Hostage

  When the shooting was done, Dennis sucked air like a bellows, stalking back and forth between the entry and office, his face white.

  “We’re fucked! That cop is down!”

  Mars went to the entry. He didn’t hurry or seem scared; he strolled.

  “Let’s get the car before more of them get here.”

  Kevin was on the floor beside her father’s desk, shaking. His face was milky.

  “You shot a cop. You shot a cop, Dennis!”

  Dennis grabbed his brother by the shirt.

  “Didn’t you hear Mars? He was going for his gun!”

  Jennifer heard a siren approaching behind the shouting. Then Dennis heard it, too, and ran back to the windows.

  “Oh, man, they’re coming!”

  Jennifer’s father pulled her closer, almost as if he was trying to squeeze her into himself.

  “Take the keys and go. The keys are on the wall by the garage. It’s a Jaguar. Take it while you still can.”

  Dennis stared through the open shutters like prison bars, watching the street with fearful expectation. Jennifer wanted them to run, to go, to get out of her life, but Dennis stood frozen at the windows as if he were waiting for something.

  Mars spoke from the entry, his voice as calm as still water.

  “Let’s take the man’s car, Dennis. We have to go.”

  Then the siren suddenly seemed to be in the house, and it was too late. Tires screeched outside. Dennis ran to the front door. The shooting started again.

  TALLEY

  York Estates was a walled development that had been named for the legendary walled city of York in England, a village that was protected from the world by a great stone wall. The developers built twenty-eight homes on one- to three-acre sites in a pattern of winding streets and cul-de-sacs with names like Lancelot Lane, Queen Anne Way, and King John Place, then surrounded it by a stone wall that was more decorative than protective. Talley cut his siren as he entered from the north, but kept the lights flashing. Jorgenson and Anders were shouting that they were under fire. Talley heard the pop of a gunshot over the radio.

  When he turned into Castle Way, Talley saw Jorgenson and Anders crouched behind their car with their weapons out. Two women were in the open door of the house behind them and a teenaged boy was standing near the cul-de-sac’s mouth. Talley hit the public address key on his mike as he sped up the street.

  “You people take cover. Get inside your homes!”

  Jorgenson and Anders turned to watch him approach. The two women looked confused and the boy stood without moving. Talley burped his siren, and shouted at them again.

  “Get inside now! You people move!”

  Talley hit the brakes hard, stopping behind Jorgenson’s unit. Two shots pinged from the house, one snapping past overhead, the other thumping dully into Talley’s windshield. He rolled out the door and pulled himself into a tight ball behind the front wheel, using the hub as cover. Mike Welch lay crumpled on the front lawn of a large Tudor home less than forty feet away.

  Anders shouted, “Welch is down! They shot him!”

  “Are all three subjects inside?”

  “I don’t know! We haven’t seen anyone!”

  “Are civilians in the house?”

  “I don’t know!”

  More sirens were coming from the east. Talley knew that would be Dreyer and Mikkelson in unit six with the ambulance. The shooting had stopped, but he could hear shouts and screaming inside the house. He flattened on the street and called to Welch from under the car.

  “Mike! Can you hear me?”

  Welch didn’t respond.

  Anders shouted, his voice frantic.

  “I think he’s dead!”

  “Calm down, Larry. I can hear you.”

  Talley had to take in the scene and make decisions without knowing who or what he was dealing with. Welch was in the middle of the front lawn, unmoving and unprotected. Talley had to act.

  “Does this house back up on Flanders Road?”

  “Yes, sir. The truck is right on the other side of the wall that runs behind the house, that red Nissan! It’s the suspects who hit Kim’s.”

  The sirens were closer. Talley had to assume that innocents were inside. He had to assume that Mike Welch was alive. He keyed his transceiver mike.

  “Six, one. Who’s on?”

  Dreyer’s voice came back.

  “It’s Dreyer, Chief. We’re one minute out.”

