Chapter 10

The Sweet Taste of Insanity

It was going to be extremely difficult night for everyone. Ironside knew they were all working at the very edge of their abilities, they were all tired and they were all very worried.

Carl had arrived soon after the Commissioner left with yet another thin file containing the report from Eve, and the sketch that George had made of Lonnie. Not long after that they heard back from an anxious Chief of Police at Dallas, saying that Lonnie McArthur was one of their most wanted, but refused to go into more details over the telephone.

An hour later, Eve herself walked through the office door, an unpleasant look of grim determination on her face.

Ironside looked at her, relief and sorrow filling his heart. He needed her, and he had asked her to be here. And he knew she wouldn't refuse, she would have done anything for him. But it wasn't going to be easy.

The arrival of the case file on Lonnie McArthur from Texas did nothing to help either. Mark, Eve and Carl were eager to see what the file contained, but even a cursory glance told Ironside that it wasn't going to be pleasant reading.

He looked at the anxious faces of his colleagues back down to the file, thinking how smart Richards had been in choosing this man as his partner. The combination of hatred, cruelty, low intelligence and a love of inflicting pain made him an expert in his field. That man hated everything that wasn't white, heterosexual and male, it was clear from the files, and could no doubt be relied on to cause as much suffering as possible, for a long as possible. He was a perfect choice for Richards in this situation.

'McArthur was sprung about a year ago,' said Ironside. 'Clever, it must have made him very loyal to whoever organised it.'

Carl nodded.

Eve was just staring at the folder in the Chief's hand.

'What was he in for?' asked Eve.

'Life.'

'That's not what I meant,' she said.

Ironside stayed silent, flicking through the file.

'Tell me!'

'Three convictions for assault with a deadly weapon, two for attempted murder, two for rape, one for sexual assault.' Ironside looked up at Eve. 'Those were the ones that they could charge him on.'

Eve shuddered as he spoke. The list of Lonnie's crimes was bad enough, but worse was the fact that the bulk of the file was made up from the forensic and autopsy pictures of Lonnie's victims. Ironside looked up to Eve. He could tell her not to look, or he could order her not to, but that wasn't going to help. Instead, he looked through the increasingly gruesome pictures, struggling to keep himself from imagining Ed Brown tortured like that.

Then he closed the file and laid it on the table in front them, putting his hand on it.

He looked at Eve, willing her not to pick it up. She would never be the same if she did.

'I'm sorry Chief. I have to know. I have to see for myself.'

Ironside nodded, lifting his hand.

She picked up the file, opened it and started to read.

Mark lasted about three minutes before he turned away; Carl a few more. But Eve sat there, looking through every single one of the pictures with a remorselessness that even Ironside found unnerving.

And when she was finished, she closed the file and stood up, swaying slightly, her face as white as the mist from the Bay. Without a word she turned, and walked unsteadily towards the bathroom, shutting the door behind her.

Mark and Carl both looked at Ironside.

'We can't just sit here,' said Mark. 'We've got to find him, before…'

'I think it's too late for before,' said Ironside in a sombre tone. 'And as for looking, what do you think the whole department has been doing for the past thirty hours?'

He should have been angry, but that had been overcome, along with his fear. There was nothing he wanted more than the rip the whole city apart, but he knew they would never find them.

'And you think he's still alive?'

'McArthur didn't kill them all,' said Ironside, nodding. 'My guess would be that he's had enough practice to know when to stop.'

Mark flinched at the thought.

'What are we going to do, Chief?' he asked.

'There's nothing else we can do now, but continue with the plan. We have to play along, or let him think we are playing along, it's our only hope of finding Ed.'

Mark shook his head, but didn't voice his disagreement. They sat in silence until Eve reappeared about ten minutes later, still looking very pale.

Ironside glanced at the clock. There were only a few hours left to go before they had to leave for the drop.

'We'll leave in soon,' he said. 'You should try and get some sleep. All of you.'

