Cop Town

by Karin Slaughter

  Maggie said, “Change it to—”

  Kate was already tuning in the restricted emergency channel.

  “Ten-ninety-nine.” Terry’s voice was clear as a bell. There was none of the panic from the day before. He sounded steely, resigned. “Ten-ninety-nine, shots fired at Howell Yard. Confirmed Shooter sighting.”

  “Howell Yard,” Gail said. “That’s the railroad tracks over near CT.”

  Maggie focused on Terry’s voice. He was too calm. There was no fear. No excitement. “He’s got Jimmy.”

  32

  Maggie swung the cruiser across town. The lights and siren were on, but as usual, no one cared. Cars stopped in the middle of the road. They sped up instead of getting out of the way. Maggie didn’t slow for them. She didn’t slow for anything—stop signs, red lights, crosswalks. She kept the gas pedal flat to the floor.

  “Maggie—” Kate had to shout to be heard over the siren. “Maggie, slow down.”

  Maggie swerved into the oncoming lane to pass a truck. A car was heading straight toward them. She yanked back the wheel at the last minute.

  “Maggie—”

  “I know my uncle, Kate.” Maggie’s throat hurt from yelling. Her palms were sweating. They kept slipping on the wheel. “I know his voice. He said he was going to give Jimmy a cop’s death. That’s what he’s doing.”

  “He wouldn’t get other people involved.”

  “That’s exactly what he’d do.” Maggie wiped her hands on her legs. “He said he was going to make it look like the Shooter. Give Jimmy a hero’s funeral. This is exactly how it would happen.”

  “Bus!” Kate screamed. “There’s a bus!”

  Maggie slammed on the brakes, banking to the left, sideswiping a Greyhound bus. Kate’s window exploded. She covered her head as chunks of safety glass rained down. The car rocked to a stop.

  “Kate?”

  She still had her arms over her head.

  “Kate?”

  Slowly, she lowered her arms. Maggie saw it sink in: she wasn’t cut into a million pieces, they weren’t going to die.

  Maggie hit the gas. The cruiser’s tires squealed, the car lurched, and they shot up the street.

  Kate shook chunks of glass out of her hair. She brushed it off her lap. She still didn’t give up. “I heard everything—what you and Gail were talking about. That all the victims bucked the system in some way.”

  Maggie steered into the oncoming lane again. The street was empty on that side. She passed six cars, then pulled the wheel back to the right.

  Kate said, “What if Terry is the Shooter?”

  Maggie looked at her, then looked back at the road.

  “He gave that whole speech in the garage about how liberals and minorities are ruining the world.”

  “You can hear that same speech in just about every squad room in the city.”

  “Terry was in the army, right?”

  “Marines.” Peachtree was straight ahead. Maggie kept her foot to the floor as the cruiser crested the intersection.

  “Shit.” Kate grabbed the dashboard.

  The wheels left the pavement.

  The cruiser bounced down the road. Maggie’s head hit the ceiling. She fought the steering wheel to keep the tires straight.

  Kate waited until she was back in control. “If Terry’s the Shooter, he could’ve taken Jimmy. This could be part of his plan. Take Jimmy and frame him for the crimes.”

  Maggie flew past another car. Then another.

  “He could’ve forced Jimmy to write the note. The end part—the apology. That could’ve been a code.” Kate’s voice got louder. “Maybe Jimmy was trying to send you a message.”

  Maggie couldn’t think about it. No matter if Kate was right or wrong, the only thing that mattered was stopping Terry before he killed Jimmy.

  They were nearing the Howell Wye. The factories gave way to overgrown lots. The cars in the street were missing wheels and engines. Broken glass cracked under the cruiser’s tires.

  Maggie heard the trains in the distance. The clack of their wheels, the rumble down the tracks. She slowed down so she wouldn’t miss the entrance. The gates to the abandoned yard were usually chained shut, but today they were wide open. Maggie took the turn down the long stretch of gravel road. About a hundred yards ahead were two office buildings, one on each side of the dead-end street, both five stories high. Each took up half a city block.

