You can't sit there and tell me you think he's guilty!'

Ironside levelled his gaze at the younger man, but Mark didn't back down. The tension between them was palpable, and Ironside could sense Mark's anger at what was going on. But getting angry wasn't going to help anyone at the moment.

'But Ed…' Mark started.

'You're not going to make it as a lawyer thinking like that,' the Chief said crisply. 'We need to stick to the facts.'

'But this is Ed were talking about!'

'Fact, Sergeant Brown had access,' replied Ironside, narrowing his eyes. 'Fact, he knows the McDonald case well. Fact, he knows my signature. And he had the opportunity. And no one was going to stop him, not with my name on the order. All he had to do was get Eve out of the way for a while, send her on a wild-goose chase somewhere without a phone and he would have all the time in the world to get in and out of Property. And no one would suspect.'

Mark's face grew hard, almost disgusted at the suggestion. But there wasn't much to argue with. Those were the facts. Ed had access and opportunity.

'And instinct?' asked Mark. 'What about your instinct, Chief!'

It was a fair point, and Ironside nodded an acknowledgement. At the moment his instinct was bellowing at him that this was all wrong, and that there was no way in stone cold Hell that Ed could be involved in anything like this, whatever the evidence. He trusted his instinct, but he had to be careful. He needed proof. Proof was the only thing that could help Ed now.

'This feels like it's been planned and executed to perfection,' said Ironside, voicing his personal opinion for the first time. 'But I think we are all missing something. Something big. I think we've only just started. Some of these elements, the evidence, the fire, they remind me of a different case, from year ago.'

Mark waited, eager to hear more but Ironside didn't speak.

Everything was clearly going the way it was planned, with Ironside trailing along hours behind events. All the evidence pointed to Ed crossing the fence, but the more he thought about it, the more he was sure that was what he was supposed to think. The picture was just a little too perfect. No one would leave so much incriminating evidence lying around.

But that left the question of who would want to set Ed up like that? Was it someone with a grudge against him? Ed had been a policeman for ten years or so, he'd trod on a lot of toes and been involved in a lot of difficult cases, thanks to his position on Ironside's staff. There were bound to be people who would like to set him up like this, to see if it would take him all the way to San Quentin for a taste of rough justice.

The telephone rang and the Chief let Mark answer it, praying silently that it was Eve.

'Chief!' There was a note of genuine fear in Mark's voice as he spoke, and Ironside whirled round. Sanger was holding out the handset. Ironside knew what he was going to say a moment before he said it. 'It's Ed!'

The Chief grabbed the telephone.

'Ironside,' he said, his voice as clear and steady as always.

'Hello Chief.' There was no doubt in his mind that the man at the other end of the line was his sergeant. He sounded tired, but calm, far too calm for Ironside's liking.

'Ed…'

'I know you're going to have this conversation recorded, so there's no need for you to ask any questions. Do you understand?'

Ed had never taken that sort of brusque tone with him and Ironside was almost stunned in to silence. But not quite.

'Then get on with it!' he growled.

'The ransom for the safe return of the evidence is two million dollars. Do you understand?'

He didn't know what to expect, but a ransom had been high on the list. But two million was a lot of money, twice its street-value.

'That's quite a sum for such a small amount of evidence!'

'Isn't it worth it?' replied Ed. His voice was neutral, he wasn't going to give anything away. Why was he doing this? wondered Ironside. What was going on? How could he push far enough to find out?

'And what about you?' asked Ironside, changing tactics.

Ed didn't reply. The way he didn't speak about himself made the Chief even more anxious.

'Alright, what about Eve?'

He still had no idea where Eve was either. He had to get some sort of information about her.

'What about Eve?' Ed replied.

'Is she alright?'

'You really think I'd let anything happen to her?'

'Ed, what…'

'Shut up and listen!' It wasn't an order that Ironside heard, so much as a plea. But also, this was the first time Ed himself had sounded anything other than in control. 'Get the money by four o'clock, Wednesday morning. I'll contact you once more about the drop. Do you understand?'

'No warnings about trying to find you?' He was pushing, he knew. That was the only way he was going to get any answers.

'You won't.'

Ironside thought he detected a note of despair this time, but dismissed it as wishful thinking. He had to stick to the facts. He had to get some explanation while he still had the chance.

'And what if we don't want to pay?' he said calmly.

'Don't fuck around, Chief!' hissed Ed, suddenly furious, the abrupt change taking Ironside by surprise as much as the four-letter word. 'The McDonald Case is going to collapse without it. You know that. I know that. Do you understand? That gives you exactly thirty-five hours to get the money or McDonald walks out of the lock-up a free man. You really going to risk that?'

Ironside didn't reply.

'Well?' demanded Ed.

'No,' admitted Ironside. 'No, I'm not going to risk it. Neither is the Commissioner.'

'Fine. Then we understand each other.'

Understanding was the very last thing Ironside had at that moment. He would have said something but the phone went dead, and Ironside was left with static.

Shocked, he handed the receiver back to Mark to replace, as his hand was shaking too much.

The bitter feeling of betrayal was impossible to ignore. The phone call was the final piece of evidence, surely no one in their right mind could argue that Ed Brown was still on the side of law and order after that conversation.

Ironside stared at the handset for a few moments. Taken at face value, that was the final nail in the coffin. Ed had done it. He'd stepped over the line and there was no turning back.

'The call could have been made under duress,' said Mark softly. 'It doesn't mean that Ed sold out.'

'Doesn't it?' asked Ironside. 'Then what does it mean, Mark? You heard him. You know what he's done. There's no hint of anything else. No one is going to believe his innocent. Not now.'

'So?' asked Mark nervously.

The words stuck in Ironside's throat for a few seconds before he forced himself to speak.

'So there's nothing we can do for him.'

In a small, dimly lit room a few miles across the city, Ed Brown also sat staring numbly at a telephone, shocked at what had just happened. He put his hand to his aching head, feeling the slick, warm line of blood on his temple, and he closed his eyes.

Someone patted him on the shoulder.

'Well done, Sergeant Brown,' said a voice behind him. 'That was very good. And don't worry, betrayal gets easier every time.'

Ed didn't move. He couldn't. He felt as though he was going to be sick.

All he could think was: Oh, God, what have I done?