Jane Rizzoli startled awake and blinked, momentarily confused, at the ceiling. She had not expected to doze off, but the exam table was surprisingly comfortable, and she was tired; she had not been sleeping well for the past few nights. She looked at the clock on the wall and realized that she’d been left alone for over half an hour. How much longer was she supposed to wait? She let another five minutes go by, her irritation mounting.
Okay, I’ve had it. I’m going to find out what’s taking so long. And I’m not going to wait for the wheelchair.
She climbed off the table and her bare feet slapped onto the cold floor. She took two steps, and realized that her arm was still tethered by the IV to a plastic bag of saline. She moved the bag to a rolling IV pole and wheeled it to the door. Looking into the hallway, she saw no one. Not a nurse or an orderly or an X-ray tech.
Well, this was reassuring. They’d forgotten all about her.
She headed down the windowless hall, pushing her IV pole, the wheels shimmying as they rolled over linoleum. She passed one open doorway, then another, and saw vacant procedure tables, deserted rooms. Where had everyone gone? In the short time she’d been sleeping, they had all disappeared.
Has it really been only half an hour?
She halted in that empty hallway, gripped by the sudden, Twilight Zone thought that while she’d been asleep, everyone else in the world had vanished. She glanced up and down the hallway, trying to remember the route back to the waiting area. She had not been paying attention when the technician had wheeled her into the procedure room. Opening a door, she saw an office. Opened another door and found a file room.
No people.
She began to pad faster through the warren of hallways, the IV pole clattering beside her. What kind of hospital was this, anyway, leaving a poor pregnant woman all alone? She was going to complain, damn right, she was going to complain. She could be in labor! She could be dying! Instead, she was royally pissed off, and that was not the mood you wanted a pregnant woman to be in. Not this pregnant woman.
At last she spotted the exit sign, and with choice words already on her lips, she yanked open the door. At her first glimpse into the waiting room, she did not immediately understand the situation. Mr. Bodine was still strapped to his wheelchair and parked in the corner. The ultrasound technician and the receptionist were huddled together on one of the couches. On the other couch, Dr. Tam sat next to the black orderly. What was this, a tea party? While she’d been forgotten in the back room, why had her doctor been lounging out here on the couch?
Then she spotted the medical chart lying on the floor, and she saw the toppled mug, the spilled coffee splattered across the rug. And she realized that Dr. Tam was not lounging; her back was rigid, the muscles of her face tight with fear. Her eyes were not focused on Jane, but on something else.
That’s when Jane understood. Someone is standing right behind me.
SEVEN
Maura sat in the mobile operations command trailer, surrounded by telephones, TVs, and laptop computers. The air-conditioning was not working, and the trailer had to be well over ninety degrees inside. Officer Emerton, who was monitoring radio chatter, fanned himself as he gulped from a bottle of water. But Captain Hayder, Boston PD’s special ops commander, looked perfectly cool as he studied the CAD diagrams now displayed on the computer monitor. Beside him sat the hospital’s facilities manager, pointing out the relevant features on the blueprints.
“The area where she’s now holed up is Diagnostic Imaging,” said the manager. “That used to be the hospital’s old X-ray wing, before we moved it into the new addition. I’m afraid that’s going to present a big problem for you, Captain.”
“What problem?” said Hayder.
“There’s lead shielding in these outside walls, and there are no exterior windows or doors in that wing. You’re not going to be able to blast your way in from the outside. Or toss in a tear gas canister.”
“And the only way into Diagnostic Imaging is through this interior hallway door?”
“Correct.” The manager looked at Hayder. “I take it she’s locked that door?”
Hayder nodded. “Which means she’s trapped herself in there. We’ve pulled our men back down the hall, so they’re not in the direct line of fire if she decides to make a run.”
“She’s in a dead end. The only way out is going to be through your men. For the moment, you’ve got her locked up tight. But conversely, you are going to have a hard time getting in.”
“So we’re at an impasse.”
The manager clicked the mouse, zooming in on a section of the blueprint. “Now, there is one possibility here, depending on where in that particular wing she’s chosen to hole up. The lead shielding is built into all these diagnostic areas. But here in the waiting room, the walls aren’t shielded.”
“What building materials are we talking about there?”
“Plaster. Drywall. You could easily drill through this ceiling from the floor above.” The facilities manager looked at Hayder. “But all she has to do then is pull back into the lead-shielded area, and she’s untouchable.”
“Excuse me,” cut in Maura.
Hayder turned to her, blue eyes sharp with irritation. “Yes?” he snapped.
“Can I leave now, Captain Hayder? There’s nothing else I can tell you.”
“Not yet.”
“How much longer?”
“You’ll have to wait here until our hostage negotiator can interview you. He wanted all witnesses retained.”
“I’ll be happy to talk to him, but there’s no reason I have to sit in here. My office is right across the street. You know where to find me.”
“That’s not close enough, Dr. Isles. We need to keep you sequestered.” Already, Hayder was turning his attention back to the CAD display, her protest of no concern to him. “Things are moving fast, and we can’t waste time tracking down witnesses who wander off.”
