by Karen Rose
“Wait.” It was one of the dorm staff who stood shivering in the wind. “Where are you taking him?” The young man’s speech was slightly slurred, but understandable.
Keeping his head down, he handed the note to the staff person, then took it back after the staff read it and nodded. He wore black gloves and had left no fingerprints, but there was no reason to hand evidence over to the cops. His hat covered enough of his face that if he kept his head down, no one would be able to clearly describe him.
And if they did, then so what? He looked like everybody. He had one of those faces that just blended in. Add to that the face putty he’d used to build up his cheekbones, chin, and nose, and he was unrecognizable.
He jerked his head, motioning Kenny to come. They rounded the building, out of sight. Then he drew his gun and watched the boy’s eyes widen in fear. Stepping closer, he pressed the barrel of the gun to Kenny’s gut and handed the kid the second note.
If you scream, I will kill you. Turn around and walk. Slowly. If you run, I will kill you. Then I will kill every member of your family. Nod if you understand.
Kenny’s nod was tiny, but perceptible.
He patted the kid’s pocket, found Kenny’s phone, then shoved the phone in his own pocket and the gun into Kenny’s kidney. They began to walk. He could see his van parked just beyond the trees.
Almost there. Almost home free. They were at the van and he slid the side door open and shoved the kid in. Then he heard it. The snap of a twig behind him. Fuck.
“Stop. Police.” It was a deep voice and loud. And coming closer.
Fuck. He yanked the side door closed and reached for the driver’s door, wrenching it open. He had one foot in when a hand grabbed his collar and yanked.
“Get out of the car, goddammit,” the cop snarled.
His left hand clamped on the wheel and held on. His right hand still held his gun. He held it close to his chest so that the cop couldn’t see it. The cop’s hand left his collar, but grabbed his left wrist and twisted it behind him.
It hurt. A goddamn lot. The cop held him down and with his free hand opened the side door. Kenny scrambled out and ran. “You’re under arrest,” the cop said.
Hell no. He gave a huge shove back and twisted, firing as he did so. He heard the blast, felt the jerk of the discharge up into his shoulder, smelled the acrid odor of gunpowder, heard a little gasp. The hand on his wrist loosened and he fired again. The cop’s body just fell away. He jumped in his seat, twisted the key he’d left in the ignition, and peeled out, zigzagging to throw his door closed as he sped away.
Then he looked back in his side mirror, saw a figure on his back on the ground. Not moving. It wasn’t a regular cop. The man wore a suit. His fedora lay a few feet from his outstretched arm. He was big, dark, and… He knew him. Detective Kane.
He fixed his gaze forward, his mouth a grim line. “Goddammit,” he hissed. His own hat was gone. His fucking hat was gone. Relax. You wore gloves. It’s just a hat.
They might find a hair.
And? So what? It doesn’t tell them anything without something to compare it to. And if he was careful, there would be nothing to compare it to.
I shot a cop. Maybe killed a cop. A retired cop had been hilarious because he’d pinned it on the College Four. Now the College Four was down to two. And the cops have my damned hat. The cops won’t rest until they find me.
I’ll cool it for a while. He laughed bitterly. If I have to run, I can always go to France.
He pulled into a side street, got out and changed the rear plate. He could already hear the sirens blaring. They’re looking for me. He reached between the front seats and pulled out the magnetic sign he used for his business. THE DELI—WE CATER. They’d be looking for a plain white van. His sign made him invisible.
He applied it to the driver’s side door and got back in. He pulled the putty off his face and yanked at his tie, pulled off the costume shirt, and pulled on a Deli polo shirt. His heart was pounding. He hated when his heart pounded. Dammit.
His hands were shaking as he put the van in drive and pulled out of the alley, onto the next block. He merged into traffic and headed for home.
I don’t have Kenny. He patted his own pants pocket. But I do have Kenny’s phone.
The evening wasn’t a total loss.
Wednesday, September 22, 1:00 a.m.
