“What?” the chief asked.
“Davidson was in trouble at one point,” Sandoval said. “With the law. His practice, more specifically.”
“When did this happen?” the chief asked.
“Before you or Vincent came to Hollow Green. I’m the veteran here, remember.”
“Keep talking…”
“Davidson was investigated for abusing patients at the facility. We didn’t run the investigation. It was a state investigation. I just helped out, an extra hand. Long story short, any charges that were going to be pressed against Davidson were dropped.”
“Son of a bitch,” the chief said.
“It’s all circumstantial,” Stone said. “That doesn’t narrow down the list of suspects.”
“It’s pretty damn incriminating, if you ask me,” Sandoval said. “All signs are pointing to the mental health facility. If it’s not Davidson, it’s someone else.”
Stone was already moving toward her car. “Let’s look at the files I snagged,” she said. “Quickly. I’ll get Davidson on the line in the meantime.”
Vincent escorted her to the sedan at the rear entrance of the station and began helping her unload the two boxes of files from her car. “This is everything I could get on Michaels, Presley, and all of the records of Sarah Howell’s involvement with their operation.”
Four feet away, out near the middle of the street, a woman had lobbed a significant chunk of rock that smashed in Stone’s windshield.
“Damn you all!” the women yelled as a man a few yards behind her began to run in an all-out sprint toward them.
“Move,” Vincent said, grabbing a box with one hand and Stone’s arm with the other. “Now!”
They retreated inside the station and locked the doors, fists pounding on the outside moments later.
“Chief!” Vincent yelled. “We’ve got company!”
Moments later, the silhouettes of citizens outside were backlit by the growing fires in the streets behind, like eerie shadows as they clawed and pounded on the outside of the station.
“Lock this place down,” the chief said. “Now!”
14
There was a total of ten people in the Hollow Green Police station—the chief, Sandoval, Vincent, Stone, two other FBI agents, HGPD patrolman, and Lyle and his two cohorts locked away in the holding cell.
Shouting was going on outside of the station, an angry mob of citizens converging as people scrambled to lock windows, doors, and anything else that could provide a way inside.
“Board up the windows!” the chief shouted.
Everyone began grabbing solid objects and chairs and started blocking off every window, door, and opening to the station.
“Vincent!” the chief called out.
Vincent turned around. The chief tossed him the keys to the gun cabinet.
“Nonlethal ammunition only,” the chief said. “Use the riot-control stuff.”
Vincent ran into the chief’s office to his right and toward the gun cabinet made of wood and glass. He tried three keys, found the winner, and swung the door open—three shotguns inside made of thick black resin, with a box holding plastic shotgun shells loaded with baggies of rock salt.
Vincent loaded up each of the guns, slung two of them over his shoulder, collected the third in his hand, and rejoined his brothers—and sister—in arms.
Stone took a shotgun.
The chief took a shotgun.
Vincent kept the third one for himself.
“Those windows outside are tough,” the chief said. “But if they start pelting them with rocks, it’s only a matter of time before they break.”
“What’s the play?” Sandoval asked.
“Nothing much we can do,” Vincent said, “except sit here on the defensive. This has gone from a murder investigation, to a riot, to a siege.”
Stone off to the side on her cell phone, calling up her men about town and ordering the SWAT unit to start sweeping the streets and maintaining order.
“We just hole up here,” she said, when she got off the phone. “Go through those files and get Davidson on the horn. All we can do in the meantime is try to piece together the puzzle in front of us. If things start to go south”—she patted her shotgun—“we’ll handle it.”
“Refrain from killing,” the chief said. “I mean it. Only use lethal force if you have zero, and I repeat, zero options left. I know it’s hard to tell someone how to make a decision like that in the moment, but those of you I know are trained professionals. Use your discretion.”
A silent acknowledgment passed around the room.
For the next thirty seconds, everyone took up posts around the station and listened to the growing noise outside.
Inside the conference room, the files from the Hollow Green Mental Health Facility, courtesy of Dr. Davidson, were spread out on the table. Vincent and Stone were guarding the window that looked out on the street, a file cabinet having been hoisted up and placed in front of the glass as they sorted through the documents, and the muffled sound of the citizens outside could be heard at a low rumble through the wall.
On the conference table, Stone’s phone was connected with the SWAT team commander.
“Commander,” Stone said. “Talk to me.”
“We’ve got several streets locked back down. Four citizens have been taken into custody. We’re working our way to you at the police station. What’s your status?”
Stone looked out the window and saw four citizens on her side of the building, pacing, shouting, and tossing jagged pieces of concrete and metal at the station.
“There’s a good amount of people here,” she said. “I can’t tell how many. We have shotguns with riot ammunition on us. They’re started to break the windows.”
“How secure are you?”
“Not very,” Vincent said, reentering the room. “These people outside are really giving it their all.”
“The ASAC has contacted the National Guard. ETA is one hour.”
