Punish the Deed (A Lucinda Pierce Mystery)

by Fanning, Diane

  “What do you want?” Murphy asked.

  “Take me in exchange for the kids.”

  “What good will that do me?”

  “It’ll take off some of the pressure. Get the kids out of here and the – what did you call them? The storm troopers. That’s it. The storm troopers won’t be so intense.” Lucinda allowed a minute of silence to pass before speaking again. “Cheese, we’re short on time here. What’s it gonna be?”

  “You got any weapons?”

  “No, Cheese.”

  “Show me.”

  Lucinda removed her jacket, taking care not to turn her back in any direction that would be visible to Murphy. She unfastened her shoulder holster and placed it on the counter. She slid her jacket back on and bent over. Pulling up a pants leg, she removed the empty holster on her ankle and laid it beside the other one. “See?” she said, spreading her arms wide. If he frisks me, I’m dead.

  “Yes. Wait a minute. I’ll get the kids.”

  Oh, thank God. She tried to still the tension that created a vibration in her chest. She breathed deeply in and out all the while listening to the noises from the back. She tensed a few times when Murphy’s voice sounded hostile but she held her position. The door creaked open. One, two, three, four children. Lucinda fought back the urge to shout out in victory. “Cheese, I’m going to open the outside door and send the kids outside.”

  “Don’t you go with them or everyone else in here dies.”

  “I know, Cheese. I’ll send them out and then I’ll come through the door to you.”

  “You’d better. The people back here won’t get a second chance.”

  Lucinda shepherded the frightened children to the door. She pushed it open, ramming Jake in the back. “What?” he said.

  “Four kids. I made a trade.”

  “Them for you? No way.”

  “Yes. Get these kids away from here.”

  She stepped away, letting the door slam shut, and walked into the hallway. “Cheese, I’m coming in.” She steeled herself and put all her senses on high alert. If things went bad, it was unlikely she could get the gun out in time but she sure would try.

  Fifty-Six

  Lucinda went a third of the way down the hall before Murphy shouted, “Stop! Hold up your hands.”

  She did as she was asked, all the while pivoting her head around looking for Murphy.

  “Lace your fingers on the top of your head.”

  Again, Lucinda obeyed, hoping that her jacket was long enough in the back to cover the handgun concealed in her waistband.

  “Don’t turn around. Start moving.”

  Lucinda realized he was behind her in the hallway. Can he see my gun? Will he remove it? Will he shoot me for having it? Or is it still hidden? She slumped her shoulders, attempting to give the jacket more length. She wasn’t sure if it did any good. She tried to feel any sensation that would indicate whether or not the weapon had been revealed but could only stir up exaggerated images from her imagination. She kept walking.

  “Stop!” he said again, resurrecting Lucinda’s fear that he could see her weapon. “Turn around,” he ordered. He stared at her. “What the hell happened to you?”

  “It’s kind of a long story. Is there someplace where we can sit and talk?”

  “Cute. Oh sure. We’ll just sit down and have a cup of coffee and chat. Get real.” He leaned toward her, looking at her face. “That eye ain’t real, is it?”

  “What do you mean by real? As in, is it a figment of your imagination? That kind of real? If that’s the question, yes it is real.”

  “Stop jerking my chain. You know what I mean. It’s a glass eye, isn’t it?” He leaned even closer. “Yes it is. A glass eye. They sent a one-eyed cop after me. What a trip. Start walking. Don’t turn around. Walk backwards.”

  When Lucinda’s back bumped into the end of the hall, she was standing by a door with a key ring hanging from the knob. “Open the door,” Murphy ordered.

  She did and stood facing the remaining hostages. Quickly she counted them – eight.

  “Get in the room. Hirschman, you come with me.”

  “Cheese, why do you need Hirschman?” Lucinda objected.

  “Because he’s the Goodie Two Shoes I came for.”

  “But Cheese, I’m a cop. The ultimate symbol of authority. I should be the focal point. I represent everyone who left you behind.”

  “Good try. But no. I need a Goodie Two Shoes. It’s the Goodie Two Shoes who gotta die.”