  The wye was two football fields away, but Maggie felt the heavy vibrations through the floor of the cruiser. The shaking got worse as they got closer. The steering wheel clattered. The rumbling trains spread an earthquake through the ground.

  The Howell rail yard had been a main artery until the Tilford and Inman yards merged a half mile up the tracks. The business end had moved upstream, too. Now the wye was nothing but a thoroughfare to the larger yards. The offices were no longer filled with workers. The parking spaces were overgrown with weeds. Maggie had been here on calls before. Every cop in her precinct ended up at the wye at least once a month. The looming buildings and relative remoteness offered cover for criminal enterprise. Drug deals. Violent bums. Dead hoboes. Stolen merchandise stashed in the abandoned offices. Girls dragged inside so the trains would mask their screams.

  Murders planned.

  Maggie stopped the car. There was no more going forward. At least twenty cops were already here. Their cruisers were scattered like pick-up sticks along the roadway. At the end of the long stretch was Terry. He was surrounded by a group of men. He was putting a team together. They were huddled together between the office buildings, soldiers planning their attack.

  She told Kate, “Stay here.”

  Maggie was out of the car and jogging up the street before Kate could object. Mack McKay rushed past two-handing a shotgun. Red Flemming followed with a rifle. She had watched enough training drills to know what was happening. They were setting up a perimeter so the suspect couldn’t escape. A helicopter hovered overhead. Bud Deacon was pulling barrier vests out of his trunk. Jett Elliott looked sober as a judge as he pocketed a handful of speedloaders.

  Kate ran up from behind. She was breathing hard, but she kept up. Her arms were bent. Her equipment was pounding into her hips and legs the same as Maggie’s. She looked left and right. Maggie did the same until they were a couple of yards from Terry. She slowed down so she could hear him.

  “There.” Terry pointed to the building on the left. “The shots came from the third floor. The Shooter’s still inside. We’ve got the back and sides covered. My team will take the front. Any one of you sees Jimmy, shoot to kill.” Terry banged the hood of the car with his hand. “Let’s go! Move it!”

  A dozen men streamed toward the building. There was no door to kick in. Once they were inside, they fanned out into two teams to sweep the building bottom to top. Three men stayed in the street, guns ready, in case the target ran out. Rick Anderson was one of them. His face was grave. He barely glanced her way.

  Terry screamed into the radio, “Dispatch, get these goddamn trains stopped.”

  Maggie said, “Terry.”

  He spun around. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

  Maggie’s revolver was in her hand. She couldn’t remember pulling it. She had to raise her voice to be heard over the trains. “I’m not going to let you kill him.”

  Terry wasn’t afraid of the gun. “You let your faggot brother get away and you pull your weapon on me?”

  Heads turned. Rick Anderson nearly dropped his shotgun.

  Terry said, “Jake Coffee’s dead. Shot just like the others.”

  Maggie looked at Rick. She could tell from his expression that what Terry had said was true. He was visibly stricken. She had never seen him in so much pain. “What happened?”

  Rick shook his head.

  “Tell her,” Terry ordered.

  Rick cleared his throat. He couldn’t meet Maggie’s gaze. “I was downtown pulling that rap sheet for you. Jake was patrolling on his own.” He didn’t say the words,
but the blame rose up like a shard of broken glass between them. “Chip heard Jake send an all clear on a possible loiter. Then he requested a twenty-nine, same as you found in the Shooter files. Chip came here to check it out and …”

  Rick wasn’t looking at the ground anymore. Maggie followed his line of sight. The body was in front of the building on the other side of the street. The sun bathed Jake Coffee in a gruesome light. He was lying on his stomach. His arms and legs were spread. His head was turned toward the street. A perfect black hole pierced the center of his forehead. His pants had been pulled down.

  All she could say was “No.”

  Terry took advantage of the distraction. He grabbed the gun out of Maggie’s hand.

  Before she could react, he slammed his fist into her face.

  Maggie hit the ground hard. Her lungs rattled. Gravel bit into her scalp. Her jaw felt loose. She tasted blood in her mouth.

  Terry tossed the revolver to Rick. He stood over Maggie. He raised his fist again.

