Sam looked across at Tony’s board and the security cam picture of the man who had spoken to Bill Foster before his death. Next to it was a sketch, an e-fit that was created with the help of a member of the lobby staff, who had called the mystery guy ‘Mr. Jones’. The photo and the sketched likeness had been shown round at the offices and workplaces of all the victims and everywhere it had been confirmed that Mr. Jones had indeed been to see all the victims at some point.
Detective Taylor, who was handling the shooting of Susan, returned with the other officers. CSU had found the room the shooter had fired from using the trace laser, but the room was clean.
“Hey, Ron, any luck at the nest?” asked Sam.
The small, overweight detective shook his head. “Nah, it was a bust. The shooter used a supply room that the twenty cleaners and fifteen maintenance people used every day, not to mention the hundred odd workers who would sneak in for a quiet smoke out of the window instead of travelling down the eight floors to the smoking area. The security camera gave nothing up from the elevators, which meant that the shooter used the stairs to get in and out.”
McCall looked thoughtfully for a moment. “But what about the weapon? It wasn’t as if the shooter could walk out into the street brandishing a sniper rifle.”
He shrugged. “Who knows? CSU are checking air vents and dumpsters. Maybe we’ll get lucky.” She watched him walk back to his desk and start with the paperwork to begin the investigation file.
Sam McCall had placed pictures of William Brown and Susan Hay in the victims column, someone was getting rid of people, which normally meant they were no longer of use. Whatever was being planned in connection with their murders was likely to be happening soon. McCall had resigned herself to the idea that the victims had worked on something or were part of something, that their deaths were not random or the work of a serial killer, but the work of a professional.
She looked over at the board of John Barr, the man who had been shot from a boat in the Hudson River. That had taken skill, as the river was never calm—the boat, which they still hadn’t found, would have been tossed around on the water, plus any people on nearby ships might have seen the shooter or got in the way. She shook her head, puzzled. How the hell did they do it? None of the small boats had been hired out, also if they had used a boat, where was it? Or was the killer on foot?
The detective’s eye was caught by the TV set that hung from the wall next to the captain’s office. There were scenes from the shooting at the deli and McCall frowned, knowing that the press was all over the story and she knew it wouldn’t be long before they knew about Mr Brown’s murder. All in all their job was going to get harder while the press were reporting every detail.
McCall’s desk phone began to ring, bringing her back down to earth. “Homicide, Detective McCall,” she said after snatching up the receiver. She sat down slowly as she waited for the reply. The cheerful voice of her friend in the Tech Department came over the handset: “Morning, Detective, it’s Toby Lang from the lab. It’s reference the workshop feed.”
She felt a rush of excitement but tried to keep it in check. “Oh, yeah, morning, so what have you got?”
There was an awkward silence, which suddenly made her nervous.
“Yes, well I ran the feed all the way up until today and I’m afraid I found nothing.”
McCall bit her lip in anger. “Yes, I thought that might be the case, but I guess it was worth a shot.”
There was another brief silence. “No, Detective you don’t understand. You went to the workshop, yes?”
Her stomach turned at the news she was expecting. “Yes, why?” She had the feeling that the case was about to bust wide open.
“Well, Detective, I have not found any clip with you on it, plus there is a clock in the background. It hasn’t moved in fourteen hours. It appears the feed has been tampered with. Sorry.”
Sam felt like screaming, but then logic kicked in. “Can you find out where the feed has been tampered with?” She heard typing in the background.
“I’m not sure,” Toby replied, “but I’ll give it a go. I’ll call you if I get anything.”
The line went dead, leaving McCall with a bad taste in her mouth. She replaced the receiver back onto its cradle and sat back in her chair. Another piece of bad luck, she thought. Yes, bad luck seems to be dogging us at the moment. Her mind was sluggish, hampered by sleep deprivation. There sure seemed to be a lot of bad luck lately, way too much.
