Kansas City Cop Read online

  Vince’s eyes widened behind his glasses. “Am I going to court? Lady, I don’t want to testify against anybody. That’s bad for business.”

  Derek put up a warning hand. “You boys keep your distance. We don’t want any trouble.”

  Denny snickered. “You’re the only one making trouble, Johnson. Moving in on my brother’s wife?”

  “Ex-wife,” Derek reminded him. “I only went out with Vicki twice.”

  Jim Carlson moved within chest-bumping distance. “That’s two times too many as far as we’re concerned. You’re taking advantage of my friend’s unfortunate situation.”

  “Back off, Carlson,” Derek warned. “Assaulting a police officer and impeding an investigation will land you back in jail.”

  “Were the others all here that afternoon, Mr. Goring?” Gina needed an answer. “Even Denny?”

  Jim Carlson’s skin reddened beneath the tats on his neck. But even as he wisely retreated a step, Denny slipped onto the barstool beside Gina, brushing his shoulder against hers. “You checking up on me, querida? I heard you weren’t a cop no more.”

  Gina plucked her badge off her belt and slammed it on top of the bar in front of him. “Touch me one more time and I’ll arrest you.”

  Derek held his ground behind her, but she heard the urgency in his tone. “G, we need to get moving.”

  Denny wiped his mouth, leaving a dot of spittle on his scraggly beard. “You think I shot you?”

  “Doesn’t seem like Vince here is much of an alibi. And I think your buddies are scared to say anything you don’t want them to. Maybe you wanted revenge on us for arresting your brother? For me bossing you around? Or you were after Derek for dating Vicki, and I was collateral damage.”

  “And I shot all those other cops, too? Why would I do that?” Denny snorted and reached for his flask. “I watch the news. I know you ain’t the only cop who got hurt. As far as I know, ain’t none of them boinking my brother’s wife.”

  “That’s enough, Bismarck,” Derek warned him.

  Bobby Estes was more likely to have premeditated the shooting, setting up the diversion of attacking other cops before going after her. The Bismarcks were heat-of-the-moment types of criminals. But she and Derek had been to the Bismarck house before on previous calls. Were these bozos smart enough to stage another assault on Vicki to set her and Derek up as targets? They sure seemed to have plenty of time on their hands to follow her to the physical therapy clinic or drive by her home or hang out here.

  Denny had taken a swallow and tucked the flask back inside his jacket before Gina realized the place had gone quiet, except for the snoring coming from the end of the bar.

  Gina backed away from the bar and surveyed the rest of the interior. There was nothing but a circle of abandoned coffee mugs at that back table now. “Where are your friends?”

  Denny shrugged. “Al had to go back to work.”

  And she hadn’t seen him leave. She clipped her badge onto her belt and pointed to Vince. “Is there a back door to this place?”

  “Yeah.”

  She didn’t know if she was madder at Derek for not telling her the men had slipped out or at herself for not noticing. She was damn certain she was mad at Denny for setting up the diversion while his comrades snuck out, knowing her suspicions were centered on him. “You could have left here that afternoon and come back to shoot up the Bismarck house without anyone seeing you leave.”

  Denny wasn’t fazed by her brewing temper. “You saw me leave on my bike that day. Did you see me come back?”

  She remembered the rusty old SUV with frozen, dirty slush thrown up around the wheel wells and masking the license plate. “You could have dropped your bike off here and come back in your ’75 Bronco.”

  Gina held her ground when Denny stood and towered over her. “I could have, querida.”

  It didn’t feel like a confession so much as a taunting reminder that she still had no answers. Only too many suspects with motives and opportunities.

  The front door banged opened, flooding the bar with light. Gina squinted Mike’s tall frame into focus. “Your ten minutes are up. We need to go.”

  “Mike—”

  “Now.” He sounded as if he’d just run a wind sprint. He backed out the open door, letting her know this wasn’t that overprotective streak kicking in but something else.

  She was smart enough to follow him. “Did you find something out?”

