by James Hunt
The man squinted his eyes and shielded the glare from the sun with his hands to get a better look. “I’m not sure. It was only up there for a second.”
Cooper lowered the phone and before the man could ask any more questions she rejoined Hart, whose eyes were glued to the screen in the outfield. “See anything?”
“Nothing but concession advertisements.”
The afternoon sun had dipped lower in the sky as the game progressed. They were running out of time. Cooper radioed security, but their units had found nothing. She felt desperation gaining momentum. Something’s supposed to be here. I know it is. She kept her eyes glued to the Jumbotron screen, and just when she felt her pupils go dry from staring, a picture flashed on the screen, only for a moment.
“Christ, did you see that?” Hart asked.
“Yeah.” Cooper reached for the radio. “All units, keep an eye on the screen in the outfield.” Cooper gripped the railing tight, nearly tipping over the edge as she leaned closer. The image appeared again, only for another second, but Cooper recognized Beth’s face. She held a sign like the Orioles fan said, but the picture flashed so quickly that she couldn’t make out what the paper read.
When the image appeared again it remained on screen for a few seconds longer, this time catching the attention of more fans in the stadium. Cooper felt hands on her back, and when she turned around a few members of the crowd had left their seats and circled around her. “Hey, what’s going on?” A man gestured to the converging K-9 units and extra security guards. “Is there something we need to know about?”
Another man added his worry behind the Orioles fan, dressed in the opposing team’s colors. “Hey, I’ve got my kids here. What the hell are you people doing?” The dissent grew along with the crowd’s voices, and Cooper felt the grip of control loosen.
“Sir, everything is fine,” Cooper said, the crowd around her growing. “I need everyone to either return to their seats or leave the stadium. But do either in an orderly fashion.”
“Hey, look!” One of the spectators in the crowd pointed toward the Jumbotron screen, and a series of gasps erupted from the stands.
When Cooper turned around she lunged forward into the railing, white-knuckling the steel as her heart sank to her stomach. The image of Beth on the screen was ghostly. Her skin was pale, and her cheeks and forehead were shiny with sweat. Her hair was tangled in knots, and the mascara around her eyes had run from crying. In her trembling hands she held a white piece of paper with letters and numbers written on it, but Cooper was so paralyzed by the image it was Hart who made the connection of the message’s meaning.
“It’s a seat number in the stadium.” Hart relayed the call over for the radio. “All units converge to section thirty-nine, row eighteen, seat forty-nine immediately.” He grabbed Cooper’s arm and pulled her away from the railing. “C’mon!” Cooper sprinted with Hart through the thick crowds, the K-9 units barking loudly as every officer and security guard converged on the seat’s location.
There wasn’t a seat in the stadium filled at that point; everyone was standing and pointing at Beth on the screen. The umpires had stopped the game, and the players trotted off the field. Panic gripped the masses, and everyone looked one thread away from descending into chaos.
Cooper radioed stadium security. “I need someone over the PA system to tell everyone to remain seated and calm. The last thing we need is a stampede to the exit. We don’t know what we’re dealing with, and I don’t want to cause any unnecessary casualties.”
“What the hell do you want us to say?”
“That we’re handling the situation.” Cooper clicked the radio off and sprinted up the steps of section thirty-nine. Arms stretched from the aisles as people tried to get her attention, accompanied with questions screamed in desperation.
A collective gasp erupted from the crowd, and Cooper turned around to watch a gun enter the frame of the screen’s picture. Though no audio played, tears streamed down Beth’s face and she trembled. Cooper found herself walking back down the steps, but stopped, knowing that whatever was under the seat had the potential to keep the killer from pulling the trigger.
Stadium security and the K-9 units had blocked the row, and the crowd in the area had grown aggressively panicked. “Where’s the seat?” Cooper asked, panting heavily from the long run up.
One of the lieutenants pointed toward the middle of the row. “Seat thirty-nine. The gentleman in the white hat.”