  “Cheese, c’mon. I’m a cop. That makes me a Goodie Two Shoes. You don’t need the dentist.”

  Murphy laughed at her. “Goodie Two Shoes? You? Not hardly. You’re more the avenging angel type.” Murphy jerked on Hirschman’s elbow, forcing him into the hall. “One Eye, you keep these people quiet in here and maybe they can live. Anybody comes out in this hallway and they’re dead. I’ll be back before you know it.” He shut the door.

  Lucinda listened as the footsteps went down the hall. She heard another door open. Was that descending footsteps? “Is there a basement in here?” she asked.

  “Yes,” one of the two remaining hygienists said.

  “What’s down there?”

  The executive director of the program spoke up. “Old office furniture, old dental equipment, file cabinets full of old files, the water heater, furnace, Christmas decorations, that sort of thing.”

  “Lots of places to hide, then?” Lucinda asked.

  “Yes, there sure are.”

  “Damn.” Lucinda went to the far side of the office where there was another door. “Does this lead to the outside?”

  “Yes, but it’s solid metal and the lock can only be opened with a key.”

  “Damn,” Lucinda said again. “What about this window?”

  “We tried. It’s painted shut and won’t budge,” the executive director said.

  Lucinda tugged up on it without any success. She thought about sending them down the hall and out of the building but discarded that idea. Murphy would be sure to hear all those footsteps over his head and she couldn’t predict what he’d do. She had to get them to safety before she confronted Murphy.

  “Duck down behind the desk or file cabinet. We could have some flying glass.” She threw a visitor’s chair through the window then grabbed the coat tree and used it to clear away the worst of the jagged edges. “Okay, c’mon. Hurry, Hurry! Out the window. Don’t cut yourself. Watch where you put your hands. Run around that side and to the front.” She pulled the cell out of her pocket. “Jake?”

  “Yes. What is it? What was that noise?”

  “I busted out a window. Hostages coming your way.”

  “Holy crap. They sure are. Is that all of them?”

  “No. He’s still got Hirschman. I’m going after him.”

  “I’m coming in.”

  “No. Don’t. This is a solo operation. More than that won’t work.”

  “Lucinda . . .”

  “I don’t have time to argue, Jake. Trust me. Gotta go.”

  Lucinda crept down the hall, turned into the office side of the reception area and crossed it to the administrative wing. She took stealthy steps down to the end of that hall to the open basement door. She leaned against the wall, her gun straight-armed by her side. She took a deep breath, lifted her weapon and swung around into the stairway. She cringed. Stairways are the worst. She knew if he was looking in her direction, he had a better view of her than she could possibly have of him.

  She descended, taking each step with care, peering under the wall and into the basement. On the landing, she froze in place to listen. There was a small amount of sound over in the left corner. She rushed from the stairway to a large vertical file cabinet. She peered over it. In the distance she saw Murphy and his victim. Murphy had a large, fixed-blade hunting knife up against Hirschman’s throat. Even from this far away, she could see that he’d already drawn some blood – it glistened on the blade and smeared on the dentist’s white jacket. Murphy whispered somet
hing she couldn’t hear into Hirschman’s ear. Hirschman flinched. Murphy laughed.

  “Cheese!” she hollered.

  He turned his head to look in her direction.

  “Drop the knife, Cheese.”

  “Or what?” Murphy said, digging the knife a little deeper into Hirschman’s throat.

  “Cheese, don’t make me kill you.” Dear God, not this again, Lucinda thought as the image of another victim in another sociopath’s hands floated to the surface of her thoughts. Please don’t make me kill again. Please let him drop the knife.

  Murphy stood up straighter, pulling Hirschman up with him. He held the blade in his right hand, his elbow jutting out at a sharp angle. His chest was blocked by Hirschman but Murphy’s head stood clear. It would be a good shot.

  “Drop the knife, Cheese,” she repeated.

  “You only got one eye. There’s no way you can make this shot from that distance. Give me a break, bitch,” he laughed.

  Lucinda pulled the trigger.

