“No, you couldn’t. You’ll never find him.”
Jill frowned. “But with your help—”
Something she’d said was wrong, because his face hardened and he got up and turned back to the window again.
“Because all you have to do is tell them, and—”
“Shut up,” he told her. “That’s enough.”
She checked her watch. Time was running too fast. “Jerry, please.”
“I said shut up!” he yelled, swinging around. He looked at his watch, then peered out the curtain again. “What are they doing? They’re just sitting there.”
“They can’t very well fly that plane into the parking lot,” she said. “They’re probably taking care of it by phone and radio.”
He turned around and leaned his head back against the wall. “What if they think I won’t really kill you? That it’s a bluff? Maybe I need to shoot just to show them that I mean it.” He began to pace across the floor, from the window to the bathroom, and back again. She sensed that he was getting more and more uneasy, more and more panicked, like a caged animal.
She eyed the door again, and watched him walk past her. He turned back around, like a sentry keeping guard, and passed her again. She sat up straighter, preparing to bolt. She had to get out of here, she thought. She had to at least try. She had to take the chance.
“One hour and twenty minutes,” he said, grabbing a towel out of the bathroom and mopping his face. “They have one hour and twenty minutes.”
“Jerry…” It came as a whisper, almost inaudible. In less than two hours he would pull the trigger. What did she have to lose by running now?
When he passed her to go back toward the bathroom, she took a deep breath and prayed a silent, pleading prayer. Then she pushed off from the bed and launched out for the door. He swung around with the rifle and yelled, “Don’t!”
She turned the dead bolt and pulled the door open, but it caught on the chain.
Jerry crossed the room and slammed his gun against the door. It went off in his hand, shooting straight up into the ceiling.
She screamed and fell back, and he turned the gun on her. “Get back on that bed or I’ll do it now!”
The phone began to ring, and still holding the gun to her, he sat down beside her and picked it up. He thrust it against her ear. “Tell them you’re okay,” he said.
She trembled as he pressed the phone to one side of her head, and the gun to her throat. “Hello?” she whispered.
“Jill, are you all right? We heard a gunshot…”
She glanced at Jerry and tried to find her voice. “I’m fine.”
“Ask them about the plane,” Jerry prompted.
“The plane…” she said, breathless. “Do you have the plane?”
“We’re working on it. Jill, has he hurt you in any way? Are you—”
Jerry removed the phone and put it to his ear. “You’ve got an hour,” he said, and hung it up.
Chapter Fifteen
On the east side of Newpointe, Debbie Ingalls saw the flashing lights of the police car through her window. She sat paralyzed in the dark of her living room as the walls went from blue-to-black, from blue-to-black. Had Jerry killed the hostage? Had they come to tell her he was dead?
“Mommy.”
She jumped at the sound of her child’s voice. Five-year-old Seth stood at the door with his hair all cowlicked and tousled, and those big freckles illuminated and darkened by the lights coming in the window. “Mommy, what’s that light?”
“Come here, honey,” she said, getting up and pulling her son to the back room with her. Her three-year-old daughter slept soundly there, and she crawled onto the bed next to her and held Seth with all her might.
“Why are you crying?” Seth asked in a whisper.
“Because…Daddy’s in trouble.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know,” she said, shaking her head. She pressed her forehead against her son’s freckled face. She loved those freckles. She often told him they were angel kisses.
The doorbell rang, and she caught her breath and tried to calm herself.
“Who’s that?” Seth asked.
“Um…Honey, I want you to stay here with Christy. Mommy has to go talk to…somebody.”
She put the child down next to his sleeping sister and got off of the bed.
The doorbell sounded again.
Wiping her face with shaking hands, Debbie headed for the door. She touched the knob, pressed her forehead against the door, and gave in to another round of sobs. When the bell rang again, she forced herself to open it.
“Mrs. Ingalls?” the police officer asked, his hat dripping with rainwater. It wasn’t the same officer who had been here earlier, to tell her that her husband was a terrorist.