She scanned the room as she sat with her hands behind her neck, reflecting on events. Every time they found a lead it had been ripped away from them. Which could mean only one thing: they had a mole within the department. She stood up slowly, regarding her colleagues with suspicion, as she headed for the restroom, before shaking her head and dismissing the theory. “No, that’s a stupid idea,” she muttered to herself, heading for the coffee dispensers. She looked out across the men and women who sat working tirelessly and smiled, thinking that if there was a mole it wasn’t any of them. She looked at the empty chairs of her three colleagues and filled her cup with the freshly made brew. Tooms, Tony Marinelli and Jenny Thompson were out there trying, just as she was, to tidy up their cases, to find that missing parts of the jigsaws.
She got back to her desk just as her phone began to ring. “Homicide,” she answered, “Detective McCall.” It was the desk sergeant from downstairs, informing her that he had just got a report from two of his uniformed officers telling him they had just seen Mr Jones going into a hotel on East 34th. She grinned as she took down the address. She hung up the phone and stood up, whispering, “Gotcha!”
The captain’s orders had been simple. Plainclothes officers only round the front and tactical units standing ready around the back and service areas. Snipers would be in place ready on rooftops, covering the roof and the fire escapes. McCall had left text messages for her three colleagues to meet her in a café across the street, where she would brief them on the situation. Jones had to be taken alive, that was paramount, but McCall knew he was not likely to go down without a fight.
Sam was already in the coffee shop when the others walked in. They sat down immediately and leant forwards for instructions.
“Okay, this is what we know so far,” Sam began, “two uniforms saw Jones enter that hotel there.” She pointed over towards the red-brick four-storey building over the road. “Right now someone is finding out what room he is in and if he has guests. When the word is given we meet the others in the lobby, but for the moment we sit tight until we are called.”
The others nodded to show they understood. “I need you guys to go to your cars and get ready, listen to your radios for the word to be given.” The three others nodded and stood up, “Listen, we don’t know what to expect up there so everyone be careful, okay?” Tooms just smiled as they left.
McCall watched them walk out separately and shivered as though someone had just walked across her grave. She had a real bad feeling about this whole set-up and she feared that someone wasn’t going to make it out.
Mr. Jones lay on his bed listening to the silence. He was wearing a black suit. The room was a flashback from the 70s with sickly green patterned wallpaper and orange armchairs. He preferred to think in the quiet, also silence meant he could hear anyone coming up the hallway along the creaky floorboards.
Nearly all of his targets had been erased but there was still one he had to find. Things had moved too quickly for his liking but it couldn’t be helped. He swung his legs round and sat on the edge of the bed. The sunlight bled through the slits in the blinds, making a marginal difference to the gloom. Jones wiped sweat from his brow and stood up, walking towards the bathroom. He turned on the faucet and let the cool water run through his fingers before cupping his hands and splashing the refreshing liquid onto his face.
He looked up into the mirror. He realised that he looked old—this job had done that to him. There was too much at stake and losses were inevitable. Fortunately this contract was nearl
y completed, and when it was, he could go home. Jones was a tall, slim built man, with short black hair. He looked into his own brown eyes in the mirror and tried to get a glimpse of what was left of his soul. This was his last job, one way or the other this was definitely his last. He walked back towards the bed to find his cell phone vibrating across the bed. He sat down and picked up the phone and pressed the icon for his mail.
The mailbox had one message: You’re blown, get out now.
McCall picked up her cell phone as its ringing vibrations made it dance across the table, ending up next to her coffee cup. She saw the ID was from her friend, who was in the CSU department. “Hey, old man, what’s up?” she answered. Jim Burke was an old friend of the family and the head of the CSU department.
“Hi, kiddo, look we found a hidden camera in the Browns’ place. It was directed straight at the front door.”
McCall felt the stirrings of excitement. “Have you seen the footage yet?” she asked, her tone now warm.
“No, not yet. Why, what’s wrong?” It was a simple question but she felt the answer might be too complicated.