Cooper looked to Hart before she took her first step and whispered so only he could hear. “Tell security to be prepared to evacuate. I want everyone ready now.” Hart nodded and found the head security detail then passed the word to the K-9 units.
Cooper shuffled down the row, stepping over spilled drinks and popcorn, candy wrappers, and feet. Every person she passed shouted panicked questions, but she responded to them all the same: “Everyone remain calm.” The masses were on the edge of hysteria, and it wouldn’t take much to push them over that ledge. When she reached seat thirty-nine the man in the white hat looked nearly as pale as Beth. He held up his hands, his arms shaking as much as his voice.
“I-I haven’t moved.” The man looked around to the officers on either side of the row. “I didn’t do anything. I swear.” The people next to him leaned away as though they could catch whatever was wrong with him, and a quiet hush fell over the crowd.
The space for Cooper to examine was limited, and she didn’t want to risk moving anyone in case it would trigger the killer into action. She awkwardly knelt and ran her fingers around the base of the seat. “Sir, where did you purchase your tickets for today’s game?”
“I-I’m a season t-ticket holder-r.” He kept his hands in the air as he spoke, and the anxiousness in his voice exacerbated the fear of the crowd. He pointed to the screen, screaming, “I don’t even know who that woman is!”
The man’s sudden jolt of anger spilled over into the fans around him. The pent-up fear and desperation erupted from the horde’s lips, leaving Cooper powerless to control the teeming masses.
“Why can’t we leave?”
“What aren’t you telling us?”
“What is going on?”
Each angered voice that joined the thickening madness of the crowd only clouded Cooper’s thoughts as she struggled to find answers. She spotted Hart in the chaos and circled her finger in the air, which signaled the rest of the officers to step in for crowd control.
The ballpark visitors were forced back into their seats, and fear quickly shifted to anger. The man in the seat Beth had written on the paper stood up, pointing to the massive screen and shouting, “I don’t know her! I don’t know what’s going on!” Cooper turned back to the screen, where Beth continued to cry, the gun still pressed to her head. But the paper with the seat number had been replaced with another note. Let the bomb explode, or I kill your sister. A clock appeared below the letter. And it was counting down from thirty seconds.
The stadium erupted into madness. Stampedes rushed to the exits, and Cooper was caught in the flood of bodies sprinting to escape. The sheer momentum knocked her to her knees, and she smacked away the limbs trying to keep her down, feeling the harsh blows of their panicked escape. The radio in her ear grew loud with chatter from both the K-9 units and the security force, all of them overwhelmed.
Cooper was shoved, spilling over into the row beneath her, and smacked into another woman as she landed on legs, feet, and popcorn. A series of hands and arms shoved her to the ground, with only a few that helped her up. Blood trickled down the side of her face, and Cooper felt a sharp pain in her right leg as she finally got her feet under her. And with seat number forty-nine now empty, Cooper now had a perfect view from the row below of the ticking clock that was strapped to a brick of plastic explosive.
Fresh blood dripped from the gashes on her forehead and cheek. Cooper grabbed one of the arm rests and pulled herself up. She saw Hart fight against the flow of the crowd, trying to get to her, but the number of
bodies was too many to overcome.
The clock on the explosive dwindled down to thirty seconds, and Cooper hobbled forward, her ankle badly twisted, but stopped when she heard the soft moan of a child. She looked two rows down and saw a young boy, alone, curled in ball on the concrete, his face red and tears streaming down his cheeks.
Cooper leapt over the first row, but her weak ankle collapsed on the landing, and she smacked hard against the ground, wet and dirty from the forgotten beverages and snacks left behind. When she lifted her head the clock ticked down to fifteen seconds, and she jumped over the last row, scooping the young boy in her arms. He clung tight around her neck, and Cooper limped forward, her hobbled sprint sending a jolt of pain from her right ankle to her hip with every step. In her peripherals she saw the clock tick down to ten seconds, the gun still to Beth’s head.
