“Boy, that sure perks me up.”
“Patience, Dallas, patience.” His face was glowing the way some people glowed when they claimed to have found Jesus, Eve thought.
“What we’ve got here is worthy of a write-up in medical journals across the land. This guy’s brain is fascinating. Like it was under attack from the inside. But there’s no tumor, no mass, no sign of disease as such.”
“But there’s damage. Brain damage.”
“I’ll say. Like someone set microscopic charges inside it. Biff, bam, boom. You know how I likened it to an overinflated balloon?”
“Yeah.”
“Picture this balloon, in an enclosed space, in this case, the skull. Balloon swells, bigger, bigger. Space stays the same. It keeps pushing, expanding, but it’s got no place to go. Pressure builds, builds, builds. Capillaries burst. Ping, ping, ping. Nose bleeds, ear bleeds until . . . Pop!”
“That’s a really pretty image.”
“Poor sucker had to be suffering from major headaches. The Mount Vesuvius of headaches. I’ve sent tissue to the lab for further analysis, and I’m calling in a neurologist.”
“Would this damage have caused his sudden violent behavior?”
“I can’t tell you that, not conclusively. But the pain may have pushed him over the edge. Pain’s nature’s warning system. Ouch, something wrong with me. Enough pain though, can drive you crazy. And, an invasive body such as a tumor in the brain can cause aberrant behavior. This brain was, unquestionably, invaded.”
“By what?”
“The best I can tell you is it looks like some sort of neurological virus. Pinning that down isn’t going to be quick work.”
“Okay, get me what you can when you can.” She clicked off. “Looks like it’s moving out of the area of police problem and into medical problem. We’ll close it up. Subject, suffering from as yet undiagnosed neurological disorder, assaults and kills neighbor, attacks another. Police response results in death of assailant. Trueheart’s just got to hold on through the IAB bullshit.”
“Are you going to let him know the guy was mostly dead before the stun?”
“Yeah, but he should handle IAB first. Whitney’s right. I go standing in front of him, it makes him look weak.”
“He’s not, you know.” Peabody smiled a little. “He’s just . . . pure.”
“Yeah, well, his purity’s a little soiled now, and he’ll probably be better off. We’ll swing into EDD and see if they’ve pinned down the other Purity. I want to tie this up and put it away.”
In his cube, Halloway raged and he sweated and he worked. He didn’t know he was dying, but he knew, he knew damn well he was being abused.
He couldn’t remember, not exactly, why he had this old and crappy data center on his work counter. But he remembered, oh he remembered, the way Feeney had slapped at him, how Feeney had humiliated him.
And McNab, that asshole, breezing up and sneering. Laughing at him behind his back. Laughing right in his face. Why was he the one who always got the plum assignments? Those plums should go to Colleen Halloway’s son, Kevin. And they would if that backstabber McNab didn’t kiss Feeney’s ass every chance he got.
They were holding him down, holding him back. Both of them, he thought as he swiped his forearm over his sweat-drenched face. Trying to ruin him.
They weren’t going to get away with it.
God. God! He wanted to go home, go to bed. He wanted to be alone in his own place, away from this heat, away from this noise, away from the pain.
His vision blurred as he stared down into the guts of the unit Feeney had ordered him to work on.
And he saw McNab’s guts spread out and gleaming under his hands.
Take it down to the gym? He let out a little snort that ended on a sob. Hell with that! Hell with them. He pushed to his feet, closed his hand over his holstered weapon. Drew it.
They’d handle this here and now. Like men.
Eve stepped into the glide. “I don’t need you for this, Peabody.”
“Sir, I’m your faithful aide. I feel obliged to stay close to your side.”
“If you think you’re coming up to EDD with me so you can play grab-ass with McNab, you’re very much mistaken, faithful aide.”
“The thought never crossed my mind.”
“Is that so? Why are your pants on fire?”
Peabody grinned. “They’re not because I’m not lying. I was thinking of pat-ass, not grab-ass. His is so skinny it’s kind of tough to grab a good handful.”