Carl nodded, and stood up, heading for the door with a decided droop about his walk. Mark looked at Ironside for a moment, then nodded, heading towards his own room to try and doze.

Eve sat at his side in silence, and didn't move.

'Eve, you have to try and get some rest,' he said gently.

'That's what Scott told me. But how can I sleep, knowing…' she petered out, looking at him with glazed eyes. He took her hand.

'You have to try. Tomorrow we're only going to have one shot at getting him back alive.'

At the words, she pursed her lips, struggling not to cry.

'He's out there, alone,' she said in a shaking whisper. 'God knows what they're doing to him. And we are supposed to sleep, knowing that?'

Ironside nodded. With a stifled sob, Eve stood up, walking towards the den, and Ironside watched her leave, feeling as low as he had ever been.

The hours passed fast and slow both at once. He would have given anything to be in action right now, and anything to never have tomorrow come at all. Ironside hoped they would all sleep, and regain some of their edge for tomorrow.

But he also knew that he couldn't sleep, though he was more tired than he'd been in a long, long time. He knew that he needed to sleep, to prepare himself mentally for what was coming next, but he couldn't rest. In just a few hours he would have to play the final hand in this deadly game, however it was destined to end.

It was a game, though he hadn't realised it at first. This was something that Anthony Richards had thought out and carefully planned, right up until this point. Every move he'd made was just another step towards the final showdown, and no matter how he twisted and turned he couldn't get himself, or his team, out of this.

Ironside closed his eyes for a moment as he thought of his three staff members Ed, and Mark and Eve. They were his team, his friends… and they were in this just as deeply as he himself, his plan would put them all in danger. For the first time, the panic and fear that he'd been wilfully ignoring for the past thirty-six hours rose inside him and just for a minute he let himself worry.

As a man who lived off his instinct, he felt he had managed to get most things wrong this time around, and the one thing that had gone right was more down to Mark's speed than his own actions. Most likely, Ed was paying in blood for Ironside's lack of foresight. A chill raced down his spine as he thought about the forensic photographs and what Ed must be going through right at that moment.

But still the questions remained. What if he was wrong? What if he had misjudged what was going on? Now he was backed into a corner, he had no choice but to see it to the bitter finale.

The Commissioner was adamant; Mark was adamant too that this "playing into the criminal's hands" act was a profoundly bad idea. He had to do what Tony told him, he had to make sure Tony believed, even if that meant making Ed believe it too, no matter how much that hurt him. Even if that meant looking Ed in the eye and calling him a betrayer. Because there would be no second chances, and no guarantees. If Tony thought for one moment that Ironside knew what was really going on, that would be the end. He'd kill Ed without a second thought.

The Chief drew a slow breath. He had to be right. And he had to be sure. He'd never called it wrong before, but did he really know what he was doing this time? If he was wrong, Ed, Mark and Eve were all going to be in terrible danger.

At last, he glanced up at the clock, surprised and relieved to see that the hours had vanished into the night.

He'd let them sleep for as long as he dared. It was time for them all to act.

The van was parked beside a phone booth. Next to it, the Chief was waiting as the fog rolled over the city, covering it like a shroud.

Despite having had next to no sleep for two days, Ironside felt as bright and alert as he had ever been, the sense of desperate anticipation counteracting the fatigue. Everything was set. Ironside did as Richards' had instructed, and he'd made sure everyone else had done the same. Now was the moment all this had been building up to. In the next few hours he would have to work harder than he had ever worked before in his life. Lives depended on him: Ed's, Mark's, Eve's and not least his own.

And Anthony Richards was not going to make it easy.

It was four o'clock in the morning: Fifty hours since he's last had a proper sleep, thirty-eight hours since he'd last seen Ed as he walked out of the office into a sunny Californian morning, thirty-four hours since this nightmare had begun, eighteen hours since Eve had almost been killed in that fire, ten hours since he's talked to the Commissioner, two hours since he'd sat and given in to fear for a moment, alone in his office. And most importantly, it was five hours before the State versus McDonald was due to start.

