‘When the press conference is over, you will immediately go on vacation and please go far away – preferably out of the country – for at least two weeks. I do not want you to have any additional press opportunities because I don’t want to see your face looming at me when I open the newspaper at breakfast and I don’t want to see you on television staring into my living room as I attempt to unwind from my day. In fact, I want a brief period of time to forget you exist. Do you understand?’
Jake looked down at the toe of his turquoise Chucks, as he ground down into the floor. He fantasized that Goodman’s nose lay beneath his foot. A vacation would be nice if he could take Lucinda with him. Still, it galled him to be ordered away as if what he had done was a source of shame for the department. He knew it wasn’t. He knew it was the wicked witch’s ego and envy at work. Nonetheless, he resented the position she was making him occupy.
He looked up after a minute and said, ‘Whatever you want, Director.’
‘Well, then, let’s go.’
When the mediafest was over, Goodman walked away without a word to Jake, leaving him standing before a roomful of hungry reporters all alone. They moved in for the kill. Most of the questions were typical follow-ups on these types of occasions: how did he feel about his role in these investigations; what did he plan to do now and how did it feel to be a hero.
One astute reporter asked something decidedly different: ‘What’s the bug up Goodman’s ass, Agent Lovett? She doesn’t like you much, does she?’
Jake turned to the middle-aged man with the perception of a smart, seasoned journalist. He wanted to answer the question but knew he should not. He simply said, ‘No comment’ and left the room.
SIXTY-FOUR
Lucinda ordered no lights and no sirens as the caravan of law enforcement set out for Frank Eagleton’s home. She had Robin call his office first to make sure he had left for the day.
The cars glided into place outside of the house. Lucinda sent a handful of uniforms around to the back of the house and she and Robin approached the front door with a comforting contingent of officers at their backs.
She stepped up on the front step and a gunshot rang out. Lucinda turned to order a battering ram to break down the heavy front door. She ignored the sound of knuckles on glass until Robin shouted, ‘Lieutenant!’
She spun back around and followed Robin’s pointed finger. Eagleton stood in front of one of the tall, narrow windows that flanked the door. One of his arms was wrapped around the throat of a young blonde woman. The other held a revolver up against her head.
‘Damn,’ she exclaimed. A man who killed the mother of his children would not hesitate to shoot the woman he held tightly against his chest. She pulled out her cell and called Eagleton’s landline. She was close enough to hear the ring echo inside the house. Again, Frank shook his head. She stared at him and he smirked. He mouthed, Check.
She turned around and yelled for a bullhorn. A young uniformed officer sprinted up the walkway and handed her the equipment. ‘Frank Eagleton,’ she bellowed and swallowed hard. She hated this part. She knew she was going to sound like a refugee from a cheesy crime show. ‘Frank Eagleton, your house is surrounded. Let the hostage go. Drop the gun on the porch and walk out with your hands folded on top of your head.’
On the other side of the glass, Frank laughed.
‘Bullshit,’ she said, her voice amplified through the megaphone. She winced, hoping none of the neighbors heard. At least no media had arrived yet. She turned to Robin and whispered, ‘Get the roadway blocked to keep out the media and any returning residents. And clear out the occupants of all the homes on this side of the block.’
She turned her gaze back to the window and lifted the bullhorn again. ‘Eagleton, there is no way out if you won’t speak to me. If I call again, will you answer?’
Eagleton shook his head.
‘Don’t make us come in after you.’
Eagleton laughed again. He pulled back the revolver six inches and jammed it hard into the side of the woman’s head. She flinched from the blow and trembled all over.
‘So you want to play charades, Eagleton?’
Frank bent forward and appeared to be whispering in the woman’s ear. She looked up, held her hands to her mouth and shouted, ‘He says, “Look, Ma! No hands!”’
‘Who are you?’ she asked the woman.
She opened her mouth to answer and Frank shoved the end of the revolver between her teeth.
