His body began to shake, seized by agonal twitches. Fresh heat splashed her face, her mouth, and she gagged at the taste. I’m drowning in it. With a cry, she pushed against him, and the body, slippery with blood, slid off her.
She scrambled to her feet, and focused on the woman, who was now free of all her restraints. Only then did she see what the woman was gripping in both hands.
A gun. She has the guard’s gun.
The doctor had vanished. Maura was alone with Jane Doe, and as they stared at each other, every detail of the woman’s face stood out with terrible clarity. The tangled black hair, the wild-eyed gaze. The inexorable tightening of the tendons in her arm as she slowly squeezed the grip.
Dear god, she’s going to pull the trigger.
“Please,” whispered Maura. “I only want to help you.”
The sound of running footsteps made the woman’s attention jerk sideways. The door flew open and a nurse stared, openmouthed, at the carnage in the room.
Suddenly Jane Doe sprang out of the bed. It happened so fast that Maura had no time to react. She snapped rigid as the woman grabbed her arm, as the gun barrel bit into her neck. Heart slamming against her ribs, Maura let herself be shoved to the door, cold steel pressed against her flesh. The nurse backed away, too terrified to say a word. Maura was forced out of the room, into the hallway. Where was security? Was anyone calling for help? They kept moving, toward the nurses’ station, the woman’s sweating body pressed close, her panicked breaths roaring in Maura’s ear.
“Watch out! Get out of the way, she’s got a gun!” Maura heard, and she glimpsed the group of interns she’d seen only moments earlier. Not so cocky now in their white coats, they were backing off, wide-eyed. So many witnesses; so many useless people.
Someone help me, goddammit!
Jane Doe and her hostage now moved into full view of the nurses’ station, and the stunned women behind the counter watched their progress, silent as a group of wax figurines. The phone rang, unanswered.
The elevator was straight ahead.
The woman punched the down button. The door slid open, and the woman gave Maura a shove into the elevator, stepped in behind her, and pressed ONE.
Four floors. Will I still be alive when that door opens again?
The woman backed away to the opposite wall. Maura stared back, unflinching. Force her to see who I am. Make her look me in the eye when she pulls the trigger. The elevator was chilly, and Jane Doe was naked under the flimsy hospital gown, but sweat glistened on her face, and her hands trembled around the grip.
“Why are you doing this?” Maura asked. “I never hurt you! Last night, I tried to help you. I’m the one who saved you.”
The woman said nothing. Uttered not a word, not a sound. All Maura heard was her breaths, harsh and rapid with fear.
The elevator bell rang, and the woman’s gaze shot to the door. Frantically Maura tried to remember the layout of the hospital lobby. She recalled an information kiosk near the front door, staffed by a silver-haired volunteer. A gift shop. A bank of telephones.
The door opened. The woman grabbed Maura’s arm and shoved her out of the elevator first. Once again, the gun was at Maura’s jugular. Her throat was dry as ash as she emerged into the lobby. She glanced left, then right, but saw no people, no witnesses. Then she spotted the lone security guard, cowering behind the information kiosk. One look at his white hair, and Maura’s heart sank. This was no rescuer; he was just a scared old guy in a uniform. A guy who was just as likely to shoot the hostage.
Outside, a siren howled, like an approaching banshee.
Maura’s head was snapped back as the woman grabbed her hair, yanking her so close she could feel hot breath against the back of her neck, could smell the woman’s sharp scent of fear. They moved toward the lobby exit, and Maura caught a panicked glimpse of the elderly guard, quaking behind the desk. Saw silver balloons bobbing in the gift shop window, and a telephone receiver, dangling by its cord. Then she was forced out the door, straight into the heat of afternoon.
A Boston PD cruiser screeched to a stop at the curb, and two cops scrambled out, weapons drawn. They froze, their gazes on Maura, who now stood blocking their line of fire.
Another siren screamed closer.
