Chapter 19: Factory Floor, 105th

I transfer the flashlight to my off-hand, slipping my good hand inside my jacket to grip the butt of my .44 in its chest holster. It's already killed two men tonight. If anyone else tries coming after me, they'll get the same.

Creeping forward, I emerge from the back of the pallet stacks and find a second set of retractable fencing. For a moment, I think there must have been some additional feature to this crime scene that Albright withheld from me. Instead, I realize the fencing surrounds a piece of equipment: a shiny industrial gravjack with the Amber PD coat of arms emblazoned on the front.

I turn around, shining my light in every direction, but all I see are pallets and more falling water. No other equipment... So, how'd the killer move the pallets to cover the body-?

A dull thud from the corner. The same noise I heard before, I'm sure of it.

I draw my .44. I move forward with both my arms raised in front of me, my flashlight in one hand and my weapon in the other. Ahead, I see the metal rungs of a ladder, extending upward, toward a small, boxcar-like room mounted high above the factory floor. That'll be the foreman's roost, used for supervising everything on the factory work below.

For a couple seconds, I just stand there, frozen in place, trying to hear the noise again. Strange sound. Sudden and loud. Loud enough to be heard over the water. Something falling from the ceiling?

Or something tossed this way to distract my attention?

I wheel around behind me, light and pistol held parallel, but there's nothing.

Water drips down on my head as I turn back and sneak toward the corner of the factory. I hold the pistol stiff-armed and straight ahead, already bracing for the recoil-

The thudding noise erupts beside me. I jump back, but something's right in my face, moving wildly, coming right at me, too close for a shot. I raise my gat to clock the attacker, but it just keeps going, higher and higher, thudding on the wing, sailing upward, toward a wide opening in the factory roof.

As the pigeon exits through the gap in the roof, I can still hear the thudding of its wings. I'm left watching it go, pistol aimed stupidly in the air after it.

For a little while, I stand, breathing heavily, trying to settle my rattled nerves, trying to slow my heartbeat back to resting rate. I look at the ceiling, the falling water, the gun in my hand, raised and aiming upward after the bird... Upward, and at about a forty-five-degree angle. Suddenly, I'm remembering the bruises ringing Nathan Harland's neck-

A noise from the front of the factory. Not a bird. Voices.

I shut off the light and duck for cover.

"Somebody's got a light back there!"

Wilmer O'Hara.

"Police! Put your hands on your head and get down in the ground!"

Albright.

It's so black without the flashlight that all I can see now is the dull sheen of rainwater on the ladder a few yards away. The crazy thought occurs to me to climb it and hide in the foreman's roost. It's followed by an even crazier notion to comply with Albright, but I banish both from my mind. I wouldn't make it up the ladder quickly enough. And it's not that I think Jean-Luc would break up an old friendship over a little breaking and entering, but he might use this little stunt as leverage, and I don't like being on the wrong end of leverage.

I can see the cones of two flashlights bobbing my direction. I consider trying to swing wide around them and making a break for the door, but there's no way to be sure they're alone. Could be more cops outside.

Something catches my eye. A bit of streetlight peeking through a broken slat in the back wall. I jog toward it-

I can't contain a shout as my shin connects hard against a bit of debris. It falls over with a crash against the factory floor.

"Over there!" shouts Albright. "Get down, or I blow your head off!"

My shin is almost numb from the impact. Trying to ignore the pain in my knees, I double-time it toward the opening. The weathering of years, coupled with vagrant trespassing, has left an opening: a jagged, rusty corridor somebody must have wedged free a long time ago. I'm not a small man, so it takes some doing to fit through. I feel jagged metal digging into my shoulder as I squeeze through, but thankfully, the only damage is to my coat. And a little to my pride.

I stumble out, turn, and hoof it up the alleyway.