by Chris Mooney
And he would, she was sure of it. Big Red was strong; his lungs would restart, and he would begin to breathe on his own, without the machines, and then soon – maybe not today or tomorrow or the end of the week, but soon – he would heal and then wake up, and when he did, she would be sitting right here beside his bed, holding his hand and smiling when his eyes fluttered open. There was still so much she needed from him. So much she needed to know. He knew that and wouldn’t let her down. He wouldn’t leave her alone.
She didn’t realize she was crying until she wiped at her face, felt the tears stinging on her cheeks.
Darby shook her head and slid her arm around the woman, feeling the frail bones beneath the heavy jacket, and escorted her towards Tremont, where the EOD vehicle was already waiting for them. Darby tried to pick up the pace but the woman was having trouble standing and walking.
The EOD’s rear doors flew open, and she saw Coop rush out to help.
There were no chairs in the back of the vehicle, so Darby helped the woman to the floor and sat beside her. Coop shut the doors and the woman jumped as though a shotgun had gone off.
The engine was loud and the SWAT officer riding in the passenger seat kept shouting into his phone. Darby had to yell over the noise. ‘You’re safe,’ she said, rubbing the woman’s back. ‘It’s over.’
The woman was staring blankly at a gun cabinet mounted against the wall. She still hadn’t touched the tape. Darby asked for a pair of gloves and a bag.
As she began to work the tape from around the woman’s mouth, about to ask if she had heard anything about the bomb or its location, the hostage started rocking back and forth, mewing. Then the tears came and when she started to sob into her hands, some of the knuckles already twisted from arthritis, Darby placed the duct tape in the evidence bag Coop had given her and then held the woman against her chest.
Coop stood over them, gripping the side railing as the vehicle bucked and swayed. She knew the question he wanted to ask, and shook her head.
The hope vanished from his eyes. He sucked in air through his nose and, defeated, glanced at his watch before dialling a number. Darby, not knowing what to do with her hands and needing something to do, put the satellite phone back together.
Her name was Anita Barnes and she was fifty-nine years old and lived alone on the top floor of a triple-decker she owned in Dorchester. That was all the information Darby got before the woman started hyperventilating.
Barnes sucked deeply from an oxygen mask. It was strapped across her mouth and nose by a strong elastic band, but she held on to it with both hands as though the mask might fall off and disappear.
Darby sat with her on the gurney in the back of an ambulance, one of six parked at the command centre. She had asked the EMTs and agents to give them a moment. The woman was frightened, seemed to shrink under their heated questions and desperate stares. Barnes needed some time to collect herself.
Darby couldn’t collect herself, and she found it difficult to sit still. She felt for the woman but wanted information – now.
A frightened witness was not a reliable witness. Best to let her calm down.
Commotion outside the ambulance and voices she couldn’t quite make out were shouting. Had the bomb gone off? There was nothing she or anyone else could do at this point but wait.
And pray.
Darby had reset her watch during the drive back to the campus. She was staring at it when the woman spoke, her words muffled behind the mask.
Darby turned to her. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that.’
Barnes pulled down the mask with a trembling hand.
18
+02.44
The woman licked her lips. Swallowed.
‘He was nice about it.’
‘Nice,’ Darby said.
Anita Barnes nodded. She was a baby-faced woman with soft features and an even softer voice. Darby had to lean close to hear her.
‘He kept saying he was sorry, after you left the first time. We couldn’t talk back because of the tape he put over our mouths.’
‘What else did he say?’ Darby asked, fighting the terrible urge to rush through the questioning. Stay calm or Barnes might shut down again.
The woman wiped at her face with the back of her wrist. ‘He said he didn’t want to hurt us – and wouldn’t, as long as we cooperated. He –’
‘Sorry to interrupt you, Miss Barnes, but were those his exact words, or yours?’
‘His. His exact words. He sounded real sad when he said it.’
‘How could you tell?’
The woman looked at Darby for the first time. ‘What do you mean?’
