Lisa Black - Takeover

Not fully confident. Patrick had heard versions of that, too. It meant the doctor didn’t think Paul would live through the end of the day.

His eyes drifted to the windows, through which the Federal Reserve building gleamed in the afternoon sun. “You say he’s conscious?”

“Off and on,” the doctor repeated. “I can’t make any promises about that either.”

Patrick sighed. “I’m sorry, I can’t come right now. We’re in the middle of something here. I’ll send another officer out in case he wakes up. But I have to stay here.”

“Okay,” the doctor said, and hung up. He had done what he could and undoubtedly had other patients and phone calls to see to.

Patrick called another detective, Sanchez, and asked her to go to Metro. She was sensitive but smart, and Paul had always gotten along with her. She would know what questions to ask if he woke up, know when to call Patrick and when not to. But he, Patrick, couldn’t spend the afternoon sitting next to an unconscious man on the off chance that he might come to and he might be able to tell them something of Lucas and Bobby.

“How are things going?” Ms. Elliott asked him gently.

“Not good.”

“I had guessed as much. I wish I could help.”

Patrick gestured at the books around them. The tomes held centuries of accumulated knowledge and yet couldn’t tell him how to defeat one man with a gun. “Not unless you know a formula for invisibility. Or how to neutralize RDX.”

“The plastic explosive?”

He probably shouldn’t have mentioned that, but Peggy Elliott had been in and out all day and nothing confidential had found its way to Channel 15. Still, he didn’t clarify. “Or how to deflect bullets. Lots and lots of bullets.”

“No.” She shook her head. “Sorry.”

He needed to get back to the monitor, to Theresa’s grainy black-and-white image. He could do nothing for Paul, but he still might be able to do something for her.

He stood up and reached for the glass door when Jason said, “Detective, wait.”

The young man held a cell phone to his ear, and a cop had just handed him a receiver from a table unit. “This is the PD in Tennessee, and I’m already on with Lucas’s sister. Can you talk to them?”

Patrick nearly leaped over the row of flat-drawer filing cabinets to grab the phone and identify himself.

“Slow down.” The voice on the other end did not conjure up images of honky-tonks and moonshine stills. The syllables were as neatly pronounced and accentless as any TV anchorperson’s, the pace measured and calm. “Who is this again?”

Patrick repeated himself while enunciating and using a sleeve to mop the sweat from his forehead. He leaned on the cabinets and closed his eyes, the better to concentrate on the man’s voice.

“This is Captain Johnson from the Hudson County sheriff ’s office in Tennessee. I went out and talked to Jack Cornell, just like you asked.”

“We appreciate that,” Patrick said with fervor. He pulled out his notepad and opened it, discovering that he’d mislaid his pen. He lost a precious second or two patting his pockets before Ms. Elliott handed him hers. “We have a real bad situation up here. One person dead and one cop almost dead, with eight hostages still inside.”

“Yeah, that’s what that first guy told me. It wasn’t any trouble anyway. We know Jack real well, and he lives near town.”

Patrick didn’t like the sound of this. Cornell probably was some-one’s brother-in-law, and they wouldn’t give him up no matter how many northerners got shot.

But the police captain went on. “Jack isn’t a bad guy. He’s a little loopy since he got out of the army, but hell, he was a little loopy before that. He’s never hurt anybody, and he sure could if he wanted to, with that arsenal he’s got.”

“He’s got firearms in his possession?”

“It’s his business. It’s all legal. He’s a licensed dealer, and his paperwork is in order. I should know-he and I go over it regularly. Anyway, what you want to know is, he did get a visit from those two boys you’ve got up there, and he’s more’n happy to tell us all about it. He doesn’t want any trouble that would threaten his livelihood, see?”

“When did they get there? When did they leave? Did they say-”

“Hold on, I can do better than that,” the captain said, his voice spilling into the stuffy, sunny map room like a cool spring breeze. “I’ll let him tell you. He’s sitting right here.”

“Thank you, Captain. Thank you.”

“I’ll get back on the phone when he’s done. Here y’go, Jack.”

A pause, and the sound of a receiver being handled. “Hello?”

Patrick introduced himself for what seemed like the millionth time that day. He spoke too fast again, but Jack Cornell didn’t seem to care. “Yeah, the cops here told me that Lucas is in some sort of trouble. He didn’t tell me nothing about it, and I didn’t ask. And what you’re saying doesn’t sound like Lucas anyway. Could be that nut Bobby, but not Lucas.”

Patrick forced himself to slow down. Their first real break in the case, and he had to make it count. “Let’s start from the beginning. When did they show up at your place?”

“Day before yesterday-yeah, Tuesday. Out of the blue.”

“They had just gotten out of prison?” “Yep.” “What were they driving?” “A white Mercedes.” The man laughed. “I just about bust a gut.

A damn Mercedes with pearly paint. That was Bobby’s doing, I think.” “You knew Lucas from the army?” “Yeah, that’s what I’m telling you. Him ’n’ me were in the same unit over in Germany. We worked at the armory. That’s where I learned so much about guns-course, I already knew a lot about guns-so I started this business when I came back. Lucas went and robbed a place, I guess, so he wound up in jail down in Georgia, but I’m telling you, that’s not like him. He’s a real nice guy. Sensitive, even. He was sweet on this girl who worked at a bar in town, and every day he had leave he’d show up on her shift with a couple of roses. That’s the kind of guy Lucas is.”

“Did he tell you where he was heading?” “Cleveland, yeah. I guess Bobby lives there.” “What did they plan to do here?” “Hook up with some of Bobby’s old gang, I guess. They didn’t have any real big plans, I didn’t think. They sure as hell didn’t say nothing about robbing no bank, let me tell you. Bobby was going to look up some old friends, and Lucas said he had to find him a girl. That’s Lucas. He always has a girl.”

“That’s it?” “That’s it.” “Did Bobby mention any friends by name?” “Nope, not that I recall. He might have, but I wasn’t paying much attention.”

“Did he say anything about storing his car in Atlanta while he did his time? Mention who drove it there for him, maybe?”

“No.”

“You didn’t drive it there for him, did you?”

“Sir, I never met this Bobby until the day before yesterday.”

“How were they fixed for cash?”

“No one comes out of prison a rich man. But I guess Lucas had saved a few pennies in some work program at the prison, and Bobby had stashed some in his car before he put it in storage. They didn’t ask me for any, so they must not have been hurting too bad.”

“You say Lucas isn’t a violent type. What about Bobby?”

“I don’t know nothin’ about Bobby, even though I spent most of Tuesday talking to him. Lucas was kind of quiet. I guess after being in jail for a while, he didn’t have much to say. That Bobby, though, he couldn’t stop talking.”

“About what?” Patrick swallowed, needing something wet in his throat. He thought longingly of the cooler down by Cavanaugh and decided that all phones that still had cords should have been thrown out years ago.