John Denver?”
It was the lamest of ploys because, of course, Jason Gustavson looked nothing at all like John Denver, but it was enough to cause him to hesitate.
The chair stopped moving, and he turned to face her. “Are you talking to me?” he asked. He was wearing a clean, freshly pressed blue denim shirt with the words ROTO-ROOTER embroidered across the pocket, a spare he’d found in the Roto-Rooter van.
As Ali hurried to catch up, her phone rang. She ignored it.
“Yes,” she said. “Yes. Has anyone told you that?”
But by the time she reached the wheelchair Gustavson had shifted the computer bag on his lap. He picked up the.38 semiautomatic that had been concealed beneath it and pointed it at her. Compared to Ali’s little Glock, the gun looked enormous, and it put her at a distinct disadvantage. Her Glock was still holstered. The.38 was in Jason Gustavson’s hand and pointed directly at her.
At sight of the weapon, Ali stopped short and took two quick steps backward, instinctively placing her own body between the wheelchair and the entrance into the ICU waiting room.
“No, lady,” he said with a sneer. “I don’t believe anybody ever told me that before. If they had, I wouldn’t have believed it for a minute. And I don’t think you believe it, either. Now, get out of my way.”
“What do you want?” Ali demanded loudly. This was a man who had already killed at least three people- probably four-and Ali was all that was standing between him and several more innocent victims. She needed to raise an alarm that would alert the unsuspecting people in the waiting room and at least warn them that trouble was coming.
The sound of her own voice surprised her. She was scared to death-petrified-yet her voice was steady and, considering the circumstances, amazingly calm.
“Move it,” he said.
Ali didn’t budge. Mere seconds ticked by, but Ali’s mind was racing.
“I know who you are,” Gustavson was saying. “You’re the dumb broad who followed me home this afternoon in that blue Cayenne. You’re also the one who kept poor little Crystal on such a tight leash all day long. That doesn’t matter, though. I wanted her, and I’m still going to get her. As for that other woman, that busybody old hag from the grocery store? I didn’t see her name on the sign-in list, but since her boyfriend’s still here, I’ll bet she is, too.”
So much for thinking Jason didn’t know who Ali was. He must have followed her and the others in through the lobby.
Ali knew she needed to keep him talking. She tried to imagine how the authorities would respond to Dave Holman’s request for help. She couldn’t hear any sirens, but surely cops were on their way. There were ceiling- mounted video surveillance cameras throughout the hospital. Once help arrived, Ali knew the responding officers would be able to see what was going on. They’d probably try to treat this as a standard hostage situation by shutting down the hospital elevator system and trying to localize the problem on a single floor before attempting any kind of negotiation, SWAT team action, or rescue maneuver. But Ali already knew this was no ordinary hostage event. Jason Gustavson wasn’t interested in hostages. He was a spree killer out shopping for victims-the more the better.
“Why?” Ali asked. “Why are you doing this?”
“Because I’m sick and tired of having human scum tell me what to do,” he explained. “Gustavsons aren’t raised to take orders or to have lowlifes like that jerk in the store bossing me around. Do you know who I am? Do you have any idea who my father is?”
Somewhere in the background the hospital PA system crackled to life with a series of incomprehensibly coded announcements. Ali’s phone continued to ring intermittently-stopping now and then only to resume seconds later. And there were other phones ringing as well, landline phones in the waiting room and at the nurses’ station. But those sounds might just as well have been coming from a distant planet. Shutting them all out, Ali remained focused on Jason Gustavson-and on his gun.
“I have no idea who your father is,” she returned coldly. “And I don’t care. What I do know is that there are innocent people on this floor-doctors, nurses, patients, and visitors. They’ve done nothing to you, Jason. They don’t deserve to die.”
The fact that she knew his name seemed to startle him. “And who’s going to stop me?” he asked after a short pause. “You?”
“If she doesn’t, then I will,” a male voice said from behind Ali.
Without turning to look Ali knew at once that the man who had been watching the muted TV news-the man whose son was about to be taken off life support-had heard the uproar out in the hallway and had come to Ali’s aid.
“This man’s a killer,” she announced matter-of-factly to her newly arrived ally. “Two of the people in the waiting room and one of the patients in the ICU witnessed what he did. That’s why he’s here-he came after them.” Then to Jason she added, “I’ve called the police. They’re already on their way. You won’t get away with this.”
“You don’t get it, do you?” he returned. “I don’t
“My son’s in there,” the older man said quietly but firmly. “The only way you’re getting inside the ICU is through me.”
Jason laughed, stood up, and shoved the wheelchair out of the way. He had used it as a prop to give him credibility inside the hospital hallways. Now it was no longer needed. The visitor badge clipped to his shirt said he was visiting Kip Hogan, 3rd floor, ICU.
“Oh, really?” Jason returned, waving the gun menacingly. “Hey, old man. I don’t give a rat’s ass about you or your son, but if you want to die a hero, that’s up to you.”
Jason was no longer paying any attention to Ali. Dismissing her as a possible threat, he was focused instead on the man behind her, trying to assess what he might or might not do. In typical male fashion, it didn’t occur to him that Ali, too, might be armed and dangerous. All she needed was a chance to unholster her weapon.
Ali stepped aside and turned to face her would-be rescuer. He wasn’t a particularly impressive specimen. About her father’s age or maybe a little older, he was sallow-faced, paunchy, and visibly out of shape. His thin, sandy, comb-over hair was standing straight up. But out of shape or not, he stood there in the hallway, calm and determined, helping Ali face down an armed assailant. It took only a second or two for Ali to realize that his presence offered the momentary diversion she needed.
“I said get going,” Jason growled.
Keeping her left hand out of sight, Ali made a slight movement with her fingers, hoping to let her ad hoc partner know that she needed to pass in front of him. She couldn’t be sure if he understood or not, but he nodded slightly.
“All right,” Ali said. “I’m going.”
She ducked into the waiting room. As soon as she was inside, she stationed herself behind the wall just inside the doorway and managed to extract her Glock from its holster.
Ali had expected to find the waiting room full of people, but to her astonishment and immense relief the place was empty. Completely empty. The glass partition into the nurses’ station was blacked out, blocked by something Ali would later learn was a mattress. Windows in the swinging doors that led into the ICU itself were also darkened, as though someone had lowered a set of shutters. With any luck they were barricaded as well.
The wave of gratitude Ali felt was almost overwhelming, but she couldn’t afford to give in to it; couldn’t afford to let down her guard. With the gun clutched tightly in a two-handed grip, she stood just out of sight, holding her breath and waiting to see what would happen.
Again she became aware of the cacophony of sound. Her cell phone was still ringing somewhere, but she was no longer holding her purse. The sound seemed to be coming from somewhere out in the hallway. A new announcement blared over the PA system. This one came in plain English rather than hospital Newspeak.
“Mr. Gustavson, we have you surrounded. Put down your weapon.”
Whatever Jason Gustavson had in mind, he had no intention of it happening in the hallway. Ali heard the