‘How could you tell he sounded sad when he was speaking to you through that voice modulation device?’
The woman seemed confused by the question. Then her eyes brightened. ‘Oh. Oh, I see. He turned that off after you left and spoke to us normally. His voice was all, you know, pinched tight. Husky.’
Interesting, Darby thought. It suggested that the gunman didn’t want to harm an innocent – and reinforced her theory about the first bomb being a message and set at a remote location where no one would get hurt or killed.
‘He apologized again after he put the tape over our eyes,’ Barnes said. ‘He didn’t speak very much after that point. Everything got real quiet.’
‘Did you recognize his voice?’
‘No. Why would I?’
‘Tell me everything he said and did after I left the lobby the first time. Walk me through it, step-by-step.’
It took the woman a moment to gather her thoughts.
‘Well,’ Barnes said, ‘first he had us all go over to the corner where you found us. He took those plastic things out of his pocket and told the other woman, the one with the white hair –’
‘Did she say her name?’
‘No. We didn’t talk, he told us not to talk. He tied me up with the plastic things and then the pregnant lady and then he tied up the white-haired woman. He asked us if we were comfortable, I remember that … then he shut off that voice-thing and apologized again, and when he taped our mouths he thanked us for cooperating. He apologized again when he put the tape over our eyes.’ She swallowed several times, her eyes growing wet. ‘That was the worst, not being able to see. I didn’t know if he was going to kill us or not.’
‘Did you see anything before he taped your eyes?’
‘Like what?’
‘Did you see him remove anything from his backpack? Did he call anyone?’
‘I don’t think so. I mean, he might’ve, but I was busy praying – not just for me but for all of us. But I don’t think he was listening.’
‘The gunman?’
‘No, God. The day String Bean was born, I prayed to Him morning, noon and night. I –’
‘String Bean?’
‘My grandson,’ Barnes said. ‘His birth name was Tae Jonah Fallows but we all called him String Bean because he was this skinny weed of a thing, no matter how much he ate. He was that way since the day he was born. That’s why I was there at the po-lice this morning, to talk about String Bean’s case.’
‘What happened to your grandson?’
‘God broke His promise to me again, is what happened,’ Barnes said heatedly. She seemed abashed at having spoken the words out loud. She took in a deep breath and then swallowed, her voice contrite when she spoke again. ‘String Bean was taking his afternoon nap when the neighbourhood gang-bangers decided to have a shootout. I was in the kitchen getting dinner ready when the bullet came through String Bean’s bedroom window and hit him in the head. The doctor who did the thing on his body afterwards, the whatchamacallit, the coroner, he told me my baby didn’t feel a thing. That was kind of him, lying to give me some comfort, but I know String Bean suffered ’cause he died alone, no one there holding his hand.’ She wiped at her face. ‘He was four years old.’
‘I’m truly sorry for your loss,’ Darby said.
‘Day I took String Bean in as my own, God warned
me to move on up to the third floor where we’d be safe – warned me more than once. My neighbourhood, you hear gunshots so much you get used to them, as crazy as that sounds. Still, it would be safer to be living higher up, and what did I do? I ignored Him. I ignored Him because I was only thinking of myself. I’ve got really bad knees and type 2 diabetes. I didn’t want to do that walk up every day, and my grandson paid the price.’
The back of the ambulance opened and Coop poked his head in, his expression grim. She could tell he wanted to talk to her alone. He has news about the bomb.
‘Miss Barnes,’ Darby said, ‘the FBI is going to want to ask you some questions, probably the same ones I did. You could be here awhile. Is there someone you’d like me to call to come here and sit with you?’
‘Everyone’s in Pine Valley now.’
‘Where’s that?’
‘Cemetery. Ain’t no one in my family left.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Darby said, because she didn’t know what else to say. ‘What about a friend or a neighbour?’
Barnes thought it over for a moment. ‘I should probably call Rosemary, let her know what happened to me,’ she said. Coop had a pen and pad out, ready to write.
