Takeover

spoke among themselves. Perhaps they had larger concerns.

Bobby’s voice rose enough for them to hear: “Brian said-” Theresa wondered who that might be.

“Had Cherise always worked in Savings Bonds?” She intended the question for Brad, but Jessica answered.

“No, before that she was an administrative assistant to the vice president for public relations. She worked up in the fancy offices on the ninth floor.”

“How’d she get to be a teller?” Brad asked, his voice tinged with curiosity despite the circumstances. “Quite a switch from an admin assistant.”

“She was too outspoken, I guess. She wouldn’t call a mule a horse even for a sack of gold.”

“She sounds like a handful.” Theresa felt angry all over again that such a vital woman had been snuffed out so carelessly.

“Top dogs don’t care for that,” Brad groused. “You should see how they live up there-Karastan rugs, bone china coffee sets.”

“Our tax dollars at work, huh?”

“It belongs to the building,” Jessica clarified. “This is a historic landmark.”

“Of course.” Theresa had no interest in debating the ethics of executive perks. She cared only that the sound of their soft voices had made Ethan’s eyes close, and he dozed against his mother. She also wanted to know why Cherise had died, but no detail so far could explain that.

“Landmark, my ass,” Brad went on. “The first vice president’s Picasso and his original Monet sketch and the Egyptian cartouche are all in storage on eight because he had to have new carpeting. The stuff being replaced was only a year and a half old.”

“There’s a firm line between the townies and the po’ folk here,” Jessica agreed.

“The vice pres for research isn’t as showy,” Brad admitted.

Jessica sniffed. “But his taste runs more to Thomas Kinkade.”

Theresa interrupted the watercooler talk. “Did Cherise resent that? Moving to Savings Bonds?”

“No, she liked it. She said it was real work, where she could see a result instead of a pile of useless memos designed to stroke her boss’s ego. Cherise was sort of a Communist.”

“Did she have any worries on her mind lately? Here at work, or in her personal life?”

“No. Her last boyfriend broke up with her just before I came, but she figured that was just as well… Why?” Jessica turned from the robbers long enough to stare at Theresa. “You think she knew about this?”

“No, I don’t… I’m just trying to figure out why she’s dead, her in particular.”

“Knowing Cherise,” Jessica said, sighing, “she probably refused to give him the money.”

“And it wasn’t even hers.” Brad shifted his legs, rubbing one knee.

“That’s what Lucas said,” Theresa told them. “But I don’t believe him, not the way he told it to me.”

Jessica brushed some dark flakes off her pants onto the marble tile. Ethan woke up enough to play with them, pushing the specks around to create a pattern. “What do you mean?”

“When he described robbing the teller cages, he spoke in the past tense. That’s consistent with describing an event from memory. But when he spoke about shooting her, he switched to present tense and said, ‘She waves the screwdriver’ around and ‘She starts to argue.’ That’s more consistent with a fabrication.”

Jessica patted her little boy’s back, furrows between her eyebrows. “Always?”

“Almost always. Especially when there’s a change in tense for only part of a story. The part that stands out is most likely untrue.”

“Wow.”

“It’s called forensic linguistics, analyzing the probable truth of people’s statements from the words they use.”

“But if you think he’s lying, does that mean someone else killed her?”

“No one else could have. I think he’s lying about why.”

They broke off as Lucas returned. Bobby stayed in the back, as usual.

“This is how it’s going to work, people. Listen up.” With his brisk manner, he could have been one of the SRT commanders. “Theresa’s going to wait at the door. The Fed cops will form a line outside to pass you the money, which you’re going to hand off to Brad and him to Missy and my roomy duffel bag. I will have Jessie and Ethan between me and them. If they try to come in, Bobby and I can shoot a bunch of you first. If they throw in tear gas, knockout gas, a smoke bomb, or put same in the bundles of cash, Bobby and I can shoot all of you before we’re incapacitated. If they try to pull one or two out, Bobby and I can shoot the rest of you. Do you understand that?”

No one nodded or spoke, but he did not press them.

“And though I know you all deserve a tip for your hard work today, no skimming. Don’t let a few bundles get pocketed before they make it to the end of the line. And you, Theresa.”

She felt as if a spotlight had picked her out in a dark room, blinding her with a sudden glare.

“You’re going to be my front man. My sights will be on you the whole time. If you go through that door and keep going, I’ll kill half the people in this room, starting with the security guards. I figure I can count on you, since you stood up for little Ethan there. Am I right?”

She nodded her head to confirm it. He had spared Paul, so perhaps he did not prefer to kill, but she had no doubt that Lucas would do so whenever he thought it prudent. The sight of Cherise’s body had taught her that.

The phone rang, piercing the stillness of the warm air. “That must be your buddy Chris.”

24

1:35 P.M.

Across the street Patrick told Chris Cavanaugh everything he’d learned from Jack Cornell. The hostage negotiator listened. He did not mention Patrick’s earlier agitation or express any relief at Patrick’s current calm. He did ask about Paul.

“The doctor seems to think he’s going to die.”

Cavanaugh said, “You don’t have to stay here, you know. You can leave someone here in your place if you’d rather be at the hospital.”

Diplomatic as hell, Patrick thought. Cavanaugh knew he didn’t have to be there at all-Patrick was a flippin’ Homicide detective, not an SRT member, and surely the negotiator could work better without his emotions taking up space in the room. Yet he didn’t say that, nor even imply it.

Still, Patrick felt grateful. “No. Selfish, maybe, but I couldn’t stand sitting there next to a guy who’s out cold, without any idea what’s going on here. You talked to Parrish’s sister?”

“Yeah. She’s not in North Carolina anymore. She went army, too, and is stationed out in New Mexico. She hasn’t seen her brother in five years; they write each other at Christmas, that’s about it. No surprises in the family history. Mom was a schoolteacher, Dad knocked her and the kids around regularly and then took off on Lucas’s fourteenth birthday.”

“Great guy. And this was in Atlanta?”

“Outside Columbia, South Carolina.” Cavanaugh’s pager made a buzzing sound.

Patrick waited while Cavanaugh took his phone call. After Cavanaugh’s quick discussion of foreign rights and hardback editions, Patrick asked him, “What’s his plan for getting away? He must have a plan.”

“Oh, yeah. Every vibe from this guy says he has a plan. Unfortunately, he’s really good at keeping it to himself. I need another phone conversation before this shipment exchange happens. If he’ll talk about his ideas for a getaway, I can make him see how unrealistic they are.”

“Look, something else keeps sticking out. Bobby seems to believe that his brother is dead.”

“He could mean dead to him. Didn’t the brother turn him in?”

“Yeah, but I don’t know if Bobby knows that.” Patrick patted his shirt pocket but didn’t bother to remove the