“Absolutely.”
Nick hung up. Even if Carina was in the middle of securing the scene, why wouldn’t she have responded to her partner? And she would have told Nick what she was doing, even with just a quick text message.
What Nick loved about Carina was also what worried him—she was good at her job, she loved her job, but she took risks every day. That was part of being a good cop. She never told someone else to handle a situation; she did it herself. People like him and his wife, if shots were fired, they went toward the conflict, not away.
Nick didn’t regret leaving the sheriff’s department in Montana to move to San Diego and become a private investigator with his brother-in-law, but right now, he wished he was a cop again.
From his bed, the colonel said, “She’s fine, son.”
“Of course she is,” Nick said. The last thing the colonel needed was to be worried about his daughter.
“Go,” the colonel said. “You don’t need to babysit me. I sent Connor home; I’m sending you to find Carina.”
Nick stood by the door and looked out through the narrow window. The hallway was deserted. He could see people in other rooms doing what he was doing. Guarding the door of their loved ones.
His phone rang. Immediately, he thought it was Carina—then caller ID showed it was Will.
“Nick, Tom Blade’s team is staging outside the north entrance of the hospital. Head down there. Tom is expecting you.”
Tom was the head of SWAT for the city and Nick’s closest friend. “What’s happening?”
“I don’t know,” Will said.
“Don’t lie to me, Hooper.”
“I don’t have a full report, I’m not telling you anything because I don’t know anything, okay? All I know for certain is someone identifying herself as Carina called security from the north tower basement.”
“Before or after the gunshots?”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you know?” Nick said in a rare burst of anger. He stopped himself. “I’ll be there.” He hung up and turned to Carina’s father. “Dad,” he said, “I’m going to check in with Will and SWAT. If you need me, call.”
“Go, son.”
Nick walked down the empty corridor. He was confronted by security at the elevator. “Sir, please go back into your room until we get the all clear.”
Nick showed his ID and, even though it meant nothing, his PI badge. He did it fast enough and with enough confidence that the security guard didn’t blink. “I’ve been called to check in with SWAT at the north entrance. What is the best way to get there from here?”
“We’ve sealed off that wing. Use the stairs, go to the first floor and talk to security. SDPD is on scene.”
Nick went down the staircase. It took him five minutes and two more calls before he was waved through to SWAT. Tom’s team was gearing up. Tom glanced at Nick and hesitated. Just a fraction, but Nick knew Carina was in trouble.
“Hooper said Carina called from the basement. Is that where the shooter is?”
“Yes. She identified herself when she spoke to security. We have two witnesses, hostages that were released, who said a woman matching Carina’s description is one of four hostages in the morgue. That’s all I have right now. One of the released hostages was shot in the leg and is now in surgery, the other is being interviewed.”
Nick’s chest tightened. “Who’s the shooter?”
“Charles Peterson. The ID is not confirmed. The witness thinks he’s the brother of a cancer patient who died two days ago. We’re on it, Nick. I’m telling you all this because we’re friends and you were a cop. Don’t do anything foolish. I’ll take care of Carina, I promise.”
“You know me better than that.”
“And I know that when the woman you love is in danger, reason sometimes goes out the window. You can stay here, at the command center. If you leave, you will be on the other side of that line.” He gestured toward the barrier that was being erected by uniformed officers.
He nodded once. “Keep me in the loop, Tom.”
His phone vibrated. It was Lucy. What was he going to tell her?
“It’s Nick,” he answered.
“Nick, it’s Lucy. We just landed and I got Carina’s message about Dad, is he okay?”
“They have him resting, and I don’t know what the plan is, but his color is back and they’re running tests.”
“I tried Carina and Connor, and neither of them are answering, and then I called Mom, and she was crying—I thought he’d died.” Her voice hitched.
“Lucy, your dad is going to be okay.” Nick hoped. “We have another situation.”
“What?”