‘What’s Rosemary’s last name?’ he asked.
‘Shapiro.’
‘The lawyer?’
‘Yes, sir. You know her?’
Every cop and federal agent knows her, Darby thought. Rosemary Shapiro had made a career – and a small fortune – suing the city of Boston. Her specialty was civil suits. She represented prisoners who had been wrongly convicted and was the go-to person for the families of victims who had been shot and/or killed by Boston cops.
Coop took over the questioning. ‘Why did she want to meet you at the lobby?’
‘She said she had some information on the people who killed String Bean and wanted to talk to me about it this morning at eight thirty, at the police headquarters,’ Barnes replied.
That doesn’t make any sense, Darby thought. Shapiro wouldn’t meet with a client inside the lobby of a police station.
‘Told me to go to the reception desk and ask for her,’ Barnes said.
‘She told you this?’ Coop asked.
‘That’s what her assistant told me last night.’
‘Her name?’
‘Not a she, a he. It was hard to understand him, though. He kept coughing and his voice was really hoarse. He kept apologizing, said he was getting over a bad cold and had laryngitis.’
‘He tell you his name?’
‘No.’
‘You’re sure?’
Barnes nodded emphatically. ‘All he said was that he was Miss Shapiro’s assistant.’
‘Tell me about your conversation.’
‘It was real short, and like I just said I had to ask him to repeat himself a few times. He said Miss Shapiro had some information on String Bean and asked if I could meet her in the lobby at po-lice headquarters on Tremont. I said yes, of course, and he told me to be there at eight thirty.’
Darby and Coop exchanged a look. Without speaking, he ducked back outside and shut the door.
The woman’s expression turned quizzical. ‘Something wrong?’
Not wrong, just odd, Darby thought. She shook her head. ‘I’ll call Miss Shapiro, tell her you’re here.’
‘Her number’s in my handbag. I left it back there, at the station. My handbag.’
‘We’ll find her number. Let’s get the EMTs back in, make sure your blood sugar and pressure are doing okay.’
‘I’m going to say a prayer for you, keep you safe.’
‘Thank you, Miss Barnes.’
‘You be careful around that man in the lobby.’
Something in the woman’s tone caught Darby’s attention. ‘What makes you say that, Miss Barnes?’
‘I’ve lived a long time, seen all sorts of misery – my own and others. There’s something wrong in that man’s eyes. Way he was looking at you back there … There was this man I’d seen once in our neighbourhood late at night, and he was standing there on the sidewalk with the rest of us watching one of the houses that caught fire, just kept staring and staring. That man in the po-lice lobby got those exact same eyes. People like him don’t care, they just love watching things burn.’
19
+02.56
When Darby stepped out of the ambulance, she saw Coop standing several feet away in the big parking lot. His back was to her, and he was still on the phone, a hand pressed against his ear.
She ducked around the side of the vehicle and took out her satellite phone and dialled the pre-programmed number for Grove.
‘I need you to connect me to Briggs.’
‘You got it.’
‘Wait. Is this line being recorded?’
‘It is.’
Good, Darby thought.
‘I won’t be on the line with you, but I’ll be able to hear everything,’ Grove said.
‘That’s fine.’
A brief silence followed on the other end of the line. Darby glanced around the back corner of the ambulance and saw Coop. He was still on the phone.
Then she heard Briggs’s deep voice burst across her receiver: ‘Dr McCormick?’
‘I’m here,’ Darby said.
A sigh exploded against her ear.
‘Thank God you’re okay, I was worried,’ Briggs said. ‘How did it go?’
‘Good, I think. Made some headway. The hostages are still alive.’
‘Excellent. What’s our next step?’
‘Do you know a woman named Anita Barnes? Had a grandson named Tae Jonah Fallow, everyone called him String Bean?’
‘No. Why?’
‘Anita Barnes was one of the hostages. Her grandson was killed by a stray bullet.’
‘What does that have to do with the gunman?’
‘What about someone named Levine?’