  “Where’s the ambulance?”

  “Right behind us.”

  “Okay. You guys set up on Flanders by the truck in case these guys go back over the wall. Send the ambulance in, but tell them to wait at Castle and Tower. I’ll bring Welch to them.”

  Talley broke the connection, then pushed himself up to a crouch.

  “Larry, did you guys fire on the house?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Don’t.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Stay down. Don’t fire at the house.”

  Talley climbed back into his car, keeping his head low and the driver’s door open. He backed up, then powered into the yard, maneuvering to a stop between Welch and the house to use the car as a shield. Another shot popped the passengerside window. He rolled out of the car almost on top of Welch. Talley opened the rear door, then dragged Welch to the car. It was like lifting two hundred pounds of deadweight, but Welch moaned. He was alive. Talley propped him upright in the open door, then lifted for all he was worth to fold Welch onto the backseat. He slammed the door, then saw Welch’s gun on the grass. He went back for it. He returned to the car and floored the accelerator, fishtailing across the slick grass as he cut across the yard and into the street. He sped back along the cul-de-sac to the corner where the ambulance was waiting. Two paramedics pulled Welch from the rear and pushed a compress onto his chest. Talley didn’t ask if Welch would make it. He knew from experience that they wouldn’t know.

  Talley stared down the length of the cul-de-sac and felt himself tremble. The first flush of panic was passing, and now he had time to think. Now he had time to acknowledge that what was happening here was what had cost him so much in Los Angeles. A hostage situation was developing. His mouth went dry and something sour flushed in his throat that threatened to make him retch. He keyed the mike again to call his dispatcher. He had exactly four units on duty and another five officers off. He would need them all.

  “Chief, I pulled Dreyer and Mikkelson off the minimart. We’ve got no one on the scene now. It’s totally unsecured.”

  “Call the CHP and the Sheriffs. Tell them what’s going on and request a full crisis team. Tell them we’ve got two men down and we have a possible hostage situation.”

  Talley’s eyes filled when he realized that he had used that word. Hostage.

  He remembered Welch’s gun. He sniffed the muzzle, then checked the magazine. Welch had returned fire, which meant that he might have wounded someone in the house. Maybe even an innocent.

  He shut his eyes hard and keyed the mike again.

  “Tell them to hurry.”

  JENNIFER

  Jennifer whispered, “Daddy.”

  Her father held her head, whispered back.

  “Shh.”

  They snuggled closer. Jennifer thought her father might be trying to pull them through the floor, that if he could just make the three of them small enough they would disappear. She watched Mars peering through the shutters, his wide back hunched like an enormous swollen toad. When Mars glanced back at them, he looked high.

  Kevin threw a TV Guide at him.

  “What’s wrong with you? Why’d you start shooting?”

  “To keep them away.”

  “We could’ve gotten out the back!”

  Dennis jerked Kevin toward the entry.

  “Get it together, Kev. They found the truck. They’re already behind us.”

  “This is bullshit, Dennis! We should give up!”

  Jennifer wanted them to run. She wanted the
m to get away, if that’s what it took; she wanted them out.

  The words boiled out of her before she could stop them.

  “We don’t want you here!”

  Her father squeezed her, his voice soft.

  “Be quiet.”

  Jennifer couldn’t stop.

  “You have no right to be here! No one invited you!”

  Her father pulled her closer.

  Dennis jabbed a finger at her.

  “Shut up, bitch!”

  He turned and shoved his brother into the wall so hard that Jennifer flinched.

  “Stop it, Kevin! Go through the house and lock all the windows. Lock the doors, then watch the backyard. They’re gonna come over that wall just like we did.”

  Kevin seemed confused.

  “Why don’t we just give up, Dennis? We’re caught.”

  “It’s going to be dark in a few hours. Things will change when it gets dark. Go do it, Kev. We’re going to get out of this.

  We will.”

