A/N: This story originally appeared in House Blend 2, published by Agent With Style. If you're not familiar with their work, check them out; they have a lot of good stuff to offer. And, many thanks to Susan Z., who many moons ago contributed a lot of time and effort to help me get this thing done.
McCormick peeked out from beneath the blanket and tried to focus his bleary eyes on the clock on the bedside table. “Are you crazy, Hardcase?” he grumbled through the covers. “It’s 5:45 a.m. In the morning!”
Hardcastle laughed at the indignation. “You didn’t get any chores done yesterday, kiddo, and then I let you goof off all night, too. I even bought you pizza with all the toppings, so now it’s time to pay the piper. The hedges around back need trimming and the gutters are going to have to be cleaned. It’s supposed to rain this weekend, and I don’t want them clogged up and causing a leak.”
McCormick groaned. “It’s not even daylight, yet, Judge. How am I supposed to do any chores when I can’t even see? If I fall off the ladder and break my neck in the dark, your gutters will never get cleaned.”
Hardcastle pulled the blanket roughly off the bed. “By the time you get dressed and have something to eat, McCormick, it will be light. Now get your butt out of bed and put some clothes on. I’ll even make breakfast for you." The judge turned and started down the stairs. “And don’t make me come back up here, kiddo, or there’s going to be trouble.”
McCormick threw one pillow at the judge’s retreating back and buried his own head beneath another, but he knew his sleep was over for the night. He had no doubt that Hardcase would find some more than suitable punishment if he were to drift off again now. After a few minutes, he dragged himself out of bed and pulled on a pair of grungy work clothes. It was going to be a long day.
McCormick finished his breakfast in the early morning sunlight. He really didn’t want to do the gutters, but he figured that might be the logical place to start. He sure didn’t want to be up on the roof in the heat of the mid-day sun. He yawned loudly and stretched as he rose from the table.
“You know this is cruel and unusual, Hardcase.”
Hardcastle grinned. “Judicial license, kid. Now you probably want to get a move on before it gets too late.”
Recognizing that further discussion was pointless, McCormick simply headed for the tool shed to begin his chores. Fifteen minutes later, he was on the roof, brushing through one of the natural valleys in the shingles, and gathering small piles of leaves.
As he gave himself over to the rather mindless work, McCormick’s thoughts drifted back to last night’s dinner conversation, and he wondered for at least the fiftieth time about the identity of the unknown accuser that had filled the judge’s brain with such insane ideas. He still didn’t know whether to be pleased that Hardcastle hadn’t thrown him immediately into jail or annoyed because he had called the San Diego police, anyway. Honestly, he needed to get some kind of clue as to what the judge was actually thinking.
McCormick reached unconsciously for the medallion hanging around his neck, hoping to find a moment of clarity in its cool touch, but he was startled to feel only bare skin. He patted his torso frantically, thinking the chain had somehow just fallen into his shirt, but it was nowhere to be found. He thought quickly, trying to remember the last time he had actually noticed the medallion consciously, and was surprised to find that it might have disappeared sometime the previous day without his even knowing. He knew he’d had it yesterday morning when he showered, but beyond that…
Suddenly, the morning silence was shattered by a single bellow from below.
“MaaCoorrmiick!”
The missing medallion was forgotten immediately and his heart leaped into his throat as McCormick jumped to his feet and ran for the edge. He clambered quickly down the ladder and rushed into the house through the back door. “Judge?” he yelled frantically, “Where are you, Judge?”
McCormick ran from the kitchen and toward the front of the house. “Judge!” he shouted again.
“I’m in here, McCormick,” came the answering yell. “Quit your yammering.”
McCormick turned toward Hardcastle’s voice and rushed into the den, calmer now, but still worried. “Judge? Are you okay?” He stopped cold at the sight of the judge standing in front of a destroyed picture and an open wall safe.
“I’ve been robbed!” Hardcastle screamed.
Oh, God. McCormick had opened his mouth to say that he would call the police when the judge went pushing past him and out the door. “Judge?”
“My car!”
McCormick turned immediately to follow the older man, feeling the bottom drop out of his stomach. This was gonna be bad.
He found the judge in an empty garage. He stared at the sight wordlessly, knowing he needed to say something, but having no idea what. “Judge…” he began hesitantly.
Hardcastle whirled around to face the ex-convict. “I don’t want to hear anything you have to say, McCormick,” he said, voice low with fury. He shoved past the young man again as he headed back toward the house.
“But...” McCormick let his objection trail off when he realized the judge wasn’t stopping. Besides, he still had no clue what he had intended to say. He thought briefly that he should just hide out in the gatehouse until this particular storm blew over, but he had the uneasy feeling that might just make matters worse. Hoping for the best, he followed Hardcastle back into the house.
As McCormick entered the kitchen, he heard the last of Hardcastle’s conversation with the police.
“Yeah, Frank, I’ll keep him here. See you soon." The judge hung up the phone and turned to face McCormick.
“You don’t have to ‘keep’ me anywhere, Judge,” McCormick said angrily. “I’m not planning on leaving.”
“Good,” Hardcastle growled. “Then sit down and let’s talk for a minute.”
“Oh, now you wanna talk. A minute ago you didn’t want to hear anything I had to say, but now you want me to sit down and have a conversation like we’re best friends, or something. Well, you know what, Hardcase? Maybe I don’t feel like talking. Maybe I’ll just go watch TV or something, since apparently I’m going to be ‘kept’ here for a while." McCormick stormed out of the kitchen without waiting for a reply.
“Don’t touch anything in the den, McCormick,” Hardcastle instructed brusquely as he hurried after the young man. “There’s gonna be enough questions without finding your prints all over the safe and everything.”
McCormick froze in the hallway. “What?” He turned and looked at the judge uncertainly. “You don’t think my prints are already there?”
Hardcastle allowed his eyes to meet McCormick’s and held his gaze, waiting for the truth. “Are they?”
McCormick spoke quietly, sincerely, and without hesitation. “No, Judge, they’re not. There are so many reasons I wouldn’t steal from you, Hardcastle, I couldn’t begin to list them all. I won’t ask you to trust me, Judge, even though you can. Just tell me what you want me to do.”
“That’s a pretty broad offer, McCormick,” the judge replied, his tone suddenly teasing. “I might want a lot.”
McCormick shrugged. He wasn’t kidding. “I know how bad this is, Judge, and it’s not something I can fix on my own. I’m not thrilled with the idea, Hardcase, but I need your help. I’m asking you to keep me out of jail. Please.”
Again with the surprises, Hardcastle thought. Still, he really didn’t think the kid had done this. The eyes would’ve given him away in a heartbeat. Finally, the judge spoke.
“The police are gonna question you, kid. And they might want you to take a lie detector test. Whatever happens, you just need to tell them the truth, and things will be fine.”
“Okay,” McCormick agreed with a nod, hoping it would be as simple as the judge implied. He glanced toward the crime scene. “You wanna watch TV at my place instead?” he offered, hoping the judge wouldn’t tell him to get back to the chores. Gutters suddenly seemed a lot less important now.
“Nah, I need to look around here and make sure nothing else was taken. I think it’s a good bet that it will just be the safe and the car, just like all the others, but I should check, anyway. You go ahead, though. I’ll let you know when the cops want to see you.”
McCormick stared. “I can go?”
“It’s not like you live on the moon, McCormick,” Hardcastle barked. “It’s just the gatehouse. You did say you weren’t planning on leaving, didn’t you?”
“Yeah,” McCormick replied with a small smile, “that’s what I said.”
“Then get outta here, and let me get on with what I’m doing!”
Feeling slightly better, McCormick disappeared out the front door.
The rapping on the door caused McCormick to jump. Hardcastle wouldn’t knock, so it had to be the police. He took a steadying breath and opened the door.
“Milt’s idea of keeping an eye on you is a bit different than mine,” Frank Harper said without preamble.
“Yeah, well, it worked,” McCormick replied shortly, as he motioned the officer inside. “I’m still here.”
“I thought I’d take a look around,” Harper continued, ignoring McCormick’s comment.
“Got a warrant?” McCormick teased.
Harper didn't seem amused. “It’s Milt’s house, in case you’ve forgotten, McCormick. And even if it wasn’t, didn’t your P.O. tell you about all the civil liberties you get to give up as long as you’re on the state’s honor roll?”
“Jeez, Lieutenant, lighten up. It was a joke. Search the place; I don’t care. What do you think you’re gonna find, anyway? Stacks and stacks of small, unmarked bills and Hardcastle’s last will and testament? Good luck, ‘cause I’m pretty sure all you’re going to find is a bunch of dust bunnies and last week’s pizza." McCormick threw himself onto the sofa and waited while Harper rummaged through the gatehouse, though he had the distinct feeling the detective’s heart wasn’t really in it.
After completing the search to his satisfaction, Harper returned to the living area and pulled up a chair. “So, there wasn’t anything here,” he reported.
McCormick looked at him sideways. “If you’re expecting me to thank you or something, Frank, don’t hold your breath." He had a sudden thought. “Hey, you didn’t happen to find a Saint Jude medallion on a chain laying around, did you? It’s disappeared somewhere, and I haven’t had a chance to look for it.”
Harper shook his head. “Nope, nothing like that. Sorry. You know,” the detective continued conversationally, “the big money’s on you being behind this thing."
McCormick sat up and turned to face Harper. “That may be where the big money is, Lieutenant, but the smart money is on the other side. People betting against me on this one are going to lose big.”
Harper grinned fractionally. “Pretty big talk for someone looking at the kind of trouble you are.”
McCormick returned the grin. “If I quit talking every time I was looking at trouble…”
“Yeah, I got it. Okay, Mark, let’s have it. Tell me what you know about the break-in.”
“I know it happened,” McCormick answered with a shrug. “I know I was in the den until almost two, and Hardcastle had me up again at the crack of dawn doing his insane chores, so there wasn’t a huge window of opportunity. I know the judge is the one who found the safe open when he went into the den today around seven, and then we checked the garage and the Corvette was gone. Beyond that, I don’t know much at all.”
“You said you were in the den until two this morning. What about Milt?”
McCormick shook his head. “He turned in earlier, maybe around twelve or twelve-thirty." He grinned suddenly. “He was losing too much money to stay up any longer.”
“So you were alone in the den?” Harper continued, ignoring the brief levity.
“Yeah,” McCormick said sullenly. He was almost ready to believe he was guilty himself.
“But you didn’t do this?”
“No, Lieutenant, I didn’t do this. I didn’t open the safe, I didn’t take the ‘Vette, and I didn’t sit by and let someone else do it, either. I. Am. Not. Involved."
McCormick threw his hands up in frustration and leapt to his feet. He paced almost frantically around the living room. “Frank-Lieutenant-” He threw his hands up again and shook his head roughly. He was lost. “God. I don’t even know what I’m trying to say."