She closed her eyes and nodded, pressing her hand against her mouth.
“Mrs. Ingalls, I’m Sergeant R.J. Albright, ma’am. I know you’re aware that your husband is in some trouble. I also know he’s been in touch with you…”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“I was wonderin’ if you would come with me to Chalmette and talk to him. We were thinkin’ that if you could be there in person, maybe you could convince him to let his hostage go.”
She opened her eyes wide and looked at him fully. “He’s…he’s not dead?”
“No. I’m sorry, did you think…?”
“Yes.” She collapsed against the door’s casing, weeping.
The squad car’s door slammed, and she saw a black woman storming up the sidewalk to her house, her silhouette stark against the flashing blue light. “You poor woman!” She reached the door and pulled Debbie into her arms. Debbie collapsed against her like a child running into the arms of its mother.
“Uh…ma’am, this is Susan Ford,” the officer said awkwardly, as if the embrace embarrassed him. “She’s the fire chief’s wife. Her brother-in-law, Sid, is a police officer on the scene in Chalmette.”
Susan kept holding her. “He asked me to come see about watchin’ your kids while you go deal with your hubby, darlin’.”
“We’re kind of in a hurry,” the officer said.
“Give her a minute, R.J.!” Susan snapped, handing Debbie a handkerchief. “Can’t you see she’s upset?”
“He’s given us a deadline,” R.J. insisted. “We need to get you there as soon as possible.”
Debbie straightened, and tried to steady her breathing. She took the proffered handkerchief from the woman, then quickly flicked on the light behind her. She looked the woman over. She was pretty and small, and her face was full of compassion. Debbie felt like she’d known her for years. “I’ll go,” she said. “The children are in the back bedroom. Seth is awake. He’ll be scared when I leave. Tell them…tell them I’ll be back soon.”
“Don’t you worry about a thing. Me and the babies, we’ll have us a big time.”
Debbie tried not to look back as she headed out to the squad car.
The rain was falling harder as they reached the Flagstaff Motel after a hair-raising, siren-blaring, light-flashing drive from Newpointe. Debbie looked around and saw the New Orleans television station vans broadcasting live with bright lights that lit up their field reporters. Over to the side stood a group of people that were, no doubt, motel guests who’d been evacuated after the gunfire.
Everywhere, she saw uniformed police officers and FBI agents. She began to cry again.
The sky flashed with lightning, and a thunderbolt crashed right behind it. R.J. ushered her out of the police car, and the crowd seemed to part for her. She kept her eyes on the one motel room that everyone’s attention seemed to be focused on. “How much time left?” R.J. asked as they approached someone at a van. She recognized him to be Stan Shepherd. She had seen his picture in the papers.
“Thirty minutes,” he said, turning around. “You Debbie Ingalls?”
“Yes,” she said.
“Will you talk to him if we can get him on the phone?”
“
Of course. I don’t know if he’ll listen…”
“He’s demanded a plane, and he wants us to give him a car so he can drive to the airport. He says he’ll fly it himself.”
“Where does he intend to go?”
“We don’t know that. But he’s digging himself deep, Mrs. Ingalls. If you talk him out of all this, he’ll be a lot better off.”
She’d already figured that out for herself. “Where’s the phone?”
Two agents filed out of the van to make room for her, and they gave her a seat next to the phone, where she could talk and still see out the windshield. She heard it start to ring, and realized that everyone was listening to the conversation. “Do you have to listen in?” she asked. “I…I feel a little nervous…”
“Just do the best you can,” he said. “And yes, we do have to listen in.”
She accepted that with resignation and put the phone to her ear. On the third ring, Jerry picked it up. “The clock is ticking,” he said.
She winced at the words. “Jerry?”
He hesitated. “Debbie?”
“Jerry…I’m outside.” She looked through the windshield to the motel room window. “They brought me here so I could talk to you.”
