“We’ll be all right, Pete,” I said, trying to evoke more confidence than I felt.
Mike was clearly even more anxious than I was; but we had, after all, been brought before such tribunals to explain our actions before, and had faced far more powerful and impressive inquisitors. Even so, as we pressed forward, Mike murmured, with evident trepidation: “I really hope you know how the fuck we’re going to handle this, L.T….”
{iii.}
As we reached the van, Pete called out to the others, interrupting their debate: “Okay,” he said amiably. “You said find ’em and bring ’em, so I did. I think everybody here knows each other. So I’ll leave you to it—Steve, I had a call from the office, couple of questions for you. Nothing too important, but I’ll need your okay on some things…” And with that, Pete pulled Steve aside to explain how matters secretly stood, leaving Mike and me to face the others.
I slapped as sincere a smile as was possible on my face, placed my latest cigarette in the fingers that gripped my cane, and stepped forward with my right hand outstretched. “Assistant District Attorney,” I said, gently shaking Donovan’s small hand.
“Dr. Jones,” Donovan answered, returning my smile in a manner that was not at all reassuring. “Nice of you to come on such—short notice…”
I moved on. “Inspector,” I continued, taking Grimes’ meatier paw. “A pleasure.”
“Spare me, Doctor,” Grimes answered, although she chuckled when she said it. “And you can stick to ‘Director,’ in my case. I’ve got no law enforcement rank.”
“Well, for God’s sake, don’t tell any TV viewers that,” I jibed. “It’ll ruin their fantasy lives. I think you two know my partner, Dr. Li?”
“Indeed,” Donovan replied ambivalently, maintaining the smile as she shook Mike’s hand. “Nice to see you, Doctor. And I’m sure you both know Investigator Mangold?”
“We do,” I replied; although when the sour-faced Mangold made no move to press the flesh, Mike and I returned the favor.
“Doctors,” he said, in a tone to match the look on his face, “I think you’ve also crossed paths with Dr. Grace Chang, here.”
Gracie stepped forward with a grin. “Good to see you, Dr. Jones,” she said, shaking my hand warmly. “And Mike!” she continued, even more brightly, turning to embrace him and give him a lingering kiss on the cheek. “It’s so good to see you both,” she added, pulling away from my slightly disarmed partner. “A nice reminder of our New York days, isn’t it?”
“That kind of depends on which days you’re talking about, Gracie,” Mike said, with a charm that was as defensive as he could make it—which wasn’t much at all.
“True, you got me there,” Gracie laughed very coyly; and as I glanced at Donovan, Grimes, and Mangold, I saw that this had indeed been their opening gambit in a ridiculously heavy-handed effort to try to divide and conquer Mike and me. Quickly turning back to Gracie, however, I soon grew doubly reassured that she was not in on the scheme. “Some pretty up and down times, back then,” she went on; and her smile continued to seem, unlike those of most of the team around her, quite genuine. “But just now, I have to say, I’m really anxious to hear how you’ve applied your famous method to this case.”
Despite the genuine respect in Gracie’s voice, a dismissive snicker got out of Mangold’s mouth, one that Cathy Donovan tried to smooth over quickly: “And Major McCarron is here, too,” she said, indicating the chief of Troop G, who stepped forward.
“Boys,” he said, removing his Stetson as we exchanged more handshakes, which were very hearty, in his case. “You’ve talked to Pete and Steve, I hear, about what’s been going on.”
“We’ve offered a few thoughts, Mitch. Just the little we’ve been able to suggest from a distance.”
“ ‘Distance’?” Grimes echoed, getting down to business quickly. “We were told that you were actually at one of the crime scenes. One that we know of, that is…”
“It was just the one, Director,” Mike replied. “We only heard about the other two.”
“But Pete must have told you that there’s been one more,” Donovan said, carefully gauging our responses.
“Well, yes,” I said simply. “When he told us that you wanted us to get over here, he couldn’t really avoid telling us what was happening.” With that much said, it was necessary to cover Pete’s ass a bit: “But if I may ask, who is this latest victim?”
“Young black kid from North Briarwood,” Mangold answered flatly. “Fourteen or so. Can’t find his family, but he OD’d on smack in that apartment house.” And one of Mangold’s nicotine-stained fingers pointed at the object of all the lights and attention.