She hopped off beside Eve, and since she thought she saw her lieutenant’s mouth twitch in what might have been a smile rather than the usual muscle tic during such conversations, she pushed.
“And I can get a firsthand on the status of Cogburn’s unit, write that area of the report for you. As your faithful and hardworking aide.”
“That’s a good bribe, Peabody. You make me proud.”
“I’ve learned from the master.”
They finished the hike across the breezeway that connected EDD, turned toward the detectives’ sector. And all hell broke loose.
Shouts, the distinctive hum of a fired weapon, the scramble of feet. Eve’s weapon was in her hand, and she was running before she heard the first crash.
A cop rolled out of the doorway as others came rushing down corridors.
“He zapped him! Jesus Christ, he zapped him. Call for medical.”
“Who’s down? Detective, give me the situation.”
“I—God. McNab’s down.”
Eve grabbed Peabody’s arm as her aide started to spring forward. “Hold!” she ordered as the muscles trembled under her hand. “Officer down, officer down!” she snapped into her communicator. “EDD, Detectives’ level. Give me the goddamn situation.”
“I don’t know! Halloway, he just walked up to McNab’s cube. Zapped him, then everybody’s running and Halloway’s screaming, firing streams. He’s got the captain. I saw him take the captain.”
“Keep out!” Eve strode to the door, ordered the cops who poured out of doors and hallways to stay clear. “We’ve got a potential hostage situation, at least one wounded. I need this area secured. I need a negotiator. Peabody, inform the commander of this situation.”
“Yes, sir.” Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes. “McNab.”
“We’re going in. Draw your weapon.” She eased closer, lowering her voice for Peabody alone. “If you can’t handle this, say so now. You won’t help them if you can’t maintain.”
“I can. I will.” Fear had already blown through her, and out again. “We have to get in there.”
“Hold fire,” Eve called out. “Hold fire.”
She went in slow, sweeping first. Cops were scattered, cubes blasted, some of them still smoking. She saw a clutch of them huddled on the floor—McNab’s cube—she noted, and felt a gathering of ice in her belly. More were outside of Feeney’s office, shouting through the door.
“I’m Lieutenant Dallas!” she had to shout to be heard. “I’m in charge here until Commander Whitney takes over this situation. You men, get away from that door.”
“He’s got the captain! He’s got the captain in there.”
“Get the hell away from the door. Now! What’s McNab’s status?”
She could see him now, lying unconscious, his face white as bone. She said nothing when Peabody dropped down beside him, checked his pulse.
“He’s alive.” Peabody responded shakily. “Pulse is thready.”
“Didn’t take a full stun. Detective Gates.” A woman with zebra-striped hair stepped forward. “I saw Halloway walk up to the cube. Something off about it, then I saw the weapon. I yelled something. McNab looked around, saw, he shoved off his chair and Halloway’s stream took him down. It was bad. It was bad, but I don’t think it was a full stun.”
“Medical’s on the way. I need eyes in Feeney’s office. Get me eyes in there. For now, get me to a ’link station so I can talk to him. Peabody, assess how many are wound
ed and in what condition.”
She snagged a ’link, ordered transmission to Feeney’s. It beeped, beeped, beeped. And her heart thundered.
“This is Captain Fucking Halloway.” Halloway’s face, nearly as white as McNab’s, filled the screen. The whites of his eyes were cracked with red lines, and a dribble of blood leaked from his nose. “I’m in charge here!”
He screamed it, then stepped back so Eve saw him holding his weapon under Feeney’s jaw.
One stream, she thought numb with fear, instant death.
“This is Lieutenant Dallas.”
“I know who the hell you are. Grandstander. I outrank you now. What the hell do you want?”
“It’s what you want that’s at issue, Halloway.”
“Captain Halloway.”
“Captain.” Her eyes met Feeney’s. A thousand messages passed between them in a split second. “If you’d tell me, sir, what it is you want, what seems to be the problem, we can clear everything up without further violence. You don’t want to hurt Captain Feeney. I won’t be able to help you get what you want if you hurt Captain Feeney.”