At two minutes past four, the phone rang. The Chief picked it up, his hand as steady as always.

'Ironside.'

'Hello, Robert.'

He'd thought about this moment. He'd thought about it from every angle, how was he going to react, how much was he going to give away. He could have pretended that he didn't expect Tony R, but that was foolish; they had been at the warehouse, after all. There was nothing to be gained from acting surprised.

'Hello, Tony,' he said. 'It's been a long time.'

'I wish I could say it was good to hear your voice again, Chief Ironside,' said Richards, sounding smug. 'But it isn't.'

'The sentiment is reciprocated, I can assure you,' replied the Chief.

'I don't doubt it. Did you do as I told you? Are you alone?'

'Just me, and my team,' he replied. 'You have my word.'

'Team?' the sarcasm was evident in Tony's voice. 'Your team of one?'

'My team,' growled Ironside. 'Now let's get on with it.'

'Fine! Do you have my money?'

'Do you still have my evidence?'

'I have your Sergeant Brown, isn't that what you really mean?'

'I'm hardly going to pay two million dollars of taxpayers' money for a disgraced sergeant!' snapped Ironside.

Richards gave a buoyant laugh, and the Chief suddenly wondered if Ed could hear this conversation as well. It made no difference if he did, there was nothing else Ironside could say under the circumstances, but the thought of punishing Ed more than necessary hurt deeply.

'I want to speak to him,' said Ironside.

There was a brief moment of silence.

'Ch-Chief? Don't…'

It was Ed, Ironside was sure, but he sounded terrible. There would be time later to find out what Ed had endured over the past few hours. Speculating on that now was counterproductive. He was still alive and that was all that mattered at the moment.

'Ed?'

There was no reply, just another short pause. Ironside thought he could hear some noises in the background, but he couldn't identify what they were.

'Does that satisfy you?' said Richards. 'He's here, and the drugs are right beside me. So can we get on to the real business at hand?'

A cold thrill of anger passed through Ironside at Richards' indifferent attitude, but he made sure his voice was steady and business-like when he spoke. He wasn't going to be baited into an emotional outburst.

'Nothing would please me more than to get this over and done with,' Ironside said.

'Good,' replied Richards. 'Listen carefully, Chief Ironside. First thing you'll do is rip out your radio and your car phone, and dump them on the pavement beside you.'

'Mark, pull the radio and the phone.'

From the van, Mark frowned at Ironside, but he did it anyway. There was a crack of plastic and wrenched wires then the whole bundle hit the ground with a smack.

'That's very good. Now, you and your little black samba are going for a drive around town. I know your van is easily recognised, but if I see a single car that even looks like it's tailing you, this whole building will go up, drugs, people and all. Do you understand?'

Ironside almost smiled at the end tag.

'I understand,' he said grimly.

'Good. Get to the corner of Haight and Ashbury, then turn next left. There's a phone booth there. I'll call you in fifteen minutes.'

The phone clicked.

Ironside paused for a moment then slammed the handset back on to the cradle, unable to vent his fury in a more productive way.

'Mark, we're going!' he snapped.

'Hashbury, I heard,' said Mark, pushing the Chief round to the open van doorway. 'Did you speak to Ed?'

Ironside nodded, tight-lipped. Mark waited for him to elaborate as he climbed into the driver's seat. But Ironside could find nothing to say.

'We're on a countdown here, Mr Sanger!' snapped Ironside when Mark made no move to start the engine. 'Do what you're paid for and drive!'

Mark turned back to the wheel.

'You better hope this works, Chief.'

'Just drive!'

It took them just ten minutes to get to the phone box. The street was quiet, only a few people were moving about. Ironside and Mark waited by the booth. Five minutes passed, then ten, and Ironside was rolled nervously back and forth between it and the van, not looking at Mark.

Then suddenly the phone rang. Ironside resisted the impulse to pick it up at first ring.

'Did you have a pleasant wait?' said Richards his snide tone abundantly clear, even down the impersonal medium of the telephone.

