“Yeah.” I indicated toward the bank. “What do we know?”
“Are you sure you’re—?”
“I’m fine.” I waited for the update. Ralph spoke up: “As far as we can tell, he’s got three bank employees, two or three customers.”
“Do we have a video feed of the surveillance cameras?”
“Not yet. SWAT’s working on it.”
I saw two phones and headsets. “Who’s talking with him?”
“For now, me. Radar mentioned that the guy who took his son, he called him by his nickname. Called him Radar.”
“What? He knows him?”
Ralph shook his head. “We don’t know. But right now we need to move. He told me you have to be in there by 4:25. I don’t know why, but he’s really sketchy right now and I don’t want to push things.”
My gun had jammed earlier, but Radar didn’t know that and I guessed he wouldn’t want me coming in armed. I unholstered my weapon, handed it to Ralph. “Let’s go.”
“You need a vest.”
“He’s my partner. He’s not going to shoot me.”
“You go in there,” Ralph said firmly, “you’re going in wearing a vest.”
This wasn’t the time to argue and I didn’t want to waste what few precious minutes we had.
I couldn’t help but cringe as I slumped off the jacket.
Everyone in the van stared at the blood covering half of my chest and most of my sleeve. “It’s not as bad as it looks,” I assured them, even though it hurt like it was. I picked up a vest and began to put it on, trying not to move my left arm at all, but it wasn’t possible and pain chugged through me again, this time, actually making me dizzy.
I had to stop, close my eyes, and try to funnel the pain into another place.
Ralph carefully helped me into the vest. When he was done, I pointed to his voluminous FBI jacket tossed on a chair in the corner. “I don’t want to walk past those cameras with my shirt covered with blood and I don’t want to alarm the hostages. My jacket’s gonna be too hard to get into. Let me use that thing.” There was still a dark stain on my pant leg where I’d been stabbed with the scalpel, but I could deal with that.
He grabbed the jacket and helped me ease it on. “Congratulations,” he said, trying to keep things light. “You’ve been promoted.”
“Thanks.” I zipped up. “Tonto.”
Using one of the portable phones in the SWAT van, Ralph put a call through to the bank and then nodded for me. “We’re a go. He’s waiting for you. Be careful in there.”
“I will.”
Leaving the van, I held out my hands to show that I wasn’t armed. With the gunshot wound, it hurt terribly to move that left arm, let alone hold it to the side, but I did the best I could. Trying to conceal my limp, I crossed the parking lot.
The walk seemed to take forever.
I made it to the door.
Paused.
Then laid my hand against the glass and pressed it open.
93
4:25 p.m.
The gloaming
Five hostages on the floor, all restrained. Radar stood beside the counter, his weapon out, a wild, flighty look in his eyes.
“Get away from the door, Pat.”
I edged in, let the door close behind me. “I heard about Tod. I’m sorry.”
He eyed me. “You’re limping.”
“I got him. The killer. The guy from Ohio and Illinois.”
“Basque?”
“Yeah.”
His eyes were on my leg. “Did he shoot you?”
“Yes,” I told him honestly. I didn’t clarify that it was in the shoulder. “Listen, Radar, I’m unarmed. You can lower your weapon.”
He didn’t. But he didn’t pat me down either. He believed me.
He waved the gun toward the bank’s office. It had a glass wall that offered a view of the lobby, and I imagined he wanted to go in there so we could talk privately, but also so he could keep an eye on the hostages.
We entered, he closed the door and told me to stand on the other side of the desk. As I angled across the room, he kept the gun trained on me, then ran a hand through his hair. “He’s gonna kill Tod, Pat.”
“As far as we know, he hasn’t killed anyone. Basque was the one who—”
“No.” Radar shook his head. “You don’t get it. I talked to him a few minutes ago. This time he’s serious. He’s gonna do it. He told me what his father made him do to people he brought to their barn when he was a kid. He wasn’t making it up, Pat. I could tell.” He smiled oddly and I could see that Ralph had been right: Radar was losing it. “Gut instincts. Intuition. Remember? That’s me.”
“Calm down for a sec. Think this through. How did he get that package to you at HQ?”
“Dropped it off in the lobby. No one noticed him.”
“Ralph said he called you Radar, and we know he entered the department without being questioned about why he was there. Do you have any idea who he could be?”
He shook his head. “I couldn’t recognize his voice. It’s gotta be someone on the force. He said he’s gonna be watching.”
I tried to think of who in the department fit Colleen’s description of her abductor. A few people came to mind, but then I realized I needed to be mentally here, in this moment, helping talk Radar down. I could figure out who the kidnapper was once I didn’t have a gun aimed at me.
However, as hard as I tried, thoughts of the kidnapper’s demands, his crimes, his acts, his choice of locations, refused to leave me alone.
The alley…the hardware store…the bank…
No, no, no. It wasn’t just the locations we were talking about.
It was the victims too.
Konerak Sinthasomphone for Dahmer.
Bernice Worden for Gein.
And now Captain James Lutz for the Oswalds…
I looked through the glass window at the hostages lying on the floor in the bank lobby. “It wasn’t just the bank, was it? That’s not what he wants?”