Olivia was out of her car almost before it stopped, looking for Kane. Officer down. She’d heard it on the radio when she was five minutes out and her heart was pounding so hard she could barely breathe. Serious injury. Shots fired. She’d tried Kane’s cell three times in the last five minutes, but nobody answered. He should have answered. He’d know she’d worry. He’d have hell to pay when she found him.
She scanned the crowd as she ran past the line of emergency vehicles and news vans. Where’s Kenny? Where is Kane? She searched the crowd but didn’t see Kane standing as he always did, head and shoulders over everyone else. She didn’t see his fedora. Her heart was in her throat, choking her.
Two uniformed officers began to walk toward her and her pounding heart stopped. No. She knew that look. She’d worn that look.
No. She started to run. No.
“Sorry, ma’am, we can’t let you through.” One of the uniforms grabbed her arm, stopping her, but she jerked free, flashed her badge and took off around them. There were people through the trees. She could see a gurney and the lights of a rescue squad on the access road behind them.
She was ten feet away when another uniform turned around. “You can’t—”
She bolted forward and shoved him aside. And stopped short.
Everything froze. “Oh God. Oh God.” She could hear her voice saying it.
It was him. It was Kane. Lying on the ground. Blood on his white shirt. Too much blood on his shirt. Paramedics hovered over him, one on each side, lifting him to the gurney. One of them turned around, met her eyes.
And shook his head.
“No.” It was a howl, the same howl of pain she’d heard countless times before from the families. All those families. But it came from her. Her mouth. Her heart.
She stumbled forward, making her feet carry her alongside the paramedics as they lifted him into the ambulance. “I’m going with him.”
The two medics glanced at each other. “Okay,” one said. “Stay out of the way.”
She climbed in beside them, numb. Sat where the attending medic pointed as the driver pulled away from the scene. Olivia glanced back through the rear window, saw the uniforms watching them. Saw Kane’s hat on the ground.
“His hat,” she whispered.
The medic looked up. “They’ll keep it for you,” he said kindly.
For you. Not for him. “Oh God.” Olivia pressed her hand to her mouth, trying to hold it back, this wave of pain that was ripping her in two. “I need to call my captain.”
The medic nodded. “He needs to get the family in.”
Numbly Olivia nodded. Her fingers seemed to belong to someone else’s hand as she dialed Abbott’s home phone. He answered on the first ring. “What’s happening?”
She couldn’t speak. Couldn’t form a word.
“Olivia? Olivia, are you there?” Abbott demanded.
“Bruce.” It was all she could say. It came out a whimper.
There was a moment of dead silence on the line, then a barely audible, “Oh God.”
She looked at Kane, there on the gurney and she knew. He wasn’t moving. Wasn’t breathing. His face was already gray. Despite the medic’s steady efforts, there was only a flat line on the heart monitor. She looked up at the medic who looked so damn sad.
He shook his head. “I’m sorry.”
She bit her lips hard, made herself breathe. “Kane’s gone,” she said to Abbott.
“I’ll meet you at the hospital. I’ll bring Jennie.”
How can I face Jennie? “I was too late,” she whispered. “Ten minutes too late.”
“Do you know what happened?”
he asked thickly.
“No. When I got here… it was done. He…” The words trailed away.
“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
She shook her head, watching the medic. All so slowly. Everything moving so slowly. “It doesn’t matter anymore.” She put her phone away. “Can I hold his hand?”
“Sure. Detective, I’m so sorry. There was nothing we could do.”
She nodded dully. “I know. You’re sorry for my loss.”
The medic looked away, a muscle twitching in his cheek. “Goddammit.”
She took Kane’s big hand in both of hers and just held on. “I know.”
Wednesday, September 22, 1:10 a.m.
He pulled into an all-night convenience store. Scrolling Kenny’s texts, he smiled.
Where r u? Why haven’t u txtd? Did u mail it?
It was sent from ‘austin.’ Mail what? He scrolled farther and muttered an oath. Austin had dictated a letter to Kenny. It was a description of what he’d done at the condo. It’s a description of me. He saw me.