He met Harper’s eyes. “Look, you’re trying to protect your friend, Frank, and I know that. I don’t have the answers to this job any more than I had the answers to all the others, but I do know it wasn’t me. I also don’t have a way to convince you that I wouldn’t betray him, but I never would."
He seated himself on the sofa again. “What else do you want to know?”
Harper studied him closely. “Will you take a polygraph?”
“Yeah, sure, whatever. Maybe that’ll convince you guys.”
Harper softened his tone. “I think Milt is already convinced,” he admitted.
McCormick smiled slightly. “You don’t think he should be." It wasn’t a question.
“Not really, I’m sorry to say. I want this to work out for him.”
McCormick looked at the detective skeptically. “For him? I’m the one going back to the slammer if it doesn’t work out. What’s it matter to him?”
“Don’t worry about what matters to him,” Harper replied, and McCormick thought maybe the detective had realized he had come close to saying too much.
Harper turned the conversation around."What I’d like to know,” he continued, “is if it matters to you. What, exactly, do you get out of this whole thing?”
Blue eyes stared in disbelief across at Harper. “Are you kidding, Lieutenant? Look around you. In case you hadn’t noticed, this isn’t exactly a six-by-eight concrete room, and you gotta drive about fifty miles to see bars on windows.”
“So you get your freedom. Anything else?”
“I get relative freedom,” McCormick corrected. “But it’s still a hell of a lot better than the alternative. As for anything else…I got to put Martin Cody in jail. That’s what the judge offered me, that’s what I accepted.”
Harper dug for more. “And?”
“And what, Lieutenant? What kind of an answer are you after? You want me to say how wonderful it is to be here? That it’s changed my life forever? That every day I give thanks for being lucky enough to come up before Hunt ‘em, Hear ‘em and Hang ‘em Hardcastle?”
McCormick narrowed his eyes for effect. “I don’t know which one of you is loonier.”
The detective grinned. “So it hasn’t changed your life?”
“Okay, you got me there, Frank. My life has definitely changed. As for how it’s changed …I’ll leave that to your imagination.”
“You know I want to take you in,” Harper said suddenly.
McCormick felt his throat tighten and tried to swallow. He nodded slowly. “I figured. Can I…? I mean, is there anything…?” He shrugged in resignation. “Never mind. Why don’t we just go? I don’t know why we’re even having this conversation here. Aren’t you guys just gonna ask me all these same questions downtown?”
“You did say you’d take a polygraph,” Harper reminded him.
McCormick nodded again. “Yeah, Frank, I will.”
“Good. Milt said he’ll bring you down in a couple of hours.”
McCormick looked up suddenly. “What? I thought you said-”
“I said I want to take you in,” Harper interrupted. “I didn’t say I was going to. Milt asked me to wait.”
“Milt asked….” McCormick was too surprised to finish his sentence.
“He made a pretty convincing argument,” Harper explained, “about how we’d have a stronger case if we waited for the lab work. Take you down now, and we might have to cut you loose before we get everything lined up, and it always looks bad if we have to make multiple arrests before we can file the charges.”
“Well, we wouldn’t want you to look bad,” McCormick said weakly.
Harper rose and started for the door, but McCormick was still too stunned to follow.
“There is something you need to know, McCormick." The detective turned back and locked on to the gaze of the ex-convict. “If you run now, while you’re the suspect in an on-going criminal investigation, that’s going to be a hundred times worse than just skipping out on your parole. Hardcastle would take a lot of heat over something like that.”
“I’ll say this a million more times if I have to, Frank…I’m not going anywhere. Don’t forget that his way of keeping an eye on me has been working so far.”
“So far,” Harper agreed just before he disappeared out the door.
McCormick remained on the sofa and wished-for just a moment-that he could find it in himself to actually run.
It was almost dark when Hardcastle found McCormick behind the house, trimming the hedges. “Hey, kiddo, I been lookin’ for ya.”
The young man looked up from his work. “Getting worried?” He tried to hide behind his typical cocky grin, but the tone was far too heavy and there was no humor in his eyes.
Hardcastle recognized immediately that he couldn’t tease. “Nope, not worried at all. I just hadn’t seen you since we got back from the station."
He didn’t add that he had been surprised by the absence, though it had all but shocked him. He had assumed that McCormick would be dancing around the place after passing the polygraph, wanting to rub it in, but, instead, the kid had pulled a mysterious disappearing act.
McCormick indicated the expanse of lawn. “The back forty down by the gardener’s trailer needed a trim, and I had to finish the gutters and these hedges.”
“That’s a lot of work, considering we’ve been otherwise engaged for most of the day. Why don’t you take a break? The hedges will still be here tomorrow.”
But will I? McCormick thought grimly. Aloud he said, “I’m almost done, Judge."
“Well, okay. I just wanted to tell you I heard from the San Diego PD, and they can’t find any record at all of you ever being busted down there.”
McCormick turned his attention back to the clipping. “Okay.”
“Gonna say I told you so?” the judge asked lightly.
“Nope.”
Hardcastle sighed in frustration. “If you’re waiting for me to say I’m sorry, McCormick….”
“I’m not.”
“Look, kid, I had to check it out; it’s what I do.”
“I know." McCormick said quietly. He looked up. “Ready to tell me yet who blew me in?”
“Not really,” Hardcastle answered. “Maybe soon.”
McCormick shook his head. “Please tell me you’re at least checking him out, too?” He tried to keep his voice firm, but he knew that he only sounded irritated. And maybe a little bit scared.
“Of course I am, kiddo. I just told you; it’s what I do." He paused a moment, and took in the weariness that was increasingly becoming a part of McCormick’s bearing. This case was definitely taking its toll. “I wish you’d come in the house now,” he added softly.
“I’m almost done, Judge,” McCormick said for the second time. “But I think I’ll just turn in after my shower. I’m pretty beat.”
“You’re not comin’ in for dinner?” Hardcastle seemed genuinely disappointed.
“I don’t think so. I’m just gonna get some rest. It’s been kind of a long, weird day.”
“Yeah, I guess,” Hardcastle agreed glumly. Then he looked at McCormick with a slight grin. “Sarah made pot roast with that gravy you like so much,” he said enticingly.
McCormick looked at the judge wonderingly. Why did the guy care whether or not he came in for dinner? But as soon as the question popped into his head, McCormick knew the answer: Hardcastle was feeling guilty for not trusting the younger man, and was looking for a sign that he had been forgiven.
McCormick smiled slightly. Part of him was touched at the judge’s concern. Another part of him thought the old man should feel guilty. Why ask questions if you weren’t going to believe the answers, anyway? But the largest part of him understood that it was simply far too early in their relationship for blind faith, and Hardcastle had to seek out as much information as possible. Also, there was no denying that the judge really had demonstrated an amazing amount of faith just by allowing him to remain free, especially after this morning. Maybe he should say that he appreciated the gesture.
“You know, Hardcastle,” he began, “believe it or not, I’m actually pretty glad that you check things out like you do. Most P.O.s would’ve had me at a revocation hearing after the first phone call. I’m glad that’s not your style."
He gave the bush in front of him one last snip and waved the shears in Hardcastle’s direction. “Even with the chores, this yard is much nicer than the one at Quentin." McCormick grinned. “And the food’s better, too. I think I might have some of that pot roast, after all.”
Hardcastle smiled as he bent to pick up the pile of clippings McCormick was raking together. Again, the kid seemed to know just what he needed to hear. It was kind of unnerving if you really thought about it, so he decided not to. For the moment, he was content just to feel the small spread of warmth that was becoming more common with each passing day that McCormick spent at Gull's Way.
McCormick was in the kitchen putting the finishing touches on lunch when he heard the front bell ringing. “Can he not just put something down and open the door?” he muttered as he headed toward the sound.
He was still grumbling when he opened the front door to find Frank Harper standing on the porch. “Hey, Frank,” he greeted, surprised. “Hardcastle isn’t here right now, but come on in. He’ll be back soon.”
Harper stepped into the foyer. “That’s okay, Mark. I actually came to see you.”
The words sent an immediate chill down McCormick’s spine, and he unconsciously took a step backward. “What?”
“I have some news,” Harper replied as he took a step toward McCormick.
McCormick backed up again. He was getting a bad feeling about this. “What?” he asked again, not certain he could manage anything more complex.
“We found the Corvette." Again, Harper closed the distance between himself and McCormick.
“That was quick; it’s great,” McCormick grinned. He saw the grim expression on the detective’s face. “Unless it’s…. I mean, they didn’t strip it or anything?”
“No, nothing like that. The car’s fine.”
“The judge will be glad to hear that,” McCormick said uneasily. “So what did you want to talk to me about?”
“We pulled some prints off the car,” the lieutenant said slowly, taking another step toward McCormick.
The lean form backed up again. “And?”
“Mostly Milt’s, of course." Another step.
McCormick tried again to put distance between himself and the officer. “Mostly?”
Harper moved toward the ex-con. “And yours.”
McCormick’s last step backed him into the stairway banister post; the lieutenant stopped just inches in front of him. McCormick held his hands in front of him, wanting to ward off whatever was coming next. “I live here, Frank,” he explained. “Of course my prints are in the car.”
“That car’s important to Milt, you know that?”
“Yeah, of course,” McCormick nodded.
“How’s it handle?”
McCormick snorted. “Handle? I don’t drive it, Frank. I’m strictly a passenger.”
“Then you wanna tell me how your prints ended up on the steering wheel and the gear shift?”
“The steering….” McCormick’s answer trailed off as he grasped the severity of the problem. “I didn’t do this, Frank,” he said, struggling to keep his voice calm. “The most driving I do in the ‘Vette is to move it from the garage to the drive to wash it….” He grinned suddenly. “Which I did just last week. That’s gotta be where the prints came from.”
“That’s interesting,” Harper commented mildly. “You should also know we found the car over on Durango Drive.”
McCormick blanched. “By my old apartment?”
“Exactly." The detective stared coldly at the innocent look on McCormick’s face. “You really expect me to believe you’re not involved in this?”
“Hardcastle does,” McCormick answered simply, as if that should explain everything.
“He doesn’t know about the car yet,” Harper pointed out.
That’s true, McCormick thought to himself. To Harper, he said, “It won’t matter,” and hoped desperately that he was correct.
“Then it’s just as well he’s not here to see me take you in, isn’t it?”
“But I passed the polygraph yesterday!” McCormick objected.
“Clearly, you lie well.”
“Frank…”
“Get against the wall, Mark,” Harper said calmly.
McCormick fought the panic. “Lieutenant,” he pleaded, dropping the familiarity as he fell into a more familiar relationship with law enforcement, “let’s wait for Hardcastle. He’ll be back in just a few minutes.”
“Nope. You’ve been jerking him around long enough. Now, get against the wall.”
McCormick tried again, his voice rising in conjunction with his fear. “Let’s be reasonable, Lieutenant. It’s his car. This is his house you’re dragging me out of. And I’m his…whatever in the hell I am. This concerns him; he should be involved.”