“No.” Radar’s voice cracked.
“Tie the stories together. His and the Oswalds’. That’s the way it ends, isn’t it? That’s why he wanted the media here. He wants you to kill a cop, just like they killed Lutz.”
He had tears in his eyes. He nodded.
It was hard to get the next question out, but the answer might help us narrow things down. “Did he ask for me by name?”
Radar shook his head. “I chose you. Because you’re my partner, because I knew you’d understand.”
I thought of what the kidnapper had done to Colleen Hayes, what he’d been in the process of doing to Adele Westin when Ralph and I arrived in the train yard. He was escalating and I didn’t even want to think about what he might have in mind for Radar’s son.
I didn’t doubt for a second that he would do terrible, terrible things to the boy if his demands were not met.
Using my good arm, I reached for the zipper.
Radar leveled the gun at me. “Don’t move, Pat!”
“I’m unarmed, Radar. And if you’re going to kill me, you don’t need to worry about me taking off this jacket.”
He was breathing rapidly, his hand shaking. Logic wasn’t in play here, emotion was. And that’s what was going to determine everything.
“I have body armor on,” I told him. “I’m going to take it off, okay? That’s all.”
“Why?” He was obviously scared, desperate, and not thinking clearly. And he had a gun—a very bad combination.
“Just relax, Radar.” I was able to keep my voice reasonably steady, but my heart was jackhammering in my chest, my thoughts whipping and twisting around each other. It had happened to me just a handful of times in my life, in those moments when death seemed to be on my heels and I actually had enough time to think about it—contrary to what people tell you, the “fight-or-flight instinct” doesn’t always kick in; instead, you become unnaturally calm. It’s almost frightening how rational you can be. It doesn’t make sense, but
a sweep of clarity, of perspective, comes over you.
“I believe you that he’s serious…” I’d lost a lot of blood and I was starting to feel dizzy. I wasn’t sure how long I could stand here. “That he’ll kill Tod unless you do it.”
As awkward and painful as it was, I managed to slide out of the oversized Windbreaker. The vest covered my chest, but Radar could obviously see my blood-soaked sleeve. He stared at me, shocked. “It’s just the shoulder,” I told him. “I’m okay. Do you really believe he’ll let Tod live? If you do what he said?”
“I don’t know. Your shoulder, man, your leg, it’s…I don’t know—but I can’t take the chance.” He was definitely in a bad, bad, place. Confused, terrified, and I wanted so badly to help him, but I also didn’t want to die here today.
I unsnapped the bulletproof vest. Getting it off was not going to be easy or feel very good at all, but—
“Stop, Pat. When I said you’d understand, I meant it.”
I paused with the vest. “I know.”
He didn’t go on right away. “I’m not going to shoot you.” His voice held a deep, unsettling resolve. “I need you.”
“You need me?”
“To be there for Tod and Angie. To help Gayle with—”
“What are you—no, Radar.”
“Yes.” He nodded. “If I shoot you, we’re both gone. I’d be in prison and you’d be—”
“Radar, stop. We’ll find Tod, okay? We just need to—”
“Quiet.”
I wanted to rush him, disarm him, but he was on the other side of the desk and I’d never be able to move quickly enough to get there before he could do it, not with my injured leg.
“You need to show ’em,” he said. “Prove it. That’s what he told me. Take my body outside. Hold it up for the cameras. That’s how it ends. All caught on tape. Just like the Oswalds—”
“Don’t even talk like that, Radar.”
“It’s all gotta be on TV. It’s gotta be live.”
I made a move toward him, but froze when he raised the gun and pointed it at his own chest. “Don’t come any closer, Pat.”
Stop him, Pat. Come on, you have to—
“You tell them I love them,” he said. “That’s why I did it, okay? My kids, Gayle, because—”
An idea came to me. I blurted it out, hoping, praying he would listen and wouldn’t fire.
But he closed his eyes, angled the gun toward his heart.
“Radar, no—!”
94
Ralph was inside the SWAT van when the phone rang. He picked up the receiver, listened, then announced through the radio to the team, “Do not fire! I repeat, do not fire! Whatever happens, hold your fire! He’s coming out.”
Nods of acknowledgment, but everyone kept their guns trained on the bank’s entrance just the same.
But it didn’t open.
Stillness.
A moment passed.
Then another.
Time stretched thin.
And then the sharp sound of a gunshot rang from inside the building and cracked through the wire-tight surface of the day.
“Hold your fire!” Ralph yelled again.
Just one shot. That was it. Then all was still.
The line had gone dead. Ralph punched in the bank’s number. Pat answered, his voice soft, grim. “Radar’s dead. The hostages are okay. Tell SWAT to lower their weapons. I’m coming out.”
95
Joshua had left the boy securely in the back of the moving truck where he’d parked it just across the street from the bank before any of this began.
He’d stepped out of the cab to watch what was going on, and now stood just outside of the police perimeter, news crews all around him.
Just a few moments ago he’d heard the gunshot.
Now, along with everyone else, he stared anxiously at the door to see what would happen next.