‘Levine? I don’t think so. Why are you asking me these questions?’
‘The gunman told me he knows you.’
Silence greeted her on the other end of the line.
‘You’re sure you don’t know anyone named Levine?’ Darby asked. ‘The gunman seems to believe you do.’
‘The name doesn’t ring a bell. Do you have any information on this person? Man or woman? Is Levine his or her last name or first?’
‘I don’t know. I was hoping you would tell me.’
‘Let me look into it – Levine and Anita Barnes, her grandson, see what I can find. My memory isn’t what it used to be. I’ll be in touch shortly.’
‘One last thing,’ Darby said. She knew she was being recorded, didn’t care. ‘If I find out you’re lying to me, I will jam my foot so far up your ass you’ll choke to death. I’ll make it my personal mission. Do we have an understanding?’
‘We do. We’re both after the same things, doctor. Again, thank you for what you’re doing for the city. You’re a brave woman. You always were.’
And then Briggs hung up.
Darby joined Coop, who was still on the phone. They fell into step together, heading for the MCP on the opposite side of the parking lot, which was packed with every single conceivable emergency and disaster recovery vehicle, lights flashing everywhere.
Her head felt stuffed from her conversations with Briggs, Anita Barnes and the gunman; and the adrenaline dump and lack of food had left her feeling hollow and jittery and weak. Her morning hangover had switched over to a pounding headache and, coming up on its heels, a wave of nausea. Breathing wouldn’t help; she needed food and water – lots of water – and aspirin, preferably Excedrin.
‘That was Shapiro’s office,’ Coop said. He stuffed the phone back in his jacket pocket as they darted around a crowd of anxious firefighters waiting for the call about the bomb. ‘Her secretary, personal assistant, whatever, is a woman. Said Shapiro didn’t have anything on the books with Anita Barnes – hadn’t heard the name before. The name isn’t even in her database.’
‘What about Shapiro, you talk to her?�
�
‘She called in sick this morning with the flu. Secretary can’t give out the phone number to anyone – Shapiro’s orders – so she said Shapiro will call me back. You thinking what I’m thinking?’
‘That the gunman called Barnes last night and asked her to be in the lobby this morning? Yeah.’
‘I don’t think it’s a coincidence, the woman being there.’
‘Neither do I. First, we need to rule her out as an accomplice.’ Darby didn’t believe it, but they still needed to exclude her. ‘She’s from Dorchester. Her grandson’s name is Tae Jonah Fallows. Kid got hit by a stray bullet when he was taking a nap in his bedroom.’
‘Cop shooting?’
‘No. Gang-thing, I think.’
‘How old?’
‘Four.’
‘Jesus.’
‘I know. Barnes said the killer or killers were never caught or identified.’
‘What’s this business about the gunman wanting to be called Big Red?’ Coop asked.
‘Classic misdirection,’ Darby said. ‘He doesn’t want me thinking about or focusing on him, so he throws me off with all these questions about my father, what happened to him.’
‘Did he?’
‘Did he what?’
‘Throw you off.’
‘You think my head’s not in the game?’
They had reached the door for the MCP.
‘Of course not,’ Coop said.
Darby saw that this was true.
‘I’m just checking in, see how you’re doing with it,’ Coop said. ‘Coming back here and now talking about your old man – it’s okay if you’re feeling a bit rattled.’
‘Anything on the bomb?’
‘Don’t know anything yet, but I have some news on the pen Grove gave you. He didn’t get a single picture or video or audio recording. The jamming unit the gunman’s using must be covering radio frequencies.’
‘What about the FBIRD?’
‘Nothing.’
‘That’s not possible. There’s no commercial jamming equipment that can –’ Darby cut herself off, already knowing the answer.
‘You’re right, the commercial stuff, all of which is illegal, all of which comes from overseas, doesn’t contain any of the frequencies the Bureau uses on their devices. But there is military-grade equipment out there that can scramble all frequencies. Our guy must have somehow got his hands on one. I love dealing with psychopaths who are smart.’