The woman’s breaths were now desperate gasps as she confronted her rapidly narrowing options. No way forward; she yanked Maura backward, dragging her once again into the building, retreating into the lobby.
“Please,” Maura whispered as she was tugged toward the hallway. “There’s no way out! Just put it down. Put the gun down, and we’ll meet them together, okay? We’ll walk over to them, and they won’t hurt you …”
She saw the two cops edge forward step by step, matching their quarry’s pace the whole way. Maura still blocked their line of fire, and they could do nothing but watch, helpless, as the woman retreated up the hall pulling her hostage with her. Maura heard a gasp, and out of the corner of her eye, she spotted shocked bystanders frozen in place.
“Back away, people!” one of the cops yelled. “Everyone get out of the way!”
This is where it ends, thought Maura. I’m cornered with a madwoman who can’t be talked into surrender. She could hear the woman’s breathing accelerating to frantic whimpers, could feel the fear running through the woman’s arm, like a current through high-voltage wires. She felt herself being dragged inexorably toward a bloody conclusion, and she could almost see it through the eyes of the cops who were now inching forward. The blast of the woman’s gun, the gore exploding from the hostage’s head. The inevitable hail of bullets that would finally end it. Until then, the police were stalemated. And Jane Doe, trapped in the jaws of panic, was just as helpless and unable to change the course of events.
I’m the only one who can change things. Now is the time to do it.
Maura took a breath, released it. As the air whooshed from her lungs she let her muscles go slack. Her legs collapsed, and she sagged to the floor.
The woman gave a grunt of surprise, struggling to support Maura. But a limp body is heavy, and already her hostage was sliding to the ground, her human shield collapsing. Suddenly Maura was free, rolling sideways. She wrapped her arms around her head and curled into a ball, waiting for the blast of gunfire. But all she heard was running footsteps and shouts.
“Shit. I can’t get a clean shot!”
“Everyone, move the fuck out of the way!”
A hand grabbed her, shook her. “Lady? Are you okay? Are you okay?”
Trembling, she finally looked up into the face of the cop. She heard radios crackle, and sirens keened like women grieving the dead.
“Come on, you need to move away.” The cop grabbed her arm and pulled her to her feet. She was shaking so violently she could barely stand, so he slung his arm around her waist and guided her toward the exit. “All of you!” he yelled at the bystanders. “Get out of the building now.”
Maura glanced back. Jane Doe was nowhere to be seen.
“Can you walk?” the cop asked.
Unable to say a word, she merely nodded.
“Then go! We need everyone to evacuate. You don’t want to be in here.”
Not when it’s about to get bloody.
She took a few steps forward. Glanced back one last time, and saw that the cop was already moving down the hallway. A sign pointed to the wing where Jane Doe was about to make her last stand.
Diagnostic Imaging.
Jane Rizzoli startled awake and blinked, momentarily confused, at the ceiling. She had not expected to doze off, but the exam table was surprisingly comfortable, and she was tired; she had not been sleeping well for the past few nights. She looked at the clock on the wall and realized that she’d been left alone for over half an hour. How much longer was she supposed to wait? She let another five minutes go by, her irritation mounting.
Okay, I’ve had it. I’m going to find out what’s taking so long. And I’m not going to wait for the wheelchair.
She climbed off
the table and her bare feet slapped onto the cold floor. She took two steps, and realized that her arm was still tethered by the IV to a plastic bag of saline. She moved the bag to a rolling IV pole and wheeled it to the door. Looking into the hallway, she saw no one. Not a nurse or an orderly or an X-ray tech.
Well, this was reassuring. They’d forgotten all about her.
She headed down the windowless hall, pushing her IV pole, the wheels shimmying as they rolled over linoleum. She passed one open doorway, then another, and saw vacant procedure tables, deserted rooms. Where had everyone gone? In the short time she’d been sleeping, they had all disappeared.
Has it really been only half an hour?