Shit, Lucinda thought as Robin returned to her side. She whispered into Lucinda’s ear, ‘Don’t look but a sniper accessed the roof of the house across the street. He’s lying flat and says he’s got a bead on Eagleton. He says he feels fairly certain that he can deliver a round into Eagleton’s right ear but it will be tight and there is a risk of hitting the hostage.’
‘Tell him to hold fire for now,’ Lucinda said. ‘Frank, you’re not a stupid man. This is no time for games.’
Eagleton nodded. Beside him, the hostage’s tears mingled with mascara, leaving a dirty black trail on her cheeks.
Lucinda wanted to smash the glass and snatch her away but knew it was an unrealistic impulse. But how to get the woman safely away? She didn’t really care if Frank emerged from the house dead or alive. She turned to Robin and whispered, ‘I need a chair – are there any in the back of the house?’
‘I’ll see,’ she said and took off. She returned in a moment with a canvas director chair. ‘Will this work?’
‘Perfect,’ Lucinda said. ‘See if you can get Frank’s son and daughter over here.’ She unfolded the chair on the broad walkway at the edge of the porch, set the bullhorn down beside it within reach and settled down, staring straight at the window. She hoped her message was clear – she was seated and comfortable and ready to wait him out for as long as it took.
An hour later, she could tell Frank was tiring. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other often. The hostage continued to tremble, hard enough, it seemed, to make body parts loosen. She heard a commotion behind her and saw an arriving car battling its way through the media mob on the perimeter of the secure area. She turned back to see Frank looking away from her toward the hubbub. She picked up the bullhorn. ‘We have visitors, Eagleton.’
Frank responded with a shrug and gave his hostage a squeeze. The sharp pitch of her yip reverberated on the glass. A scowl formed on Frank’s face. Lucinda gathered that he was not pleased to see his son and daughter coming up the sidewalk. Lucinda rose from her chair and greeted them behind a large, portable sheet of bullet-resistant glass on wheels. It reminded Lucinda of a transparent version of a supplemental classroom blackboard.
The eyes of Frank’s daughter Molly blazed and her cheeks burned. She snatched the bullhorn from Lucinda. ‘I’ve prayed to God for your soul for many years. I see my prayers have gone unanswered. You killed my mother and now you are willing to forfeit the life of your hostage. But the game’s over. The only way you will save your sorry skin is to let her go. I cast you out of my life for now and for all eternity. I’d ask for God to have mercy on your soul but you do not deserve it.’ She shoved the bullhorn back at Lucinda, turned and walked away.
In contrast, Frank’s son, Mark, had tears in his eyes as he accepted the megaphone from the detective. He raised it to his mouth and then dropped it to his side. His head hung down as he fought to control his emotions. He shuddered, straightened up and brought the sound amplifying device to his lips. ‘I am so sorry, Dad. I should have been there for you. I know everything was difficult with mother. I should have been more supportive. I should have been there.’
Mark paused and studied his father’s face for a moment. ‘Dad, please, let that woman go. I am not going to leave until this is over and I do not want it to end with you lying dead at my feet. Please, Dad. These people don’t understand. They will stop at nothing. On the way in, I saw a sniper on the roof across the street . . .’
Lucinda jerked the bullhorn from Mark’s hands, furious that he revealed
that bit of information. She looked at Frank’s eyes going back and forth across the neighbor’s slate tiles until his eyes settled on one spot.
‘Eagleton, listen to your children. Let the woman go. Or pick up a phone and talk to me. Don’t make this end with your death.’
For the first time since the stand-off started, Frank stepped back away from the window, dragging his hostage with him. Lucinda could no longer see him. Was he going to let her go? Was he going to call? Or, God forbid, was he going to shoot her and then himself? Should she send in the entry team? Or would that set off a situation that ended with a dead hostage? Was it the only way to save her life? She jumped to a decision then reversed it. Everything was unknown. Every move would be a gamble. Her cell rang. She snatched it out of her pocket and looked at the screen. Jake? Ohmigod! She disconnected the call and waited.
Finally, the phone rang again.
She recognized Frank’s cell number and pressed the connect button. ‘Mr Eagleton?’