The section of the stadium where the bomb was placed was nearly empty now, and the remaining spectators funneled closely into the exits, jam-packed like sardines. But the exit was too far for Cooper to make it in her condition. She sprinted down the steps, aiming for the dugout.
The downward slope and momentum helped with her speed as Cooper leapt over the railing and onto the field. She ducked behind the dugout’s concrete structure, clutching the boy tight to her body. She pinned the two of them in the corner, using the concrete walls of the dugout to shield them. She closed her eyes and tucked the two of them into a ball as tight as she could, her pulse racing a mile a minute.
The clock on the stadium reached zero, and the explosion rocked the lower levels, sending a mushroom of concrete, steel, and debris fifty feet into the air. The percussion of the blast was left a whine in her ears, and dust sprinkled from the dugout ceiling as the young boy screamed into her shoulder, crying for his mother.
***
The lights from the emergency vehicles drenched the outside of the stadium. The parking lot had been closed off, and everyone that hadn’t been able to flee before they locked the area down was gridlocked. Paramedics and EMS workers distributed water and blankets, treating anyone with wounds sustained from the blast or the stampede that preceded it. All in all, when the tally was done, the only death had been from the panicked evacuation, with no casualties or injuries from the actual blast.
Cooper sat in the back of an ambulance, one of the paramedics flashing a light in her eye, Cooper’s cheeks covered in a fine layer of dust. She saw Hart speaking to a few of the officers still locking down the perimeter. Once finished he came over. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m fine.” Cooper pushed the paramedic away, leaving the two of them alone. “How much longer until the FBI shows up?”
“Farnes just called and said they’re already on their way.” Hart raised his eyebrows and looked back at the smoke still rising into the stadium. “You sure you’re feeling all right?”
Cooper pushed herself out from the ambulance and steadied her shaking legs. “How’s the kid?” The first step forward was limped, but after a few more she fell into stride and the pain in her right leg and ankle diminished.
“They finally found his mom. She was at the concession stand when everyone made a run for it.” Hart looked back to the stadium. “I had security check all of the footage before the game started, but they haven’t found anything out of the ordinary.” He handed her the clipboard he’d been carrying. “And that’s everyone that had access to the stadium before the game this week in order to prepare.”
Cooper scrolled down the names, looking at the job titles, then stopped when she found the only name that mattered. “Tell the head of stadium security that we need to speak with Alfonso Rivera.”
“Who’s that?” Hart asked.
“He’s the stadium’s groundskeeper.”
“Why him?”
Sirens spewed a few quick warnings as a new line of black sedans, flashing their blue lights, passed through the secure perimeter and toward the cluster of police vehicles at the stadium’s entrance. Cooper looked back to Hart after the brief interruption and yelled over the sirens. “Because that was the position that Annabel Mitchum’s husband held before he was killed. And I’d like to speak with him before we lose jurisdiction.”
Hart watched one of the blue-jacketed FBI agents step out of the vehicle, an earpiece trailing from his ear, down the side of his neck, and underneath the collar of his shirt. “Right.” He sprinted away, and Cooper intercepted the federal agent.
“Can I help you?” Cooper asked.
“I’m Special Agent Hemsworth.” He looked past Cooper as he spoke, taking in the scene of the thousands still detained within the parking lot. “I need to speak with the person in charge.”
“Detective Cooper. Baltimore PD.”
Even after she extended her hand, Hemsworth ignored her and immediately walked toward the stadium’s entrance. He waved his hand, directing his people to different areas, inside the stadium, in the parking lot, and throughout the ranks of the officers on scene. Only when he was done did he finally turn back to her and look her in the eye. “Detective Cooper, we’ll be leading the investigation moving forward. I’ll need the cooperation of your officers for the next few hours, and then I’ll be heading to your precinct to set up a temporary command post. Who’s your SO?”
“Agent Hemsworth, this wasn’t a terrorist attack—”
“A bomb just detonated inside a baseball stadium where forty thousand spectators were enjoying an afternoon game.” Hemsworth puffed out his chest. “I’d call that a terrorist act.”