“We’re through discussing, McCormick,” Harper said as he grabbed the younger man’s arm and swung him toward the wall. “Now. Get. Against. The. Wall.”
McCormick caught himself as the lieutenant shoved him into the wall. “You’re making a mistake, Frank,” he said quietly, but he offered no further argument.
Harper searched McCormick quickly, then locked the man’s wrists behind him. McCormick heard him begin with the usual recitation, “You have the right to remain silent…” but he tuned it out. This was unbelievable.
“I don’t need to hear that, Lieutenant,” McCormick snapped, but Harper continued with the Miranda.
The irony wasn’t lost on McCormick. “Wouldn’t want the case to be thrown out on a technicality,” he muttered.
Only after he had finished with the Miranda reading did Harper pull his prisoner back around to face him. “All right, let’s get out of here.”
McCormick didn’t budge. “At least leave him a note, Lieutenant.”
Harper stared at him in disbelief. “What?”
“I’m supposed to be here, Frank,” McCormick explained patiently. “If he comes home and finds me gone, he’s gonna-”
“Throw your ass in jail?” Harper interrupted. “I’m just beating him to it.”
“Lieutenant….”
“Oh, all right,” Harper relented, “we’ll leave him a note." He grabbed McCormick’s arm and pulled him toward the den.
Harper and McCormick both whirled around as they heard the front door open behind them.
“Frank, what the hell is going on?” Hardcastle growled as he stood in the doorway, taking in the scene.
“Judge,” McCormick began, “am I glad to see you. They found-”
The judge interrupted coldly, “I want to hear it from Frank.”
McCormick’s face flushed with anger, but he clamped his mouth shut over his reply.
“We found your car, Milt,” Harper began, “and it’s fine. You can come pick it up later this afternoon.”
“I’m glad to hear it, but what’s going on with McCormick?”
“I’m taking him in, Milt. We found his prints in the car.”
“Of course his prints are in the car, Frank. He lives here.”
“That’s what I said,” McCormick said petulantly. He flinched slightly at the withering glare he received from Hardcastle. “Sor-ry,” he added under his breath.
Harper continued his explanation. “We found the car over in front of his old address, and the location of the prints make it clear he’s been driving the car, Milt. You been lettin’ him do that?”
Hardcastle shook his head, not looking at McCormick. “Not really. But he did move it to and from the driveway the other day when he washed it.”
McCormick shot a triumphant look at Harper, but the lieutenant wasn’t backing down.
“Milt, you need to let me take him in. You’ll be thinking differently in a while." The officer took McCormick’s arm and moved him toward the front door. “I’m sorry it’s working out like this.”
The judge took a few steps into the room and planted himself in front of the other two men. A quick glance at McCormick’s face gave him the final reassurance he sought. He pulled Harper’s hand off McCormick’s arm, and turned the detective back toward the den. “Let me talk to you a minute, Frank,” he said, and Harper allowed himself to be steered toward the other room.
“And you, hotshot,” Hardcastle called back over his shoulder, “just stay put.”
And just where do you think I’d go? McCormick thought angrily, but he wisely kept his mouth shut and simply nodded his agreement. He plopped himself down on the stairs as he watched the others disappear behind the closed door of the den.
“You’re too close to this one, Milt,” Harper said, as soon as the door closed behind them.
Hardcastle smiled slightly, suddenly understanding McCormick’s frustration at being told the same thing recently. “Have you ever really known that to be the case?” he asked his old friend. “You even went with me to Louisiana. Did you see me backing off Beale?”
“That was a little different,” Harper objected. “First of all, there was no room for doubt in that case, and secondly, he hadn’t been here long enough to get under your skin.”
The judge ignored the second comment. “You’re right, Frank, there was no room for doubt then, but there is now. If McCormick explained to you how his prints got on the car, why are you still trying to take him in? I know you like him, so why are you so eager to lock him up?”
“I’m not eager, Milt, and I wish it could be different, but I’m not gonna stand by and let him….” He trailed off, hoping to find a way to avoid the full brunt of the Hardcastle rage.
“You’re not gonna let him what?” Hardcastle demanded.
“Hurt you,” Harper finally blurted, and ignored the following glare from the jurist. “I’m just not gonna let that happen. There is plenty of probable cause going on around here to support an arrest. I’m gonna take him downtown and question him and see if we can’t get something out of him. My guess is he feels bad about ripping you off-you know he’s not really such a bad kid-so maybe he’ll come clean quick and we can put all the pieces together. Either way, we’ll buy ourselves some time to make the case and he’ll be out of here and away from you.”
Hardcastle shook his head slowly. “He can’t feel bad about something he didn’t do, Frank, and you don’t need to be worrying about me. I can take care of myself.
"You know,” he continued thoughtfully, “I think maybe Beale took off so quick because he knew he’d never ‘get under my skin’, as you put it; knew things would never really change between us. But McCormick…I don’t know. McCormick seems to think if he does all the right things, then we’ll be…well, I’m not sure what he thinks we’ll be, but he seems willing to try to make it happen. He didn’t rob this place, Frank, and he didn’t take the Corvette. I’d bet anything on it.
“He gave you a reasonable explanation, you know. He answered all of your questions yesterday, and passed the polygraph with flying colors. And don’t you think it’s a little odd that out of six or eight jobs, this is the only one he got sloppy enough on to leave prints? Pretty convenient, wouldn’t you say?”
“Criminals always make a mistake eventually,” Harper pointed out.
“Usually,” Hardcastle agreed, “but that’s not what happened here. The kid was in the car and he left some prints. And since he’s about the only other person who’s ever in that car, it makes sense that you didn’t find any others. Whoever is pulling these jobs, they’re careful, and they don’t leave clues. There aren’t any of McCormick’s prints on the safe, you know. You think he had his gloves on to grab the money, and then took them off to take the car? Not likely.”
“Not likely,” Harper admitted, “but possible. I still think you’re too close to this. Let me take him in and see what we get out of him.”
“No,” Hardcastle said flatly.
Harper was startled. “What?”
“I said no. You’re not taking him, because I’m not gonna press charges, and you don’t have anything against him on any of the other jobs.”
“You don’t have to press charges if I write it up as a parole violation,” Harper pointed out. “The board will pull his ticket in nothing flat.”
“I said no,” the judge repeated firmly, “and don’t try to out-legal me. I’m his parole officer of record now, so I’m the one who has to file for revocation. If you have questions for him, ask them here. If you have more investigating to do, then do it. But I’m not gonna let you lock him up just to make your job easier…or out of some misguided attempt to protect me."
Hardcastle softened his tone. “The kid isn’t involved in this, Frank. Trust me.”
“And what if you’re wrong?” Harper demanded.
Hardcastle smiled slightly. “You know the answer to that, Frank. If the kid turns out to be bad, I won’t need you to take him in. I’ll throw him into the cell myself.”
Harper barked out a brief laugh. “Yeah, I guess you would at that. Okay, Milt, if you’re not willing to press charges, I’m not gonna try to make an issue out of it…yet. But I may still want him downtown for questioning sometime soon. And I will definitely be watching him.”
“I appreciate the concern,” Hardcastle said sincerely. “And if you decide you need to question him later, we’ll decide then how to handle it.”
Harper laughed again; he had known Hardcastle wouldn’t just blindly agree to the questioning, but it had been worth a shot. He was still grinning when they opened the door and stepped back into the entry area.
Seeing the lieutenant approach him, McCormick raised himself slowly from his seat on the staircase. He looked quickly past Harper to where Hardcastle stood, but-as usual-the judge’s face wasn’t giving anything away. He pressed his lips together tightly to keep from blurting out his question; no way he was going to give them that satisfaction.
Harper reached McCormick, grabbed his arm, and spun him around. He felt the young man stiffen, and decided he was glad the kid was scared. Maybe it would keep him in line…and keep Milton a bit more protected.
“You’d better be on the level with him,” Harper whispered harshly into McCormick’s ear as he removed the handcuffs.
McCormick turned slowly to face the officer, absently rubbing his wrists to get his circulation going again. “Always,” he said softly.
Harper raised his voice to a normal level. “I don’t want him leaving town, Milt,” he said, his eyes locked on McCormick’s.
“I’m not going anywhere, Lieutenant,” McCormick assured him, and Harper thought immediately of the week he had spent baby-sitting the young man in the cell. Hardcastle was right about one thing: the kid could definitely get to you. The detective shook his head and turned away from the sincere blue eyes. Seeing the judge laughing silently at his discomfort, Harper simply shrugged, grinned, and walked out the front door.
McCormick breathed a sigh of relief and fell back against the wall. “Whatever you said to him, Judge, I appreciate it.”
Hardcastle shot him an evil grin. “What if I said ‘give me a few hours and I’ll bring him to you myself’?” he teased.
McCormick laughed easily. “Then at least I won’t have to wear cuffs on the ride, and I’ll have time for lunch first. All in all, not a bad deal."
After a moment, the young man sobered, and looked at Hardcastle earnestly. “It really wasn’t me, Judge. It’s great that you didn’t ask, but I wanted to say it, anyway.”
“I know that, kiddo,” Hardcastle replied gently. “It’s not like it just slipped my mind to ask, you know. Now, let’s have that lunch, because you’ve still got work to do before we go get my car back.”
Making sure that he had finished dripping, McCormick started toward the den, and only then noticed that the double doors were closed. While not unheard of, that was a little bit unusual, and anything unusual was making him nervous these days. He reached the doors and waited quietly outside, listening. He didn’t really like spying on the judge like this, but he also didn’t want to get blindsided by anything that might pop up during this particular case. He could hear Hardcastle’s voice from inside, but no one else. And, since there was also no visiting car parked in the drive, it seemed a safe assumption that the judge was talking on the phone. He leaned closer, almost pressing his ear to the door.
“No, Frank, I haven’t talked to him about it yet. The damn thing just came in the morning mail and McCormick’s been out in the yard. To tell you the truth, I don’t even know what I’m gonna say to him.”
What the hell is going on now? McCormick thought, as he waited for Harper’s side of the conversation to stop. He wanted Hardcastle to say more, to give him more clues.
“No, nothing came but the tape,” Hardcastle responded. “I’ll bring it down to you later to check for prints, but I’ll be surprised if anything shows up." Again, Hardcastle paused to listen.
“Didn’t recognize the other voice, so I’m pretty sure it’s not anyone I talked to the other day at the track. But it’s definitely McCormick he’s talking to, and I really don’t like the sound of the conversation."
Hardcastle’s voice took on a saddened tone. “It looks like I might have been wrong about the kid, Frank. I think maybe he’s been playing me all along. I probably should’ve let you take him in yesterday.”
McCormick tried to swallow around the lump that was suddenly in his throat, and wondered what to do. What in the hell had been on that tape to finally seal his fate? And would there be any way to undo the damage now? Surely, something could be done; after all, he really was innocent.
His brain was still trying to decide the best course of action when his heart took control and he found himself barging into the den.