“He have any help?” Mike asked. “I only ask because, contrary to the opinions of the ME, it seems like the other three did.”
“ ‘Seems like’?” Grimes echoed. “You have some reason to doubt the pathologists’ reports on the other deaths?”
“We might,” Mike replied coolly. “Except that we haven’t seen those reports. We’re just going by what Steve and Pete have told us, as Dr. Jones has said.”
“Well…” Donovan looked at Steve and Pete, who were still huddled a short distance away. “I’m relieved to hear that the sheriff has not, at least, been sharing official documents.”
Trying to keep her from pursuing that line, I asked, “What, exactly, can Dr. Li and I do for you all, this evening? Looks like you’ve already got your hands full—although it’s a lot of heavy equipment, if I may say so, if all you’re faced with is one dead boy.”
“Come on, Doctor,” Donovan replied. “No need to be evasive. Pete has at least told you that there’s a man in the building, too. What his relationship to the boy was, we don’t know—but he’s presumed armed, and he’s holding Dr. Weaver hostage.”
“ ‘Presumed armed’?” Mike asked. “Meaning you don’t know?”
“Oh, like you do?” Mangold erupted angrily. “You guys are so fucking smart—well, then, prove it: tell us how to handle this situation, I’m sure you know that, too.”
“Frank” came Mitch McCarron’s calm, stern voice. “That’s out of line, and you know it. We didn’t bring the doctors here to participate in this.”
“And I didn’t mean any disrespect,” Mike lied coolly. “Just not exactly sure what we are doing in the middle of this situation.”
“Well, Dr. Li, our original purpose was simple.” Cathy Donovan quickly regained control of the situation. “We wanted to be sure that, whatever role you and Dr. Jones have played in Steve’s investigation, it’s actually an informal one.”
“What else could it be?” I replied. “We have no legal standing in this county.”
“Exactly what I said, Doc,” Steve added, as he and Pete rejoined the group; and there was more than a pinch of resentment in his tone. “But it seems the word of a simple county sheriff isn’t good enough, anymore, for state law enforcement.”
“Easy, Steve,” Nancy Grimes said, attempting to match Donovan’s tone of authority but failing badly. “We’ve already told you, that’s not the case.”
“Yeah, you have,” Steve replied. “But the two docs’re here just the same, aren’t they?”
“All right,” Donovan pronounced. “We’re trying to keep this collegial.” Then she threw a stern glance at Grimes. “I don’t want to hear anything else. I’m sure you can understand, Doctors, that when we’re faced with a series of child murders, my boss’ office has to be sure that we don’t open ourselves up to charges that we’ve allowed investigators who have—just as you’ve said, Dr. Jones—no legal standing in Burgoyne County to play an active part in the proceedings.”
“Especially two who don’t have the cleanest reputations,” Frank Mangold added.
“Hang on, now,” Gracie Chang said. “The doctors’ reputations are absolutely solid, Frank.” I was a bit taken aback by how much more mature she’d become since we’d known her in the city; and I very much admired the tough tone she took with Mangold. “Their leaving New York
was never shown to have anything to do with any questionable behavior.”
“Thank you, Dr. Chang,” I replied; then I turned on Mangold. “You see, there’s a difference between disagreements on procedure and actual illegal activities, Frank. As I’m sure you learned from Bernie Kerik. By the way, have you been in touch with him since he was released from federal custody?”
“I’m not kidding, gentlemen,” Donovan said, this time scowling at Mangold. “This is not going to be anything other than cordial. But, Dr. Jones, local emotions concerning this business are already running very high—something you may not have noticed, up in Death’s Head Hollow.” Glancing around to make sure that the others were behaving, she went on: “At any rate, we’ve got more immediate problems. So, if you’ll just wait, we’ve got to determine what we’re going to do about Dr. Weaver’s predicament.”
“I thought we had figured out what we’re doing,” Mangold said. “I’ll distract the crazy bastard who’s got him, and then we go in, fast and strong.”
“ ‘Overwhelming force,’ eh, Frank?” Mike and I had followed Pete a few steps away, but the words jumped out of my mouth before I could contain them.