“Look, Jim, don’t do anything or say anything to anyone about this, okay?” Jim noticed her worried tone and knew if she was asking such a thing there was a good reason. “Look, you have to trust me on this. Just put it somewhere safe and forget about it until I get back.”
Jim bit his lip gloomily. He had been in the job a long time and had never done anything against his own strict principles. However, after the incident at the morgue he could see why she was worried. “Okay, kid, you get back here and we’ll watch it together. Hell, I’ll even bring the popcorn.” She smiled and listened to the line go dead. She was afraid that if someone found out about his news she wouldn’t just lose the evidence but someone could get even get killed.
The earpiece from the radio crackled as someone was getting ready to send a message. “All teams prepare to move in figures ten.” The radio waves buzzed with acknowledgement at the order. McCall stood up and left a five-dollar bill next to the half-drunk cup of coffee. As she crossed the street other people started to move in, hugging the corners of buildings as they moved towards the hotel’s entrance.
The doors of the hotel swung open and McCall strolled in with the other officers behind her. The sight was awe-inspiring as the four detectives came through wearing their bulletproof vests, with their weapons at the ready. There was something dangerously erotic about the way McCall looked in her tight-fitting bulletproof vest and leg holster, and the fire in her eyes made her all the more sensuous. The owner of the hotel looked up from his small pocket TV set as he leant on the counter and gasped at the sight. The gum he’d been chewing fell out of his mouth onto the register.
The hotel wasn’t exactly the Ritz but it was clean and tidy, even if the decor was a flashback to the Nixon era. The owner was a large man with black hair and a bad comb-over. His thick-rimmed glasses and Hawaiian shirt fitted in well with the ambience of the building, as though he too was lost in time. McCall strolled up to the captain, who was standing next to the long wooden reception desk.
“McCall.” Captain Brant’s words sounded cheerful and upbeat, even though his face was hard and unwelcoming.
“Captain, do we have a room number?”
He nodded. “Two one four, and he’s alone.”
Sam McCall took out her custom-built Glock pistol and cocked it, ready to fire. “Yeah, but it doesn’t make him all that much less dangerous.” The others followed her lead, racking shells into the breeches of their weapons.
“All units get into position, and remember we want him alive if at all possible,” she said into the radio. Her earpiece picked up the return sound-offs. She was as ready as she was ever going to be, and so were the others. They waited for SWAT to take point, as this was their territory now. She knew that these guys were good: Weeks before the teams and the detectives had been involved in a case involving weapons smuggling on a ship, after the last incident on the Eisenwolff their training had been stepped up and so had their equipment.
“Okay, guys, you have the lead,” she continued, “we’re just here for show.”
The team leader laughed at McCall’s comment. “Right, guys, let’s do this by the numbers. And remember—our target is well trained so no heroes, okay?” The team let out a ‘Hooha’ and set off up the stairs. The elevator’s power had been cut and the stairwells had been secured to limit any movement through floors—the only way out was through these doors.
McCall and the men of Team One moved quickly up the stairs to the top floor. They had the element of surprise, or so they hoped. As they got to the fire door on the fourth floor the team leader held up a clenched fist to say ‘stop’. He reached down and tapped the lead man on the shoulder twice. The man then opened the door slowly and brought out a strange looking gun that folded in the middle. To the rear next to its trigger, the weapon had a small monitor that showed images from the camera on the front. “How are we looking, son?” asked the leader. “We seem to be clear, sir,” replied the man, leaving the weapon trained on the corridor.
The leader pointed to two of the team members and used his fingers to indicate for them to proceed. One of them had a shield with a small window at the top while the other clung to his back like a well-armed parrot, his M4 machine pistol held ready and its laser sight held fast on the doorway of 214. As they made their way down they stopped just short of the door and the shield man knelt down and held his ballistic shield steady. The team leader then motioned the others to follow less for the two-team members guarding the door and the Detectives.