‘You are responsible for this, Lieutenant. If you’d done the right thing and called my attorney instead of barging onto my property, this woman would not be in this situation.’
Lucinda’s breath caught in her throat. Stay calm, she urged herself. ‘Yes, Mr Eagleton, I made a big mistake. Please don’t make her pay for my wrongdoing. I can’t take it back but if you let her go, I will extricate you from this situation without any bloodshed. Where are you now?’
‘Wouldn’t you like to know? All you need to know, though, is that I am still in the house. She’s got a bicycle chain wrapped around her thigh and she’s fastened to an immovable object. I’ve got one hand on my cell; the other is still holding the gun to her head.’
‘May I speak to her, Mr Eagleton?’
A moment of silence preceded his answer. ‘No.’
‘OK. This is an overwrought situation. Only you can defuse it, Mr Eagleton.’
‘On the contrary, Lieutenant, you can defuse it. Just walk away – and take your goons with you.’
‘You know I can’t do that.’
‘Call off the sniper.’
‘Mr Eagleton, would you like to speak to your son?’
‘You leave him out of it! Send him away now.’
Lucinda walked over to Mark and handed him the phone, hoping he would not make the situation worse.
‘Dad,’ Mark said.
‘Go home, son. Go home, now. That cop should have not gotten you involved.’
‘No, Dad, I can’t. Please can I come inside with you?’
‘Just leave, Mark. We’ll talk later.’
Mark dropped the cell on the ground and sprinted to the front porch. Lucinda shouted an expletive and launched her body into the air, tackling him before he could reach the door. She shouted and officers came running. They slapped on cuffs and escorted Mark back to a waiting patrol car.
Lucinda retrieved the phone and said, ‘Mr Eagleton?’
‘What’s happening? What did you do to my son?’
Lucinda’s mind raced. Should she tell him the truth? Or would that make him do something rash? ‘Your son is OK. Please don’t make this day any more difficult for him. Release the hostage. Please.’
‘Let me speak to Mark.’
‘That’s no longer possible, sir.’
‘That’s where you’re wrong, Lieutenant. I’m in the catbird seat. And you’ve now really pissed me off.’
‘Mr Eagleton, let’s wrap this up now. Send her out . . .’
A shrill, sharp scream echoed in the house and made the hair up and down Lucinda’s arms stand at attention.
SIXTY-FIVE
Jake, standing near a gate at the Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport, looked down at his phone in surprise. His call to Lucinda didn’t go to voicemail, it just cut off. He contemplated the possible reasons and decided she must be interviewing Frank Eagleton. Still, he wondered, why hadn’t she simply shut off her phone before she started?
His eyes drifted to a television monitor mounted on the ceiling. He saw an aerial view of a house surrounded by police vehicles, amid a large crowd of media. He walked closer to hear the commentary. Before the audio came into range, he realized he recognized the house. It took him a moment to identify it but when he did, it hit him hard. Frank Eagleton’s house.
When he could hear, he went numb. A hostage situation going into its third hour. He got as close to the screen as he could, searching the crowd out front for a glimpse of Lucinda. No one’s features were distinct but one figure reminded him of her.
He was mesmerized by the stagnant situation before his eyes. The commentator spoke of a stand-off. Boarding for his flight was announced. He looked over his shoulder at the line forming by the Jetway but could not tear himself away from the screen.
A figure broke away and ran toward the front door. Another soared through the air and brought the first one down. That had to be Lucinda. He knew it. He was torn between wanting to know more and catching his flight to get down there and lend his assistance. He dashed for the plane when he heard the intercom announce last call.
Walking down the aisle, Jake felt claustrophobic. He’d flown thousands of times but never before had he felt imprisoned. He wondered if that was how the prisoners he’d transported felt when he’d executed an extradition treaty and forced them onto a plane.
Jake sat in his seat, overflowing with restless impatience. The plane could not take off soon enough. It could not fly fast enough. He did not know how he would contain his anxiety until he arrived at the scene.