“You’re here?” he asked, and she saw the curtain in the room pull back slightly. She saw some of the rifles being lifted, and she grabbed the arm of the cop next to her. He signaled for them to hold their fire. “Where?”
“In the van,” she said. “Over to the right of the parking lot. Jerry, this is crazy! You can’t do this. You can’t just get on a plane and fly out of here and never look back. We love you.”
“I can’t believe they’re using you like this.” His voice was deadly calm, quietly angry.
“I wanted to come,” she said.
“Where are the kids? They’re not out there watching all this, too, are they?”
“No, they’re at home. The police sent a babysitter. But I’m here, Jerry. Don’t make me watch it.”
“Debbie, I’m doing what I have to do. I can’t go back there. They’ll stick me with terrorism and murder, and I haven’t done anything wrong. They’ll put me in Angola for the rest of my life.”
The sky flashed again, cracking the line. “Jerry, we can prove your innocence if you come out now.”
“Have they got the plane?”
She looked at the agent who seemed to be in charge, and he mouthed that they needed a little more time. “Jerry, they need a little more time. Besides, it’s not flying weather. It’s dangerous—”
She heard something crash. The police officers in the parking lot bent behind their cars and aimed their guns. She guessed there must be two dozen weapons aimed at that window in front of her husband.
“They think I’m bluffing,” he said.
“Jerry, calm down. The plane is almost there. But you can’t take a hostage and threaten to kill her, then hop on a plane and fly off in a thunderstorm and think you’ll get away with it. Jerry, somehow we can prove you didn’t do the post office bombing. So far, you haven’t killed anyone. But if you hurt your hostage…if you add another victim…so help me, Jerry, I’ll never know what to believe. I’ll never know what to tell the children.”
She heard him weeping into the phone, heard him sucking in a wet breath. “Debbie, I can’t surrender. They won’t listen.”
“Yes, they will. Jerry, you have to try. I didn’t marry a quitter. I didn’t marry somebody who runs when things get hot. I married a fighter. An honest man. A sane man.”
“Debbie, I want you to go home. They can’t hold you here.”
“I’m not going!” she shouted. “Jerry, don’t make me watch you come out of that room with a hostage! Please!”
“Debbie, I said to go home.”
“No!” she screamed. “Jerry, so help me, if you do this, I’ll never forgive you. Don’t you dare leave me. Don’t you dare ruin your children’s lives!”
He was silent for a moment, then finally, the phone clicked off and she was left with nothing but a dial tone.
“Aw…He’s mad,” the man behind her said, raking his hands nervously through his hair. “He’s agitated. You gotta let me go in. Stan, tell them…”
Stan stared at the motel room, his eyes intent on it, as if he could see into it. “Maybe we do need to send somebody in at this point,” he said. “But not you, Dan.”
“Send somebody in?” Debbie asked. “And do what? Shoot him?”
“We have to protect Jill,” Dan said. “He’s unpredictable…”
“Shut up!” one of the agents ordered. “You’re not a cop. You don’t belong here!”
Dan backed away, shaking his head. He looked as nervous as she. “Is he…the hostage’s husband?” Debbie asked Stan.
“No,” Stan said. “Just…a good friend.”
She looked back at the distraught man, then at the motel room, and knew that the man they called Dan was in love with the woman inside. It was written all over his face, even if no one else could see it. Suddenly, she had overwhelming sympathy for him, and for the woman inside. “Maybe I need to be the one to go in there,” she said.
They all turned. “What do you mean?”
“I could knock on the door. Tell him it’s me. Maybe he’d let me in. Maybe I could talk him into coming out.”
“You’re willing to do that?”
Dan approached the van again, his face growing hopeful.
“Yes.”
“But he’s dangerous right now. He’s armed.”
“He’s my husband,” she said, lifting her chin. “He won’t hurt me, no matter how desperate he is.”
“Are you sure?”