He had to tell her. She would be coming here anyway; she would find out soon enough.
“There was a shooting at the hospital. Carina has been taken hostage.”
CHAPTER 26
Carina wished her brother Dillon was here. Dillon was a forensic shrink; he understood the twisted minds of people like Charlie Peterson. He’d know what Charlie really wanted even if the shooter wasn’t sure himself about his plans.
Carina wouldn’t want to see her loved ones’ bodies after they died. Sitting by Patrick’s bed while he’d been in a coma had been a living hell; if he’d died—she wouldn’t have had to see the body to know the truth.
But maybe a soldier like Charlie did.
She glanced at Kristan who’d frozen in place, a deer-in-the-headlights gaze locked on Carina.
“Charlie, you don’t want to see her like this,” Carina said.
On the one hand, Carina understood the need for answers, the need to comprehend why something so unnecessary had had to happen. She’d lost people she cared about, and there was never a good reason. Seeing his sister’s body might give him the peace of mind he required to get them all out of here before anyone was killed.
On the other hand, seeing his sister cold and dead might send him on a suicidal path where they would all end up on a slab.
The phone was ringing. Charlie ignored it.
“You should answer it.”
“Not now. Not until I see my sister.”
“The police want to know that everyone is okay,” Carina said. “You need to give them something, so no one dies.”
Charlie said, “They wouldn’t let me see her. By the time I got my leave, she was gone, and down here in the morgue, and they wouldn’t let me see her. I don’t believe the cancer killed her. Or a reaction to drugs. She was fine when I spoke to her an hour before she died. She told me she’d be home by Christmas, but if she wasn’t, we were going to spend it here. She sent me to buy presents for the kids who wouldn’t be able to go home.” His voice trailed off, then he steeled himself and looked at Carina. “They said they aren’t going to do an autopsy because she was under a doctor’s care.”
“You’re family,” Carina said. “You can request an autopsy.”
He shook his head. “They said I’d have to pay for it because the doctor signed off on the cause of death. But it’s not right. Something happened to Sarah and they’re covering it up.” He gestured to the three RNs.
“They just work here. They probably never even met your sister.”
He shook his head. “All three of them were on duty on her floor the night she died. I’m not cruel, I don’t want to hurt anyone who isn’t responsible. Her doctor wasn’t even in the hospital when she died, so how would he know how she died? Even he said that Sarah was just having a mild reaction to new medication and after being rehydrated and adjusting the dose she would be fine. I know doctors. If they thought there was even a small chance that something would go wrong, they wouldn’t tell me she would be fine. They’d say, ‘You know how these things are,’ or, ‘It’s too early to tell.’ Not ‘She’s having a mild reaction to the medication but she’ll be fine.’”
That was the same as Carina’s experience. Yet, doctors made mistakes. They were also busy. And if the doctor wasn’t present when Sarah died, then maybe something had
happened during the time between when Charlie checked and Sarah passed.
“There’s no reason for any of these people to hurt Sarah. They were her caregivers.”
“No one needs a reason to hurt people, it happens all the time,” Charlie said. “And hospitals make mistakes. They screw up. One of these people is covering up something, and I will prove it.”
“You don’t know—”
“I do know!”
Carina couldn’t lose this tenuous bond she had with Charlie. The best way to resolve the situation would be to keep him talking until he agreed to let the hostages go.
The phone started ringing again. Again, Charlie ignored it.
He gestured to Kristan. “Open her drawer now.” He then said to Carina, “Stop talking.”
Charlie motioned for Kristan to stand. Kristan looked at Carina, as if she wanted a second opinion.
“Go ahead, Kristan,” Carina said. “He wants to see his sister.”
Kristan slowly stood up. She said to Charlie, not looking him in the eye, “I … I need to see the chart on the desk. I don’t know which drawer.”
He nodded, keeping an eye on her.
There were sixteen drawers, eight across and two high. According to the chart, Sarah Peterson was in number 8, in the bottom corner.