  Jennifer felt her father sigh before he spoke. He slowly pushed to his knees.

  “None of you are going to get out of this.”

  Dennis said, “Shut the fuck up. Go on, Kevin. Watch the back.”

  Kevin disappeared toward the rear through the entry.

  Her father stood. Both Dennis and Mars aimed their guns at him.

  Jennifer pulled at his legs.

  “Daddy! Don’t!”

  Her father raised his hands.

  “It’s okay, sweetie. I’m not going to do anything. I just want to go to my desk.” Dennis extended his gun.

  “Are you fuckin’ nuts?! You’re not going anywhere!”

  “Just take it easy, son.”

  “Daddy, don’t!”

  Her father seemed to be moving in a dream. She wanted to stop him, but she couldn’t. She wanted to say something, but nothing came out. He walked stiffly, as if he was prepared to take a punch. It was as if this man in the dream wasn’t her father, but someone she had never before seen.

  He went behind his desk, carefully placing two computer disks in a black leather disk case as he spoke. Dennis followed along beside him, shouting for him to stop, shouting that he shouldn’t take another step, and pointing the gun at his head. Dennis looked as scared as she felt.

  “I’m warning you, goddamnit!”

  “I’m going to open my desk.”

  “I’ll fuckin’ kill you!”

  “Daddy, please!!!”

  Jennifer’s father held up a single finger as if to show them that one tiny finger could do them no harm, then used it to slide open the drawer. He nodded toward the drawer, as if to show Dennis that nothing would hurt him. Her father took out a thick booklet.

  “This is a list of every criminal lawyer in California. If you give up right now, I’ll help you get the best lawyer in the state.”

  Dennis slapped the book aside.

  “Fuck you! We just killed a cop! We killed that Chinaman! We’ll get the fuckin’ death penalty!”

  “I’m telling you that you won’t, not if you let me help you. But if you stay in this house, I can promise you this: You’ll die.”

  “Shut up!”

  Dennis swung his gun hard and hit her father in the temple with a wet thud. He fell sideways like a sack that had been dropped to the floor.

  “No!”

  Jennifer lunged forward. She pushed Dennis before she realized what she was doing.

  “Leave him alone!”

  She shoved Dennis back, then dropped to her knees beside her father. The gun had cut an ugly gouge behind his right eye at the hairline. The gouge pulsed blood, and was already swelling.

  “Daddy? Daddy, wake up!”

  He didn’t respond.

  “Daddy, please!”

  Her father’s eyes danced insanely beneath the lids as his body trembled.

  “Daddy!”

  Tears blurred her eyes as unseen hands lifted her away.

  The nightmare had begun.

  3

  • • •

  Friday, 3:51 P.M.

  TALLEY

  Talley wanted to stay with Welch, but he didn’t have the time. He had to stabilize the scene and find out what was going on inside the house. He requested a second ambulance to stand by in case there were more casualties, then climbed back into his car and once more drove into the cul-de-sac. He brought his unit so close to Anders’s vehicle that the bumpers crunched. He slipped out and hunkered behind the wheel again, calling over to Anders and Jorgenson.

  “Larry, Jorgy, listen up.”

  They were young guys. Men who would work as carpenters or salesmen if they weren’t working as suburban policemen. They had never seen anything like what was now developing on Castle Way, and neither had any of Talley’s other men. They had never pulled their guns. They had never made a felony arrest.

  “We’ve got to evacuate these houses and seal the neighborhood. I want all the streets coming in here blocked.”

  Anders nodded vigorously, excited and scared.

  “Just the cul-de-sac?”

  “All the streets coming into the neighborhood. Use Welch’s unit to get back to the corner, then go from house to house here on the cul-de-sac through the backyards. Climb the walls if you have to, and move everyone out the same way. Don’t expose yourself or anyone else to this house.”

  “What if they won’t leave?”

  “They’ll do what you say. But don’t let anyone come out the front of their homes. Start with the house directly behind us. Someone could be wounded in there.”

