by Tom Barber
Close enough to reach this one, maybe.
To his left was a large storage locker labelled Woodwind Instruments, but Chalky noticed a number of cases had been dumped haphazardly in the corner of the room, cases that would house those instruments. That struck him as odd; from what he’d seen so far, the rest of the school had been neatly squared away for the summer break.
He moved forward and tried to open the locker, but it was locked. He took a firm grip, bunched his shoulders as he put his foot on the other side of the wooden panel, and jerked back as hard as he could.
Out of sight of her peers, Isabel let her tears fall as she walked down the corridor. She heard footsteps behind her, and quickly turned, seeing it was the guard from the cafeteria.
‘You OK, kid?’ he called.
‘I’m fine,’ she got out, mad at herself for getting so upset. She wasn’t going to let that girl get to her. Then she remembered she’d left her script on stage and pushed her way through the door into the theater as the guard stopped for a moment, satisfied the girl was OK as he took his radio off his belt.
‘JP, how’s it looking up there?’
As Chalky broke the lock and pulled back the storage closet door upstairs, he heard the communication over the radio still attached to the dead guard’s belt.
‘JP? Get your thumb outta your ass and answer.’
The guard who’d been stationed on the 2nd floor had had his throat slashed before being stuffed in the locker, and it looked as if he’d been taken by surprise, as his pistol was still in its holster, a bloody cloth dumped on him which had presumably been used to wipe up the blood from when he’d been killed.
Chalky yanked the pistol out and drew the slide back, then sprinted out of the room down the corridor. He was down the stairs in seconds, and ran into the cafeteria, keeping the gun behind his back as he looked for Isabel. But she wasn’t there.
‘Where’s Issy?’ he abruptly asked the group of girls she’d been sitting with.
‘She went back to the stage to get something,’ one of them replied sheepishly.
Inside the theater, Isabel went down the steps and walked onto the empty stage, seeing her copy of the play was where she’d left it on the floor, near the centre of the makeshift court.
Her footsteps echoed in the quiet space.
She went over to the script, then suddenly stopped.
She felt an overwhelming sensation of being watched.
A moment later, the lights cut out in the theater. In an instant, Isabel went from being upset to terrified, and her breathing quickened, listening, the cut on her cheek and those on her arms throbbing with pain as adrenaline and fear consumed her.
Then lights on the stage came back on.
Shielding her eyes, she could just make out a figure up above in the control booth. She noticed the light directed onto the stage was harsher, whiter than the one used for performance.
Then it started to flash.
The light shuttered white to black at incredible speed, the strobe effect like that in a disco or nightclub when the beat on a song dropped. Isabel covered her eyes and screwed them up tight, a short lifetime of severe epilepsy enough to make her fear such lights with abject terror, but those initial flashes had already hit her retinas.
No! she thought, smelling almonds, the trigger she’d always felt whenever a fit was coming. Not now!
Scream for he-
The figure in the control booth saw the girl collapse and then start thrashing and convulsing centre stage in the black and white staccato light, all alone, totally vulnerable.
He’d done his homework and knew she suffered from epilepsy; he’d planned to use the lights to try and trigger an attack to humiliate her in front of her friends, payment for escaping his first two attempts, before extracting and killing her, but just as he was setting it up she’d walked in by herself, like a gift.
He’d come prepared with several knives in his pocket, the preferred weapon of choice, but seconds later, a guard appeared, stopping dead in his tracks when he saw Issy fitting on stage. The figure in the control booth raised a suppressed sub-machine gun brought in case he met resistance. The guard swung round, looking up at the strobe light, and before he could react was killed with one burst, the man up top squeezing the trigger smoothly and hitting him in the face with a triple tap.
The killer’s attention swung back to the stage as the guard dropped. The shooter had enjoyed toying with her, scaring her, but knew he had to finish the job before the other guards came running. He was also irritated; he wasn’t used to failure and yet he’d had two yesterday, one at the fair and then the sure-fire trap he’d set up in the kid’s bed. He’d also been stuck in the goddamn apartment building she lived in until almost 3am, hiding from police who’d prevented him from making a timely escape before the kid and her adoptive mother got home. He intended to make the child pay for that.
He stepped out of the booth and started to stalk down towards the stage towards the girl when the strobe was suddenly shot out behind him, plunging the entire theater into darkness.
The moment he’d shattered the light, Chalky was already moving; he ran onto the stage and snatched the fitting Isabel by the arm as he passed, not slowing and pulling the convulsing child away from where she’d been lying.
