Free Prior Bad Acts by Tami Hoag Page B

guy didn’t just wake up one day and decide to kill. These mutts work their way up to it.”
    “It’s a goddamn nightmare,” Haas said, almost to himself.
    “We can put a squad car on the street in front of your house if you’re worried about Dahl coming back here,” Liska offered.
    Haas looked over at the television, where a reporter was coming live from outside the ambulance bay at HCMC. Amber, blue, and red lights from the cop cars and emergency vehicles gave the scene a carnival atmosphere. But it didn’t look to Kovac like any of it was registering on Haas. His mind had gone somewhere else, probably somewhere worse.
    “I don’t want anything from you people,” he said at last.
    “Mr. Haas?” Liska asked. “Is your son at home?”
    “He went to a basketball game at his school. Why?”
    Kovac grimaced and looked embarrassed. “This stinks. Believe me, we know it. If it was up to me, I wouldn’t ask, but we have to answer to the higher powers.”
    Haas looked suspicious but said nothing, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
    “I’m sure you heard, Judge Moore was attacked in the parking ramp at the government center earlier tonight,” Liska said. “We need to ask you and your son where you both were at the time.”
    “Get out of my house,” he said quietly, though the rage was building visibly inside him.
    “It’s routine, Mr. Haas,” Kovac said. “No one really thinks you had anything to do with it. We just have to put it on paper.”
    “Get out of my house,” he said louder. His neck was red, and Kovac could see a big vein pulsing on one side. “Get out of my house, goddamn you!”
    He went to the front door and yanked it wide so hard that it hit the wall and rattled the front windows.
    Bobby Haas stood on the front porch, looking bewildered and worried, brown eyes wide. “Dad? Dad, what’s wrong? Who are you people?”
    “We’re with the police,” Liska said, but the boy was looking at his father as Wayne Haas raised a hand to his temple and gritted his teeth.
    “Dad!”
    “Mr. Haas?” Kovac moved toward him at the same time the kid did. Haas bent forward in obvious pain.
    “Get him to a chair,” Kovac ordered, and he and the boy each took an arm and moved Wayne Haas to a worn green armchair a few feet away. Kovac looked at Liska. “Call an ambulance.”
    Even as Liska was pulling her cell phone from her coat pocket, Haas was waving off the order.
    “No. I’m fine,” he insisted.
    “You don’t look fine,” Kovac said.
    Bobby Haas squatted down beside his father. “It’s his blood pressure. It spikes like that when he gets upset. He’ll be okay in a minute. Right, Dad? You’re gonna be okay.”
    Haas blew out a couple of big breaths and nodded wearily, his eyes focused on the floor. He was pale now, and damp with sweat.
    Kovac looked at the boy. “Why don’t you get your dad a glass of water?”
    Liska followed him down the hall.
    Kovac knelt down on one knee by Wayne Haas’s chair so he could see the man’s face more clearly. “You’re sure you don’t want to go to a hospital?”
    “Just go,” Haas whispered. “Just go away from here.”
    “I’m sorry we upset you like that,” Kovac said. “There are some times this job sucks, and this would be one of them. But the questions have to be asked. If we don’t touch all the bases, a case can get dismantled. You’ve seen for yourself, the system isn’t there to help guys like you or cops like me.”
    “I just want this all to be over,” Haas said. “I wish I’d died that day too.”
    “You’ve got a son to live for.”
    Haas just hung his head.
    Bobby Haas and Liska returned then, and the son handed the father half a glass of water. Liska gave Kovac a look and nodded toward the door. They stepped out onto the porch, and Kovac drew the door shut behind them.
    “The kid’s going to get our answer and come out here,” Liska said. “I figured that would be a hell of a lot easier than us making the guy