“Why don’t you just tell him to send a patrol car for me right now?” McCormick said icily, his fear and anger combining to cause him to practically demand that which he wanted most to avoid.
Hardcastle covered the mouthpiece briefly and growled the first thing that came to mind. “Don’t tempt me." He returned his attention to the phone. “I gotta go, Frank. No, don’t do anything right now. I’ll call you later when I make up my mind.”
By the time he watched Hardcastle return the receiver to the cradle, McCormick was regretting his entrance to the den. “Judge….”
Hardcastle glared up at McCormick with narrowed, steel blue eyes. “You make a habit of eavesdropping on my private conversations, McCormick?”
“No,” McCormick answered, not denying his guilt in this particular instance.
Hardcastle smile inwardly. For all the whining and moaning he heard from McCormick on a daily basis, he liked the fact that the kid knew when not to make excuses. There were definitely things about this one he would miss. “So you wanna tell me what’s different about this time?” he finally asked.
“Just add it to the list of charges, Hardcase,” McCormick responded. “You wanna tell me what was on the damned tape?”
“Sit down,” Hardcastle directed.
McCormick stared a moment, wanting to argue on principle with being ordered about like a dog, but knowing it was useless. Besides, he wanted to know about the tape. And, he actually wanted to sit down. He dragged one of the armchairs closer to the judge’s desk and sat.
“Now you wanna tell me what was on the damned tape?”
“Actually, hotshot, I thought maybe you could tell me. I’m giving you one last chance to tell me what’s going on. What are you involved in?”
McCormick slumped back into the chair; this was worse than he thought. He had been prepared for Hardcastle to ask-again-whether or not he was involved in anything, but he hadn’t been prepared for such a blunt indication that the question on the judge’s mind was not ‘if’ but ‘what’. Damn.
“I’m not involved in anything, Judge,” he answered wearily.
“On the outside chance that you haven’t already been lying to me, McCormick, I’m gonna suggest that you not start now.”
The cold words pierced into McCormick’s heart. Apparently, indefinitely was going to end sooner than he had expected. “I-- “ He faltered, swallowed hard, and began again.
“I’m not lying, Hardcastle. Not now, not before. Whatever is on the tape isn’t true. I want to-“ He paused again, and rephrased his thought. “Could I hear it?”
Hardcastle stared into the dejected blue eyes and wondered briefly if those eyes were really capable of the level of deceit the tape implied. He just didn’t know anymore. Without further comment, he reached out and pressed the play button.
“So what’s the problem, Skid? You’re almost ten thousand short on our agreement.”
“I’m working on it. It won’t be long now.”
“And is that asshole judge still gonna be watching your back by the time you come up with enough cash?”
“I don’t plan on being around long enough for it to be a problem.”
“We're still operating on a timeline here, you know, Skid. You said it would only be two or three weeks. It’s been almost twice that.”
“I know. But Hardcastle’s the biggest donkey to ever walk the earth. I’ll get it done, then you get me out.”
“That’s the deal. But only one more week, Skid, or the price goes up.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
“Good. Then I’ll take care of him.”
The tape had been silent for several long seconds before McCormick spoke. “That’s not… I mean, I didn’t… That wasn’t…”
“Glad to see it’s at least difficult for you to bullshit me, McCormick,” Hardcastle said harshly. It was hard to argue with the evidence of the recording, though Hardcastle had watched McCormick closely as the tape played, and he would’ve sworn the kid was honestly surprised by what he was hearing. Just surprised it was recorded, more likely, he thought.
“Judge!”
Hardcastle wasn’t impressed with the young man’s righteous indignation. “Don’t ‘judge’ me,” he shot back. “You think you’ve got some kind of reasonable explanation for that?”
“The tape was doctored,” McCormick pronounced solemnly.
“You disappoint me, McCormick. I thought you could do better than that.”
“I could,” McCormick answered slowly, straining not to give in to the anger coursing through him, “if I was trying to make up a lie. The truth is easier, but hardly ever as exciting.”
The judge paused for a moment, somehow liking that answer. He gave himself a mental shake; he didn’t want to be pulled back into McCormick’s charm. “So that’s not you on there?”
“Of course it’s me, Hardcase, but I didn’t really say those things. I mean, not like that. The tape’s a fake.”
“And just who do you think would do something like that?”
“If I knew the answer to that, we could’ve put an end to this thing a long time ago." McCormick had barked out the answer, but the back of his mind tickled with a recent memory. He knew it would come back to him eventually, when he was less distracted, though he wasn’t sure when that would be.
On the lookout for even the slightest indication of deception, Hardcastle stared at him with open disbelief. “What are you keeping from me, McCormick?”
“Nothing, Judge,” McCormick replied, surprised to realize he had given anything away. “I’m just trying to figure out who I said things to that could be turned into that tape.”
“Who’s the other guy? That might be the logical place to start.”
“I don’t know.”
When the judge simply continued to stare, McCormick repeated the statement.
“I don’t know, Judge. What would be the point of keeping it from you now? If I really had been planning anything, I obviously wouldn’t be able to pull it off now.”
“You could still protect your friend.”
“He’s not my friend. I don’t know who he is.”
“How much money were you supposed to pay?”
“I don’t know.”
“Has he been paid in full now?”
“I don’t know.”
“When was this tape made?”
“I don’t know.”
“What was the plan for your escape?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where were you gonna go?”
“I don’t know.”
“And what was supposed to happen to me get you out of here? I end up hurt or dead?”
“I don’t… No!” Surprised by the question, McCormick was unable to maintain the dull monotone response. He wouldn’t have the judge believe he would hire someone to hurt him… or worse. “Judge, I would never do that!”
“So what was the plan?” Hardcastle insisted.
“I don’t know! Nothing! There is no plan!”
“I told you this is your last chance to come clean with me, McCormick.”
“And I told you I haven’t done anything, Hardcastle. I can’t tell you what I don’t know. Just get Frank back on the phone and get him out here because this is pointless." McCormick was rising from his seat as he spoke, but Hardcastle stopped him with his words.
“We’re not done here, McCormick."
Though he was new to the judge’s routine, McCormick had learned quickly to recognize the no-nonsense tone when he heard it. He wasn’t sure what Hardcastle could do that was worse than putting him in jail, but he didn’t want to find out. He sat.
“I want to know who that conversation reminded you of, kiddo.”
McCormick almost smiled. Had he been asked, he would’ve said he hated the immature nickname Hardcastle had hung on him. But now, in this moment, he appreciated the brief flicker of familiarity.
He pulled himself back to the question. “I don’t know, Judge. I swear, I’ll tell you when I figure it out, but right now, I just don’t know."
Hardcastle cursed himself inwardly. Why did he want so badly to believe this kid when every piece of evidence pointed to his guilt? After a moment, he found his voice.
“You know, McCormick, for someone who claims to want to work this out, you have been very little help over the last few weeks. I’d think you would try harder to give me the information I want.”
“I can’t try any harder,” McCormick complained. “I’ve given you everything I have. Besides, in my own defense, I haven’t really had all that much time to be helpful. I mean, the first couple of days you didn’t even tell me what was going on, then you threw me in jail for a week, and then you kept me practically a prisoner at the estate for another week after that. I don’t know when you thought I was going to be doing all this helping you’re talking about. But I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: just tell me what you want." The edge in his voice revealed the strain McCormick was feeling.
Hardcastle smiled grimly. “You sound a little worried there, McCormick.”
“Worried? Judge, I’m scared to death. At first, it seemed like this was dragging out forever, but now…now it seems they’re through playing around. Every day it gets a little worse, Hardcastle. First, you get that crazy story about San Diego. The next day, your house gets ripped off. Then they find your stolen car parked in front of my old apartment. And today, this tape. Judge, they’re backing you into a corner that I can’t get out of.
“I would do anything to stay out of prison, Hardcase, but we both know the road we’re on doesn’t lead anywhere else unless we figure out who’s behind all this. You tell me why I would lie or keep things from you?”
“To prevent further charges,” came Hardcastle’s immediate response. “This tape indicates a clear case of conspiracy, and could probably be used to help tie you back to all the robberies. That adds up to a lot more time than just serving your remaining three years.”
McCormick’s lips drew together in a thin, angry line. “You’re right, Judge; three years will be a walk in the park. Hell, I don’t know why I didn’t think of that sooner." He rose quickly from his chair, not about to be stopped this time. “I’m gonna go change." He turned toward the door.
“I want your keys,” Hardcastle said from behind the retreating back. He watched McCormick’s shoulders slump, though whether it was because of the final insult to his integrity, or because the man had been planning a quick getaway, he didn’t know. And he didn’t care. Much.
McCormick didn’t turn to face the voice. He reached into the pocket of his cut-off jeans to retrieve his keys, then threw them angrily on the floor at his feet. Without a word, he stormed out of the den and out of the house, slamming both doors behind him.
McCormick sat on the sofa in the gatehouse wondering just what the hell was going on. Hours had passed since he had trudged over here from the main house, ignoring the rain that soaked his body, and cursing Hardcastle every step of the way. He had showered and changed clothes, packed his meager belongings, and called Barbara Johnson to make arrangements for her to come get his things in a few days. She had been disbelieving about the sudden turn of events, but then, she had liked Hardcastle almost from the beginning. He had told her to be sure and ask the judge about the St. Jude medallion that still hadn’t turned up, and he would have to remember to ask Hardcastle to keep an eye out for it. Not that he would be needing it for several years, of course, but he hated to think of it lost forever.
Lost forever. Okay, there were a couple of words he could’ve gone all day without really focusing on, because that’s exactly the way he felt. He had found something here at Gull's Way. He couldn’t name it, couldn’t define it, and sure as hell wouldn’t admit to it, but it was there just the same. And now, whatever it was, he had lost it.
No, that wasn’t quite right. He hadn’t lost it; it had been taken from him. He could feel the anger burning inside of himself, and was surprised at its intensity. Surprised to realize that the prison sentence looming in front of him suddenly seemed a thousand times worse because of what he was leaving behind.
McCormick looked around the simple elegance of the gatehouse and remembered distinctly his first night in residence. God, it seemed like a lifetime had gone by in less than two months. He had been so scared that night, and so angry. He had run his mouth pretty much non-stop to hide his emotions, though he realized now Hardcastle had undoubtedly seen right through his act.
He wondered if the judge had also known that he never intended to stay. Not that he would run; he would never do that. But he had figured they might not actually catch Martin Cody, and if they didn’t, he would find a way to convince the judge that he should be released from his commitment. And if they did catch Cody, well…he had figured he would do the Tonto routine for a little while-put in his time-then find a way to become someone Hardcastle would want to get rid of. Getting sent back to Quentin in the process hadn’t been part of his plan. And the idea that he might actually want to stay had never crossed his mind.
