Peter Decker 2-Book Thriller Collection: Blindman’s Bluff, Hangman

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Faye Kellerman

Год написания книги

2019

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“You’re … the head?”

“I’m leading the investigation, yes. We have a lot of people working on this, and anything you can tell me might help.”

“I feel … real … shit …” His head bobbed. “Shit.”

“It hurts to be shot …”

Eyes opened and stayed that way. “You ever …”

“Yes, I’ve been shot. It hurts.”

“Burns like shit.”

“Yes, it does.”

Gil’s head bobbed. “They said sí, sí … I heard it.”

Decker took out his notepad. “The men who attacked you spoke Spanish?”

“Yeah … sí, sí.”

“Do you speak Spanish?”

“No … just sí, sí.”

“Did you recognize any other words?”

“It happened … fast.”

“I’m sure you were in total shock. How many people attacked you?”

Silence.

Decker said, “Sometimes it helps if you close your eyes and view it like a movie or a photograph in your head.”

He closed his eyes. “I see one … two …” He was counting them in his foggy brain. “Three …” His face, pale to start, went ashen. “Flashbulb in my eyes … then bang … Bang, bang, bang!”

Beep, beep, beep went the monitor. Gil’s heartbeat started to race.

“So fucking loud! Hurt my head!”

Didi, the nurse, said, “You’re exciting him. You’re going to have to leave!”

Gil was still talking, his eyes moving rapidly under closed lids. “Happened like …” He tried to snap his fingers and his eyes popped open. “My heart … pumping. I’m running away … I feel fire … I fall.”

Didi was about to inject him with more Demerol, when he said, “Stop!”

Both she and Decker were taken aback. Gil spat out, “Get the … bastards!”

“We have the same goal, Mr. Kaffey,” Decker said. “What about their faces? Can you describe any of them?”

The eyes closed partway. “One … two … three of them.”

“You remember three people attacking you.”

“Three people …”

“Can you describe them?” Decker asked.

Tears formed in Gil’s eyes. “Bastards … the one with the gun … I saw the arm … he had tattoos.”

“What kind of tattoos?”

“Beeexcel …” His eyes blinked, and the tears ran down his face.

“Pardon?”

“The letters … B … X … L … L.”

Decker thought a moment. “Could it have been B-X-I-I with a capital I?”

“Maybe.”

The Bodega 12th Street gang contained nasty, nasty men, most of them with origins from El Salvador and Mexico. It had originated in the Ramparts division years ago but had spread like a cancer into just about every state in the union. They numbered around fifty thousand loosely organized criminals. There were men at the top, but most of the bastards were drug runners and hard-core felons. It was one of the most violent gangs in the country.

Gil was one lucky sucker.

“He had B-X-I-I tattooed on his arm,” Decker said. “Can you tell me which arm?”

Gil was breathing shallowly. “Right-handed. On his right arm.”

“His right arm was exposed then?”

Gil didn’t answer.

“He was wearing short sleeves?”

“Black T-shirt.”

“Good,” Decker told him. “Any other tattoos?”

“Black cat … with Spanish words. Something negro.”

“Negro is black in Spanish. Can you close your eyes and see that arm … tell me the other word?”

Gil closed his eyes. “G … A …” He shook his head.

“Could it be G-A-T-O? Gato means cat. So gato negro would be black cat.”