Rex Hanlon
HANLON CUT THROUGH the cars on foot just as traffic was starting to pick up. He had no idea what was happening up ahead, but knew there was a very real chance things had just gone south.
He hated leaving his own car, but if there were cops, he might be able to handle it. If those cops saw Scott, then the game would be up. There’d be no explaining that. He might even be in a lot of trouble. Scott could tell them everything that happened at the motel, and the pieces would fall into place fairly quick.
It’d be his word against a kid killer, sure. But there were enough parties in play now that there was no outcome that didn’t end with him losing his career, his pension—probably his freedom.
He ducked to the side and jogged on the shoulder, drivers honking their horns at him. He held his badge up over his shoulder, hoping it would catch the light and shut them up.
He wondered if John would think to put the car on the shoulder and wait. Hanlon should have told him to do that. John had insisted on coming, of course, but Hanlon thought it was better to leave him with Susan and Kat.
He was getting tired of this. Part of him just wanted to put a bullet in Scott’s skull. Let those parents rest, knowing the man was dead. His career was over anyway. May as well end it with a bang.
Up in the distance, Hanlon saw another car pulled off to the side of the road. The shoulder was blocked because of construction, so it was cutting off a full lane, but cars were able to stream around it.
As he got closer, he recognized the van.
He broke into a run, his knee and hip immediately screaming in protest. Damnit, his age was catching up with him, and he hated it. Hated how he used to be able to run like this and barely break a sweat. Now he would feel some serious pain in the morning. Probably the next day, too.
As he approached the van, it took him a second to figure out what was going on. Daisy was behind Paul, the two of them standing in front of a bigger man with his fists clenched and blood on his face. Hanlon threw himself between them, and held up his badge.
“NYPD,” Hanlon said, sucking in air, trying to catch his breath. “What the hell is going on here?”
The man put his hand up, pointing past Hanlon. “This idiot drove his car into mine. Then this bitch slapped me in the face, and he punched me. I want you to arrest them right now.”
Paul and Daisy started to protest, but Hanlon gently pushed the man farther away from the two of them. Right off the bat he could see the man’s eyes were a little glassy, and upon stepping closer could smell the thick scent of beer on him.
“Sir, have you been drinking tonight?” Hanlon asked.
The man went white. “Uh…”
“Come with me,” Hanlon said.
He walked toward where the van and the car were pressed up against each other. The man was docile now, his face drenched in fear. Hanlon took a look at the bumpers of the two vehicles and found the car’s was a little loose and some of the paint had been sheared off, but otherwise, it didn’t look too bad.
“That’s a pretty easy repair,” Hanlon said, standing up and looking the man dead in the eye. “Few hundred bucks, I figure. If I told you that you could go home and handle it yourself, would that be preferable to a DUI?”
The man seemed to think about it.
The plan to capture and kill Thomas Scott now rested on this guy’s shoulders—and he didn’t even know it. Hanlon looked around him, down the expressway, at the cop car that was still lingering. Any moment they could notice what was going on here and come down to investigate.
Hanlon held his breath.
The man’s shoulders slumped, and Hanlon exhaled. Defeated, the guy stalked off, got back in the car, and slowly pulled into traffic. Hanlon smiled and turned to the Zhous. The two of them were too far away to have heard the exchange, so they were both incredibly confused.
“Lucky for us, he had a couple of drinks tonight,” Hanlon said. “Now, what the hell happened?”
As cars picked up speed, the occasional driver leaning on the horn, Paul ran him through the events in the minivan, stumbling over his words: staying hidden, attacking Scott when the car stopped, Scott’s escape, and the altercation with the other driver.
Good on Paul, Hanlon thought. Here he’d thought the man was a sissy. At least he’d stepped up to defend his wife. He couldn’t help but notice that Daisy was throwing the stray grin at him as he told the story.
“So,” Hanlon said. “Bad news, Scott got away. Good news, the other officers didn’t see you or him, so this is still in play.”
“He says he didn’t kill our children,” Paul said.
“He’s lying.”
“I know.”
Hanlon was shocked. Paul had been the weakest link in the chain, and was suddenly resolute. He wondered what had changed, but then realized it didn’t matter.
“So, what’s next?” Daisy asked. “How do we find him?”
Hanlon stared off, watching the cars speeding past them. At the big, open expanse of night sky.
Scott was on foot. He was afraid and alone and not all that clever. But Staten Island was more than a hundred square miles, home to a half a million people. A mix of homes and apartments and parks and businesses. And unlike the rest of New York City, this was the borough that gladly went to bed early. If Scott wanted to stay hidden, this place was just dense and quiet enough that it wouldn’t be hard at all.
The trick was figuring out where he would go next.