He looked down the lane to where the last ambulance was parked, its red lights flashing against the darkening sky. ‘I’ll go talk to the man.’

‘And what then?’ Felicia said.

‘What do you mean?’

‘You gonna take him down to the station for questioning?’

‘I don’t even know what his medical status is yet.’

‘What if it’s good? You gonna do a full interview? Taped? Even a polygraph?’

Striker said nothing for a moment as he thought it over. Taking witnesses and suspects down to the station was standard protocol, but this wasn’t some crook or civilian they were dealing with here, it was Harry. Another cop. And an experienced one at that. Like all cops, Harry would be willing to provide a field interview no doubt – but allow himself to be transported to one of the interrogation rooms?

That would be a problem.

Striker met Felicia’s stare. ‘If I demand that Harry attends the station and he says no, we back ourselves into a corner. Then what?’

‘Read him his rights. Force him to come in.’

Striker splayed his hands in frustration. ‘You keep saying that. But on what grounds, Feleesh? What law has he broken? Right now we got a pair of assassins out there who just blew up a car and killed Koda. For all we know, Harry might have been caught in the crossfire.’

‘They fired on him, Jacob.’

‘And he’s going to argue mistaken identity; you know that. He’ll say the suspects were going after Koda. He’ll play the victim.’ Striker took in a slow breath and sorted his thoughts. ‘Fact is, Harry doesn’t have to cooperate in the investigation at all. It’s his right not to, and he knows that. He’s got twenty-five years on the job, Feleesh. More than both of us. We’re not dealing with some piss kid rookie here. We show our hand too soon and we lose it all.’

She stared back at him with doubt. ‘All I’m saying, Jacob, is prepare yourself for what you might have to do. Harry’s not your friend. Not any more.’

Striker looked down the lane at the awaiting ambulance and felt a hardness form in his gut. This file was getting more complicated all the time. He couldn’t wait for it to end.

‘Jacob?’ Felicia asked.

‘I’ll go talk to the man,’ he said.

Without another word, he marched down the long dark corridor towards the awaiting ambulance, feeling every bit as injured as the man inside.

Eighty-Eight

Striker reached the back doors of the ambulance, opened them up, and saw Harry sitting on a gurney. He was holding an ice bag to his head and staring off into space like a wax figure. His complexion was two shades darker than normal and the flesh of his face looked bloated. Upon seeing Striker, he nodded slowly but his eyes remained vacant.

‘You okay there, Harry?’

‘What?’

‘Are you all right?’

‘. . . fine . . .’

The paramedic, a short plump thing, handed Harry another ice pack and shook her head admonishingly. ‘He should be going to the hospital for further assessment, but he’s a stubborn ass.’

Harry put the ice pack against his head and waved her away. He stared at the floor, as if his head was too heavy to lift.

Striker stepped forward. ‘You’re lucky you had on Kevlar, Harry. Or today your number would have come up.’

He said nothing back; he just winced and took a slow, deep breath.

Striker softened his voice. ‘Listen, Harry, I hate to do this to you, but given the circumstances and all, I need to ask you some questions. You wanna come down to the station?’

When Harry lifted his head to meet Striker’s stare, his blue eyes were cold as ice. ‘The station? You fucking kidding me here? What the hell happened to a field interview?’

‘I’m just suggesting it might be easier downtown.’

‘What, you gonna tape me too? Maybe put me on the poly?’ When Striker didn’t answer, Harry’s face darkened. ‘I’m the victim here, Striker. Not to mention a fucking cop. What, do I need to lawyer up now too?’

Striker took in a slow deep breath, if only to allow the conversation a pause. He closed his notebook. Put it away. Then played his best card. ‘Do you know a man called Brice Burns – also goes by the alias Sleeves?’

Harry let out a laugh that held no joy. ‘Of course I do. I’ve arrested him a half-dozen times. You know that.’

‘What can you tell me about him?’

‘That he’s dead, for one.’

The words caught Striker off guard, but he said nothing. He allowed Harry a moment to realize what he had said. When Striker spoke again, his words were slow and direct.

‘How do you know this, Harry? I never mentioned the identity of the person who was shot back there. Not once.’

Harry sat up straight. Met Striker’s stare. And spoke coldly.

‘You didn’t have to tell me,’ he said. ‘I watched Koda shoot him.’

Eighty-Nine

Before returning to the undercover police cruiser, Striker spent over thirty minutes obtaining a proper statement from Harry, but in the end, no matter how much he prodded the man, the answers remained the same – vague and without logic.

According to Harry, Chad Koda had asked him to stop by the A&W restaurant for a hamburger. While there, he had suddenly informed Harry that he needed to step out for a minute to meet with a contact about a possible real estate venture regarding the car dealership lot.

Koda had left the restaurant, crossed Semlin Drive, and entered the laneway behind the Hing-Woo warehouse. Finding the situation odd, Harry had followed. When he reached the mouth of the lane, he heard the gunshots. Then he had spotted the two men.

Koda, standing holding the gun; Sleeves, dead on the ground.

The moment had stunned Harry. Frozen him. And before he’d realized what was happening, Koda had fled to the A&W parking lot. And that was where the car had exploded and they had suddenly come under fire.

Back in the car, Striker read and re-read the statement over several times.

When he finally finished, he passed the statement over to Felicia. She read it over and came up with the same conclusion. ‘He’s blocked every investigative lead we could have taken. His reason for being with Koda. His connection to the event. Even any possible gunpowder residue we could swab from his hands – it’s all redundant now. And with Sleeves and Koda both dead, there’s no one to rebut his version of events.’

‘He’s tied it all together perfectly.’

She looked at him hopefully. ‘Will he take the poly?’

Striker laughed. ‘Says he’s already done his duty by providing the statement. Any more follow-up, and he’ll call the union to lawyer up. Says he’s been traumatized enough by what’s happened and that he’s concussed by the explosion – which is also a perfect excuse for having the entire statement stricken from the record anyway.’

‘He’s a master manipulator.’

‘Hey, according to Harry, he’s the victim here.’

‘Stop it, you’re breaking my heart,’ Felicia said dryly.

‘Well, like it or not, an attempt was made on his life, and there’s an onus on us – legally and ethically – to protect him.’ Striker shook his head as he thought back to the shootout in the parking lot. ‘Harry was lucky today. If he hadn’t been wearing that vest, it would all be over for him. Hell, the bombers probably think they got him.’

The moment he spoke the words, Felicia looked over, and they both knew what the other was thinking.