Earlier, when he first saw the man wearing the FBI jacket enter the bank, he’d been upset that they weren’t using a cop like he’d demanded, but then he recognized the face of the guy entering: Bowers. Why he was wearing an FBI jacket was beyond him, unless he was doing it for some jurisdictional reason. Joshua didn’t know, but it didn’t matter as long as he went in.
Part of his demands included Radar carrying out the body, emerging from the front door for all the news cameras to catch the climax on film, just like the cameraman from WISN Channel 12 News had caught the chase and apprehension of the Oswalds back in 1994.
And so, from just across the street, Joshua watched and waited for the story to come full circle at last.
With my shoulder I couldn’t do it, couldn’t carry him. One of the hostages was a big guy, bigger even than me. After I freed him from the plastic cuffs, I had him pick up Radar’s body.
Even though I had the FBI jacket on again, I knew that the SWAT team would be tweaked, looking for any movement, ready to fire, so as I nudged the front door open, I did so slowly, carefully, my arms to the side, hands out. “It’s over!” I yelled. “The hostages are okay.” I hesitated. I couldn’t help it. “Sergeant Walker is gone.”
At least a dozen news cameras were aimed at me from across the street.
I stepped aside and held the door open. The man who’d been a hostage and was now carrying Radar’s limp body, joined me outside. As I’d instructed him, he stayed stationary long enough to make sure the cameras caught the image of him standing there, just as the kidnapper had demanded.
Then, he lowered Radar to the ground and held up his hands as he edged away from me. Four SWAT members rushed forward, I slowed them down, told them what’d gone down inside, then three of them bent over Radar’s bloody body while the fourth walked toward the EMTs to lead them over here. They would roll Radar away, a blanket drawn up over his head as they passed the media, all those news cameras. Then transport him. Lights off.
The shock hit me all at once.
I began to crash.
The adrenaline that’d been chugging through me since I first entered the slaughterhouse seemed to dissipate in one fell swoop. That, along with the impact of what had happened to Tod and Radar, were all working to drain my strength and I felt weak, disoriented.
You still have to find Tod. You still need to get the guy who took him.
As the EMTs approached, I found myself unable to stand on my own and I leaned against the side of the building to keep from dropping to the ground. Ralph came sprinting up to me, then supported me while two EMTs hurried toward us with a gurney.
I was vaguely aware of the Flight for Life helicopter landing in a vacant parking lot down the block. If it was for me, I wasn’t so sure I needed it, but it would definitely make the trip to the medical center go a lot faster.
I blinked to keep focused, but was overwhelmed by the melee of law enforcement personnel suddenly swarming around us. As always with these things, there were too many people here: cops, lawyers, a hostage negotiator, counselors, the police chaplain, SWAT, Lyrie and Thompson from the task force, support personnel. As I collapsed onto the gurney, I saw some of the officers were helping hostages out of the bank.
Then I was lying on my back, staring at the darkening sky and the paramedics were wheeling me toward the helicopter and the world was spinning in a slow, delirious circle and all I could think of was Radar and what had happened to him and his family.
96
Joshua watched it all.
Bowers emerged from the bank entrance, then the guy carrying Sergeant Walker’s bloody corpse appeared behind him. Somehow Bowers had overpowered Walker and taken him out.
Or did Radar take his own life?
Was it possible?
Either way, a cop had died. It’d been filmed. It was over. Joshua was certain that the man who’d called him earlier in the day, before sunrise, would be impressed.
And they would finally meet.
He made his way through the crowd inside the cordoned-off area, then went back to the moving truck to take care of the boy. br />
Ralph crouched beside me as the paramedics worked to cut off his jacket so they could get to the bullet’s entrance and exit wounds. As they did, he said to me softly, in a voice meant only for me, “People see what they expect to see.”
When I looked at him, I realized he knew. “How did—?”
“You’re not the only one who notices things. The bloody shirt Radar had on—that’s the one you were wearing when you got here.”
So, he’d figured it out: when I was standing outside the door and the SWAT members first rushed forward, I’d told them the truth, and one of them had quickly informed the paramedics—pretend he’s dead, buy us some time.
I kept my voice low. “I didn’t know if anyone else was on the line when I called from the bank. That’s why I said what I did, when I told you he was dead.”
“It was smart.”
“He almost didn’t go for it.”
“Thank God he did.”
Hopefully, it would provide us the window we needed to save his son.
The helicopter rotors started gearing up and I had to yell in order for Ralph to hear me. “We need to find Tod!”
He shouted that he was on it, that he would find the boy. I asked him one last question: “Do we know who the woman was, the one in the slaughterhouse?” But before he could answer, my attention was drawn to something else.
A moving truck at the end of the street, turning the corner.
“No,” Ralph replied, “but we’re gonna find out!”
I grabbed his sleeve and pointed to the moving truck. It was too far away to make out the plates, but when he saw it, he realized what I was thinking, spun, and bolted back toward the squads parked beside the bank.
97
Ralph cussed.
He hadn’t been able to get to a car in time or maneuver past the news vans fast enough, and the moving truck had disappeared before he could catch it. He hadn’t even been able to identify which company it was from.