'I'm here, amn't I,' said Ironside. 'If you want your money, you'll get on with it.'

'The Dock, Pier 212, twenty minutes.'

The phone clicked again.

Ironside glanced at his watch. They were going to have trouble making that one, even this early in the morning.

'Mark!'

'We're already gone!'

True to his word, Richards bounced them back and forward across San Francisco, four more times until finally, they ended up at the down-market end of one of the quieter marinas on the Bay.

Sitting in his chair back near a phone booth, Ironside still waited for the telephone to ring. The fog was thicker down here and the Chief had difficultly making out the edges of the buildings.

This was the sixth one they'd done, and he was aware time was running out. This had to be the last one, or maybe just one more. After that, they were going to lose any chance of making it to the trial in time. That surely wasn't what Richards wanted, not if he wanted the money as well as revenge. And Ironside had gambled everything that he would want both.

The phone rang, and Ironside picked it up.

'Ironside.'

'Good. It's time to meet in person.'

'Where?'

'Right here.'

'The marina?'

'One of the outbuildings. But first take your gun out and toss it into the water.'

Ironside pulled his revolver out from his pocket and, holding it by the barrel, threw it into the Bay with a soft plop.

'Alright,' he said. 'The gun's gone.'

'Get the money and start moving. But leave your driver where he is. Warn him that if he makes a move to the phone the whole place goes up, evidence, you, Brown. everything.'

Mark, who must have overheard, gave him an I-told-you-so look and folded his arms across his chest.

'How will I find you?' Ironside asked.

'Follow your instincts,' said Richards sharply, and the phone went dead.

It was the first time that Ironside sensed that Richards was as nervous as he was.

The Chief looked at Mark and nodded. The other man lifted the large, bulky case of money onto Ironside's lap, trying to get it to balance properly.

'You understand what you have to do, Mark?' he asked. Sanger nodded.

'But I don't like it, Chief.'

'None of us like it, Mark. But it's the only way.'

He wheeled himself off into the fog, and Mark called out behind him.

'Hey, man, good luck.'

Ironside kept on going, conscious of the time and aware that they had taken longer than he'd expected. Maybe that was a sign that this was going to go wrong. But he couldn't see any other way. Richards would never make this a clean exchange, even if he was going to deal with him. Tony R held almost all the cards. Ironside had no option by to appear to play the game for as long as he could, and hope it was long enough to get Ed out, preferably with the drugs and the money as well.

He wasn't going to play it any other way.

The Commissioner had been incredulous, and furious as well, but Ironside would not be shaken. He was sure that Richards would destroy everything he could if he thought that his orders were not being followed. Ironside was absolutely convinced of that fact. Though the police department could be out in force, a plainclothes man at every phone box in the city, it wasn't worth the risk. Ironside wouldn't allow it, not with Ed's life at stake, and the small matter of the McDonald case as well.

For the moment, they were on their own.

Mark stood, his hands in his pockets, and watched as the Chief rolled his chair out into the mist and vanished. The door of the van was open on the driver's side, and Mark lean on it, looking out the way Ironside had gone.

He desperately wanted to do something. He wanted to phone in for the back-up that was waiting close by, ready to move when they got the word. He wanted action, activity… anything. But instead he stayed where he was told, and it was the most difficult few minutes of his life.

There was a click by his ear.

Mark didn't react. He didn't react at all as the gun was pushed against the back of his neck, and the man frisked him, checking for the gun that wasn't there.

'Let's get going,' said a voice with a heavy, Texan accent.

Mark shuddered at the voice, resisting the violent urge to take the man out with one single swing. Instead, he did as he was told and took a step forward, the way Ironside had gone.

'No,' said the man. 'Turn left. And get your hands up.'

For the first time, a frown crossed Marks' face. What if Ironside had been wrong about all of this?

He drew a deep breath. Ironside never called it wrong. It was his turn now, to trust that the Chief was right, and the Chief knew what he was doing.

With a final, nervous glance backwards, Mark laced his fingers behind his head and started to walk, leaving the van and the phone behind.