Bobby was one guy. Now he was looking for a second. He spotted two other state police cruisers parked across the way, then noticed the white van set up as command center. He hefted his rucksack on his shoulder and resumed running.
Bobby climbed into the command center. “Trooper Bobby Dodge,” he announced, setting down his gear and thrusting out a hand.
“Lieutenant Jachrimo.” The CO took his hand, handshake tight but quick. The thin-faced lieutenant wasn’t from the state police, but from BPD. That didn’t surprise Bobby; the scene was technically BPD jurisdiction, plus his own state police commander was probably still two hours away. The state police often assisted other jurisdictions, and secretly prided themselves on playing well with others.
Jachrimo already had a white board up in front of him and was making a Gant chart in the upper left-hand corner. “Position?” the man barked.
“Sniper.”
“Can you hold a perimeter?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Great, great, great.” A Boston uniform was walking by. Lieutenant Jachrimo broke away from the white board long enough to stick his head out of the van and yell, “Hey, hey you.” Jachrimo flagged down the uniform. “I need the phone company. Understand? Use your radio, call into dispatch, and get the goddamn phone company, ’cause nothing in this van is working, and you can’t really have a command post if it doesn’t command. Got it?”
The uniform went flying, and Jachrimo returned his harried attention to Bobby. “Okay, so what do you know?”
“Domestic barricade, male subject believed armed with a gun, wife and child also on the premises.” Bobby repeated the message he’d received on his pager.
“Suspect’s name is James ‘Jimmy’ Gagnon. Mean anything to you?”
Bobby shook his head.
“Just as well.” Jachrimo finished his Gant chart, then started an overhead sketch of the neighborhood on the lower part of the white board. “So here’s where we’re at. Woman called nine-one-one shortly after eleven-thirty. Claimed to be Catherine Gagnon, Jimmy’s wife. Said her husband was drunk and threatening her and their son with a handgun. The nine-one-one operator tried to hold her on the line, but there was some kind of disturbance and the call was disconnected. About four minutes later, nine-one-one received a call from a neighbor reporting sounds of gunfire.
“The call came into headquarters, but our guys are already out on a situation in Revere, so I kicked it to Framingham Communications, who contacted your lieutenant. Your unit’s serving as the primary, maybe for the whole show, maybe until our guys wrap up the party in Revere. Don’t know. As of this moment, we have uniforms already securing the external perimeter. There are men posted here, here, and here, and cars positioned here and here to block off the connecting streets.” Jachrimo made a series of X’s on his sketch, and that quickly one block of brownstones was cordoned off from the surrounding neighborhood.
“The Gagnons occupy the top three levels of unit number four-fifteen. Uniforms have already evacuated the residents below their unit, as well as the residents of the brownstones on either side. We haven’t had contact with anyone inside the residence yet, which frankly doesn’t make me happy. As far as I’m concerned, we should’ve had the inner perimeter secured ten minutes ago, and the hostage negotiators here eight minutes ago. But hey, that’s just me.”
“Manpower?”
“Troopers Fusilli, Adams, and Maroni are already on scene. They’re scoping the building now, looking to form a very tight perimeter, probably inside the building. I got one officer tracking down blueprints and another—hopefully—getting me the goddamn phone company.”
“Intel from the neighbors?”
“According to the downstairs unit owner, the Gagnons did significant work on the place in the past five years. Top level was converted into cathedral ceilings, eliminating the attic. There’s one main elevator, serving three floors. Stairs go all the way to the top, one set inside the building and one set of fire escapes on the side. He’s not sure about crawl spaces or how many rooms per floor. It’s an old building, though, so there’s bound to be a few surprises.
“It would seem that the Gagnons keep to themselves and whatever parties they’ve had, they haven’t invited too many of their neighbors. Couple has a reputation for its fights and we’ve been called out here before for domestic disputes. First time there’s been mention of a gun, though, so that’s a fresh kick in the pants. Is it her? Is it him? Hell if I know. Mostly, I’m sure it just sucks for the kid. So that’s where we are and that’s what we got.”
The lieutenant’s spiel ground to a halt just in time. Phone company had arrived. Another one of Bobby’s teammates as well.
“Perfect,” the lieutenant declared. He stabbed one finger at the new trooper. “You, inner perimeter. And you”—the finger moved to Bobby—“find a position. I want intel on that house. Where’s the husband, where’s the wife, where’s the kid? And better yet, is anyone still alive? Because it’s been over thirty minutes now, and we haven’t heard a thing.”
THE NEXT ACCIDENT
A Bantam Book
PUBLISHING HISTORY
Bantam hardcover edition published September 2001
Bantam mass market edition published May 2002
Bantam reissue edition / October 2004
Published by
Bantam Dell
A Division of Random House, Inc.
New York, New York
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved
Copyright © 2001 by Lisa Baumgartner
Excerpt From Love You More
Copyright © 2010 by Lisa Gardner
Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 2001035909
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Published simultaneously in Canada
eISBN: 978-0-553-90089-7
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Lisa Gardner, The Next Accident
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