“You’re goddamned right, Doctor,” Mangold answered testily. “And you were told to wait—unless, of course, you’ve got some brilliant profiler’s idea of what to do.”
Sighing once at the usual contempt for my profession, I answered, “I do, although I’ll wager you’ve already discussed it.” I looked to Mitch and nodded once. “Allow Major McCarron to handle things—alone. He may not be an actual hostage negotiator, but he’s your best bet, from among the”—I lifted a hand toward the mass of impatient police forces—“resources available. Mitch, I’m happy to be of any use to you that I can.”
The idea wasn’t quite as off-the-wall as it sounded: when McCarron’s troopers and I had raided the illegal zoo outside Hoosick Falls where we’d found Marcianna, it had been my job to handle the owner of the place, who was a stew of neuroses, most of them very unpleasant, and all of which worked themselves out behind the scenes on his animals. It had been a dicey assignment, because the guy’s home was a veritable armory, while all I had was my .45 to give me the courage to explore his tortured mind and convince him to give himself up.
“You must be fucking joking,” Mangold erupted at my suggestion. “You’ve never shown any respect for Weaver, Jones; now you want us to put his life in your hands?”
“Hang on, Frank,” Mitch said, intrigued. “First, whatever Dr. Jones’ professional disagreements with Weaver, I have every confidence that he would never put a life in danger, especially a colleague’s. And isn’t that the whole point, Cathy? To get Ernest out alive? I’ve been in other tight spots with Dr. Jones, and I’m sure we could handle it without any bloodshed.”
But Cathy Donovan just shook her head. “Again, Mitch, Dr. Jones has no legal standing in this county; you’re asking me to invite exactly the kind of criticism I’ve been trying to avoid.”
“All right, then,” Mitch countered, indicating the sheriff. “Let Steve deputize him. Just for tonight. That’d be legal, wouldn’t it, Steve?”
“Sure, I can do that,” Steve said. “If you think it’s your best shot, Mitch.”
Recognizing the dangers inherent in this turn of events, Mike whispered to me urgently, “Trajan, what the fuck are you up to? They let you do this, it’s only because they want you to screw up—it’ll give them more ammunition to shut us out completely, you know that!”
“Yeah, I know, Mike,” I murmured in reply. “But remember what I said: getting to this guy is our only chance so far of actually talking to somebody who may know what the hell is happening to these kids. You brought the theory closer to home with evidence; now it’s my turn to do whatever I can.”
But when I looked to Cathy Donovan, she was still shaking her head. “It’s just too dangerous, Mitch. I admire your thinking outside the box—but I can’t take the risk.”
“Excuse me, Madam ADA,” I said, stepping closer to her. “But I think you have to look at the bigger picture, here. Although Mitch is right to say that I would give Dr. Weaver’s safety first priority, we may also have a chance to fill in some holes in your official investigation.”
It was a fairly startling challenge, and the others took it as such: Mangold, for once, was too stunned to speak, while Donovan was too smart to even acknowledge what I had said; but Grimes said angrily, “ ‘Holes,’ Dr. Jones? Just what the hell kind of holes are you talking about?”
The time had come to play the one card we had: “Perhaps ‘holes’ is too strong a word, Director,” I said, as humbly as I could. “But I have noticed that connecting certain events to their agents of commission has not been fully explored, yet.”
“Speak fucking English, Jones,” Mangold growled. “Give us a for instance.”
“All right, Frank. For instance, there’s the matter of who reported Shelby Capamagio’s death: not only that she was dead, but the location of her body, as well. So far as we can tell, that key point has gone undeveloped—and the man in that building may very well be able to shed some light on the problem. He may, in fact, have been the person who phoned in the report, which we understand that Steve informed you was an ‘anonymous communication.’ And yet, to this point, he’s gotten no help from the BCI in determining a possible origin of the message, by using all state, and, if necessary, NSA resources regarding phone records.”
I was concerned that Steve might take umbrage at the unexpected presumption of this statement; but when I glanced at him, I saw the light of full comprehension in his face. “Exactly,” he said. “That’s a detail that you people may not care about, but, as sheriff of this county, I have to. I’m the one who’s gotta answer for it, and before I can do that, I need an answer to give.” He nodded once to me, then went on: “So, yeah, I’m willing to deputize the doc for just this evening. Maybe then we’ll get some real answers.”