She halted in that empty hallway, gripped by the sudden, Twilight Zone thought that while she’d been asleep, everyone else in the world had vanished. She glanced up and down the hallway, trying to remember the route back to the waiting area. She had not been paying attention when the technician had wheeled her into the procedure room. Opening a door, she saw an office. Opened another door and found a file room.
No people.
She began to pad faster through the warren of hallways, the IV pole clattering beside her. What kind of hospital was this, anyway, leaving a poor pregnant woman all alone? She was going to complain, damn right, she was going to complain. She could be in labor! She could be dying! Instead, she was royally pissed off, and that was not the mood you wanted a pregnant woman to be in. Not this pregnant woman.
At last she spotted the exit sign, and with choice words already on her lips, she yanked open the door. At her first glimpse into the waiting room, she did not immediately understand the situation. Mr. Bodine was still strapped to his wheelchair and parked in the corner. The ultrasound technician and the receptionist were huddled together on one of the couches. On the other couch, Dr. Tam sat next to the black orderly. What was this, a tea party? While she’d been forgotten in the back room, why had her doctor been lounging out here on the couch?
Then she spotted the medical chart lying on the floor, and she saw the toppled mug, the spilled coffee splattered across the rug. And she realized that Dr. Tam was not lounging; her back was rigid, the muscles of her face tight with fear. Her eyes were not focused on Jane, but on something else.
That’s when Jane understood. Someone is standing right behind me.
SEVEN
Maura sat in the mobile operations command trailer, surrounded by telephones, TVs, and laptop computers. The air-conditioning was not working, and the trailer had to be well over ninety degrees inside. Officer Emerton, who was monitoring radio chatter, fanned himself as he gulped from a bottle of water. But Captain Hayder, Boston PD’s special ops commander, looked perfectly cool as he studied the CAD diagrams now displayed on the computer monitor. Beside him sat the hospital’s facilities manager, pointing out the relevant features on the blueprints.
“The area where she’s now holed up is Diagnostic Imaging,” said the manager. “That used to be the hospital’s old X-ray wing, before we moved it into the new addition. I’m afraid that’s going to present a big problem for you, Captain.”
“What problem?” said Hayder.
“There’s lead shielding in these outside walls, and there are no exterior windows or doors in that wing. You’re not going to be able to blast your way in from the outside. Or toss in a tear gas canister.”
“And the only way into Diagnostic Imaging is through this interior hallway door?”
“Correct.” The manager looked at Hayder. “I take it she’s locked that door?”
Hayder nodded. “Which means she’s trapped herself in there. We’ve pulled our men back down the hall, so they’re not in the direct line of fire if she decides to make a run.”
“She’s in a dead end. The only way out is going to be through your men. For the moment, you’ve got her locked up tight. But conversely, you are going to have a hard time getting in.”
“So we’re at an impasse.”
The manager clicked the mouse, zooming in on a section of the blueprint. “Now, there is one possibility here, depending on where in that particular wing she’s chosen to hole up. The lead shielding is built into all these diagnostic areas. But here in the waiting room, the walls aren’t shielded.”
“What building materials are we talking about there?”
“Plaster. Drywall. You could easily drill through this ceiling from the floor above.” The facilities manager looked at Hayder. “But all she has to do then is pull back into the lead-shielded area, and she’s untouchable.”
“Excuse me,” cut in Maura.
Hayder turned to her, blue eyes sharp with irritation. “Yes?” he snapped.
“Can I leave now, Captain Hayder? There’s nothing else I can tell you.”
“Not yet.”
“How much longer?”
“You’ll have to wait here until our hostage negotiator can interview you. He wanted all witnesses retained.”
“I’ll be happy to talk to him, but there’s no reason I have to sit in here. My office is right across the street. You know where to find me.”
“That’s not close enough, Dr. Isles. We need to keep you sequestered.” Already, Hayder was turning his attention back to the CAD display, her protest of no concern to him. “Things are moving fast, and we can’t waste time tracking down witnesses who wander off.”
“I won’t wander off. And I’m not the only witness. There were nurses taking care of her.”