McCormick leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and burying his face in his hands. He felt the despair raging through him like a physical pain, and a small groan escaped his lips. He wanted to run; he felt that desire almost as strongly as he felt the despair. But, sitting in this gatehouse, overwhelmed beyond reason by the loss of Hardcastle’s trust, he knew that he would never be able to make himself go. He cursed himself for that perceived weakness, and he cursed Hardcastle for not recognizing it.
He raised his head, a small grin playing on his face. He couldn’t believe the old guy had taken his keys. Besides being insulting, it was completely useless. Had the donkey forgotten who he was dealing with? If he wanted to go, he’d go, and not having keys would hardly even slow him down. The judge certainly knew that, so he was probably just trying to make a point.
McCormick shook his head uncertainly and stretched out on the sofa. He still didn’t know what the hell was going on, but he might as well be comfortable while he waited to figure it out.
Milton Hardcastle shifted uncomfortably in the back seat of his recently recovered Corvette. Sitting here in the car, in a dark garage, with a blanket pulled around his shoulders, a pillow behind his head, and a .45 revolver within reach, he thought he had quite probably gone completely around the bend. This was, without question, the most ridiculous thing he had done in a very long time.
But McCormick had been right. This situation was rushing toward an inevitable conclusion: the kid was going back to prison. He had seen the desperation in McCormick’s eyes when the damning words came from the tape recording and the young man had realized he was out of options. Hardcastle knew from long years of experience that desperation of that magnitude made a person want to bolt from whatever situation they were in, and he believed strongly that you could tell a lot from how a person reacted to that urge. An innocent man wouldn’t run, a guilty one always would. He was prepared to wait out the night in the Corvette to determine once and for all just which category Mark McCormick fell into.
McCormick bolted straight up on the sofa, the face of Lenny Archer etched in his mind. Jeez, how could he have forgotten? It had only been a few days ago, but, honestly, he had never really expected it to be one of his friends, so it just hadn’t registered in his conscious mind.
He rose slowly to his feet, feeling the aches and pains of sleeping all night on a sofa rather than a bed. “I’m getting too old for this,” he muttered, as he stretched the kinks out of his back.
He glanced at his watch: not even six o’clock. Under normal circumstances, he would’ve climbed the stairs, thrown himself into bed, and gone promptly back to sleep. However, since he had fully expected to wake up behind bars this morning, today seemed the furthest thing from normal, so he headed for the bathroom instead.
After brushing his teeth, he cast a critical eye on the face reflected in the mirror. He thought he should shower and maybe he’d feel more ready to face this day, but more than anything, he wanted to know why he was still here. What was going on in Hardcastle’s mind, and what should he expect next?
Without further hesitation, he headed out the door. No matter what the judge was thinking, he needed to tell him about Archer. It might be the very definition of too little, too late, but he had to try. And he was still here, after all, so McCormick allowed himself a small glimmer of hope as he crossed the lawn.
As he approached the front of the main house, McCormick heard the telephone begin to ring. When it hadn’t been answered by the third ring, he began to get worried. Had something happened to Hardcastle? That would explain why he was still at the estate instead of a jail cell, but it certainly was not the explanation he wanted. He burst through the front door without bothering to knock. He heard the answering machine pick up the phone call, and then heard Frank Harper’s voice. He considered answering, but decided there was no sense alerting the detective to his unfounded fears.
“Judge?” he shouted. “Where are you?” He had taken the first two steps toward the second floor when he recognized the sound of running shower water. Relieved, he headed back to the den, intending to pick up and take Harper’s message personally. The words he heard coming from the machine changed his mind instantly.
“…another burglary last night, in Brentwood. We found a medallion in the garage, some kind of religious-looking thing, has McCormick’s fingerprints on it. Looks like the game is finally up. When you guys get back to the house, call me and let me know if you want me to send someone after him or if you want to bring him in yourself. And, Milt…I’m really sorry.”
Horrified, McCormick stared at the machine long after Harper’s voice had stopped. Whatever had prompted Hardcastle to give him one more chance, this message was sure as hell going to change his mind. He reached out instinctively to erase the tape, but paused with his finger on the button. Erasing the message wasn’t going to change anything, except to make it worse. Harper was still going to have his medallion, and the judge was still going to find out about it eventually. Trying to cover it up was only going to make him seem guiltier…if that was possible.
He moved away from the answering machine and thought quickly. Hardcastle would be finished with his shower before long, and then he would be out of time. McCormick thought it highly unlikely the judge would want to hear about Archer-or anything else-once he found out about the medallion. If he stayed now, McCormick knew that he would be back in Quentin before the weekend was out, Archer would be off scot-free, and he would never know why all of this was happening to him. That was something he couldn’t allow to happen. If he was going back inside, he wanted to know why.
McCormick reached into the top desk drawer to grab a note pad, and saw Hardcastle’s keys lying there. It occurred to him that the cops were going to be looking for him very soon, and the Coyote would stand out like a sore thumb. Even the Corvette would be easy enough to spot, but the pickup…. He snatched the keys, hating himself even as he did it.
He grabbed a pen and scribbled a quick note:
Frank left you a message, Judge, but it’s not what you think. I swear, it wasn’t me. I’m going to find out who it is. I hope. I’m not running out on you, I just have to check something out. I’m sorry to leave like this, but I’ll be back soon. I promise.
Before he could change his mind, McCormick picked up the note pad, threw it on the staircase as he left the house, and sprinted for the driveway.
He thought briefly about disabling the remaining two cars, but it seemed sort of pointless. Hardcastle had the entire L.A. police department at his disposal, so keeping him from personally joining in the hunt would accomplish nothing other than pissing him off even further. McCormick decided he could live without that. He jumped into the truck, started it up, slammed it into gear, and tore down the drive.
As he paused to check the traffic before pulling onto the Coast Highway, he cast a longing glance into the rearview mirror, taking one last look at the estate behind him. He knew he wouldn’t be returning, and though he thought he had come to grips with that idea last night, he still found his heart filled with a sadness that he would never have expected. But he had no choice, so he dismissed the unwanted thoughts and pointed the truck south, hoping Hardcastle would talk to him just one more time and give him a chance to explain.
Hardcastle sat at his desk after listening to the recorded message from Harper, and read the note from McCormick for the fourth time. Damn it. He could understand why the kid had panicked, but that didn’t make him any happier about the situation. He had spent a long, uncomfortable night in a cold garage just to convince himself that McCormick had what it took to stick it out, only to have the kid dash his newfound confidence. No, he was not happy about this situation at all, and when he found McCormick, the young man would clearly understand the idea of hell to pay.
In the meantime, though, he needed the police to know the truth. He picked up the phone and dialed Harper’s number.
“Frank Harper,” came the gruff response.
“Frank, it’s Milt. I got your message.”
“Hey, Milt. I’m sorry to have to be the one to tell you. I know it’s not how you wanted it to end.”
“No, it’s not,” Hardcastle agreed, “but I don’t think it’s over yet, at least not like you’re thinking. McCormick wasn’t in that house last night, Frank.”
“Milt…”
“Frank, listen to me. After I told McCormick about the tape yesterday, I still wasn’t sure what I wanted to do; still couldn’t bring myself to believe he was behind all these things. So, I let him think I was sending him back, and then I let him go to the gatehouse.”
“Milt,” Harper interrupted, “I told you before that you’re too close to this. You aren’t thinking clearly.”
“I’m thinking more clearly now than I have for days,” Hardcastle replied harshly, “so listen to what I’m trying to tell you.
"Anyway, he went to the gatehouse, and he didn’t come out again all night. But I wasn’t too sure what I thought he would do, so I waited in the garage, just in case. Frank, I was there all night, and he never left. I’m telling you, McCormick was not in Brentwood last night. He was at the estate all day and all night, so unless you’ve got a really large window of time for that burglary, McCormick isn’t your guy.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
“Well, thank God for that,” Harper answered, genuinely relieved. “We didn’t find any other prints on the medallion, though, or anywhere else, so whoever is setting the kid up, they’re still being awfully careful. Does he have any idea who might be behind this?”
“Well, he says not,” Hardcastle said slowly, “but…”
“But what?” Harper demanded.
“He’s gone, Frank.”
“Milt. You just told me you could vouch for his whereabouts all night, that he hadn’t left Gull's Way. Now you’re saying he’s not actually there?”
“He was still here when I came in the house half an hour ago,” Hardcastle explained. “But he must’ve heard your message this morning and he took off. He left a note saying he’d be back, but he didn’t say where he was going.
“You know, something was bothering him about that tape yesterday, like he almost knew who it was, but couldn’t put his finger on it." Hardcastle could feel his anger returning as he explained the situation to the detective. “He might have finally figured it out and went to take care of it. Without me. Damn fool kid.”
“On the other hand,” Harper suggested, “he might have finally given up on your willingness to keep him out of prison and just taken off. He couldn’t possibly have known you were gonna alibi him for last night."
“That’s probably closer to the truth,” Hardcastle admitted, though he thought Harper might only have been playing devil’s advocate. He sat silently for a moment, then spoke again. “It’s over anyway, Frank. I want you to pick him up. Parole violation and grand theft auto. He took my truck. Bring him in.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure, Frank. He might not have been behind these robberies, but this case has still shown me that he can’t really be trusted. First time it gets a little rough, he takes off on me; I can’t have that. I want him brought in.”
Privately, Harper thought the judge might be wrong in his assessment, but Hardcastle should know best whether or not McCormick was a good fit for his unusual retirement project. “I’ll put out an APB, Milt. We’ll find him.”
“Thanks, Frank." Hardcastle started to hang up the phone, then remembered something. “By the way, did you find anything on that Leonard Archer guy?”
“No record to speak of,” the detective answered. “Just a couple of minor beefs when he was about nineteen, but nothing since then. Nothing at all down in San Diego, so he probably just completely made up that story, though I couldn’t tell you why. There’s nothing at all to tie him to these burglaries, and nothing to indicate any bad blood between him and McCormick. I started with his criminal history, of course. I’ll let you know what I find out from the check of his personal history, but so far, it looks like a dead end.”
“All right, Frank. Thanks for checking it out for me. I guess it doesn’t really matter now, anyway. I’ll talk to you later.”
Hardcastle hung up the phone and returned his attention to the note McCormick had left behind. If the kid knew something, why hadn’t he at least put it in the letter? Even if Harper’s call had scared him, wouldn’t it have made more sense to try to lay the blame on someone else before he took off? Of course, the kid probably thought he wouldn’t believe him, and, given everything that had happened, Hardcastle couldn’t blame him for that.
But then, why leave the note at all? Why not erase the message from Harper, get in the Coyote, and go? Given McCormick’s normal sleep patterns, it would’ve been at least a couple of hours before Milt thought to go to the gatehouse and check on him. Maybe the kid thought he could play on his emotions one last time. Maybe leaving the note-with its apologies and empty promises-was McCormick’s way of trying to slow the pursuit.
Well, Mark McCormick was about to discover that Milton Hardcastle was not so easily manipulated. The young wiseguy was going to get a much-needed lesson in action and reaction, and you could bet the reaction was going to be fierce. In fact, when he found McCormick, Hardcastle thought he might personally kick his ass. Right before he shipped him back to San Quentin.