If Kenny mailed this letter and the cops got their hands on Austin… Well, it just didn’t make sense to leave people lying around who could identify you in a lineup. Austin had to go. Where was he? If he’s in that dorm, I’m gonna shoot myself.
He scrolled back farther and sighed with relief.
What happened w Oaks? Kenny had texted Monday afternoon.
Sent home. Suspended. Don’t tell. Please. Back Monday.
Austin was at home, which would be where? He went to Kenny’s contacts and bingo. Austin Dent. Lived in Duluth. He plugged the address into his GPS. Excellent. He had just enough time to get up there and back before opening the shop at seven.
Chapter Nineteen
Wednesday, September 22, 1:20 a.m.
David got out of the rescue squad that had brought him and Jeff Zoellner from the firehouse to the fire. Scanning the landscape, he tried to take it in. Mother of God.
The damage was already enormous in scale. Six houses smoldered, three on either side of a blank space that had been two more houses. Nothing remained but scraps of paper and wood.
Behind the three smoldering houses on the left were the charred remains of a small copse of trees. And beyond the trees, a six-story apartment complex still burned.
“Holy fuck,” Jeff breathed. “Let’s find Casey. He’s probably with the truck.”
Their truck was a hundred yards away, the bucket high in the air. B shift was pulling residents out of windows. He could see more people at more open windows, waving frantically. He could see their mouths open, screaming.
But all he could hear was the rumble of emergency vehicles and the roar of the fire.
Captain Casey waved them over. “Dalton and Myers are in the bucket. Relieve them. Station Forty-two is around the corner working the other side. Dalton and Myers will relieve them when they’ve rested. We’ll work rotation until we’re done.”
Their pumper was parked nearby and David could see the lines extended into the building. He pulled an oxygen can from the truck’s storage locker. “Who’s inside?”
“Perry and Jacobs from B shift. Station Forty-two’s also got a team in there with nozzles and Thirty-eight’s doing a search on the inner units.”
Jeff pulled his hood over his head. “Can we get support from out east?”
Casey shook his head. “Bomb threat at a residential school.”
David stiffened. “The university?” Where Tom was.
“No, a deaf school. Kindergarten through high school.”
The girl he’d pulled from the condo was deaf. No coincidence. “Was this fire here set?” he asked tightly, already knowing the answer.
Casey nodded. “Yeah. We’ve already transported half a dozen residents and two firefighters from this fire. ERs out here are strained, but the hospital out east is waiting for possible casualties from the school. Move out. Be careful.”
David jerked a nod, fury rising in him as he rushed to the bucket. He thought of the condo, of the dead girl’s face. Tracey Mullen. These monsters had murdered her, just as if they’d shot her in the heart like the guard. In his mind he could see the faceless body of Barney Tomlinson. But this… this was devastation. How many would die tonight? How many were already dead?
Hundreds of kids went to the deaf school. What was so damn important that endangering hundreds of lives with a goddamn bomb was okay? He drew a steadying breath. The family coming down in the bucket was alive and they were his priority. Focus, he told himself sternly. You can be angry later.
When the bucket reached the ground, David helped a terrified woman and her three children to the ground and into the care of the paramedics. The woman grabbed his coat.
“My husband is still in there. Please get him out.” Her eyes were glassy with shock.
David nodded. “Yes, ma’am.” He and Jeff traded places with Dalton and Myers.
“We were going to search the place for the husband on our next pass,” Myers said. “Living room to the left, bedrooms to the right. These are all three-bedroom units.”
“Thanks.” David hooked on the belt, fixed his mask in place, and sucked in a hard breath to get the oxygen flowing. Jeff did the same and jabbed his thumb upward.
They rose to the fourth floor and David got an uncomfortable feeling of déjà vu, remembering how his legs had dangled into nothingness when the floor gave way. Brushing it aside, he followed Jeff through the window, his ax handle extended, checking for soft spots in the floor.