“We’ve sequestered them as well. We’re talking to all of you.”
“And there was that doctor, in her room. He was right there when it happened.”
“Captain Hayder?” said Emerton, turning from the radio. “First four floors are now evacuated. They can’t move the critically ill patients from the upper floors, but we’ve got all nonessentials out of the building.”
“Our perimeters?”
“The inner is now established. They’ve got the barricades up in the hallway. We’re still awaiting more personnel to tighten the outer perimeter.”
The TV above Hayder’s head was tuned to a local Boston station, with the sound turned off. It was a live news broadcast, the images startlingly familiar. That’s Albany Street, Maura thought. And there’s the command trailer where, at this moment, I’m being held prisoner. While the city of Boston was watching the drama play out on their TV screens, she was trapped at the center of the crisis.
The sudden rocking of the trailer made her turn toward the door, and she saw a man step in. Another cop, she thought, noting the weapon holstered at his hip, but this man was shorter and far less imposing than Hayder. Sweat had shellacked sparse strands of brown hair to his bright red scalp.
“Christ, it’s even hotter in here,” the man said. “Isn’t your AC on?”
“It’s on,” said Emerton. “But it’s not worth shit. We didn’t have time to get it serviced. It’s hell on the electronics.”
“Not to mention the people,” the man said, his gaze settling on Maura. He held out his hand to her. “You’re Dr. Isles, right? I’m Lieutenant Leroy Stillman. They’ve called me in to try to calm things down. See if we can resolve this without any violence.”
“You’re the hostage negotiator.”
He gave a modest shrug. “That’s what they call me.”
They shook hands. Perhaps it was his unassuming appearance—the hang-dog face, the balding head—that put her at ease. Unlike Hayder, who seemed to be driven by pure testosterone, this man regarded her with a quiet and patient smile. As if he had all the time in the world to talk to her. He looked at Hayder. “This trailer is unbearable. She shouldn’t have to sit in here.”
“You asked us to retain the witnesses.”
“Yes, but not roast them alive.” He opened the door. “Just about anywhere else is going to be more comfortable than in here.”
They stepped out, and Maura took in deep breaths, grateful to be out of that stifling box. Here, at least, there was a breeze. During the time she�
�d been sequestered, Albany Street had transformed into a sea of police vehicles. The driveway to the medical examiner’s building across the street was now hemmed in, and she didn’t know how she was going to get her car out of that parking lot. In the distance, beyond the police barricades, she saw satellite dishes, like blossoms perched on tall stalks above the news vans. She wondered if the TV crews were just as hot and miserable, sitting inside their vehicles, as she had been inside the command trailer. She hoped so.
“Thank you for waiting,” said Stillman.
“I was hardly given a choice.”
“I know it’s an inconvenience, but we have to hold on to witnesses until we can debrief them. Now the situation’s contained, and I need intelligence. We don’t know her motives. We don’t know how many people might be in there with her. I need to know who we’re dealing with, so I can choose the right approach when she starts talking to us.”
“She hasn’t yet?”
“No. We’ve isolated the three phone lines into the hospital wing where she’s barricaded, so we control all her outgoing communications. We’ve tried calling in half a dozen times, but she keeps hanging up on us. Eventually, though, she’s going to want to communicate. They almost always do.”
“You seem to think she’s like every other hostage taker.”
“People who do this tend to behave in similar ways.”
“And how many hostage takers are women?”
“It’s unusual, I have to admit.”
“Have you ever dealt with a female hostage taker?”
He hesitated. “The truth is,” he said, “this is a first for me. A first for all of us. We’re confronting the rare exception here. Women just don’t take hostages.”
“This one did.”
He nodded. “And until I know more, I have to approach it the way I would any other hostage crisis. Before I negotiate with her, I need to know as much about her as possible. Who she is, and why she’s doing this.”
Maura shook her head. “I don’t know that I can help you with that.”
The Rizzoli & Isles Series 11-Book Bundle Page 129
