Free Let It Burn by Steve Hamilton Page A

coming after you. So do me a favor and try something stupid. Make a break for it. And if you’re gonna turn off this street, go right.”
    I knew that would be a dead end for him no matter which street he took. Everything ended when it came up to the Lodge Freeway.
    But now that I was north of the stadium, I was starting to hit the traffic. Everybody walking back to their cars, many of them parked in lots up and down this street. I still had my lights flashing, but when the streets are full enough, there’s just nowhere for the cars to pull over.
    I picked up my transmitter again. “I’ve lost touch with the suspect, last seen heading north on Trumbull. Any luck out there?”
    An agonizing silence, as I hoped against hope that he was already being arrested by another unit. I pictured the handcuffs slapped on his wrists, a hand on his head as he was put into the back of the squad car.
    Answer me, damn it. Somebody out there. Say something.
    “Negative so far,” I finally heard someone say. “No sight of him.”
    The cars were lining up to get off the street and onto the freeway. I pulled my car over and got out, locking it and leaving the lights flashing. There were thousands of people on the sidewalk, walking away from the stadium. I started running through them, looking down every side street. Until finally, there, up ahead, a young man’s face looking back, then turning away.
    I keyed my shoulder radio. “I’m on foot now, in pursuit of suspect. Still on Trumbull, passing over I-75. I need a unit on the other side to intercept. Repeat, I need a unit on the north end of the street as it crosses over I-75.”
    We’ll catch you, I thought. As long as the unit gets there in time, you’ll have nowhere to turn.
    I kept pushing my way through the crowds as the street and the sidewalk took the long span over the freeway, cars zooming by beneath us. I didn’t see him, but I knew he had to be there in front of me.
    “Come on,” I said out loud, panting as I ran. “Somebody get to the other end so we can head him off.”
    That’s all I was thinking about. That’s probably all I could think about and still stay functional. I couldn’t let my mind go back to that scene in the train station. I kept moving, kept watching for my suspect, and kept hoping we’d catch him so that at least one thing in the world would make sense tonight.
    Halfway over the bridge now, which seemed to go on forever. Police lights ahead of me, finally flashing on the other side. Two cars, then three. Blocking off Trumbull now, not just the cars but a great mass of people backed up on the sidewalk going north. I ran between the cars, and as I finally got close to the other side I saw a figure assuming the position against the side of a squad car. Jeans, gray shirt, legs kicked out, hands on the hood. An officer on either side, going through the guy’s pockets. Something being taken out and put on the hood. The handcuffs being slapped on and the young man put in the back of the car. Just as I had hoped would happen.
    I slowed down to a walk, tried to catch my breath. The scene in the station already coming back to me, fighting its way back into my head now that the chase was over. The process would begin now. The booking, the arraignment, the visit from the public defender. It would take weeks to get to the end of it. Maybe months. But it wouldn’t change what had happened. It wouldn’t undo the violence or bring back a woman who didn’t deserve to be left for dead in the dusty corner of an abandoned balcony.
    I’d probably never understand why it happened, but I’d have the rest of my life to think about it. For right now, I just had to finish my day’s work. Go up and thank my fellow officers for the assist on the collar. Take a look at the suspect and confirm he was the same person I saw running from the train station. Then go back and get my vehicle. Find Franklin, make sure the crime scene was secure. Wait for the specialists to