“You need to talk to us, son.” Feeney’s voice was calm as a lake. “Tell us what the problem is.”
“You’re the problem, and I’m not your son. So shut up! Shut up!” He jerked Feeney’s head back with his weapon, and broke transmission.
Every cell in Eve’s body screamed to rush the door. Every instinct, every hour of training, ordered her to hold back.
“Eyes. Get me eyes in there now! I want all available data on Halloway. If he’s married, get his wife in here or on a ’link. Get me his mother, his brother, his priest. Whoever he’s most likely to listen to. I want all nonessential personnel out of this area. Who in here knows Halloway best?”
Shocked faces, grim faces, angry faces looked back at her. It was Gates who finally spoke. “I guess we all thought we knew him. This doesn’t make sense, Lieutenant.”
“Talk to him.” Eve pointed to the ’link. “Keep it calm and friendly. You ask him what he wants, what we can do for him. Don’t criticize him. Don’t say anything to set him off. Just keep him talking.”
She turned away, moving just out of range and pulled out her communicator. “Commander.”
“On my way.” His face might have been carved in granite. “Situation?”
She relayed it, fast and brief.
“Negotiator is also on his way. What do you need?”
“Sharpshooters. I’m getting eyes, but at this point I can’t ascertain target area. Feeney usually keeps his shades up, but they might be lowered. Rushing the room or shutting it down is too risky. He’d drop Feeney before we could get to him.”
“I’m two minutes away. Keep him talking. Find out what he wants.”
“Yes, sir.” She moved back toward the ’link. Gates tapped manually on the keys of a mini-unit.
He’s not listening to me. Incoherent, scattered. No answers. Looks sick.
Eve nodded and took over the ’link. “You okay in there, Captain Halloway? Need anything?”
“I need some respect! I’m not going to be ignored.”
“I’m not ignoring you. You have my full attention. I am having a little trouble concentrating. If you could ease back on your weapon a little so we can talk this out.”
“So you can bust in here?” His laugh was a squeaky wheeze. “I don’t think so.”
“No one’s coming in there. There’s no reason we can’t resolve this without more injuries. Feeney, you’ll give Halloway your word to remain seated and cooperative, won’t you?”
Feeney understood the message. Stay where you are as long as possible. “Sure. I’ll sit right here while we work this out.”
“It’s hot in here. It’s too goddamn hot in here.” As he spoke, Halloway used his free hand to swipe at the blood that trickled out of his nose.
Seeing it, Eve went cold. “I’ll have the climate control adjusted.” She gestured off-screen to Gates. “We’ll cool it down in there for you. You feeling okay otherwise, Halloway?”
“No! No, I’m not feeling okay. This son of a bitch has me working until my damn eyes bleed. My head.” He grabbed a handful of his own hair, yanked viciously. “My head’s killing me. I’m sick. He made me sick.”
“We can get you a medical. Will you let me send a medical in? You don’t look well, Halloway. Let me get you some medical assistance.”
“Just leave me alone.” When a tear dripped out of his eye, it was tinged with blood. “Leave me alone. I need to think!”
He broke transmission.
“Status,” Whitney snapped from behind her.
“He’s sick. He’s showing the same symptoms demonstrated by Cogburn. I can’t explain it, Commander, but he’s dying in there, and he could take Feeney with him. We need to get him out, get him medical assistance.”
“Lieutenant. Ah, Commander.” Another detective hustled up. “We’ve got your eyes.” He managed a wan smile. “And ears with them.”
With Whitney, Eve bent over a monitor. She could see the whole of Feeney’s office now—the sun and the privacy shades lowered. There would be no outside visual for the sharpshooters. Feeney was in his desk chair, restraints locking his arms to its arms.
Halloway paced behind him, his young, pleasant face ravaged. His own blood smeared it like war paint. He tore at his hair with one hand, waved the weapon wildly with the other.
“I’m the one who knows what I’m doing around here.” He raged, kicking Feeney’s chair viciously as he passed. “I’m the one who’s in charge. You’re old and you’re stupid, and I’m sick to death of your orders.”