Sam McCall wanted to be up there in the action but she also knew the drill: these guys had armour and they didn’t. The other team members took cover on the other side of the doorway as part of their drill, while a SWAT member with some explosive charges moved up to the door and placed the charges on the door near the lock and hinges. He turned to the leader and nodded before taking his place on the other side of the doorway.
“Command, we are good for breach, over,” McCall heard over the earpiece. “Roger that, breach now.” There was a loud explosion as the door was blown off its hinges and was propelled across the room. The team members entered quickly with the shield man first to take any incoming fire. The sound of static was the only noise to come over the airwaves, and the detectives looked at each other in confusion, wondering what was happening.
“Maybe they’re dead?” Tooms suggested. McCall shot him a disagreeable look, which just made him shrug. “Command, the nest is empty; I repeat the nest is empty,” came over the radio. “Our bird has flown. Over.”
There was silence while command thought about the next move. “OK, Roger that, move and sweep, teams two and three do a floor by floor, check the elevator shafts, air ducts, everywhere.”
The teams immediately split off and headed for their directed tasking. The detectives ran after them but McCall stopped halfway down the poorly lit staircase. Tooms—who was in front of her—halted suddenly and looked back at McCall who was staring up at where they had just come from.
“Come on, McCall,” he yelled at her. “We’re going to lose the others!” She just stood there staring at the door as it slowly closed.
“How did he get out so fast?” she asked.
Tooms looked puzzled at the question. “What do you mean?”
McCall turned round to face Tooms, who was panting from the adrenaline rush. “There was no way of knowing we were coming, so how did he get out so quickly? He couldn’t use the elevators because they’re all locked down, he couldn’t use the fire escapes because we have snipers on them. So how did he get out?”
Tooms shrugged, he saw her point, but every angle had been covered. “Beats me, you got any theories?”
McCall ignored him as she lifted her wrist to speak into the microphone there. “Command, this is McCall. I am going back to the nest. We have to check something out.”
There was a crackle of static before the
command post got back with an answer: “Okay, but proceed with caution.” McCall looked down at the polished steel slide of her custom-built Glock, and remembered the day she had returned to the station after her shooting practice, and Steel had given her the custom piece as a welcome-back present.
Switching back to the present, her grip tightened on the pistol. She looked at Tooms, who just nodded and held his service pistol up with both hands, gripping it tightly. McCall first noticed the silence as they re-entered the corridor, the defining silence that could make the slightest noise sound like a crashing cymbal in a brass band. They edged slowly down the hallway to room 214. Smoke still rose from the wooden doorframe from the charges, and the smell of burnt wood and paint filled their nostrils as they continued inside.
Even though the room had been searched, it was a brief one: the teams had been looking for a man, not a secret hiding place. This time McCall and Tooms had time to do a thorough search and if they didn’t find Mr Jones there was the chance of finding something else. McCall searched while Tooms provided cover, to guard against any sudden surprises. They realised that they were alone in this operation—the others were either doing a door-to-door or checking any other route out.
“Command, this is McCall,” she said into the radio. “We are back at the room, starting to do a sweep now.” The sound of static buzzed in her ear for a second.
“Roger that, keep us apprised of your situation.”
McCall nodded to Tooms and they started in the bathroom. It was small but had all the useful amenities. She looked up at the ceiling to check for hatches, only to find white concrete. They moved out into the bedroom area and began to do a sweep of the room, starting with the wardrobe. All of Jones’s clothes remained in the suitcase, possibly just in case he had to move quickly. The room was clean.
“Okay, McCall,” Tooms told her, “it was a long shot but we ain’t found zip. Let’s get the hell out of here and get to the others.” McCall nodded as she took one last look at the room. They relaxed slightly and headed for the door. Suddenly there was a noise from above. They stopped as though they had just been frozen and looked up. They both slowly held their weapons tight and brought them up, aiming at the ceiling
Operation:UNITY (John Steel series Book 2) Page 28