A small knock on the door interrupted Hardcastle’s murderous thoughts, which was just as well, really. It probably wasn’t proper for a judge to be finding such joy in the idea of someone rotting in prison for the rest of their natural born life.
“C’mon in, Sarah,” he called out.
The housekeeper entered the room slowly, a sad look painted on her face. “I never thought he would do this,” she said quietly, as she placed a cup of coffee in front of the judge.
“Me, either,” he replied, “not really. I guess I let him get to me a little too much, myself. Didn’t really mean for that to happen.”
Sarah smiled slightly. “I know you didn’t, Your Honor, but it was easy with him, wasn’t it?” She paused a moment. “He did say he’d come back, you know.”
“He also said he wouldn’t leave to begin with,” Hardcastle pointed out.
“I bet he was scared when he heard the lieutenant’s message,” Sarah continued mildly, giving no hint that there was any ulterior motive behind the comment.
“No doubt,” Hardcastle agreed. He had intended the response to be sarcastic, but found it was simply too true.
“He didn’t have to leave a note, Judge. He could’ve just erased the message and gone; that would’ve given him quite a head start.”
“I’ve already thought of that, Sarah. But I hope you’re not asking me to be grateful that he’s apparently only a little bit deceptive.”
She shook her head slightly. “Of course not. You have every right to be angry. But when it turns out that he’s doing exactly what he said-when he comes back-I want you to think about taking him back." Without waiting for a response, Sarah left the den and closed the door behind her.
Hardcastle watched her go, not knowing whether he wanted to laugh or scream. How, in the name of all that was holy, could one long-haired, short-tempered, smart-mouthed convicted felon produce such loyalty in such a short amount of time? And he couldn’t help but wonder… would the next one be anywhere near as good?
McCormick walked slowly down a narrow, run-down street, toward a tiny, run-down house. He had made a call to Kong to find out where Archer lived, and he had gotten the address of Lenny’s sister where the racer was staying temporarily. He was hoping Archer was still here. Kong had said he was racing this weekend, but McCormick thought it was too early for him to have headed for the track.
As he moved, he tried not to finger the small microphone that lay hidden inside his shirt. A brief stop to visit another old friend had gotten him fitted with the listening device, and the recorder was safely back in the pickup truck. If he was lucky, he would have proof of his innocence to take back when he returned to face Hardcastle’s wrath. Not that he expected that to make much difference, but it would make him feel better.
He wasn’t sure exactly what he was going to say to Archer, but he took a deep breath and started up the walk to the house. Before he reached the front step, McCormick saw the side door open, and Archer stepped out into the carport, keys in hand.
“Lenny!” McCormick called out to him genially, not wanting to spook him right from the beginning.
“Hey, Skid,” Archer answered,not seeming surprised at the unexpected visit. “What are you doing here?”
“Wanted to talk to you for a minute, Len,” McCormick replied as he reached the carport. “About Judge Hardcastle.”
“What about him?” Archer asked with feigned disinterest.
“He told me about San Diego." McCormick watched the other man closely, and saw the understanding in his eyes. “You want to tell me what in the hell you thought you were doing?”
“Hey, Skid, I talked to the Martins, and they said you wanted us to be honest with that judge.”
“Yeah, exactly…honest. I didn’t want anyone lying to protect me. It never occurred to me to ask that no one lie to incriminate me.”
“What are you talking about?” Archer demanded. “I just repeated a story I’d been told. You mean it wasn’t true?”
McCormick looked at him skeptically. “No, Lenny, it wasn’t true. Did you happen to tell Hardcastle you were just repeating rumors, or did you let him believe you spoke from first-hand knowledge? And who’d you hear it from, anyway?”
“I don’t know, man, I just heard it around, you know?”
Whatever inkling McCormick might have had that Archer was being truthful vanished. He closed the gap between them, placed a firm hand on Archer’s chest, and backed him against the car.
“No, Lenny, I don’t know. I don’t believe that for a minute. First of all, Hardcastle wouldn’t have given it a second thought if you’d told him that you heard such an insane story from an unidentified source. And, secondly, it’s not like I’m such a hot topic of conversation, anyway. People have better things to do than go around spreading rumors about me, true or otherwise.”
“That’s what you think,” Archer said, a deep bitterness suddenly lacing his tone. “Sometimes I think people have absolutely nothing better to do than talk about you.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” McCormick had been prepared for many things, but this wasn’t one of them.
“Oh, don’t play innocent with me, McCormick,” Archer snapped, pushing himself away from the car and out of McCormick’s grasp. “You know you’ve always been the golden child. In the winner’s circle more than the rest of us. Everybody’s best friend. The one always destined to do more. Everything always comes so easy for you.”
“Easy!” McCormick was dumbfounded. “Have you forgotten where I spent the last two years of my life, Lenny? Or that I’m living in the custody of a judge just to keep from going back inside?”
“No! I haven’t forgotten a thing, including the fact that I’m tired of playing second banana to the great Mark McCormick.”
This was insane. “What in the hell are you talking about?” McCormick demanded for the second time. Maybe if he just kept asking, it would eventually make sense.
“When’s the last time I beat you on the track, McCormick?” Archer asked suddenly.
McCormick paused. “I…I don’t know, Lenny, why? I haven’t raced to speak of in almost three years. Just a couple of single shots, nothing major.”
“You know, Skid, that’s part of your problem. Some of us would kill for those little single shots that you blow off like they’re beneath you. But to answer my own question…would it surprise you to realize that I have never beaten you? Not once, Skid. Not in any kind of race. Never. Driving is my life, and I can’t even win against someone who doesn’t have enough respect for the sport to keep himself out of jail long enough to use the talent he’s been given. You disgust me.”
“Lenny, how can you say that? We’ve known each other a long time, and you know nothing is more important to me than racing.”
“Except staying out of prison,” Archer said blandly.
The words stopped McCormick. He had almost forgotten why he started this conversation. “Well…yeah, I guess so. Trust me, if you’d ever been inside, you’d understand.”
“Maybe. But I’m tired of people fawning all over you, McCormick, when you’re not even worth it. When you were out at the track earlier this month and turned down the Dawson ride, I knew you needed to go away. My God, Skid, you were only there a couple of hours, and you were offered a ride. Tell me again how you’re not living a charmed life.”
“You’re not even making any sense. If I’d taken the ride, then you wouldn’t have had it, and you wouldn’t have placed in Georgia. How is that better?”
“I don’t know,” Archer admitted. “But you’ve taken enough things from me. I want you out of here, far away, where I won’t ever have to see you again.”
McCormick wasn’t sure whether to be angry or sad. How could he never have seen the resentment Archer carried inside? Of course, he hadn’t seen the man in almost three years, which really made the whole thing just that much more bizarre.
“I don’t understand. So I beat you in a few races; I’ve lost plenty of them, too. And I turned down a job you think I should’ve jumped at. I still don’t see how that leads to you trying to set me up so Hardcastle would send me back to prison.”
“That’s because you’re always too wrapped up in yourself to worry about anyone else.”
“What!” McCormick was debating whether he should just clobber the guy or run from the insanity of the conversation. “Lenny, until last week, I hadn’t seen you in years. You moved away before I got sent to Quentin, and you weren’t here when I got out. What is it I am supposed to know?”
“I don’t suppose you know where I was?” There was a desperation creeping into Archer’s voice, and the anger in his eyes tried to hide a vast emptiness.
McCormick racked his brain desperately. Something was definitely wrong with his friend, and he didn’t want to make it worse. “When you moved away, you went down to Texas, right?” He was relieved to see Archer nodding. “After that, I heard you were in the Carolinas for a while, and then moved up to Frisco a year or so ago." He was surprised to see a small smile forming on Archers lips.
“You kept track of me all that time, Skid?”
McCormick shrugged, and forced a gentle tone. “We’re friends, Lenny.”
“Maybe,” Archer answered, his voice hardening again. “But you missed a crucial step in my career path, Skid. I left Frisco five or six months ago. I had a real sweet deal going." He paused, staring at McCormick coldly. “Out in Vegas.”
McCormick’s breath caught as the pieces began to fall into place. “What? You didn’t work for…I mean, it wasn’t…Cody?”
“You’re a pretty bright boy, McCormick,” Archer said derisively. “Too bad you couldn’t have figured all this out in time to keep yourself out of trouble with that crazy judge.”
“But what…?”
“Oh, I wasn’t working for Cody directly; I was one of Joey Morgan’s stunt drivers. It’s not the most exciting work, but it’s steady, and the pay is decent. Besides, Cody had this whole plan for a full team of cars and drivers. That Coyote you’re running around in now was going to be the crown jewel-and of course, that wouldn’t have been my ride-but Mr. Cody had great plans. He wanted cars in all the majors, and he wanted several people out at the smaller shows every weekend. Skid, it was gonna be my ticket to the big time. I had a sponsor, and as soon as the Coyote went into production, Cody was going to take the circuit by storm. Then you and that judge showed up, and everything fell apart.”
McCormick recognized the bitterness born of frustration and loss; he recognized it all too well. And though he hated to admit it, he recognized something else, as well: those emotions were easier to deal with when you had a direction for your anger. He himself had spent two and a half years directing his own anger at Hardcastle, and while it hadn’t changed a single thing about his situation, it sure as hell made him feel better to have someone to blame. McCormick found that he didn’t like being on the receiving end of that blame, and vowed silently that he would try to treat the judge a little better in the future. If he had the chance.
“Lenny,” McCormick said softly, “I had no idea. And I’m really sorry about the way it happened. I never would’ve wanted to hurt you. But, man, you have to know…I would do it again. They killed Flip, Lenny, and they killed him for a car. Maybe the Coyote was supposed to be your ticket, but it sure as hell should have been his, too. You might have lost a job, Lenny, but Flip lost his life. And I lost my best friend. There was just no way Martin Cody was going to get away with that.”
McCormick watched Archer closely for a minute, and he could see the understanding slowly dawning in his eyes, but the anger wasn’t fading. Still, this might be the best chance he was going to get. He had to keep Archer talking.
“Just so you know,” McCormick continued, “for what it’s worth, you got what you wanted. I’m on my way out of town before Hardcastle can put me away again. I just stopped by to find out why.”
“So what finally did you in?” Archer asked with an unsympathetic interest. “San Diego? Or the tape recording?”
“The medallion. That was a nice touch. I suppose I lost it out at the track the other day?”
Archer grinned. “Wrapped up like a present in that jumpsuit you handed me. You know, Skid, you’d be surprised how easily this stuff just came together. I mean, that first day, when I called Hardcastle? It was right after you’d been at the track and I was just pissed. I just wanted to cause you a little trouble, so I picked a story out of the newspaper, and I blamed it on you. I never figured it would be more. But then I couldn’t stop thinking about you, and later that night I found out where that judge lived, and I drove out there. I didn’t even know what I was going to do, so I was just sitting there watching for a long time. When I saw you leave in the middle of the night, I still thought I could stir up some shit, so I made another call.