It was a child’s bedroom. Mothers always went to their children’s rooms before seeking safety themselves. Okay, dad, where are you? Left living area, right bedrooms. There was fire in the hall, licking at the walls from the inside out.
In front of him, Jeff turned right and shouldered his way through a door, then jumped back. Flames covered the far wall and in seconds licked across the ceiling.
Go back. The room was seconds from flashover. He reached for Jeff’s coat, but Jeff was hunched over and moving forward. David followed, ax handle down. He hit something soft, but it wasn’t the floor.
A body. “Zell!” he yelled. He grabbed the man under the arms and started dragging him out into the hall. “Get his feet,” he shouted to Jeff.
Jeff turned to get the man’s feet when the room went up.
And the ceiling came down.
“Zell!” David dropped the man and lurched forward. A beam had come down, pinning Jeff’s torso. Jeff lay on his back, not moving. David wedged his ax under the beam, lifting it so that Jeff could drag himself out. But Jeff wasn’t moving.
“Firefighter injured,” David said into his radio. “Need assistance in the bucket.”
David grabbed Jeff under his arms and dragged him out, around the unconscious man, until they were back in the child’s room and at the window. He knelt beside him. His partner was breathing, but it appeared through the mask that his eyes were closed.
“I’ll be back,” David shouted, unsure if Jeff could hear him or not. He went back for the woman’s husband. The bedroom in which they’d found him was now fully engaged.
David got him back to the kids’ bedroom to find Myers at the window.
“Zell’s down,” he shouted, pointing to the floor. “Unresponsive.” Together he and Myers lifted Jeff into the bucket and Myers laid him as flat as the small space allowed.
David knew they couldn’t fit the woman’s husband in the bucket as well. “Take him down and come back for me and the victim.”
It seemed an eternity, watching the bucket descend. Waiting paramedics moved Jeff to a stretcher. Then Myers started back up.
The entire hall was now engulfed in flames and the fire had licked its way into the kids’ bedroom. Fifteen more seconds ticked by while the fire raced up the walls. Finally Myers was back and the two of them lifted the woman’s husband into the bucket. David climbed through the window and into the bucket just as the room went up.
Myers maneuvered the bucket several f
eet from the building as he took it down.
“You okay?” Myers shouted.
David nodded mutely. His chest felt like it was going to explode. His fingers itched to rip off the mask now that he was out, but he quelled the need, breathing evenly.
They got to the ground and David opened the bucket door, letting the medics drag the victim out and to a waiting stretcher. David yanked his mask from his face.
“Zell?” he asked loudly and the medics pointed to a retreating ambulance.
“He’s conscious but can’t feel his legs. He said to tell you that you’re even now.”
David’s chest felt frozen. Oh God. Spinal injury. God. He thought about the way he’d dragged Jeff out but knew it had been the only way to get him out of the fire. Please, don’t let me have made it worse. He looked back up at the building. Six more windows had terrified residents waving frantically for rescue. Zell’s in good hands. Those people are in yours. Do your job.
He strapped his mask back on and looked at Myers. “Back up?”
Myers nodded tiredly. David took the controls and sent them back up, casting worried glances at the ambulance as it screamed away.
Wednesday, September 22, 1:35 a.m.
“Olivia.” Noah Webster burst into the ER, pale. “Abbott called me.”
She was leaning against a wall outside the room in which Kane lay. She looked up, met Noah’s eyes. “They called it.” Kane’s time of death. As she’d stood and watched, helplessly. “There was nothing they could do.”
Noah closed his eyes for a long moment. “When?”
“Five minutes after we got here. I don’t know the exact time.”
“What happened?”
“I was too late. I wasn’t there.”
Noah grabbed her shoulders. “Stop that. Right now. This is not your fault.”
“Fine.” In the minutes since they’d taken Kane from the ambulance, her mind had moved from chaotic to precise. Clear. Logical. Still, her heart pounded like hell. “It doesn’t matter now anyway.”
Noah pinched her chin, made her look up at him. “You’re in shock.”