“Who? Where do you work?”
“Since Doris died, I haven't been bringing my 'A Game.' That's understandable, isn't it?”
I raised my voice. “How did you get blood on your shirt, Paul?”
Paul glared at me, but his eyes were out of focus.
“When you shot those people, did they scream?” he asked.
I wasn't sure what he was after, so I stayed silent.
He grinned. “Doesn't it make you feel good when they scream?”
Now I got it. This guy wasn't just suicidal—he was homicidal as well. I took a step backward.
“Don't leave, Jack. I want you to see this. You should see this. I'm moving very slow, okay?”
He put his hand into his pocket. I cocked the hammer back on my Colt. Paul fished out something small and silver, and I was a hair's breadth away from shooting him.
“This is a detonator. I've got some explosives strapped to my chest. If you take another step away, if you yell, I'll blow both of us up. And the bomb is strong enough to kill a lot of people in the crowd. It's also wired to my heartbeat. I die, it goes off.”
I didn't know if I believed him or not. Explosives weren't easy to get, or to make. And rigging up a detonator—especially one that was hooked into your pulse—that was really hard, even if you could find the plans on the Internet. But Paul's eyes had just enough hint of psychosis in them that I stayed put.
“Do you doubt me, Jack? I see some doubt. I work at LarsiTech, out of the Prudential Building. We sell medical equipment. That's where I got the ECG electrode pads. It's also where I got the radioactive isotopes.”
My breath caught in my throat, and my gun became impossibly heavy. Paul must have noticed my reaction, because he smiled.
“The isotopes won't cause a nuclear explosion, Jack. The detonator is too small. But they will spread radioactivity for a pretty good distance. You've heard of dirty bombs, right? People won't die right away. They'll get sick. Hair will fall out. And teeth. Skin will slough off. Blindness. Leukemia. Nasty business. I figure I've got enough strapped to my waist to contaminate the whole block.”
All I could ask was, “Why?”
“Because I'm a bad person, Jack. Remember? Bad people do bad things.”
“Would Doris...approve...of this?”
“Doris didn't approve of anything. She judged. Judged every little thing I did. I half expected to be haunted by her ghost after I shot her, telling me how I could have done a better job.”
I didn't have any saliva left in my mouth, so my voice came out raspy.
“What happened today at LarsiTech?”
“A lot of people got what was coming to them. Bad people, Jack. Maybe they weren't all bad. I didn't know some of them well enough. But we all have bad in us. I'm sure they deserved it. Just like this crowd of people.”
He looked beyond me.
“Like that woman there, pointing at me. Looks nice enough. Probably has a family. I'm sure she's done some bad things. Maybe she hits her kids. Or she stuck her mom in a nursing home. Or cheats on her taxes. We all have bad in us.”
His Helter Skelter eyes swung back to me.
“What have you done that's bad, Jack?”
A cop's job was to take control of the situation, and somehow I'd lost that control.
“You're not thinking clearly, Paul. You're depressed. You need to put down the detonator and the gun.”
“You have five seconds to tell me something bad you've done, or I press the button.”
“I'll shoot you, Paul.”
“And then a lot of people will die, Jack. Five...”
“This isn't a game, Paul.”
“Four...”
“Don't make me do this.”
“Three...”
Was he bluffing? Did I have any options? My .38 pointed at his shoulder. If I shot him, it might get him to drop the detonator. Or it might kill him and then his bomb would explode. Or it might just piss him off and get him to turn his gun on me.
“Two...”
It came out in a spurt. “I cheated on my boyfriend with my ex husband.”
The corners of Paul's eyes crinkled up.
“Does your boyfriend know, Jack?”
“Yes.”
“He found out, or you told him?”
I recalled the pained expression on Latham's face. “I told him.”
“He forgave you?”
“Yes.”
Paul chewed his lower lip, looking like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
“Did it feel good to hurt him, Jack?”
“No.”
Paul seemed to drink this in.
“You must have known it would hurt him, but you did it anyway. So some part of you must not have minded hurting him.”
“I didn't want to hurt him. I just cared more about my needs than his.”
“You were being selfish.”
“Yes.”
“You were being bad.”
The word stuck like a chicken bone in my throat. “Yes.”
His thumb caressed the detonator, and he licked his lips.
“What's the difference between that and what I'm doing right now?”
The gun weighed a hundred pounds, and my arms were really starting to shake.
“I broke a man's heart. You're planning on killing a bunch of people. That's worse.”
Paul raised an eyebrow. “So I'm a worse person than you?”
I hesitated, then said, “Yes.”
“Do you want to shoot me?”
“No.”
“But I'm bad. I deserve it.”
“Bad things can be forgiven, Paul.”
“Do you think your boyfriend would forgive me if I killed you?”
I pictured Latham. His forgiveness was the best gift I'd ever gotten. It proved that love had no conditions. That mistakes weren't deal breakers.
I wanted to live to see Latham again.
Regain control, Jack. Demand proof.
“Show me the bomb,” I said to Paul. My tone was hard, professional. I wasn't going to neutralize the situation by talking. Paul was too far gone. When dealing with bullies, you have to push back or you won't gain their respect.
“No,” he said.
Louder, “Show me the bomb!”
At the word bomb a collective wail coursed through the crowd, and they began to stampede backward.
He began to shake, and his eyes became mean little slits. “What did I say about yelling, Jack?”
Paul's finger danced over the detonator button.
“You're bluffing.” I chanced a look around. The perimeter was widening.
“I'll prove I'm not bluffing by blowing up the whole—”
I got even closer, thrusting my chin at him, steadying my gun.