Kristan walked over, then looked at Charlie again. “Are you sure?”
“Open the drawer.”
Kristan did and then went back to sit with Brian and Rena. They were all watching Charlie, but trying not to be obvious.
Carina didn’t care if she was obvious. She needed to keep an eye on him. If things went south, she had to act.
Charlie squatted next to his sister and stared. He didn’t say anything; he didn’t touch her. He just looked at her, unblinking.
Carina took that moment, when she was in his peripheral vision, to retrieve her cell phone from her pocket. She had one hand free, which had helped, but she still took care not to make a sound. She didn’t have time to think, so sent a message to the last person who’d texted her, Nick.
Charlie Peterson, Army, sister Sarah deceased on 22nd. Minimum 2 guns. No fatalities, 1 injury. Explosives set at door.
She hit Send, needing to get that message out. She hoped it went, because she had one bar that fluttered in and out. Then she sent a second message.
I love you.
She slid her phone back in her front pocket. One of the hostages, Rena, had been watching her. Carina didn’t give any indication that she’d done anything. No sense tipping off Charlie that he hadn’t searched her.
Charlie’s face was unreadable and he appeared as frozen as the corpse in front of him. Carina didn’t know if that was good or bad. She could only see his profile.
He squatted there for a good ten minutes before he pushed the drawer back in with finality. Kristan stifled a scream. Charlie walked over to Carina, reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone. He read her message to Nick.
“Who’s Nick?”
“My husband.”
“Cop?”
“No.”
“Doctor? What does he do?”
“He’s a private investigator.”
“He sent you a message. Tom’s in charge, Will’s here, Lucy and Dillon on their way. Hold tight.” Charlie looked at Carina. “Who’s Tom? Your partner?”
“Will’s my partner. Tom is probably Tom Blade, SWAT team leader. He and Nick are friends.” Carina knew enough about hostage negotiation to keep him talking, make it personal, but she wasn’t trained in this. She was an investigator, not a psychologist.
“Lucy and Dillon? More cops?”
“My brother and sister.”
“Special forces?”
“No. That’s Jack. Dillon is a forensic psychiatrist.”
“How many siblings do you have?”
“Two sisters and four brothers.”
Charlie glanced at the drawer where Sarah lay. “I only had Sarah.”
“You loved her.”
“When I was in Iraq, she sent a care package every week. Every damn week, without fail. She was a teacher—third grade. She included pictures from the kids. She sent Oreos, because they were my favorite cookies when we were little. Letters telling me what she was doing, what her students were doing, her neighbors, my friends from high school. Normal stuff. She never forgot. Sometimes mail was delayed and I’d get four or five packages at once. She sent books—hundreds of books—that she bought at library sales. There were days—weeks—when we were bored out of our minds. The books helped.
“Then I was on base for a year, and we had dinner every week instead of exchanging letters. Our dad left when we were little, our mom died when Sarah was in college. I was already in the army. And now—she’s gone, for no reason.”
“She wouldn’t want you to—”
“What’s your sister like?”
“Lucy? I haven’t seen her in nearly two years. She seems to be doing well.”
“Why haven’t you seen her?”
He was almost accusing her of something.
“She lives on the East Coast.”
“That’s no excuse.”
“You’re right.”
“She’s younger?”
“Yeah—eleven years.”
“We’re supposed to take care of our younger sisters,” he said, though Carina didn’t think he was talking to her anymore.
“This wasn’t your fault, Charlie,” Carina said.
“I know.” He looked at the three nurses. “It’s one of theirs.”
Kristan was biting her nails. Rena had her head down. Brian was sweating.
Charlie said, “I want a private autopsy, right now, right here, where I can watch.”
“If you want a cause of death, I can get an autopsy done for you. But it’s not going to happen fast. There are tox screens they need to do, and it takes time to get the results from the lab.”
“They can rush it.”
