Liar Liar - James Patterson Page 0,74

get our first press van up at the roadblock,” Woods complained. “These country hicks are smarter than you think. Some local yokel will see through the road-crew charade. Half the population out here works on road crews. Before you know it, our failure to trap Banks will be on the national news.”

“None of the press spotted the Bristol Gardens sting,” Nigel reasoned.

“If this whole thing comes to nothing, Spader, I’m pinning it on you,” Woods snapped.

Pops listened to the argument, trying to keep his breathing even. One of the officers guarding him bent and looked closely at his face, and when Pops tried to return the gaze, he saw the man’s features were clouded with green-and-yellow bursts of light.

“Deputy Commissioner Woods, sir,” the man said, “Chief Morris ain’t lookin’ so good over here.”

“He’s fine,” a voice said from the other end of the narrow red room.

“Should we at least loosen the cuffs, sir?” the officer persisted.

“I said he’s fine.”

Pops panted as the two young men sat again on either side of him, their rifles leaning between their uniformed knees.

“If ole mate here drops dead on us,” Pops heard one of them murmur, “I know who’s getting the blame. Take the cuffs off.”

“You reckon?” the other whispered.

“I reckon. He’s not gonna cause any trouble. Chief Morris? We’re gonna take the cuffs off. But you just sit there and take it easy, all right?”

“Yeah,” the other officer whispered in Pops’s ear as he leaned back in his chair, discreetly pulling the old man’s wrists toward him. “And don’t go croaking on us, boss.”

Chapter 93

THEY WAITED IN the dark, lying on their bellies, each with an eye pressed to the infrared scope of their rifle. Stephen was glad that when the order had come through from command for the tactical officers to team up, it had been Shona who had made her way through the dark toward him. He knew from their academy training that she had the ears of a rabbit, and she could take the bullseye out of a paper target at a kilometer’s distance.

He’d never admit it, but Stephen was a little nervous. He’d been on special operations before, but the danger had always been clear and present. Once, he’d laid sniper cover for a hostage situation for three hours outside a bank in the CBD, the back of his neck searing in the sun as he watched the negotiator pacing behind a truck at the front of the glass building, trying to talk the man down. Stephen had known exactly where his target was, had eighteen other sets of eyes anticipating his every move and reporting it through the radio. Target is heading north, approaching doors. Target is retreating from doors, heading south.

He ached for the same kind of certainty, any certainty at all, in fact. Their stationary position, waiting for the approach of the killer, meant the animals and birds in the blackness around them had relaxed in their presence, and every twitch of a branch gave him the shivers. Stephen knew from talk within the crew that target Blue was just a psycho bitch running loose, trying to stick her nose into a manhunt where it wasn’t appreciated. His only fear was that she might punch him out, as she was apparently wont to do. That wouldn’t go down well with the boys. It was Banks that Stephen was really scared of. No one really knew what the guy looked like. Some of the boys had sent around photos from the crime scenes on their phones, and it looked to Stephen like the work of an animal. There were reports Banks was working with a woman.

“Hey, Steve,” Shona murmured, and he took his eye from his scope to look at her. “You think if we catch Blue we still get the reward?”

“You don’t get a police reward for doing your job,” Stephen said.

“It’s not a police reward; it’s private.”

“Then maybe.”

“I see Blue and Banks out there, I know who I’m gonna run for,” she said, pushing her cap up so that the peak didn’t rest on the rifle scope. “Hundred grand? Worth a shot.”

An animal moved in the bush near them. Both officers lifted their heads, listened. Stephen felt every muscle in his body tense. After thirty seconds, when no sound came, they went back to their rifle scopes.

“I gotta piss,” Stephen said.

“Real snipers piss in their pants.”

“You’d love that, wouldn’t you?” He nudged her as he got to his feet. “Everybody thinking I pissed myself, scared