She looked toward the motel room as if weighing the possibility, then finally, said, “Yes, I’m sure. Let me go in.”
“I’m gonna warn him you’re coming.”
“All right.” She got out of the van and waited in the rain with her arms crossed. Dan was watching her, and she knew he could see how hard she was trembling. Someone called the room, listened as it rang, but Jerry wasn’t going to answer it. Finally, an agent brought the bullhorn to his mouth. “Jerry, your wife is coming to the door. Look out the window and you’ll see her coming. Let her in.”
Debbie started walking toward the door as the rain pounded on her and lightning bolted, and she saw the curtains being jerked back. Jerry motioned for her to go away, but she didn’t stop until she was at the door. As long as she stood in front of his room, she knew they wouldn’t shoot him through the window and risk killing her and the hostage.
She knocked and waited, but the door didn’t open. “Jerry, let me in,” she cried. “Open the door, Jerry.” As she called through, her voice became more urgent, more emotional. “Jerry, please. Don’t do this to me. Please, open the door. Look at me! I’m alone. Don’t leave me out in this storm with all those guns pointed at me.”
Several minutes passed, and finally, the door opened just a crack. Debbie pushed inside, and it closed again behind her.
Chapter Sixteen
Jill couldn’t believe Jerry’s wife had pushed her way in, and as their eyes met, the tiny woman seemed to be assessing her for injuries. She stood no more than five-feet-three, and had eyes that were too big for her face and wet hair that dripped into her eyes. She burst into tears again at the sight of Jerry’s rifle. Jerry paid no regard to the fact that she was rain-soaked. He crushed her against him as she wept into his shirt, both hands clenched in fists against his chest. “Jerry…Jerry…”
Jill waited, breath held, praying that his wife would have the clout to get him to let her go.
Jerry turned Debbie’s face up to his and gazed sadly down at her. “I need for you to go back out there.”
“No, I won’t go,” she said. “Not until you let her go and turn yourself in.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Jerry, how could you do this? You’re going to make a widow out of me. I’ll never see you again.”
“No, I’m not. It’ll al
l work out. When I get where I’m going, I’ll find work and send you money, and you and the kids can join me.”
“Jerry, they’ll come after you, if they don’t shoot you down before you ever get on that plane. You can’t be naive enough to think you’ll get away with this.”
“I have no choice.”
“Yes, you do!” She pushed him away from her. “You can be a man and fight this. You can walk out there and turn yourself in, and we can prove that you didn’t blow up the post office! You won’t be labeled a murderer.” She grabbed his shoulders and stared up at him. “How did this happen, Jerry? Why do they think you were there?”
“Because I was,” he said. “I was there right before the explosion. But I didn’t know. I wasn’t involved.”
She wiped her face with both hands. “Jerry, the friend you were meeting. Was it him?”
Jerry turned away.
“Who was it?” she screamed. “Jerry, tell me!”
Jill waited, breath held.
“I can’t,” he said.
Debbie banged her fists on his chest. “Jerry, are you gonna die for this? If you do, you’ll be the one considered a killer. They’ll never even look past you.”
It felt like an oven in the room, and Jill wiped her face on her sleeve. Jerry sank down into a chair, glistening with sweat, and shook his head wearily. “It’s out of my hands.”
“No! It can’t be!” Debbie turned to Jill. “She’ll tell them, won’t you? You’ll tell them that he hasn’t touched you! It should carry some weight.”
“How do you know he hasn’t?” Jill asked.
Jerry’s eyes whiplashed to Jill’s.
Debbie’s chin came up and her lips compressed. “I know my husband. He’s a gentle, sweet man…a good husband and father…He’d never blow up a post office or kill innocent people or hurt anyone…”
The words seemed to chisel away at his constitution, and he wilted further with each one.
Jill sat straighter. “You’re right. He hasn’t hurt me. Yes…I’ll tell them.”
Debbie turned back to him and leaned down to him. “See? Jerry, this can still be all right.”