Vincent shook his head and looked at the window, shotgun clutched in his hands.
“We could be dead by then,” Stone said.
“We’re on our way. Hang tight. ETA six minutes.”
The line went dead.
Vincent made a sputtering noise with his lips. “It’s only a matter of time…”
“So,” Stone said, putting her attention back on the folders. “All three of our victims worked at that facility. Two of them worked on the same wing. All of them worked under Davidson during that time.”
“Correct,” Vincent said. “So,” he motioned to the papers, “what stands out?”
Stone placed a finger on one of the papers. “This does.”
Vincent looked at the document.
“See that?” Stone said. “There was an inmate being treated at the facility. He was housed in the same wing that victim number three and the husband of victim number two worked on.”
Vincent traced a finger down the paper and saw the same name appearing multiple times: John Doe.
“John Doe,” Vincent said. “Now who the hell is that?”
“No idea,” Stone said, sorting through papers. “I’ve gone through everything, and I keep seeing that name on there.”
Stone took her cell phone out called Davidson.
He picked up after two rings. “Dr. Davidson.”
Stone said, “Hi, doctor. It’s Agent Stone.”
“Yes. How can I help you?”
“I needed to ask you about somebody. And old patient, to be more specific.”
“I’ll try my best.”
Stone held up the file and said, “John Doe. He’s listed as being housed in your facility until a year ago.”
“Ah…” Stone said. “That was an interesting case. The man was housed here by the state after they failed to identify him in any known database.”
Stone was intrigued. She put the phone on speaker.
“Dr. Davidson,” she said. “Could you repeat that for my colleague, please
?”
“Of course. As I was saying, the man by the name of John Doe was housed here by the state after they failed to identify him in any known database. He was picked up for aggravated assault, I believe. He was there at the same time Trevor Michaels was, but he was housed in a different wing, so I don’t see how there could be a relation.”
Vincent said, “Is he still there now? John Doe?”
“I’m afraid not. The patient killed himself inside his room over a year ago. The state took possession of the body and handled the cremation, being that he was never identified.”
“He never said anything? He never gave you any clues about his identity.”
“The man was a mute. Never spoke one word during his stay here.”
A rock hit the window just outside the conference room, and someone hollered out in approval.
“Is everything all right?” Davidson asked.
Vincent moved over to the window. “Things have been less hectic,” he said. “That’s for sure.”
“Doctor,” Stone said. “You’re sure you never learned the identity of this man?”
“I tried for some time,” Davidson said. “You see, we had some… issues with Mr. Doe during his stay here.”
“What kind of issues?”
There was some kind of clattering in the background on Davidson’s end. “Oh no…” he mumbled.
“Doctor,” Stone said. “Are you okay?”
“There’s… There’s something going on.”
Alarms began crying out in the background.
“Oh my God!”
“Davidson!”
“It appears that several of the patients are causing a problem in the rec room.”
Another voice came over the line. “Doctor, we need you to evacuate your office. Now!”
The line went dead.
“Dr. Davidson?” Stone said.
Nothing.
“Damn it,” she said as she slammed a fist on the table.
Another rock was thrown.
A window broke.
“Vincent!” Stone called out.
He ran back into the conference room.
“It’s getting worse,” she said.
The mob outside began ratting every corner, door, and window of the station with their fists and weapons. Then someone fired off two gunshots, causing everyone inside to duck their heads in response.
“Shit,” Vincent said, but kept his cool.
Tires squealed outside. From the window in the conference room, Vincent could see the FBI’s SWAT vehicle driving slowly down the street. One after the other, the six-man team spilled out of the back and began taking down citizens with rubber pellets and dropping them on their stomachs and backs.
Stone’s phone rang.
“It’s me,” the SWAT commander said. “We’re moving to you now. Coming up through the front entrance.”
“Hey! Hey! Hey!” a team member outside shouted.
Three shots rang out!
Screams. Hollers. The usual sounds that humans made around gunfire.
“We have a citizen down,” the commander said.
“He pointed a gun at me!” a team member said over his radio. “He was gonna shoot!”
“I know, I know…” the commander said.
For the next three minutes, there was nothing but smoke, occasional gunfire, and the sounds of a scuffle outside as members of the FBI and the HGPD cleared the area of unruly citizens.
There was a knock on the front doors. “FBI! Open up!”
Vincent, Sandoval, and Stone cautiously approached the front doors, peeked out the window, and saw the boys in uniform.
Stone pounded her fist twice on the door. “It’s Stone! Don’t shoot!”
Vincent threw open the door.
“You guys good?” the SWAT commander asked.
“Yeah,” Stone said as they slung their shotguns. “You?”
The commander nodded over his shoulder. “People are clearing out. I think it’s starting to settle down.”
Stone shook her head. “It’s not settled until it’s settled. Keep sweeping.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The commander rallied his men and moved out to lock down the rest of the town.
“Holy…” Sandoval needed to take a breather.
