“All right,” she went on. “But what about this? What if your sniper misses?”
Eules offered her a disapproving glance. “My men
Helen shrugged, still watching the scene in her binoculars.
“What’s the problem, Captain?” Eules asked.
“No problem. I’ve never done a barricade situation before. I’m just wondering if some other scenario should be considered. Do you really have to kill this guy to terminate the situation?”
Eules lowered his binoculars. “I’d appreciate your input. You got a better solution?”
Helen watched further, watched the guy strut, laughing, pressing the knife to the crying woman’s throat. His other hand, then, came around her front, mauled her breasts and molested her pubis.
“Kill him,” Helen said.
“Dial me up,” Eules instructed the suit. “It’s time Uncle Eules had a talk with Mr. Scumbag. Put me on intercom.”
A rudely loud ringing was heard. Helen watched the perpetrator turn, then pick up the phone in the woman’s apartment.
“Yeah?” she heard over the intercom.
Eules, also a trained hostage negotiator, talked aloud, peering into his field glasses. “My name is Special Agent Eules; I’m with the F.B.I. Let’s talk a deal.”
“No deals, fuckface. I want safe passage out of here, or I cut this dizzy bitch’s head off and throw it at ya. I want a fuckin’ armored car here in twenty minutes, to take me to Canada.”
“That’s a long haul, man,” Eules said over the open line.
“I don’t give a shit. You do it or I start cutting.”
“Listen, pal. All you did was knock over a bunch of banks. You never hurt anyone. I’ll get you off easy if you drop your shit.”
“I hit some of your pigs, so don’t bullshit me!”
“They were wearing vests, man. You didn’t even muss their hair. We take you down our way, you’ll get twenty years max, parole in six or seven probably.”
“Open your ears, jackass! I ain’t going to the fucking can!”
“You drop the shank,” Eules continued, “let the woman go, and walk out of there with your hands up, and I guarantee you you won’t be shot. I’ll drop the assaulting-federal-officers charges, and I’ll even guarantee you don’t do more than five years. Keep your act clean, and you’ll be out in three on GB. You can do five years standing on your head.”
Helen watched. The perp seemed to consider this, and Helen was impressed by Eules’s resolve. At least he was giving it a shot.
Eules waved a finger, a flag for one of the suits to cut off the intercom. Then Eules told the sniper, “Watch for your mark. Tell me when you’ve got a good laser bead. It’s gotta be a head shot.”
The sniper stood still as a granite statue. Helen watched at the same time, and noticed the tiny red laser dot high right on the perp’s chest. It began to raise.
“Fuck you!” the perp bellowed back. “You’re bullshitting and you know it. I’m gonna cut this bitch’s head off if you don’t—”
“Got it,” the sniper said.
“Take your target.”
It was like no gunshot she’d ever heard, more akin to a large door slamming. Nevertheless, the sonic distraction did not take Helen’s eyes away from the binoculars.
“Target down,” the sniper calmly replied.
But it had been something slower than a dream. Helen watched the whole thing. She saw the perp standing there waving the knife as he bellowed his objections into the phone. She saw the laser dot staying high on his forehead. Then came the report.
The perp’s hand opened before he fell backward, just as Eules had cited. The woman ran away. The perp fell to the ground faster than a demolitioned building.
“All units,” Eules barked into a Motorola radio. “Target is
Out of nowhere, then, probably fifty cops rushed the building in the throbbing light. At the same time, unseen F.B.I. rappellers dropped off the side of the building and flew feet first into the apartment’s front room.
Eules watched intently until he heard a radio break: “Team Leader to Gunpost One. Perimeter secure. The target is dead. The hostage is okay.”
Eules set down his mike and popped a stick of gum in his mouth. He winked at Helen. “All in a day’s work, huh?”
Helen gulped. “I’m impressed.”
««—»»
“It’s good to see you,” Tom said.
Helen faltered hard. What could she think of him now? The hostage thing had been only a postponement of what she knew she must do. Go to him. Talk to him.
Tom frowned, snapping on surgical gloves over the corpse.
“Can you give me a C.O.D.?”
“What?” he objected. “Right now? Of course not. You ever hear of a post-mortem? I’ve got to do one of those first. Give me four hours.”
The body of Tredell W. Rosser, Columbus County Detent #255391, looked asleep on the guttered, tilt-lift morgue platform. Even in death, his skin shined dark as oiled obsidian.
“This guy was only a kid—twenty-five years old,” Tom said. “Can you believe it?”
Helen said nothing. She averted her eyes not only from the flawless corpse but from Tom too. Still, after all her ponderings, she had yet to decide what she thought of Tom.
He checked a cache of autopsy scalpels in the autoclave. “You know, there’s all kind of great rumors about this guy. They say he was a Ganser, faking religious delusions.”
“He probably was,” Helen’s words grated. “According to an array of psychiatrists, Rosser was indeed faking his delusion in order to bid for a transfer to the state hospital.”
“You believe that?” Tom’s face inclined from the ‘clave, an expression if absurdity.
“Yes, Tom, I do.”
“So I guess that means you believe the rest of it, huh?’
“The rest of what?”
Another coked brow. “The rest of the rumors.”
“I don’t care about rumors, Tom,” Helen lied. She had to get on with it, and get out of here. “All I care about is the verified cause of death. Is Beck on duty now?”
“This late? No, she’s on call.”
“Then call her down here to do the tox screen.”
Tom gaped at her. “Helen,
Of course he’d say that, because it was true.
Tom leveled a gaze. “I
“Fine. It’s only midnight. Jan only works sixteen hours a day; I’m sure she won’t have any problem with me