  Denny’s laughter confirmed her suspicion that he’d been diverting her attention for a reason. While Derek shoved him back onto his barstool and warned him to shut up, Gina hurried outside and ran to Mike’s truck as he climbed in behind the wheel. “Mike?”

  “That guy who was in the backseat of your cruiser the day I rescued you is leaving in a mighty big hurry.” He turned the key in the ignition and shifted the pickup into Drive.

  She was climbing onto the running board between the open door and frame of the truck, when she heard the growl of an engine revving up to full speed. When a big motorcycle roared out of the garage next door and jumped the curb before skidding into a sharp turn, Gina dropped into the passenger seat and slammed the door. “Go! Don’t lose him.”

  Derek ran out of the bar behind her, shouting through the open window. “I’ll call it in. If you get the plate number, let me know.” Mike’s tires spit up gravel before they found traction and they raced down the street after the motorcycle. “I suspect that place next door was a chop shop. They had an awful lot of car and motorcycle parts in the back room that belonged to high-end vehicles. Not the kind of stuff you see in this neighborhood.”

  Gina reached across the console to buckle him safely behind the wheel before sitting back to buckle herself in. “What were you doing in the back room?”

  “Chasing the guy who ran in while you were next door asking questions.”

  “You were supposed to stick to getting your tires rotated.” He was intent on dodging in and out of traffic and honking to warn pedestrians before they stepped into the street. Apparently, it was useless to argue the idea of staying away from danger with this man. “You’re certain it was Gordon Bismarck? Big guy? Needs a haircut?”

  He nodded, skidding his truck in a sharp right turn to follow the motorcycle around the corner. “The boss yelled ‘Gordy’ when he flew out of the garage. Thought that was a pretty good clue.”

  Gina frowned. Out of all the members of that aging biker gang, she’d figured Denny would be the one to come back and take potshots at the cops arresting his brother. She eyed the spinning lights of Derek’s police car taking the corner behind them. Gina gripped the center console as Mike’s truck sped through the next intersection. Denny was the one who should be running now. Was this chase the real diversion? Was Denny Bismarck slipping away into hiding right now?

  “We should get back to the bar.”

  “You want me to turn this truck around?”

  “Gordy Bismarck couldn’t have shot me. He’s the only one with an airtight alibi.”

  Mike skirted through another intersection as the light was turning red. “I’m staying on this guy’s tail. Why run if he’s got nothing to hide?”

  Why wouldn’t the answers she needed fall into place? “If that place was a chop shop for stolen car parts, then Gordy’s violating his parole by being there. Maybe that’s why he’s running. It might not have anything to do with me.”

  “And it may have everything to do with you.” Mike leaned on his horn and ran a second red light. “Maybe he knows who shot you and doesn’t want you asking questions. Put a call through to my dad.”

  “I’m not calling in SWAT for a car chase.” Gina’s bottom left the seat as they bounced over a pothole. The motorcycle swerved around a delivery truck. Mike followed, nearly rear-ending the slow-moving car in front of it. “Look out!”

  “I see it.” He cut into the opposing lane of traffic, coming nose to nose with an oncoming bus.

  “Mike!” He swerved at the last second, knocking Gina between the door and the console.

  “You okay?”

  “I’m fine. Just don’t lose him.” Her heart pounded against her ribs. “And don’t do that again.”

  He steered his truck around another corner and sped up the hill, trying to catch the racing motorcycle before it disappeared over the crest. “Call Dad and tell him to send somebody back to Sin City. We’ll stay on this guy. And I want someone to know that we’re chasing down a suspect. We’re flying through town in an unmarked truck. Why hasn’t anyone stopped us yet?”

  They shot over the top of the hill and veered down the other side. Downtown traffic gave way to underpasses, railroad tracks and the warehouse district near the confluence of the Kansas and Missouri rivers. She should be seeing some neighborhood black-and-whites by now. Roads should be blocked off. A wary sense of unease that had nothing to do with the dangers of this daring thrill ride shivered down her spine. “Where’s our backup?”

  “Call Dad.”

  “Derek already called—”

  “Your buddy Derek lost us after we nearly hit that bus. If we catch this guy, we’ll need help. Call.”

