‘‘Oh, okay, boss, got it. Thanks, thanks a lot…’’
Roger Collier, the trained negotiator, came hurrying over. He had a problem, which he had taken to Al, who referred him to me. Hmmm.
‘‘Anyway,’’ said Roger, ‘‘Herman wants to talk to the media.’’
‘‘He does? What about?’’
‘‘He wants to give them his side. He says we’re gonna sneak in and murder him for defending his property, and he wants the outside world to know what’s happening before we do that.’’
‘‘How nice.’’ I shook my head. ‘‘I dunno…’’
‘‘Well, he’s progressing, so to speak. Lots of guilt building in him by now. I’d definitely say we were at the ‘dismay and disappointment’ stage.’’ Roger looked really hopeful. ‘‘Throw in that hopeless feeling he’s going to get after he talks to the media, and there’s nothing left…’’
I looked around. ‘‘Where does he want to do the interview? We don’t really have a place, but if we can get him past the fence.. .’’
‘‘Oh, no,’’ said Roger. ‘‘He wants to do it in the house.’’
‘‘No.’’
‘‘Don’t say that, not yet. Just give it a second. This could be a break for all of us.’’
‘‘I don’t want a hostage.’’
‘‘That’d be the dumbest thing he could do,’’ said Roger.
‘‘He ain’t been overly bright so far,’’ I answered. ‘‘What makes you think he’s gonna start now?’’
‘‘So you want me to tell him we won’t allow it?’’
Damn. I had no idea what to do. I hate that. Well, when all else fails, be an administrator.
‘‘You’re recommending this… as our negotiator?’’
He looked a little surprised. ‘‘Yes.’’
‘‘Yeah, all right.’’ I thought for a second. ‘‘I just don’t want to have a news team in there. Cameraman and reporter. Lights. That’s a little too much, don’t you think?’’
‘‘Oh, he doesn’t want TV,’’ said Roger. ‘‘He wants newspaper.’’
‘‘Newspaper?’’ I couldn’t believe it.
‘‘He doesn’t trust TV. Says the Feds alter the signal, put in subliminal messages.’’ Roger shrugged. ‘‘Some people are like that.’’
I shook my head. ‘‘Okay.’’ I thought for a second. ‘‘This isn’t a manifesto sort of thing is it? I meant, not just a bunch of bullshit from a crazy?’’
Roger grinned. ‘‘No guarantees.’’
‘‘We can explain to him that it’s the decision of the press as to what they print?’’
‘‘Yeah. We might not want to do that, it might scare him off. But they could do it, and give him a lot better reasons than we could.’’ Roger shrugged. ‘‘You make the call.’’
‘‘What do you think, Roger? Will this soften him up?’’
‘‘Let me just say this… he’s scared. He’s really screwed the pooch on this, and he knows it. All we have to do is just wait for it all to sink in, and for him to realize that he’s just digging a deeper hole for himself.’’ He shrugged. ‘‘We just don’t want to let him dig too long, we want to have him reach that little conclusion as soon as possible. We don’t want to be here forever, or it gets to be a real game.’’
‘‘But, I mean, it’s harmless, isn’t it? But something he wants to do?’’ I asked.
‘‘Well, he sure wants to do it.’’
‘‘Cool,’’ I said. ‘‘Then let’s let him.’’
‘‘Any conditions? I mean, at some point, he’s going to be very, very ripe. If we get him to that point, and then prolong it, we lose the moment. So how about a time limit?’’
‘‘For the interview?’’
‘‘Yeah. That would be good.’’
‘‘Sure,’’ I said. ‘‘An hour good for you?’’
‘‘Fine. You have any questions I can help with?’’
‘‘What’s to ask? As far as I can tell, the only thing we have to do is to get an intrepid soul to go in and talk with him.’’ I thought again. ‘‘Does he want pictures?’’
‘‘He didn’t really say,’’ said Roger.
‘‘Well, shit, Roger. Go ask him.’’
About fifteen minutes later, Al, Roger, Hester, George, and I were all talking with Nancy Mitchell and Philip Rumsford of the Des Moines Register. They had been, as usual, rather surprised that we actually wanted to talk to them.
‘‘Now wait a minute,’’ said Mitchell. ‘‘We don’t take anything in we don’t normally take. Like bugs.’’
‘‘No, no,’’ I said. ‘‘We aren’t asking that you do anything like that.’’
‘‘He just wants to talk with print media, and you’re just sending us in?’’
‘‘That’s right. We just want to give him a bit of what he wants, and see if it’ll put him in a better mood to come out. Peacefully.’’ I saw her writing that down, and hoped she got it right. ‘‘Underline ‘peacefully,’ would you?’’
Nancy Mitchell was not susceptible to charm. At least, not the charm of a cop at a crime scene who she suspected was trying to use her.
‘‘We’re going to need ground rules here,’’ she said. ‘‘I want to understand this thing just a bit better before I go in there.’’
‘‘Sure.’’ I reached back to the table and got two cans of ice-cold pop. ‘‘Here, drink these and I’ll tell you exactly what I want.’’
My charm she could hold off. On a terribly hot, humid day, however, cold pop had an irresistible charm of its own. We all sat under a tree, and took notes of what each other said. Slowly becoming more relaxed. Sipping cold pop, and munching on our sandwiches. Yeah, sandwiches. I’d grabbed a fourth.
‘‘What I want is this,’’ I said. ‘‘You go in, and you do your story any way you want. Print whatever you decide to. But,’’ I said, taking a bite of sandwich, ‘‘tewo uss fisrnd.’’ I swallowed. ‘‘I mean, tell us first. What he’s said.’’
‘‘Well…’’
‘‘How can that be a problem?’’
‘‘It isn’t really,’’ said Nancy. She took a long drink of her pop. ‘‘Just in general, or do you want a blow-by- blow?’’
‘‘If he’s in a manifesto mood,’’ I said, ‘‘just say that. But any details of what he thinks about this situation, who he blames, that sort of thing…’’
‘‘I can handle that,’’ she said.
‘‘Okay. And if you get into the house, and I think you will, I want a description of who and what’s inside.’’
‘‘Oh?’’ She took another swig of pop. ‘‘Like, what kind of stuff?’’
‘‘Oh, like if there are any booby traps, how many people, if they’re all armed. That sort of thing.’’
‘‘Hey,’’ she said, ‘‘we’re not ‘Force Recon’ here.’’
‘‘Force Recon? What are you, an ex-marine?’’
She actually laughed at that. ‘‘No. I had a boyfriend who was.’’
‘‘Oh.’’ I thought for a second. ‘‘Well, that’s not what we’re asking.’’ I grinned at her. ‘‘Just so you don’t think you have to paint your face green. Just information that’ll keep anybody from getting killed. Is that out of the question?’’
She hesitated.
‘‘We really want him to realize that we’re not going to get bored and go away. He’s really messed up here, and he’s going to have to answer for it. No question about that.’’ I looked her straight in the eye. ‘‘I just don’t want to have to start shooting again.’’
She still hesitated. ‘‘I understand that. But I’m not a negotiator.’’
‘‘Sure. I know that. Look, do you just want me to send someone else?’’ I asked. My trump card.
‘‘Like, who did you have in mind?’’ she asked. ‘‘Him, for instance?’’ She pointed back toward the press area, or ‘‘corral’’ as the cops called it. There were several press types, dressed for the occasion mostly in blue jeans,