We had put Donovan in an embarrassing spot, and she knew it; and I silently thanked Lucas Kurtz for having given us a way to move further into the official investigation, a gift that only further proved that Mike and I had been right to allow the boy to play a part in our work. Yet even as I enjoyed this moment of self-congratulation, I saw that a look, not of capitulation, but of satisfaction was filling the ADA’s features: her agile mind had clearly detected a way to make our ploy work to her own and her allies’ benefit.
“All right,” Donovan decided at length. “If you’re willing to take the responsibility, Steve, and if Mitch is willing to take the risk—let’s see what you two can do, Dr. Jones.”
“Are you all nuts?” Mangold squawked. “Suppose he goes in there and gets his ass shot off? How are you going to explain that to the DA, let alone the governor’s office?”
“I’m not,” Donovan replied, playing her part with all the guile that I knew her to possess. “Steve and Major McCarron will have to take care of that. The rest of us will be on record as saying that this was the least bad choice we were offered, when presented with the immediate and overwhelming threat to Dr. Weaver’s life, and that we only accepted it with the gravest reservations, and only at the insistence of the sheriff and the major.”
So there it was. The rest of their asses would be officially covered, while my own and Mitch McCarron’s would be placed in harm’s way, physically and politically; and Steve’s would be officially on the line, as well. It was an extreme gamble—but we had to take it.
“Well, then,” Mitch stated, moving over to me. His look said that he, too, understood the predicament full well. “I assume you’re armed, Dr. Jones?”
“ ‘There may be some little danger,’ ” I murmured with a nod, repeating the line from the Sherlock Holmes tale with which I had attempted to stump Lucas earlier. The words confounded Mitch a bit; but he grew reassured when I patted the .45 inside my jacket. I turned to Mike, who could only shrug in acceptance, and then to Steve. “Care to swear me in, Sheriff? The O.K. Corr
al awaits…”
Just how much legal standing Steve’s perfunctory deputizing would actually prove to possess, if the plan Mitch and I had proposed went wrong, or whether in fact I had any right to carry the badge that Pete lent me, I did not know; but in minutes, we were making our way through and then past the assault force and its vehicles. Only at that juncture did the full weight of the peril in which we were placing ourselves overtake the bravado that I had exhibited when standing behind all that physical power; and I was very relieved when the ever-courageous Mitch took the lead, turning to the men and women in their combat gear and shouting:
“Let’s have those lights off—all of them, now!” Very quickly, the order was obeyed, and as the blinding glare of the various beams was replaced by the comparatively slight glow of the few working streetlights above us, a hush came over the formerly vociferous officers. “And get this, all of you,” Mitch went on. “I don’t care who you usually take your orders from—you keep your weapons at the ready, and nothing more, unless you hear me telling you to do otherwise! We’ve got one of our own in harm’s way, in there, and I don’t want any overeager son of a bitch screwing things up. Understood?”
Without waiting for a response, Mitch turned to me, offering a smile that was clearly meant to bolster the uncertainty that must have been all over my face. “Well, Dr. Jones?” He indicated the path forward. “You got us here, Trajan,” he added, as we moved at what seemed to me an almost surreally quick pace up a slight incline toward the abandoned apartment house. “I just hope you’ve got some idea of what our next move is.”
I took a deep breath as we reached the front door of the building, which was covered in graffiti tags and knife carvings. “I think our tactic the last time around will work, Mitch,” I said, as he put his hand on the door’s broken knob. “If they’re together, you do your best to get your hands on Weaver, and I’ll do my best to talk this guy down.”
“Yeah, that’s what I figured,” Mitch said, drawing his Glock 37 sidearm, for which his belt-bandolier carried a full complement of .45 GAP cartridges—which I was glad to see, as I had brought no extra ammunition, and though his high-powered rounds would be mighty hard on my old Colt, it would fire at least a few of them before jamming, if such proved necessary. Cracking the door open just a bit, Mitch chambered a round quietly, asking in a hushed voice, “And if they’re not together? If he’s got Weaver restrained somewhere?”