  “Stop!” Kate swung her nightstick. The metal baton cracked against Terry’s head. He was dazed for half a second. Then he grabbed Kate by the front of her shirt. Her feet left the ground. He pulled back his fist.

  Then for no discernible reason, he let her go.

  Maggie saw Kate’s shoes gently touch the gravel. There wasn’t even a puff of dust.

  Terry went down on one knee. He reached for Kate. Maggie’s first thought was that the scene was something out of a movie, the guy kneeling in front of the girl as he asked her to marry him.

  But Terry wasn’t asking for anything. He looked down at his stomach. A large spot of blood flowered open across his white shirt.

  The trains were too loud. Maggie didn’t hear the gunshots. She saw them. Gravel spit up at her feet. Holes blistered the hood of the car. The three men in the street returned fire. They couldn’t pin down a target. Their shots went wild. Rick fired his shotgun into the air. Maggie didn’t want to be here when the lead came hurtling back down.

  She ran toward her revolver. A bullet zinged into the ground in front of her. Maggie turned back toward the front gates, but another bullet stopped her. Panic threatened to take hold. She didn’t have her gun. She couldn’t find cover. Kate was crouched down with her arms over her head. Men were yelling. Shots were coming from the teams inside the left-hand building. Confusion rained down with every bullet.

  “Kate!” Maggie screamed, running toward the building on the right.

  She knew Kate would follow. Maggie jumped over Jake Coffee’s body. She didn’t stop once they were inside. She ran through the first open doorway she could find. The room was compact, obviously a front office. Filing cabinets were laid on their sides. Paper littered the floor.

  Maggie hurtled through the room, Kate close on her heels. She ran through another open doorway. They were in the main part of the office building. The space was as large as an aircraft hangar. The ceiling was at least twenty feet high. The back wall was fifty feet away. The width of the room was twice that. Rusted metal trestles crisscrossed the air. Hundreds of desks were stacked two and three deep in the middle of the floor. Broken chairs and metal bookshelves lined the walls.

  Maggie pulled Kate behind an overturned desk. They pressed their backs against the top. They said nothing for the first twenty seconds. They were breathing too hard. Maggie’s heart was flipping in her chest. Her head was ringing. Her jaw still felt loose where Terry had punched her in the face.

  She looked down. Kate was holding her hand. Her radio was on. Gunfire from outside echoed through the speaker. Men were yelling at dispatch for help. The helicopter pilot was screaming about taking a hit. Maggie reached behind Kate’s back and turned off the transmitter.

  “Jake Coffee is dead,” Kate mumbled. “He’s dead. Terry’s dead. Anthony’s dead. Chic’s dead.”

  “It wasn’t Jimmy,” Maggie told her. She had never been more certain of anything in her life. “It wasn’t him.”

  Kate nodded. “I know.”

  Maggie squeezed her hand. There was a lull in the trains. The helicopter’s chopping blades started to recede. Shots were still being fired at the front of the building.

  They couldn’t hide here, not least of all because the men outside might need their help. Maggie looked around the room, desperate for a way out. There were massive windows along the walls. The sun splashed like water across the hardwood floors. The glass panes were broken. The metal frames were cut into squares that were too narrow for escape. And any one of them would offer a clear view for the Shooter if he decided to take out the two cops cowering behind an overturned desk. Their position in the vast, open space was almost worse than the street.

  “Over there.” Kate pointed to the back of the room.

  Maggie saw another stack of desks in the far right corner. There was a door beside them. Metal. No window. Rusted red hinges. Maggie had never been this far into the buildings. She didn’t know where the doorway would lead, or if someone was waiting for them on the other side.

  Kate startled like a cat. She crouched down lower. Her hand covered her head. “Did you hear that?” She was panting again. “I heard something. From the other office. From the front of the room.”

  Maggie reached for her revolver and found her empty holster. She had to use Kate’s gun again. She’d been issued a replacement yesterday. Cleaning oil covered the grip. The weapon had never been fired. Was the pin properly aligned? Were the sights true? Would the firing mechanism jam?