Stone looked at Vincent. “We need to get back to that hospital. We need to talk to Davidson.”
“I’m all for that, but it sounds like they have a riot on their hands,” Vincent replied.
“We’ll take some men with us. I need to know what else he knows about this John Doe.”
“Want me to go with?” Sandoval asked.
“No,” the chief chimed in. “I need him here. I need everyone here. You too, Vincent.”
“Copy that,” Sandoval said.
“Chief,” Vincent said. “We’re getting close to something here. “I can feel it.”
The chief took a moment then turned to Stone. “Find this guy. Figure this out. And fast.”
“Yes, sir.”
Her phone rang.
“Stone,” the assistant special agent in charge said when she answered. “We need you on Main Street. Now.”
“Okay,” Stone said, closing her eyes. “I’m en route.”
She hung up.
“I’ll go,” Vincent said. “I’ll go to the facility. I’ll talk to Davidson.”
“You sure?”
“Just go. I can handle it. Get this place locked down.”
They exchanged a nod, then Stone turned toward the rear entrance and left.
“Chief,” Vincent said. “Where’s the Kevlar?”
Inside the storage room, equipment that had never before been used was being taken off the shelves by Vincent. He donned a Kevlar vest, traded out the rounds in his shotgun for more lethal pellets, grabbed some spare clips of ammunition, logged it in the books, and prepared to make his way to the mental health facility, with God only knew what kind of conditions waiting for him once he got there.
15
Vincent whipped his car left up Perlita Way, past a small group of citizens corralled into a corner near the shrubbery by a group of HGPD officers.
They were yelling things like “Stop!” and “Show me your hands!” as they fought to regain normality in a town that was gripped by chaos.
The radio Vincent had grabbed and was sitting on the passenger’s seat crackled to life.
“Vincent. You there?” Sandoval said.
Vincent grabbed the radio and pressed the transmit button. “Yeah. I’m here.”
“Quick status update. The station is secured. Our people and the FBI are locking down the town. We’re scrambling, but working in a grid pattern, and so far we’ve got several blocks secured. National Guard is fifteen minutes away.”
“Good. I’m headed to the facility.”
“Stone’s been trying to get on the horn with Davidson. So far, no luck.”
“I’ll keep trying them.”
“Okay. Stay frosty, Eddie. The night’s not over yet.”
“No. No, it is not.”
Vincent placed the radio on the seat.
A half-second later, a burly man rushed out in front of his car.
Vincent slammed on the brakes and came within two feet of colliding with the burly man, who began pounding his fists on the hood and unleashing a string of expletives as Vincent started reaching for his service pistol.
“I want my town back!” the man shouted.
As he moved toward the driver’s side, two HGPD officers tackled him to the ground and began restraining him. One of the officers, Ferrell, gave Vincent a thumbs-up and shouted, “We’ve got this guy, detective!”
Vincent saluted, turned right around the commotion, and continued straight toward Main Street.
Back in the station, Stone was coordinating with the chief and Sandoval. One FBI agent remained behind, and a spare officer was scrambling around trying to help relay messages between the agencies as Hollow Green was slowly, but su
rely, falling back under control of the police.
“National Guard is almost on the scene,” Stone said. “How many people do we have on hand here?”
The chief glanced around the room. “Five total,” he said. “As soon as the National Guard shows up, we’ll head out and start assisting them in securing the last areas of the town.”
“Good. We’ll wait to hear from Vincent in the meantime.”
Sandoval said, “God only knows what he’s walking into over at that hospital. Or prison. Whatever the hell that nightmare of a place is…”
For a half-minute, the group took a breather, the grime and sweat and hectic nature of the past several hours catching up to them. They all began to feel the fatigue in their muscles, their legs cramping and bodies screaming out for hydration and nourishment.
As soon as this is over, Stone thought. I’m grabbing a cheeseburger.
Stone’s phone rang. She answered.
“This is the SWAT commander. I just got off with the National Guard. They are ordering all personnel to remain in their current positions until they come to relieve them.”
“That’s no good,” Stone replied. “We can’t stay cooped up here in the station.”
“You’re going to have to. A few of our people, as well as HGPD’s, are still unaccounted for. They don’t want to end up shooting at the wrong people.”
“What is the current location of all our people?”
“Wait one moment.”
Silence came over the line as Sandoval snagged several water bottles from around the station and passed them around.
“All right,” the SWAT commander said. “We’ve got several agents on Main Street, several on Perlita, a few on Harvard Avenue, and a few other stragglers who have yet to check in. I’m unable to get an exact head count. Everyone’s still scrambling.”
“I’ll start doing radio check-ins with everyone,” Stone said. “We’ll get a head count for you to relay to the National Guard.”
“Copy that.”
Stone turned to the chief. “Get on the radio,” she said. “National Guard needs to know the location of your people.”
“Got it,” the chief said, then turned to Sandoval and relayed his orders.
Hollow Green Page 7