“Then I got the idea of ripping off the judge; figured that would look real bad for you. So I called up this friend of mine, told him he could keep anything he could get, as long as he made it a clean job. He said no problem, but it had to wait because he already had some jobs scoped out. Can you believe the luck? I just got information from him about his jobs and kept an eye on you. Sometimes I reported the jobs to Hardcastle-when it looked like you wouldn’t be able to prove an alibi. Somewhere along the line it stopped being just fun and I really thought I could get you sent away again, but that judge held out a long time. You must’ve been using some of that world famous McCormick charm on him, all right.
“So, I got with some other friends, and we upped the ante just a bit. They hooked me up with a microphone and stuff. I thought I’d have to go look you up to make a tape, but then you showed up at the track again. I dug the stuff out of the car and wandered over to say hello. My friends don’t need much to work with, and I thought they did a pretty decent job with the tape. Hell, I almost believed it myself. Then when I saw the medallion in your jumpsuit, well…it was just all too easy." Archer glared at McCormick with a slightly demented hatred, and his grin matched his eyes. “I guess the charm finally wore off, huh?”
“Something like that,” McCormick replied bitterly. He was angry beyond words that this man had finally pushed him into a corner where all the charm in the world wouldn’t save him, though he had to admit it had been his own choice to leave without giving Hardcastle one last chance to believe him.
But in spite of the anger, there were other emotions fighting for attention inside his head: confusion, sadness, fear. He didn’t know which one would finally win the battle, but he knew he’d had enough of this conversation. He allowed the sadness to reach his voice as he spoke his final words to Archer.
“I guess you win, Lenny. I might not be going back to prison right now, but even if they never catch me, my freedom is gone. I’m always gonna be on the run, always looking over my shoulder, and, God knows, I won’t ever be able to race again if I want to stay out of sight. So remember me the next time you’re standing in the winner’s circle, Lenny. And remember Flip Johnson. And tell yourself it was worth it.”
McCormick didn’t expect a reply, and he didn’t wait around to give Archer the chance to prove him wrong. He simply turned on his heel and strode away, his shoulders slumped from the sadness of this unexpected betrayal. It occurred to him then that Hardcastle was probably feeling much the same way this morning-though perhaps slightly less surprised-and if Mark had been harboring even the slightest thought of running for real, that idea was now gone for good.
Hardcastle considered ignoring the ringing phone. The last couple of hours had done nothing to improve his mood, and he found it unlikely that this phone call would do so, either. But, of course, it could be McCormick; that was the whole reason he wasn’t out himself looking for his truck and the ungrateful kid who had swiped it. His mind didn’t really expect to hear from McCormick ever again, but he still felt the small hope in his heart as he placed the receiver to his ear. “Hello?”
“It’s me, Milt,” Frank Harper’s voice said. And though they wouldn’t speak of it, the detective immediately knew he wasn’t the person Hardcastle had hoped to find on the other end of the line. “Just got some more information about Leonard Archer I thought you might find interesting.”
“Spit it out, Frank. I’m not really in the mood for games today.”
“Finally found that connection to Martin Cody that McCormick was looking for, believe it or not. Seems Archer was working for that Joey Morgan guy, the one providing the muscle for Cody.”
“Archer was involved?” Hardcastle was surprised.
“No, doesn’t really look that way. Seems he was on the legitimate end of the business. But, of course, the business has fallen on some hard times lately, thanks to you and your wayward friend. Archer moved back out here right after you guys busted Cody and his goons. Seems he’s back to some independent racing now." Harper waited for the string of questions, comments and suggestions that he’d come to expect from Milton Hardcastle, and was surprised when they never came.
“Milt? You okay?”
“It’s a little tidy, don’t you think?” Hardcastle said.
“What do you mean?” Harper asked, thinking that this situation was really about as far from tidy as you could get.
“I mean, how could McCormick have possibly known there was a connection to Cody? I think he’s leading us-me-down the garden path.”
Harper could almost see the walls going up around Hardcastle, walls that just a few weeks ago he would’ve sworn McCormick had started to bring down. He wasn’t happy with the image. “Maybe,” he answered slowly, “but it doesn’t feel that way to me. I don’t know how he knew about the Cody angle…intuition, I guess. That’s how cases get solved, you know. Anyway, I’ll have Archer picked up for questioning and we’ll see what we can find out.”
“Why don’t you hold off just a bit, Frank?” Hardcastle suggested. “Let’s get McCormick back under wraps first. If he’s playing us, or if they’re in this together, or something, there’s no sense scaring him off just yet.”
“I can wait on Archer,” Harper agreed, “but I gotta say I think you’re wrong about the kid, Milt. It doesn’t look like he’s gonna end up behind any of this." The detective paused a moment before continuing. “You know,” he finally said, “you had more faith in him when there was a lot more reason to think he was dirty.”
“That was before he stole my truck and ran,” Hardcastle answered coldly, and since there was really no way to argue that point, Harper just said goodbye and hung up the phone, leaving Hardcastle to his ever growing anger.
McCormick took a deep breath and knocked. Hearing the answering invitation, he stepped inside and closed the door behind him. The look of sheer disbelief on Frank Harper’s face would have been absolutely hysterical under other circumstances. Unfortunately, he was fairly certain that the walk he had just made from the parking lot represented his last taste of freedom for several years, so he wasn’t really in a laughing mood. He settled for a small smile of greeting. “Frank.”
The lieutenant didn’t waste time with small talk. “Do you know there’s an APB out on you?”
McCormick nodded slightly. “I heard your message to the judge this morning. I know things look pretty bad, but I’ll say again that it wasn’t me.”
“The burglaries aren’t even the issue any more, McCormick,” Harper said heatedly. “Hardcastle gave you an alibi for last night.”
“What?”
Harper related a brief explanation of the judge’s all night garage vigil, and he saw the sudden, surprised gratitude light McCormick’s eyes. Then he saw the light die almost as quickly when he explained that the APB was issued after Hardcastle filed the stolen vehicle report. “You weren’t expecting that, I guess?”
“Nope." McCormick worked hard to keep the hurt from his voice. “But I’m not exactly surprised, either.”
Harper glared at the young man’s seeming lack of concern. “I can’t believe you ran,” he said coldly. “I told you how bad that would look for Milt.”
“First of all, Lieutenant, I didn’t run. I had business to take care of. And, secondly, I told him I’d be back." He shrugged slightly. “I’m back.”
“So why are you here instead of there?”
McCormick allowed himself a tiny grin. “I figured it was marginally safer.”
“We’ll see about that,” Harper said darkly.
McCormick swallowed hard, not appreciating the threat, but figuring it was only gonna get worse, anyway. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a cassette tape. He tossed it onto the desk in front of Harper. “This is for you, Frank. Do what you want with it, but it should help you clear a few open cases, if you’re interested.”
“What is it?” Harper asked as he rummaged through his desk, looking for a player.
“Should be my key to freedom,” McCormick answered. “Too bad it’s probably not gonna work out that way.”
Harper had found a portable cassette player and was listening to McCormick’s earlier conversation through the headset. “This Archer, by any chance?”
McCormick’s mouth dropped open in surprise. “How’d you know?”
The lieutenant almost grinned. “Hardcastle isn’t exactly new to this kind of thing, you know; he had some ideas in mind." He sobered completely. “He was a hundred percent behind you, McCormick, right up until this morning. Too bad you couldn’t have waited one more day to pull your vanishing act.”
McCormick shook his head sadly. “No way I could’ve expected him to believe me after you found the medallion, Frank. I had to take matters into my own hands. But, anyway, what’re you gonna do about Archer? He should be at the track now, if you want him. He’s too messed up to know I was setting him up.”
“We’ll pick him up, and get him to give up his friend,” Harper said as he set the headset aside. “And what about you?” he asked somberly.
“That’s up to you,” McCormick answered evenly. “I can go home or I can stay here; I won’t argue about it either way.”
“I think it might be best if you stay here,” Harper replied, almost apologetically.
McCormick nodded slowly. “Not a problem.”
Harper rose from behind his desk and started toward the door. “Wait here for a few minutes, Mark, while I dispatch a unit. Then I’ll have to put you in a holding room. In the meantime, why don’t you use your phone call to talk to Milt?”
McCormick looked at the detective despondently. “I don’t know if I can, Frank. Would you tell him I’m here?”
“You can’t avoid him forever, Mark,” the lieutenant said gently.
“I know. But I think I can only deal with this conversation once. It’s not like he’ll let it go with just a phone call.”
“No, I don’t imagine he would." Harper indicated a chair in front of his desk. “Sit down and wait, Mark. I’ll be back in a minute.”
McCormick dropped into the chair and waited, trying to think about anything except the next several years in prison. Fortunately, Harper returned quickly, saving him from his useless effort.
“You really don’t want to talk to him?” the lieutenant asked as he rounded his desk and picked up the phone.
McCormick shook his bowed head wordlessly.
Harper dialed the familiar number and waited for the more familiar growl. “Hardcastle,” he heard over the line.
“Milt, it’s Frank. I wanted to let you know that McCormick’s here at the station.”
“You picked him up?”
“Not exactly. He turned himself in, Milt.”
Hardcastle was immediately suspicious. “What kind of game is he runnin’?”
“I don’t think it’s like that,” Harper replied. “He brought evidence to clear the burglaries. It was Archer and some other guy.”
“Hah!” Hardcastle snorted. “What kind of bogus crap did he lay on you? Pretty convenient; I still say they’re probably in it together. Anyway, whatever it is, I’m sure you can just start drawing up the charges against him." The hours of waiting had only served to fuel Hardcastle’s anger, and he was well past feeling any amount of uncertainty over his next course of action.
“Milt…”
“Don’t ‘Milt’ me,” the judge shouted. “I’m not interested in any more of his fast talking lies. Just do me a favor and lock him up. I’ll fill out the paperwork tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow? Milt, I don’t know if I can keep him in a holding cell this time.”
“I’m not asking you to, Frank. I want you to book him and put him in the cooker. I’ll call the warden and let him know the kid will be back to Quentin in a couple of days.”
Harper was shocked. “I think you’re getting ahead of yourself. Why don’t you come on down here and talk to the kid?”
“I told you, I’m not interested in anything he has to say, Frank. I’ll be down tomorrow for the papers." The sudden click made it clear that Hardcastle considered the discussion closed.
Harper replaced the receiver slowly, not certain what to say to McCormick. The ex-con saved him the trouble.
“He’s not coming, is he?”
“He’ll calm down,” Harper assured the young man, though he wasn’t sure if he’d ever heard the judge so angry.
McCormick smiled weakly. “I doubt it, Lieutenant, but I appreciate you saying so." He gave a half-hearted shrug and tried to hide behind his usual carefree attitude.
