The successful conclusion of this case would be a fitting tribute to his partner. It would also, Scott had decided, be his own swan song with the Detroit Police Department. And the moral code that applied to his present employment would soon be irrelevant, a thing of the past. His mind was streamlining and reediting it already, without him being aware. Take Abby Burnham for instance: the child of a junkie drunk. As if her life were worth as much or more to the good folks of Detroit than the benefit of getting McGrath off their streets. What a ridiculous thought. He wished he’d had the balls to tell Caitlyn Dunn exactly that.

42

42

Fallout

My biggest mistake is something yet to happen.

—Ayrton Senna

Spencer stood in the front doorway. He could hear TV sports commentary, but it sounded strangely muffled. He walked down the hallway.

“I’m back. You hear me, Yo-Yo? I’ve been out with Abby. And I’ve come back alone.”

The living room was a scene of devastation, like a tornado had passed through. The TV was facedown on the carpet, still on the sports channel. Nascar now, though.

The Yo-Yo stood by the upturned couch. At his feet, amid the wreckage of the coffee table, Chris lay battered and bleeding, too scared even to move, like prey gone limp in a predator’s claws.

“You keep making mistakes, Spencer, but other people suffer for them. You noticed that?”

“A while back.”

“You see the way he’s looking at me? I seen that look a hundred times. You don’t know it though, ’cause you ain’t from around here. No, that sounds like I got it in for ya ’cause you’re English.”

“I said I realized. All this is my fault, not his.”

“It’s ’cause you ain’t from my world. You don’t get the rules: you do what you’re fuckin’ told. So your buddy here, he’s lookin’ at me with that look that says he knows he’s gonna die. It’s just a matter of how much pain.”

“Yo-Yo, I had to take Abby. We both know you were going to kill her. I had no choice.”

“I love this look, Spencer. Animals have it, too, when you first start killing. ‘Oh please, Mister Yo-Yo, I know you’re gonna take my life offa me now, but is there anything I can say to make it quick?’”

Desperate now, Spencer looked around the apartment for any viable weapon.

The Yo-Yo grasped Chris’s ankle.

Spencer looked at the stove. The burner was still on, heating the pot of oil.

The Yo-Yo dragged Chris through broken glass and furniture toward the fire escape.

“Yo-Yo, I’m begging you. It’s my fault. I see that now. Please!”

“Too late.”