“I won’t wander off. And I’m not the only witness. There were nurses taking care of her.”
“We’ve sequestered them as well. We’re talking to all of you.”
“And there was that doctor, in her room. He was right there when it happened.”
“Captain Hayder?” said Emerton, turning from the radio. “First four floors are now evacuated. They can’t move the critically ill patients from the upper floors, but we’ve got all nonessentials out of the building.”
“Our perimeters?”
“The inner is now established. They’ve got the barricades up in the hallway. We’re still awaiting more personnel to tighten the outer perimeter.”
The TV above Hayder’s head was tuned to a local Boston station, with the sound turned off. It was a live news broadcast, the images startlingly familiar. That’s Albany Street, Maura thought. And there’s the command trailer where, at this moment, I’m being held prisoner. While the city of Boston was watching the drama play out on their TV screens, she was trapped at the center of the crisis.
The sudden rocking of the trailer made her turn toward the door, and she saw a man step in. Another cop, she thought, noting the weapon holstered at his hip, but this man was shorter and far less imposing than Hayder. Sweat had shellacked sparse strands of brown hair to his bright red scalp.
“Christ, it’s even hotter in here,” the man said. “Isn’t your AC on?”
“It’s on,” said Emerton. “But it’s not worth shit. We didn’t have time to get it serviced. It’s hell on the electronics.”
“Not to mention the people,” the man said, his gaze settling on Maura. He held out his hand to her. “You’re Dr. Isles, right? I’m Lieutenant Leroy Stillman. They’ve called me in to try to calm things down. See if we can resolve this without any violence.”
“You’re the hostage negotiator.”
He gave a modest shrug. “That’s what they call me.”
They shook hands. Perhaps it was his unassuming appearance—the hang-dog face, the balding head—that put her at ease. Unlike Hayder
, who seemed to be driven by pure testosterone, this man regarded her with a quiet and patient smile. As if he had all the time in the world to talk to her. He looked at Hayder. “This trailer is unbearable. She shouldn’t have to sit in here.”
“You asked us to retain the witnesses.”
“Yes, but not roast them alive.” He opened the door. “Just about anywhere else is going to be more comfortable than in here.”
They stepped out, and Maura took in deep breaths, grateful to be out of that stifling box. Here, at least, there was a breeze. During the time she’d been sequestered, Albany Street had transformed into a sea of police vehicles. The driveway to the medical examiner’s building across the street was now hemmed in, and she didn’t know how she was going to get her car out of that parking lot. In the distance, beyond the police barricades, she saw satellite dishes, like blossoms perched on tall stalks above the news vans. She wondered if the TV crews were just as hot and miserable, sitting inside their vehicles, as she had been inside the command trailer. She hoped so.
“Thank you for waiting,” said Stillman.
“I was hardly given a choice.”
“I know it’s an inconvenience, but we have to hold on to witnesses until we can debrief them. Now the situation’s contained, and I need intelligence. We don’t know her motives. We don’t know how many people might be in there with her. I need to know who we’re dealing with, so I can choose the right approach when she starts talking to us.”
“She hasn’t yet?”
“No. We’ve isolated the three phone lines into the hospital wing where she’s barricaded, so we control all her outgoing communications. We’ve tried calling in half a dozen times, but she keeps hanging up on us. Eventually, though, she’s going to want to communicate. They almost always do.”
“You seem to think she’s like every other hostage taker.”
“People who do this tend to behave in similar ways.”
“And how many hostage takers are women?”
“It’s unusual, I have to admit.”
“Have you ever dealt with a female hostage taker?”
He hesitated. “The truth is,” he said, “this is a first for me. A first for all of us. We’re confronting the rare exception here. Women just don’t take hostages.”
“This one did.”
He nodded. “And until I know more, I have to approach it the way I would any other hostage crisis. Before I negotiate with her, I need to know as much about her as possible. Who she is, and why she’s doing this.”
Maura shook her head. “I don’t know that I can help you with that.”
“You’re the last person who had any contact with her. Tell me everything you can remember. Every word she spoke, every twitch.”
“I was alone with her for such a short time. Only a few minutes.”
“Did you two talk?”
“I tried to.”
“What did you say to her?”
Maura felt her palms go slick again as she remembered that ride in the elevator. How the woman’s hand had trembled as she gripped the weapon. “I tried to calm her down, tried to reason with her. I told her I only wanted to help.”
“How did she respond?”
“She didn’t say anything. She was completely silent. That was the most frightening part.” She looked at Stillman. “Her absolute silence.”
He frowned. “Did she react to your words in any way? Are you sure she could hear you?”
“She’s not deaf. She reacted to sounds. I know she heard the police sirens.”
“Yet she didn’t say a single word?” He shook his head. “This is bizarre. Are we dealing with a language barrier? This will make it tough to negotiate.”
“She didn’t strike me as the negotiating type anyway.”
“Start from the beginning, Dr. Isles. Everything she did, everything you did.”
“I’ve gone over all this with Captain Hayder. Asking me the same questions again and again isn’t going to get you any more answers.”