  There was no easy way to find out.

  Maggie tightened her hand around the revolver. She cocked the hammer. Her heart was beating so hard that she felt it inside her tongue. She had to make herself move. Quickly, she turned around and peered over the desk. She checked the doorway at the front of the room.

  Empty.

  Or maybe not.

  There was a shadow across the open doorway. The bright sunlight from the front office windows made the lines crisp. Was the shadow from a filing cabinet? A chair? Another overturned desk? Maggie stared at the shaded area so long that her vision blurred. She blinked her eyes to clear them.

  The shadow moved.

  Someone was on the other side of the door. He had his back to the wall. And then he didn’t. His shadow spread up the opposite wall as he pressed his shoulder to the doorjamb. There was something in his hand. Something long and skinny that looked a lot like a gun.

  Maggie stood up before her shaking legs made her slump down. Her heart beat up her neck and into her skull. Every instinct was telling her to hide, but she couldn’t give in to emotion right now.

  She walked quickly and quietly across the room. If the Shooter was behind the doorjamb, her only advantage was to be to his left rather than straight in front of him. She silently begged Kate to keep her head down, just as she silently begged whatever god was listening to not let either of them get shot in the face.

  Maggie heard her shoe squeak against a wooden floorboard.

  She stopped. How had she been able to hear that?

  The trains weren’t running. The floor had stopped vibrating. Someone had halted the rail traffic. The lack of rumble was almost deafening.

  Gunshot.

  Maggie ducked, but the sound had come from outside. Two seconds later, the shot was returned.

  Maggie came out of her crouch. She looked for the shadow behind the door. He was gone. Or maybe he had fired his gun at someone in the street.

  Behind her, Kate gasped.

  Maggie swung around. Chip Bixby stood a few feet away from Kate. He had a gun in his hand—a hogleg, an Old West–style six-shooter that could take off a man’s head at twenty paces. The gun was pointed toward the ground. Maggie’s gun was pointed at his chest.

  Chip glared at her until she lowered the revolver. He pulled Kate up by the arm and shoved her toward the rear exit. He waved for Maggie to follow. She did as she was told. Maybe Chip knew a back way out. Maybe they could sneak around to the front of the building and take the Sho
oter by surprise. Or they could go upstairs and give cover to the men in the street. Even now, Maggie could hear the occasional stray gunfire. Rick was out there. He had lost his partner. Maggie wasn’t going to be responsible for him losing his life.

  She walked backward toward Chip. Kate had already disappeared behind the rear door. Chip was standing in front of it, his hogleg trained on the only other doorway in the room. His eyes slid back and forth between the open windows and the entrance. Sweat poured down his face. The front of his shirt was stuck to his chest. He waved for her to hurry.

  Maggie wanted to run toward the exit, but she forced herself to appear calm. Her revolver was straight out in front of her. She covered the space in front of her. Her eyes narrowed onto the same doorway Chip was drawing down on. She was six feet from the exit when the shadow came back.

  This time, the shadow was more than a shadow. The muzzle of a gun stuck around the corner. Even from a distance, Maggie could see the sights sticking up from the tip of the revolver.

  And the black-gloved hand that held the weapon.

  Chip grabbed her collar and pulled her behind the door. Maggie fell back against the wall. They were in a stairwell that went straight up the back of the building. The emergency exit. The door to the outside wasn’t just locked, it was chained. She pushed as hard as she could. The chains rattled. A crack of light showed. There was not enough space for them to squeeze through.

  “Maggie,” Kate whispered. She was already halfway up the stairs. She stood on the landing. Her nightstick was out. She held it low and angled the way that Maggie had shown her. “This way.”

  Chip fired the hogleg. The air rattled with the sound. He ducked behind the door to use it as a shield. “Go!”

  Fear took over. Maggie bolted up the stairs. She heard a bullet thunk into the metal door. The Shooter was coming after them. Vomit roiled into her mouth. She fought back the panic even as her brain was yelling at her to slow down, to think, to be logical. The stairwell was poured concrete. The only light came from the open floors at every other landing. Each new landing would represent a different tomb in which to trap them.