Feeney’s response was quiet and measured. “I didn’t know you were feeling that way. What can I do to make things right with you?”
“You want to make them right? You want to make them right?” He jammed the weapon under Feeney’s chin again and had Eve braced to hurl herself at the office door. “We’re going to write us a memo, Ry.”
“Okay, okay.” She let out a long breath. “Keep him busy.”
“Sir. Negotiator’s on-scene.”
“Bring him up-to-date, Dallas,” Whitney ordered. “Then we structure alternatives.”
She briefed the negotiator, set him up with a ’link. And turning, saw Roarke striding through the door. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Media bulletin.” He didn’t speak of the terror he’d lived with since hearing the report that there had been weapons fired, officers wounded, and a hostage taken at Cop Central. And from his quick scan of the room, he sized up the most vital aspects of the situation.
His wife was unharmed. And Feeney was missing.
“Feeney?”
“The hostage. I don’t have time for you.”
He laid a hand on her arm before she could walk away. “What can I do to help?”
She didn’t waste time asking how he’d gotten into a secured area in the first place. He was a man who went where he wanted to go. Nor did she ask how he expected to help when the sector was loaded with cops whose job it was to deal with a crisis.
Nobody was better at cutting through a crisis.
“McNab was hit.”
“Christ.” He turned, as she did, and found Peabody, on the floor with the first medical team.
“I don’t know his status. I’d feel better if I knew one way or the other.”
“Done.” There was anger in him now, a kind of frigid fury more deadly than heat. “Lieutenant, if it’s money he wants, the department will have unlimited funds at its disposal.”
“Appreciated, but it’s not money. Go, give Peabody a shoulder. I need to focus on getting Feeney out of there alive. Roarke. Wait.” She scooped a hand through her hair. “Find which cube is Halloway’s. He’s got a data unit in there. Shut it down. Don’t touch it, don’t get any closer to it than necessary. Just shut it down.”
Inside Feeney’s office, Halloway screamed into the ’link. Rusty knifes were slicing their way through
his brain. He could feel it bleeding. “You want to talk to me? Then turn the temp down in this furnace. You keep trying to fry me out, I drop this useless old E-fart. I’m not talking to you, asshole. Put Dallas back on. Put that goddamn lying bitch back on. You got ten seconds!”
At the signal, she sprang to the ’link. “I’m here Halloway.”
“Didn’t I order you to turn the heat down in here? Didn’t I give you a direct order?”
“Yes, sir. I followed that order.”
“Don’t you lie to me. You want me to start on his hands.” Halloway pressed his weapon down hard on the back of Feeney’s hand. “I give it a good strong jolt, he won’t be jerking off with this hand anymore.”
“I’ll have it turned down farther. Halloway, just listen to me. Look at Feeney. He’s not sweating. You can do a temp check. The room’s down to sixty-five.”
“That’s bullshit! I’m burning up in here.”
“Because you’re sick. You’ve got some kind of virus, like an infection. You’ve got a bad headache, haven’t you, Halloway? And you’ve got a nosebleed. It’s the infection that’s making you feel this way, the infection that’s hurting you. You need medical. Let us get you some help, and we’ll straighten all this out.”
“Why don’t you come in, bitch?” His mouth twisted. “Come on in and you’ll see how fast we straighten this out.”
“I can come in. I can bring you some medicine.”
“Fuck you.”
“I come in, Halloway, and don’t deliver. You’d have two hostages. You’re in control. You’re in charge. You know Feeney’s a friend of mine. I wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize his welfare. I can bring you in medication for your headache, and whatever else you want.”
“Fuck you,” he said again, and broke transmission.
“Bartering another hostage isn’t the way to deal in this situation.” The negotiator shoved himself between Eve and the ’link. “We don’t need any sacrificing, we don’t need any hotshots.”
“Normally I’d agree with you, but the man holding the cards in there isn’t going to listen to the usual lines. First, he’s a cop and he knows the routine. Second, he’s suffering from some sort of neurological disorder that’s affecting his behavior, his judgment, his actions.”