  “What?!” But her partner’s black-and-white wasn’t in the rearview mirror. “Where...?”

  “Call!”

  She pulled out her phone and dialed Dispatch. “This is Officer Gina Galvan. I’m an off-duty cop.” She gave her badge number and recited the partial license plate she’d gotten off the motorcycle, along with Gordon Bismarck’s name and a description of the rider. “He’s moving west on Twelfth. Suspect is in violation of his parole. I am in pursuit in a black pickup. Unit 4-13 has be
en notified of our intent and is also in pursuit. Although, I’ve lost sight of him. Please verify that he hasn’t been in an accident.”

  “Acknowledged.” The dispatcher’s efficient monotone put out an APB over her headset before coming back on the line. “Notifying units in area of high-speed pursuit.”

  “No one’s called this in yet?”

  “I’m sending out a notification to all units now.”

  An all-call warning officers of the dangerous traffic situation in the area should have gone in five minutes ago. “What about sending a unit to the Sin City Bar?”

  The dispatcher hesitated. “That’s where Frank McBride was shot.”

  “Yes. I was questioning suspects there.”

  “My records show there’s already a unit assigned to watch the bar.”

  “What?” She hadn’t seen any police car in the area. “Then call them.”

  “Unit 4-13 was assigned that duty this morning. 10:00 a.m. to 2:00 p.m.”

  “4-13 is with me.” Only he wasn’t. Gina inhaled a deep breath, quashing her emotions. “I need you to send a new unit to Sin City Bar to round up Denny Bismarck, Al Renken, Jim Carlson and Aldo Pitsaeli for questioning. And send an alert to Michael Cutler of SWAT Team One that his son is with me.”

  “Copy that. Unit dispatched. Message sent.”

  “Galvan out.” Gina’s phone tumbled out of her hand as they bounced over a railroad crossing and followed the motorcycle into the West Bottoms area of the city. Once a teeming center of commerce, the monoliths of rusting metal and sagging brick walls stood like looming sentinels beside the river. Although much of the district had been bought by investors and was slowly being transformed into trendy art houses, antique shops and reception halls, the buildings were only open on weekends. In the middle of the week, there were only a few lone cars on the streets, and one small moving van backed up against a concrete loading dock.

  It should have made it easy to spot Gordy. But he’d steered the more maneuverable motorcycle up and down side streets and alleys, and they’d lost him. Mike slowed his speed as they drove down Wyoming Street, each checking every alleyway and open warehouse door on their side of the street.

  “Where did he go?” Gina heard the distant sound of police sirens a split second before she heard the familiar sound of an engine revving. When Gordy shot out of the cross street in front of them, Mike floored the accelerator. “There he is!”

  “Hold on!” Mike’s big pickup left the stink of burned rubber behind them as he took a hard turn to the left.

  Gina spotted the wall of chain link fence and piles of plastic trash bags stacked between it and the food truck at the loading dock behind a café where two men were hauling out crates of produce. “Blind alley!”

  Mike stomped on the brakes. Gina’s shoulder protested bracing her hands against the dashboard. The truck skidded to an abrupt halt while Gordy gunned his bike up the concrete ramp to leap the security fence. But he hit a dolly loaded with lettuce and tomatoes and spun out. The bike crashed into the fence and Gordy rolled across the concrete, sliding off the edge into the bundles of trash.

  Before Gina could get unbuckled, pull out her badge and warn the two workers to stay inside the café, Mike was out of the truck, racing down the alley toward Gordy Bismarck as he scrambled to his feet. But his limping gait didn’t stand a chance against Mike’s long legs. Gordy abandoned his bike and was halfway up the fence when Mike leaped up, grabbed the other man and pulled him down. They tumbled into a sea of restaurant waste, but Mike had Gordy’s face pressed against the pavement by the time Gina caught up to them.

  “KCPD!” she announced. “Stay on the ground!”