“Charlie, if you let everyone go, I promise you, I’ll make sure there is a full and complete autopsy on your sister. I give you my word.” She doubted that it was as simple as that, but she could try. In the back of her mind, she knew that this was about more than an autopsy. There shouldn’t have been a problem getting one, even if a doctor signed off on the cause of death. If the family asked, it would be done. It was standard.
The phone started ringing again, and this time it didn’t stop. After a full minute Charlie walked over and answered.
“Yes, this is Sergeant Charlie Peterson. Everyone here is fine. Brian Glover, an RN, has a GSW to his lower calf, but the bleeding has stopped and he’ll be fine … No, I’m not going to release him. I already released two hostages, and that’s it … Just ask me about the explosives, I know Detective Kincaid already sent out the information … It’s a pressure-sensitive switch. I also have a detonator that I can and will use if I suspect you’re attempting to breach this room.”
Charlie looked around the room and settled on Carina. “My demands are simple. I want what you want. A peaceful resolution.”
Then he turned to the nurses. Carina didn’t know what he was thinking, but if he thought that one of them was responsible for his sister’s death, he wasn’t going to let them leave alive. That had to be the final play here—vengeance.
“I want an autopsy on my sister. There’s a reason I picked the morgue for this exercise. I want a medical examiner who doesn’t work for the county or the hospital. Someone independent.”
Carina had an idea. “Charlie,” she said.
He frowned, but told the negotiator to hold on. “You have something to say?” He sounded irritated.
“Lucy. My sister. She’s not an ME, but she’s a pathologist for the Washington, D.C., medical examiner’s office. She’s a trained criminologist. You can trust her.”
Carina didn’t really want to bring Lucy into the middle of a hostage situation, but Charlie didn’t know her background, that she was a criminal psychologist and a newly minted
FBI agent. That could help them get the upper hand. Better, Lucy had dealt with hostage situations before.
Charlie considered. He must have seen honesty in Carina’s expression, because he said into the phone, “Send down Lucy Kincaid, the pathologist. Have her wait outside the morgue. When I’m confident that no one is with her, that she is alone, I’ll bring her in. No weapons, no tricks. Have a lab ready to run tests. If everyone does what they’re supposed to do, this will be over before midnight and everyone will be home for Christmas.” He hung up.
“Everyone,” he continued, looking at the three nurses, “except the person who killed my sister.”
CHAPTER 27
As soon as Lucy arrived at the hospital, two San Diego uniformed officers ushered her, Sean, Dillon, and Kate to the SWAT staging center on the north side of the hospital complex. Nick was there with Carina’s partner, Will Hooper.
The scene around them was controlled chaos. There were two snipers at the top of the parking garage directly across from the north wing. Others were positioned at key locations outside each entrance. Lucy overheard that the entire north tower was being evacuated. Some of the patients were being moved to the south tower and main building, and others were being transferred to nearby hospitals.
Will immediately approached them. “I need Lucy,” he said. He gestured to Nick. “Fill them in.”
“Hold it,” Kate said. “What the hell’s going on? Why do you need Lucy?”
“Took the words right out of my mouth,” Sean muttered.
Will glanced at the group. “We don’t have a lot of time for a debriefing.”
Lucy said, “Whatever you need from us, you know we’ll help.”
Tom Blade, whom Lucy recognized, stepped out of the SWAT truck. “Is she here?”
“Yes,” Will said.
Tom sighed with obvious relief. “Great. Are you up to speed?”
“No,” Lucy said.
Tom assessed the assembled group, then said, “The shooter is Charles Peterson, career army. We’re still pulling his records, but I spoke to his commanding officer and he has a solid service record, multiple commendations, and a Purple Heart. A couple blemishes on his record for fighting, nothing out of the ordinary. His sister, his only family that we know about, died from cancer two days ago. We made contact with him fifteen minutes ago, but he broke it off after making his demands.”
Cold Snap Page 23
