Prior Bad Acts

60

KOVAC RAN DOWN the hall to the war room, catching hold of the door frame to stop himself. Everyone in the room turned toward him, their expressions going sober at the sight of him.

“An old, burned-out munitions plant or dump near a refinery,” he called out.

Tippen grabbed his coat off the back of a chair. “I know it. Let’s go.”

They ran out the door of the building and down the stone steps. Colors and sounds of the media people on the stairs and sidewalk registered only dimly in Kovac’s mind. A blur. White noise.

He had parked his car in the loading zone, along with Dawes’s car and Liska’s car and the cars of the entire task force. But he didn’t go for his car. He ran up to a uniform sitting back against the hood of a squad car, watching the show.

“Gimme your keys.”

The officer straightened. “What the hell…?”

“Gimme your goddamn keys!” Kovac shouted.

“Detectives, Homicide,” Tippen said, showing his badge. “Give him the fucking keys!”

Kovac yanked the keys out of the guy’s hand, rounded the hood, climbed in the car. He gunned the engine, threw the shift into reverse as soon as Tippen’s ass hit the other seat. Cars blasted their horns as Kovac shot the squad car backward into their paths. He shifted into drive and peeled out, leaving rubber smoking on the pavement.

He hadn’t driven a squad car in years, but he still knew where the switches were for lights and sirens.

“Where are we going?” he shouted at Tippen.

“Thirty-five W south. I’ll give directions as we go.”

The speedometer swung to ninety as they came off the ramp onto the freeway. Tippen buckled in and braced himself.

“What the fuck is this traffic?” Kovac demanded as he tried to weave through without losing too much speed.

Ahead, all he could see across the lanes of traffic were taillights. Cars were trying to pull out of his way but had nowhere to go. He hit the brakes and held the wheel against a skid, and the car rocked to a halt.

“Vikings-Packers game,” Tippen said.

Kovac looked at him, wild eyed. “Don’t tell me this is a pack of fucking Cheeseheads going back to Wisconsin!”

He didn’t expect an answer or want one.

Tippen got on the sound system, and his voice blasted out of the speaker mounted on the car.

“Move aside! This is a police emergency! Move aside!”

Drivers all around were staring at them like deer in headlights.

Kovac grabbed the handset and shouted,“Get the fuck out of the way!!”

Cars gave an inch here, a foot there, as he tried to wedge the squad car to the right, going for the shoulder. A sickening crunch sounded as he clipped the front end of an SUV, then the rear end of another.

When he hit the shoulder, he floored the accelerator, and the big car lunged forward, flying past the traffic at a frightening speed.

“Exit here!” Tippen shouted pointing. “Cut across. We’ll get on Fifty-five!”

Kovac touched the brakes, once, twice, took the exit too fast, just missed two cars at the bottom.

By the grace of God he wouldn’t kill anybody.

And he wouldn’t be too late.