  Fifty-Seven

  The knife flew out of Murphy’s hand, nearly hitting the bare light bulb before it dropped and clattered on the concrete floor. The dentist slumped down like an empty duffle bag, grunting on impact. Murphy’s scream pierced Lucinda’s ears. Then he fell to the floor, writhing.

  Lucinda ran first for the hunting knife Murphy had held to Hirschman’s throat and kicked it out of the way. She reached into Murphy’s pockets, turning them inside out and recovering a handgun and a phone. She knelt by Hirschman and pulled out her cell. She could hear Jake shouting her name before she got the device to the side of her face. “Jake. Paramedics. To the basement. Quick.”

  “Are you injured?”

  “No. The hostage is. The perp is. I’m fine.”

  She slid her cell back into her pocket. “Dr. Hirschman?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” the dentist said. He looked up at her but his eyes didn’t focus. Lucinda wasn’t sure if he really saw her at all.

  “You’re going to be fine. You’ve got a nasty slice on your neck that is bleeding quite a bit. But he didn’t cut anything vital. I’m going to put some pressure on your neck now, please lay still. Help is on the way. Do you know where you are, Dr. Hirschman?”

  “Yes. I’m . . . no, no, where am I?”

  “Hush, Dr. Hirschman, it doesn’t matter. It’s over now. Everything’s going to be all right. Hear those footsteps above our heads? Paramedics are almost here.”

  The emergency medical technicians clattered down the steps. Lucinda rose, pointing to Hirschman and said, “Him first.”

  Murphy continued to writhe on the floor, alternating between screams and whimpers.

  Jake grabbed both of Lucinda’s forearms with his hands and pulled her close. “You’re okay? You’re really okay?”

  “Yeah. I’m fine. It was tense for a while but I’m fine.”

  “You’ve got a lot of blood on your clothes.”

  “Hirschman’s. Not mine.”

  Two more paramedics brushed past them on the way to care for Murphy. Jake nodded his head in the wounded man’s direction and said, “Where did you hit him?”

  “I was aiming for the knob on his raised elbow but I’m not sure if I got it.”

  A paramedic turned and looked up at her. “Got it? You nailed it. I don’t think they can put the pieces all together again.”

  A smug grin flashed across Lucinda’s face. Damn, I’m good. She stepped over to look down at Murphy. “Sorry about that, Cheese. I know it hurts like hell but my only alternative was a bullet to your head and I just didn’t want to do that.”

  Murphy glared up at her. She turned to walk away but before she could take a step, she dropped to the floor.

  “Oh, damn, that burns!” she cried out. Jake stepped down hard on Murphy’s hand, where a small knife glistened red.

  “You asshole,” he said through clenched teeth, bent down and took the switchblade away from Murphy. To the paramedics, he said, “Take care of the Lieutenant. I’ll frisk this bastard and get him out of your way.”

  Lucinda used her hands to try to push herself back to her feet but fell again. She heard the paramedics telling her to stay still but their voices sounded as if they were coming from far away buried under a mountain of snow. Suddenly she felt cold, very cold. The only thing that spoke to her loud and clear was the pain. It tore through her body and felt like it blasted the top off of her skull. It burned. It ached. It stung. It throbbed. What did he do? Why did I fall? She wanted to ask those questions out loud but couldn’t form any words. Her lips moved but nothing intelligible passed her lips.

  “Agent, looks like he severed the Lieutenant’s Achilles tendon.”

  Achilles tendon? Achilles tendon? Lucinda wondered. What is that? Where is that? In my leg? My foot? Yes. That’s it. It connects the two. Damn, it hurts.

  Murphy shrieked as Jake twisted his arms back to cuff them together.

  “Uh, Agent, that man is seriously injured,” a paramedic objected. “You shouldn’t be putting him in cuffs. You could cause more damage.”

  “I don’t give a shit! Take care of the Lieutenant. I’ll get this jerkwad out of here.”

  Going up each step, Murphy’s body thumped against the riser. He screamed and Jake yelled, “Shut up!” The rhythm of their departure filled the evening air with a revolting rhapsody. Lucinda heard the noise but could not understand it – bass, soprano, tenor, over and again. She felt the urge to snap her fingers but found she couldn’t get her thumb to connect with her middle finger.

