Flashback

“There must be some evidence,” said K.T. “Homeland Security has a national watch for Val. Right now they’re treating him as a material witness, but they and the FBI are serious about apprehending him.”

“Jesus,” whispered Nick. He looked K.T. in the eye. “You say this is the least bad news you have for me?”

K.T.’s brown eyes never seemed to blink. She was staring at Nick the way he’d seen her stare at perps they had to take down one way or the other. “What are you going to do, Nick?”

“What do you mean? Are you asking me to drop a dime on my son?”

“No,” said K.T. “I think you need to bring him in if he shows up in person. You still have cuffs, don’t you?”

It would have been wrong for Nick to have his DPD handcuffs, but he did indeed have some that had been part of his junior private detective kit when Nick had considered making money as a bounty hunter tracking down skippers who’d violated their bonds. He tried to envision slapping those cuffs on his son. He couldn’t. But Nick realized that he was visualizing Val as he’d been when he’d last seen him, not quite eleven years old, his face still rounded by baby fat. Even this recent high school photo showed a different person.

Nick said nothing.

“DHS and the FBI and local departments won’t mess around with him, Nick,” K.T. was saying. “It says on the APB that he’s armed and dangerous.”

“Who says he’s armed?”

“Galina Kschessinska,” said K.T.

“And who the fuck is Galina Kschessinska?”

“Formerly Mrs. Galina Coyne. The dead Billy Coyne’s mother. She once worked in an office that helped coordinate Advisor Omura’s travel and security in L.A.”

“So it was an inside job,” said Nick. “Why would Ms. Galina Kschessinska know if Val was armed or not?”

“She told the LAPD that her son had told her that he’d given a nine-millimeter Beretta to Val. The pistol had fifteen rounds in the magazine.”

And what’s teenager Billy Coyne doing handing out 9-mil Berettas and why hadn’t Ms. Kschessinska mentioned this to the cops before the massacre at the Disney Center? thought Nick. But he said nothing. If what the bitch said was true, then the “armed” part of the APB was appropriate. But the “dangerous”? Nick thought of how his son used to take his fielder’s mitt to bed with him, like a stuffed animal.

“They’re doing analysis on the two slugs taken out of Billy Coyne and the third one pried out of the tunnel wall behind him,” said K.T., her voice a monotone. “But CHP Assistant Chief Ambrose, who I spoke to tonight, said the one he’d seen that came out of the wall was nine millimeter.”

“CHP Assistant Chief Ambrose?” Nick repeated stupidly. “Dale Ambrose?”

“Yeah.” K.T. had lowered the Glock to the tabletop and covered it with a newspaper, but Nick knew that it was still aimed in his general direction. “You know him?”

“Yeah. No. I mean—the Old Man helped train Ambrose here in the Colorado State Patrol. I think they had sort of a mentor-sensei thing going. I know the Old Man thought that Ambrose was going to be a good trooper. Then, a few years before my father was killed, Ambrose moved out to California. Remember when I went out to L.A. about nine years ago to transport that child rapist-killer back? I spent some time with Ambrose then and he and I have called each other for some help on things. Last time I heard, he was an assistant chief in the CHP.”

“Maybe you should talk to him, then,” said K.T.

“Yeah.”

“Part of his job as assistant chief is to head up the CHP protection details for both the governor and the Advisor. It was Ambrose’s guys, along with Omura’s own Japanese security people, who exchanged fire with the kids.”

“But not with Val,” said Nick. “There’s no evidence yet that he was there.” His voice was hard-edged but hopeful.

K.T. shrugged. The APB on Val suggested that there was plenty of evidence to assume that Val had been in on the thing with his fellow flashgang members. With the state of DNA analysis these days, if Val had been in that tunnel and done so much as breathed, they’d have the evidence soon. Nick knew what K.T.’s shrug meant—The night is young.

Just the idea—fact—of Val being in an L.A. flashgang made Nick crazy. Denver’s flashgangs, committing crimes of violence just so they could relive them again under the flash, were made up of some of the sickest fucks Nick and K.T. had ever dealt with. And the L.A. flashgangs were said to be much worse than Denver’s.

Nick felt dizzy, almost as if he’d been tasered again.

“What else?” said Nick.

“You up to hearing the rest, partner?” asked K.T.

Nick blinked at the “partner.” Either Lieutenant Lincoln was being viciously sarcastic or she’d seen how hard the news about Val had hit him. Maybe it was a bit of both.

“Yeah. Tell me.”

K.T. slid a short stack of colored files toward him.