“I have evidence that suggests this is one man, a suspected serial killer. He’s been doing this for a long time now, and—”
“Detective, I don’t care what this guy did before today. He could have been a fucking Nobel Prize winner. But with the stunt that he just pulled he’s graduated to a higher calling. And if he’s been doing this for a long time it looks to me that your department isn’t equipped to handle this suspect. Now, who is your superior officer?”
The proximity between the two was less than an inch, and Cooper felt her bones shake with anger, but just before the pressure released, Hart appeared. “Hey, I need to speak to you for a minute.” He smiled at Hemsworth and led Cooper away. “Rivera called out sick this week, but look.” He lifted the clipboard still in Cooper’s hand, pointing to Rivera’s name and signature. “Someone used his name and badge to get inside.”
“Tell security to narrow their search of the stadium’s footage to the times listed on the sign-in sheet. We might be able to get a look at his face.”
“They’re going through them now.”
Cooper saw Agent Hemsworth start to make his way over and kept her voice low. “Listen, I’m going to check out Rivera’s residence, see if there’s anything that I can find. You head back to the precinct and back up all of our files and evidence before the FBI gets there. I’m not losing this case. Go. Hurry.”
Just as Hart left, Hemsworth tapped her on the shoulder. “Detective Cooper, I—”
“Agent Hemsworth, I’ve been called on another case across town.” Cooper retreated back through the crowds. “I’ll radio my precinct and let them know you’re on your way soon. You’ll want to speak with Captain Farnes when you arrive. I’ll leave you to your work.” She disappeared into the crowd before Hemsworth could follow and hurried to the squad car. She retrieved Alfonso Rivera’s address through the DMV database and floored the accelerator.
By the time Cooper arrived at Rivera’s address the evening sun helped diminish some of the decrepit features of the seven-story structure, but with the surrounding neighborhood drenched in poverty, Cooper knew what she was walking into. She stepped out of the cruiser and approached the property carefully. She found the landlady, who led her up the staircase to the sixth floor, where Rivera lived.
“I’m sorry about the stairs,” the landlady said, huffing and puffing as she pushed her way up the steps. “The elevator’s been broken for the past couple months. I’ve been trying to get the county to come
and fix it for weeks, but they haven’t gotten back with me yet.”
“This is subsidized housing?” Cooper asked, though with the disintegrating walls around her she should have known better.
“Yes, ma’am. Though I don’t know if you could call this place livable. It’s cheap, but it ain’t no home.” Twice the old woman had to rest to catch her breath. “I’m sorry. I just don’t move around like I used to.”
“How long has Mr. Rivera been living here?”
“Oh, about six months.” She smiled. “He came here from Puerto Rico. We get a lot of Puerto Ricans coming up here from the island. Everyone’s pretty hard-pressed for work. He sends most of his money back to his family, though I’m not sure how much he has to give away in the first place.”
Cooper glanced around the inside of the building, and nothing looked up to code. The walls were stained with time, the wood underneath her feet groaned loudly, and with no central air the stale heat in the stairwell pummeled her body until her blouse dripped with sweat. A few of the apartment doors they passed were open, and the residences were in no better condition than the stairwell.
The noises in the staircase varied from the screams of babies to the dull roar of televisions. She heard shouts and arguments, and one of the opened doors she passed was shut in her face once the angered party noticed the badge around Cooper’s neck.
“Here it is,” the landlady said, dangling the keys in her hand. She pounded on the door a few times, but no one answered. “He’s hardly ever home.” Sweat rolled down her forehead. “Do you want to take a look inside?”
“Please.” Cooper wiped her own trickle of sweat running down the bridge of her nose and positioned herself close to the door. Once it was unlocked she had the landlady take a step back. “I’ll need you to stay out here for a moment.” The old woman nodded and rested against the wall as Cooper pulled her pistol and stepped inside.