“Oh, well. I knew what I was risking when I left. At least no one in Quentin plays basketball at six in the morning, and there’s not a single hedge to be clipped." He rose slowly from his chair. “Might as well get this over with.”
But Harper didn’t rise. “Hang on a minute, Mark; sit back down. Let’s give it a little while. He’ll come around."
The detective didn’t even hint at how much he hoped he was right. As badly as he had wanted McCormick away from Hardcastle when it looked like the kid was bad, he now wanted nothing more than for the ex-con to stay put at Gull's Way. Something about this smart-mouthed, hotheaded kid was good for Hardcastle, and Harper was willing to buy a little time while his friend figured that out for himself.
“I don’t know, Frank…”
“You got someplace you’d rather be?”
McCormick grinned ruefully as he folded himself back into the chair. “Lots of ‘em, but I don’t think they’re on today’s itinerary." He squirmed in the chair until he made himself comfortable. “So how long do you think?”
Harper shrugged. “Hard to tell with him. But I know he doesn’t really want you in jail. And, it’s easier to keep you out than get you out, which he full well knows, so he’s gonna want to stop me before I get too far along in processing you. So, hopefully, not too long.”
It seemed a logical argument, McCormick thought, except for the fact that it was built upon an incorrect foundation; Hardcastle did want him in jail, of that he was certain. But Harper knew the judge better than he did, so maybe things would work out. And even if they didn’t, a few extra minutes in an office instead of a cell was okay by him. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, prepared to wait until Hardcase decided his fate.
Hardcastle sat glaring at the phone he had just slammed down. Why in the hell was Harper trying to get in the middle of this? He, of all people, should understand that McCormick could not stay here when he so clearly could not be trusted.
But-
But nothing, Hardcastle argued with himself. So what if McCormick had taken in some kind of evidence to wrap up the burglaries? The kid was just doing that for himself, just making sure he wasn’t the one taking the fall.
Somebody had to.
Hardcastle shook his head roughly. It wasn’t his fault the kid got himself into a jam. The past always has a way of catching up with you. And it wasn’t his responsibility to go chasing after every cock and bull story the kid could concoct to try to get out of that jam, especially when the kid wouldn’t even tell him the story, but just went running off on his own.
Your custody, your responsibility.
He’s a grown man; he should take some responsibility for himself.
He did. Now you’re putting him in jail.
The judge pulled a hand across his mouth. He deserves worse, running out on me like that. He swore he wouldn’t run, and I suppose he thinks it’s okay just because he turned himself in.
He told you he’d be back.
Can’t trust him anymore; said he’d never lie to me.
Didn’t lie; he came back.
But, still.
He came back.
Hardcastle reached quickly for the phone, hoping it wasn’t too late.
McCormick sat silently in the holding room, waiting and wondering. He was relieved the judge was coming to see him, though he had no idea what he’d say when the donkey finally showed up. God, how could things have gotten so screwed up? Just a couple of weeks ago, he had thought his life might finally be turning around, and now…now he was just another ex-convict who couldn’t make it on parole and was facing a long stretch of time looking at life through bars. He shook his head with a slight smile and tried to focus on something else; he hated it when he got morose.
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the doorknob turning.
“What have you got to say for yourself, kid?” Hardcastle closed the door behind him, but didn’t move into the room.
McCormick opened up his mouth to respond, ready to lay into the judge with all of his pent up anger and frustration and fear. “How about I’m sorry?”
McCormick had surprised himself with the response; that surely was not what he had intended to say. But as soon as the words were out of his mouth, he recognized their truth. He was more sorry than he would ever have imagined.
“What were you thinking? And if you knew something, why didn’t you take me with you?” Hardcastle struggled to keep his voice calm.
“I needed to go alone,” was the only explanation. “Besides,” McCormick added, “you made it clear you weren’t looking for anyone else. You thought you had your guy."
Hardcastle winced at the betrayal he heard in McCormick’s voice. “Your attitude wasn’t making my decision any easier, you know,” he said by way of defense.
“I suppose,” McCormick admitted grudgingly. He paused, then looked over at Hardcastle earnestly. “I would never have left you hanging, Judge. No matter what.”
“I know that, kiddo,” Hardcastle answered with a heavy sigh. He moved into the room and seated himself at the table across from McCormick. “I appreciate you coming back.”
McCormick shrugged off the gratitude. “It’s not like you didn’t have people looking for me. We both know I would’ve ended up back here one way or the other.”
“It’s the way you chose that matters to me.”
McCormick felt a small rush of pride from Hardcastle’s gentle words. Too bad he wouldn’t be hearing more of them. He smiled slightly, and ventured into a new topic. “Harper told me you spent last night in the garage, Judge. Wasn’t really necessary, but I sure was glad you could alibi me for that latest burglary.”
“I needed to know for sure, McCormick, one way or the other, and I thought I had it figured out. Until I found the note." Hardcastle knew it was McCormick’s turn to hear betrayal, and he didn’t try to hide it in the least. This wasn’t going to get mushy, but it had to be honest.
“God, Judge, I’d apologize a million times if that would make it better, but, somehow, I don’t think it will. I only wanted to find out who was setting me up, not cause you any more trouble than I already have." McCormick thought he saw Hardcastle ready to argue that he hadn’t been trouble, but the moment was brief, and then hardness returned to the judge’s eyes.
McCormick sighed silently. He had hoped to patch things up with Hardcastle before returning to San Quentin, but he didn’t seem to be making much progress in that regard. He dismissed the idea and forced himself to ask the question that burned in his mind. “So…how long am I looking at, Judge?”
Hardcastle thought for a long moment. “Well, you’ve got three years coming from your original sentence, and probably another seven to ten for taking my truck. I doubt if the D.A. will try to make a case for escape, even though they probably could, so I guess that’s it.”
“That’s it?” McCormick was astounded. “You tell me I’m gonna spend at least the next ten years in prison, and all you have to say is ‘that’s it’? God, Judge, by the time I get out, I’ll have spent almost half of my life behind bars!” He turned quickly away, not wanting the judge to see the terror he was feeling.
“Sometimes-”
“Don’t say it!” McCormick interrupted forcefully, as he rose from his chair and leaned over the table to glare at Hardcastle. “I don’t want to hear again about how sometimes the past catches up with you, or sometimes life isn’t fair, or any of the other profound words of wisdom you’re always spouting off. I’ve heard ‘em all before, and I sure as hell know how true they can be, so I don’t need to be reminded now."
He shoved the chair out of his way and strode angrily across the room to the single window. He stared sadly out the small opening, wishing it were large enough to crawl through, then knowing immediately he wouldn’t do it, anyway. He cursed himself inwardly. How could he be so committed to this damned ‘arrangement’ while Hardcastle clearly had no problem calling it quits? He tried to ignore the stocky figure that crossed the room to stand close to him.
“I guess that’s longer than you were expecting?” the judge asked, more to get McCormick’s attention than anything else.
McCormick didn’t turn from the window. “I didn’t really think you’d press charges for the truck,” he replied bitterly. “Not that it would’ve mattered. I would’ve dragged my dumb ass back here anyway, though God only knows why. But I thought…. Never mind. Doesn’t matter what I thought.”
“Why did you come back?” Hardcastle asked suddenly.
McCormick shook his head slightly. “Stupidity." He paused for a moment, and then continued, still staring at the outside view. “Remember you asked me before if it would feel different going to prison for something I didn’t do instead of for parole violations?” He looked briefly over his shoulder to meet the judge’s eyes. “I decided it would. I couldn’t let you put me in jail not knowing the truth." Turning back to the window, he added softly, “Again.”
Hardcastle wiped a hand across his weary face. “What am I gonna do with you, McCormick?”
“The last time you said that, Judge, I ended up in a cell before the day was over. I guess we’re ahead of schedule this time.”
“Look, hotshot, running out on me like that was wrong, no matter what you thought you were doing, and-”
“I know,” McCormick interrupted sullenly, “I’m not arguing abou-”
“And taking the pickup was just plain stupid, so-”
“I know, Judge, I-”
“So from now on,” Hardcastle continued firmly, determined not to be led astray by the continual interruptions, “the rules are, you tell me what you’re doing before you do it. In fact, I seem to remember something about not breathing without my permission.”
McCormick turned slowly, too stunned to comprehend what he was hearing. “What? From now on? I don’t understand.”
“Try to stay with me, McCormick,” Hardcastle began in a borderline condescending tone that McCormick suddenly hoped he’d have a chance to grow to hate. “The problem here is not that you went after Archer, or even that you took my truck. The problem is that you did it without me. There’s a whole lot of legal reasons that’s not a good idea, but the only thing you really need to know is that I won’t tolerate it again. Tonto does not ride alone. Is that clear?”
McCormick bobbed his head up and down quickly as he felt the relief beginning to flood over him, but he hardly dared to believe Hardcastle would let him off.
“It’s clear, Judge, absolutely crystal. You’re right, I won’t breathe without asking. I’ll stay at the house when we’re not working, and I’ll do the chores. I’ll do anything you say, Judge. And I’ll even try to watch the mouth; won’t complain about things, just tell me what you want. I can-”
Hardcastle laughed and held up his hands to stop the rush of words. “McCormick! Don’t make promises you can’t keep. It sets a bad precedent.”
“I suppose so,” McCormick answered with a slight grin. “Then tell me what to say, Judge. I really will do anything. Or at least,” he amended quickly, “I’ll try.”
The judge was amused by McCormick’s eagerness. “I thought you had the right idea before, kiddo: just follow my rules and don’t ever lie to me.”
The gratitude shone in McCormick’s eyes as he finally and completely understood that Hardcastle really did intend to take him home today. “Absolutely. I won’t. I mean, I will. I mean, I will and I won’t. I mean, I will follow your rules, and-”
“McCormick, stop blubbering; I get the point." The judge sobered quickly. “But, listen, I’m serious about this, kiddo. I absolutely want this to be the last time I put you in a cell…ever.”
“You and me both, Judge,” McCormick answered fervently.
“Then you have to understand that your freedom is more up to you than it is me, McCormick. I know you, and this will be hard. Now, I’m not worried about lies; you’re practically truthful to a fault. And most of the rules I figure you’ll bitch and whine about, but you’ll stick to them.”
“Then what’s the problem, Hardcase?”
“You’re too damned independent for your own good, hotshot. You cannot forget what I said.”
And then McCormick laughed in that way he had that said he was already a step ahead of everyone else. “Don’t worry, Judge, I’ve got it. Tonto doesn’t ride alone."
He threw his arm companionably around the judge’s shoulder and walked him toward the door. “And it won’t be a problem, because the Lone Ranger never rides alone, either. You and me, we’re partners." He winked at Hardcastle. “Indefinitely.”
Hardcastle laughed and shrugged off the arm. “Now you’re cookin’, kiddo,” was the only thing he said as he shoved the young man out the door, thinking that, suddenly, indefinitely didn’t seem all that long at all.
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