“I know you’re repeating yourself. But something you remember could be the vital detail. The one thing I can use.”
“She was pointing a gun at my head. It was hard to focus on anything else but staying alive.”
“You were with her. You know her most recent state of mind. Do you have any idea why she took these actions? Whether she’s likely to harm any hostages she’s holding?”
“She’s already killed one man. Shouldn’t that tell you something?”
“But we’ve heard no gunshots since then, so we’ve gotten past the critical first thirty minutes, which is the most dangerous period. The time when the shooter’s still scared and most likely to kill a captive. It’s been almost an hour now, and she’s made no other moves. Hurt no one else, as far as we know.”
“Then what is she doing in there?”
“We have no idea. We’re still scrambling for background information. The homicide unit is checking into how she ended up at the morgue, and we’ve lifted what we think are her fingerprints from the hospital room. As long as no one’s getting hurt, time is our friend. The longer this goes on, the more information we’ll have on her. And the more likely we’ll settle it without bloodshed, without heroics.” He glanced toward the hospital. “See those cops over there? They’re probably champing at the bit to rush the building. If it comes to that, then I’ve failed. My rule of thumb for hostage incidents is simple: Slow things down. We’ve got her contained in a wing with no windows, no exits, so she can’t escape. She can’t go mobile. So we let her sit and think about her situation. And she’ll realize that she’s got no other choice but to surrender.”
“If she’s rational enough to understand that.”
He regarded her for a moment. A look that gently probed the significance of what she just said. “Do you think she’s rational?”
“I think she’s terrified,” Maura said. “When we were alone in that elevator, I saw the look in her eyes. The panic.”
“Is that why she fired the gun?”
“She must have felt threatened. There were three of us crowding around her bed, trying to restrain her.”
“Three of you? The nurse I spoke to said that when she stepped into the room, she saw only you and the guard.”
“There was a doctor as well. A young man, blond.”
“The nurse didn’t see him.”
“Oh, he ran. After that gun went off, he was out of there like a rabbit.” She paused, still bitter about the abandonment. “I was the one trapped in the room.”
“Why do you think the patient shot only the guard? If there were three of you standing around the bed?”
“He was bending toward her. He was closest.”
“Or was it his uniform?”
She frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Think about it. A uniform is a symbol of authority. She could have thought he was a policeman. It makes me wonder if she has a criminal record.”
“A lot of people are afraid of the police. You don’t have to be a criminal.”
“Why didn’t she shoot the doctor?”
“I told you, he ran. He was out of there.”
“She didn’t shoot you, either.”
“Because she needed a hostage. I was the closest warm body.”
“Do you think she would have killed you? Given the chance?”
Maura met his gaze. “I think that woman will do anything to stay alive.”
The trailer door suddenly swung open. Captain Hayder stuck his head out and said to Stillman: “You’d better come in and listen to this, Leroy.”
“What is it?”
“It just aired on the radio.”
Maura followed Stillman back into the trailer, which had grown even more stifling in just the short time they had been standing outside.
“Replay the broadcast,” Hayder said to Emerton.
Over the speaker came a man’s excited voice. “. . . you’re listening to KBUR, and this is Rob Roy, your host on thi
s very weird afternoon. We’ve got a bee-zarre situation here, folks. There’s a lady caller on the line right now who claims she’s the one holding our local SWAT team at bay over at the medical center. Now, I didn’t believe her at first, but our producer’s been talking to her. We think she’s the real deal . . .”
“What the hell is this?” said Stillman. “It’s got to be a hoax. We have those phone lines isolated.”
“Just listen,” said Hayder.
“. . . so hello, miss?” said the DJ. “Talk to us. Tell us your name.”
A woman’s throaty voice answered: “My name is not important.”
“Okay. Well, why the heck are you doing this?”
“The die is cast. This is all I wish to say.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Tell them. Say it. The die is cast.”
“Okay, okay. Whatever it means, the whole city of Boston’s just heard it. Folks, if you’re listening, the die is cast. This is Rob Roy at KBUR, and we’re on the phone with the lady who’s causing all that ruckus over at the—”
“You tell the police to stay away,” the woman said. “I have six people here in this room. I have enough bullets for everyone.”
“Whoa, ma’am! You want to calm down there. There’s no reason to hurt anybody.”
Stillman’s face had flushed an angry red. He turned to Hayder. “How did this happen? I thought we isolated those phone lines.”
“We did. She used a cell phone to call out.”
“Whose cell phone?”
“The number’s listed to a Stephanie Tam.”
“Do we know who that is?”
“. . . oops! Folks, I’m in trouble,” said Rob Roy. “My producer just told me that I have been ordered by Boston’s finest to cease and desist talking to this caller. The police are going to shut us down, friends, and I’m going to have to cut this conversation short. Are you still there, ma’am? Hello?” A pause. “It looks like we lost our caller. Well, I hope she calms down. Lady, if you’re still listening to me, please don’t hurt anyone. We can get you help, okay? And to all my listeners out there, you heard it on KBUR. ‘The die is cast . . .’ ”