  Fifty-Eight

  Over the objections of medical personnel, Jake listened to Lucinda. She begged him not to send her into surgery that far from home. She wanted to be in familiar territory with a doctor she knew and trusted. Paramedics loaded her into the same state trooper helicopter that had originally brought them to the scene. While medical personnel bandaged her up and filled her with painkillers, Lucinda feverishly explained to Jake what needed to be done upon their return.

  She kept talking as the helicopter rose into the air but soon she was lost in a pharmaceutical fog. When she slipped away, Jake made sure that Dr. Rambo Burns would be waiting when they landed on a heliport of a hospital just seven blocks from Lucinda’s apartment.

  As soon as Lucinda rolled safely into surgery, Jake hailed a cab and headed for Lucinda’s apartment to check on Chester. Lucinda’s gray tabby was standoffish at first but when Jake opened a can of tuna feast, Chester became an instant friend, rubbing on his shins and purring loudly.

  Jake then traveled to the Justice Center where he updated Captain Holland on Lucinda’s condition. Holland said, “The mayor’s called a meeting for the vote on the monocular-vision policy this morning. No matter how successful Pierce’s surgery, she may end up permanently on desk duty.”

  “That’s not right, Captain. I’ll see what I can do. But before I go, what’s the situation with Ellen Branson?”

  “After her husband and I sat down with the District Attorney, we made arrangements for her care. She left lock-up last night to go to a mental-health facility for an evaluation.”

  “What about the charges? Lucinda was adamant that they be dropped.”

  “They are, sort of. The D.A. agreed to drop them but retained the option of reinstating them at a later date pending the outcome of her treatment.”

  “Good. Lucinda will be pleased. She was chastising herself for forgetting about Ellen’s situation yesterday.”

  “But she was in the middle of a hostage negotiation yesterday,” Captain Holland objected.

  “And your point is?”

  The captain sighed. “Right, we are talking about Pierce. How am I going to keep her at home resting until she heals?”

  “I’ll try to help. I’ll be spending a lot of time around here. We’ll be forming a task force to coordinate all of the investigations and make decisions about which jurisdiction gets a piece of Charles Sinclair Murphy first. I’ll bring Lucinda into the loop via conference call. That shoul
d keep her off her feet for a little while.”

  “Probably not long enough. It’s a shame she didn’t put a bullet in his head,” Holland said.

  “It would make the job easier but that’s not a burden I’d want her to bear. The thought of killing another person really gnawed at her.”

  “I know. I didn’t really mean that. But you know . . .”

  “Yes, I do. See you later, Captain. It’s time for me to annoy the mayor.” Jake walked up the street to City Hall. He breezed past the mayor”s secretary and into his conference room, flashing his badge every step of the way. He opened a door to a dozen startled faces. “Monocular-vision policy task force meeting?” he asked.

  “Yes,” said the mayor from the head of the table. “Who are you?”

  “Special Agent Jake Lovett, Federal Bureau of Investigation.”

  “And you are interrupting our meeting, because . . .?” the Mayor asked incredulously.

  “As someone who works in Washington, D.C., the most policy-and rule-laden capital of the free world, I wanted to make sure you understood that policies and rules sometimes have unintended consequences. I don’t know if you are considering these restrictions on monocular officers because of some intra-office political storm I don’t know about or because of fear of liability or because of a lack of information. Whatever your reasons, you will suffer a great loss if you craft a policy that will leave Lieutenant Lucinda Pierce shackled to a desk.”

  “But who could rely on her in the field? Her vision is impaired,” the mayor objected.

  “I relied on her in the field – as did sixteen hostages of a psychopath – including seven children. One hostage died, shot to death before Lieutenant Pierce inserted herself into the situation. The others are alive because she was there. The last life she saved by exercising her expert marksmanship skills. She fired a shot into the elbow of the perpetrator from a long distance. She may only have one eye, ladies and gentlemen, but she’s a better shot than a lot of full-sighted officers in the field.