He began second-guessing what he saw. Was that Lucinda who hit the ground? If so, was it really a tackle, as he first thought, or was she shot? Bile rose in his throat. He squeezed the arms of his seat.
Seated next to him, a white-haired woman, who appeared to be in her eighties, patted the back of his hand. ‘It’ll be all right. We’ll be back on the ground before you know it.’
Agitated, Jake almost snapped at her but stopped himself before he did. ‘Thank you, ma’am,’ he said. ‘I’ll be all right.’
‘I know you will, dear. If you need to squeeze my hand, please feel free.’
Much closer to the scene of the hostage situation, another pair of eyes focused on the developing situation on the television. Charley Spencer picked up her cell phone and sent a text message to Lucinda. ‘Lucy. Watching TV breaking news. Are you there? Is that you near the house?’
Charley sat back to watch the unfolding news but kept an eye on her phone, waiting for the pinging glass sound that heralded the arrival of a response. When she hadn’t received one for ten minutes, she leaned forward toward the television and chewed on her thumbnail.
SIXTY-SIX
Lucinda shouted into the bullhorn: ‘Eagleton! What just happened in there? Send out your hostage now!’
She gave him two seconds to respond and when she heard nothing she ordered everyone inside. ‘Go. Go. Go.’
An officer approached the front door and heaved a battering ram into it again and again. Lucinda heard the sound of broken glass as the officers in the rear of the house breached the French doors. The second the ram splintered the wood surrounding the lock, she pushed inside. ‘Eagleton! Hands on your head. Down on your knees.’
‘Here, Lieutenant!’ an unknown voice shouted from deeper in the house. Lucinda raced toward the sound. In the kitchen, Frank Eagleton was lying on his side, curled into a ball on the tile floor, moaning. Doubled over but still on her feet, the hostage was tethered to the interior framing of a lower cabinet, a bloody butcher knife clutched in her fist. Her face was ashen, her legs trembling, her lips moving without a sound.
‘Cut her loose. Get the paramedics.’ While an officer used a saw to free the woman, Lucinda put an arm around her to keep her knees from buckling and dumping her on the floor.
‘Hush, hush,’ she said. ‘Everything is going to be all right. You’re safe now. Let me have the knife.’ Lucinda wrapped her fingers around the hand holding the knife. The hostage startled, jerked
back and stabbed Lucinda in the thigh.
‘Holy shit!’ she yelled and jumped back. ‘Drop the damn knife, lady.’
She let go of the weapon and it clattered on the tile. ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,’ she sobbed. ‘I’m so sorry. Please forgive me. I’m so sorry.’
Uniforms surrounded her in a flash.
‘Easy, easy,’ Lucinda urged. ‘Don’t hurt her; just get her out of here. She needs medical attention.’
‘Colter!’ Lucinda yelled.
Robin stepped into the kitchen and rushed toward Lucinda with outstretched arms.
‘Not me. The knife. Bag the damn knife.’
‘Lieutenant, you’re bleeding.’
‘Later, Colter,’ Lucinda said and grabbed a kitchen towel off a nearby hook. She pressed it into her wound and watched as it slowly bloomed red. She lowered herself to the floor next to Frank Eagleton, keeping the pressure on the cut.
‘Lieutenant?’ Colter said.
‘It looks worse than it is, Colter. Get me something to prop up my leg.’
‘But, Lieutenant . . .’
‘Do it, Colter.’
Robin’s eyes darted around the kitchen, then she dashed into the living room. She grabbed a sofa cushion and returned to Lucinda, tucking it under her injured leg.
‘Eagleton,’ Lucinda said.
Frank whimpered and moaned.
‘Man up, Eagleton. You weren’t hurt that badly or you’d be in a pool of blood by now.’
‘I’m going to die,’ he wailed.
‘Not unless I kill you.’
Frank moaned louder.
A paramedic kneeled beside him and gently rolled him on his back to examine his wound. He pulled back his shirt and used scissors to release the waistband of his pants.
False Front (Lucinda Pierce) Page 27