  Mike was breathing hard from the exertion. But given Gordy’s deep gasps, and pale, oxygen-deprived skin, she knew Mike clearly had the upper hand. Still, Gina wasn’t about to trust any perp’s cooperation at this point. After a quick assessment of their surroundings, she shut off the motorcycle’s engine and pulled the strapping tape from one of the broken crates to wind it around Gordy’s wrists, securing him and checking his pockets for any weapons before she gave Mike the okay to release him.

  “I’m getting tired of arresting you, Gordy. Why did you run from us?” Gina demanded, stowing the pocketknife she’d found on him before rolling him over and showing him her badge.

  When he didn’t immediately answer, Mike grabbed him by the shoulders of his jacket and sat him up against the fence to face her. “Answer Officer Galvan’s question.”

  “I’m not going back to prison,” he answered on a toneless breath.

  “You will if you shot a cop,” Mike reminded him, his usually friendly voice low and menacing. “We were just there to ask questions. You look guilty making us chase you all over town.”

  Gordy tilted his gaze up to Mike, evaluating his younger, fitter, more ready-to-do-battle posture before deciding to talk to Gina. “I didn’t shoot you, lady. You know I didn’t. Hell, I was in the backseat of your car. I got shot at, too.”

  “But you didn’t get hit. You were protected while my partner and I were out in the open. What about Officer McBride?”

  “Who?”

  “The cop who was wounded yesterday at Sin City.”

  Silence.

  Mike tugged Gordy forward by the collar of his jacket. “Do you know who shot Gina?”

  Gordy glared at Mike but didn’t answer.

  Refusing to speak wasn’t an option as far as Gina was concerned. “Did Denny come back to the house to shoot us? Is that why you ran? To protect your brother the way he protected you that day? Or are you just worried about you and your boys getting caught working in a chop shop?”

  She must have struck a nerve with one of those questions because Gordy’s gaze dropped to the pavement. “I want my attorney.”

  Gina turned at the blare of sirens at the end of the alley as two black-and-whites pulled up. Two officers climbed out of the first car, one radioing in the situation report, while the other hurried over with a proper pair of handcuffs to secure Bismarck and drag him to his feet.

  Gordy looked down at Gina. “A man’s got a right to protect what’s his.”

  Was he confessing a motive for the shooting? Or was he defending his actions to protect his brother?

  While the officer led Bismarck to the backseat of the cruiser, Derek jogged around the corner. “G? You all right?”

  Her voice was sharp when he reached her. “Just how many times did you sleep with Vicki Bismarck?”

  “Whoa.” Derek put up his hands, stopping just short of touching her. “That came out of left field.”

  “Not really. Gordy and Denny seem to think you’re a motive for their behavior. Beating up on Vicki. Threatening us. Maybe even firing a gun at us. Because you moved in on Gordy’s woman.”

  Derek propped his hands at his waist, alternately smiling and looking as if he was about to cuss up a blue streak. “That is out of line, G. Bismarck’s got no claim on her. They’re divorced. And I told you, I went out with her twice.”

  “The Bismarcks seem to think it was more than that.”

  “The Bismarcks are wrong. Whose side are you on, anyway?”

  Gina shook her head. “You should have recused yourself from that interview this morning.”

  The smile didn’t win. “Hey, you were the one who called me for the favor.”

  “That was my mistake. My second mistake was counting on you to help me round up Bismarck.” She took two steps toward Mike’s truck and spun around to face Derek. “Where were you? What if he’d gotten away?”

  “I circled around to Thirteenth to cut him off when I lost you. I thought he was heading for the interstate. How was I to know he’d do a U-ee and head toward the river?”

  “What about sealing off traffic corridors and keeping everyone else safe while we were in pursuit of a suspect? I called Dispatch myself.”

  “I called it in,” he insisted.

  “When? Dispatch hadn’t gotten your call yet.”

  “So it wasn’t the first thing I did. I was focused on driving. Everybody has an off day.”

  An off day? She was done with him settling for being an average cop who lived by an ambiguous moral code.

  “You should have stuck to stakeout duty at the bar.” He’d have to be blind not to read the disappointment screaming from her body language. She marched back to Mike’s truck, aware that Derek was hurrying after her.