  “Right, Chief.”

  “Find out who lives here. We need to know.”

  “Okay.”

  “One more thing. We might have one or more perps still on the loose. Have the other guys start a house-to-house. Warn everyone in the neighborhood to be on the lookout.”

  Anders duckwalked to Welch’s unit, the first car in the line, then swung it around in a tight turn and accelerated out of the cul-de-sac.

  The first few minutes of any crisis situation were always the worst. In the beginning, you rarely knew what you were dealing with, and the unknown could kill you. Talley needed to find out who he was dealing with, and who was at risk in the house. Maybe all three perpetrators were in the house, but he had no way of knowing. They might have split up. They might have already murdered everyone inside. They might have killed the occupants, shot up the street, then committed suicide. Jeff Talley might be staring at a lifeless house.

  Talley keyed his mike to talk to his other cars.

  “This is Talley. Clear the freq and listen. Jorgenson and I are currently in front of the house at one-eight Castle Way in York Estates. Anders is evacuating the residents of the surrounding houses. Dreyer and Mikkelson are at the rear of the property on Flanders Road near a red Nissan pickup. We believe that one or more of the people who shot Junior Kim and Mike Welch are in the house. They are armed. We need an ID. Did Welch run the plates on that truck?”

  Mikkelson came back.

  “Chief, two.”

  “Go, two.”

  “The truck is registered to Dennis James Rooney, white male, age twenty-two. He has an Agua Dulce address.”

  Talley pulled out his pad and scratched down Rooney’s name. In another life he would dispatch a unit to Rooney’s address, but he didn’t have the manpower for that now.

  His radio popped again.

  “Chief, Anders.”

  “Go, Larry.”

  “I’m with one of the neighbors. She says the people in the house are named Smith, Walter and Pamela Smith. They’ve got two kids. A girl and a boy. Hang on. Okay, it’s Jennifer and Thomas. She says the girl is about fifteen and the boy is younger.”

  “Does she know if they’re in the house?”

  Talley could hear Anders talking with the neighbor. Anders was so anxious that he was keying his mike before he was ready. Talley told him to slow down.

  “She says the wife is in Florida visiting a si
ster, but she believes that the rest of the family is at home. She says the husband works there in the house.”

  Talley cursed under his breath. He had a possible three hostages inside. Three killers, three hostages. He had to find out what was happening inside the house and cool out the shooters. It was called “stabilizing the situation.” That’s all he had to do. He told himself that over and over like a mantra: That’s all you have to do.

  Talley took a deep breath to gather himself, then another. He keyed his public address system so that he could speak to the house. In the next moment he would engage the subjects. In that instant, the negotiation would begin. Talley had sworn that he would never again be in this place. He had turned his life inside out to avoid it, yet here he was.

  “My name is Jeff Talley. Is anyone in the house hurt?”

  His voice echoed through the neighborhood. He heard a police car pull up at the mouth of the cul-de-sac, but he did not turn to look; he kept his eyes fixed on the house.

  “Everyone in the house relax. We’re not in a hurry here. If you’ve got wounded, let’s get them tended to. We can work this out.”

  No one answered. Talley knew that the subjects in the house were now under incredible stress. They had been involved in two shootings, and now they were trapped. They would be scared, and the danger level to the civilians would be great. Talley’s job was to reduce their stress. If you gave the subjects time to calm down and think about their situation, sometimes they realized that their only way out was to surrender. Then all you had to do was give them an excuse to give up. That was the way it worked. Talley had been taught these things at the FBI’s Crisis Management School, and it had worked that way every time until George Malik had shot his own son in the neck.

  Talley keyed the mike again. He tried to make his voice reasonable and assuring.

  “We’re going to start talking sooner or later. It might as well be now. Is everyone in there okay, or does someone need a doctor?”

  A voice in the house finally answered.

  “Fuck you.”

  JENNIFER