Bullets ripped up the part of the set where she’d been only a second earlier, whoever was across the theater unloading in three-round bursts, muzzle flashes lighting up the space just down from the control booth. Chalky dragged the girl into the wings, then leaned out and fired back several times in the direction where he’d last seen the gunfire, before snapping back into the darkness.
After the echo of the gunshots faded, his ears still ringing from the noise, Chalky could just make out the sound of shouting and screaming from elsewhere in the building, Pete and remaining security hopefully clearing the kids out before the guards arrived for back-up. He felt Isabel’s convulsions start to lessen, but could also tell she was still unconscious. His loaned phone from the NYPD was buzzing in his pocket, set to silent, but he ignored it, keeping his focus on the auditorium.
He went to lift Isabel, but she’d stiffened out; he sensed the damage he could do if he forced her body into an uncomfortable position but at least she’d still be alive. They couldn’t stay where they were, as sitting ducks. He scooped her up in his arms, recalling the layout of the theater from when he’d done his rounds. He made his way down towards the green room using the right side wings, intending to get out using the fire exit, but trying the door leading to the green room, found it was locked. He considered shooting the lock out, then realised that would immediately give away their position.
His ears straining for any indication the shooter was close by, he quietly made his way back up the stairs to where the accessway behind the rear curtain was, the one which allowed the actors to walk back and forth unseen from the auditorium.
He stepped behind it, trying to remember if there was anything that might wrongfoot him or cause him to trip.
Isabel started to murmur and he covered her mouth.
The sound of suppressed gunfire suddenly erupted again, but the curtain wasn’t hit, the shooter aiming elsewhere. Chalky heard wood being shredded over to his right, followed by the tinkling of empty brass shell casings.
The wing we just left, he thought. He kept going across the back of the stage, praying the boards wouldn’t creak under his feet, trying to keep Isabel quiet as she started murmuring again.
When they were just two feet from the left side wing, the curtain was suddenly torn up behind them, the shooter firing across it from right to left, shells tinkling again. Chalky immediately dropped, covering Isabel, then heard the gunfire suddenly stop. He also didn’t hear the sound of a reload.
He’s out, Chalky thought.
But has he got a back-up?
He looked at the wings, and decided to shoot out the other green room door lock if that one was locked too, and make a run for the fire escape
.
Then, with a thump, some of the lights came back on, and their return saved Chalky’s life.
He found himself facing a figure just four feet away who looked as surprised as he did by the sudden return of light; the man had a sharp knife in his right hand, an empty sub-machine gun hanging from a strap on his shoulder, the barrel still smoking.
Chalky raised his pistol but the stranger anticipated the move and kicked out, sending the weapon spinning across the stage. The figure then pulled back his arm to throw the knife, but Chalky was already hurling himself forward, catching the man unawares and as he knocked him backwards to the floor, got a decent look at him for the first time.
Extremely tall, black haired, pitch dark eyes set deep in an angular face.
Chalky braced himself as he saw the man leap to his feet and pull his arm back again, ready to throw the blade, but before he could complete the action, spun as a shot rang out, a bullet grazing his shoulder before punching another hole in the rear curtain.
One of the guards, Chalky thought in relief, presumably the same person who’d turned the lights back on. Chalky saw the tall man whip around and throw his knife in the direction of the gunfire in a blur, a whump and gargle coming from somewhere in the theater.
The tall man turned to face Chalky and drew another blade from a belt harness he was wearing, but then froze as both men heard shouts of ‘NYPD!’.
He stared at the unarmed Chalky, and then at Isabel behind the policeman, indecision written on his face.
Then as the door to the theater opened, he ran down the stairs to the green room.
Torn between chasing after him and remaining to protect Issy, Chalky scrambled over to the pistol and scooped it up, realising only one option made sense.
‘Police!’ a voice called.
‘Here!’ Chalky shouted back, kneeling beside Issy, his hearing still ringing from the gunshots. The eleven year old girl was conscious again, but was looking at him in confusion, blinking, with no idea of what had just happened. ‘He went that way, down those stairs!’ he told two officers from the 10th Precinct, who ran down the aisles towards the stage, service weapons up. They already knew who he was.
One of them remained on stage with Chalky and Isabel as the other went to the stairs. He crept down the flight, then saw a set of keys dangling from the lock in the door, and looking into the green room, saw the fire exit door was open.
The man was gone.
ELEVEN
‘The entire 10th Precinct is looking for him,’ Marquez said forty minutes later, walking into the hallway of the performing arts school where she met up with Josh and Shepherd. Archer and Chalky were in the theater, talking with detectives while the bodies of the two dead guards and the one upstairs in the instrument closet were being examined and photographed. Ledger was at the Bureau with Ethan, liaising with the 114th about what had been found in the basement of Vargas’ apartment. ‘We got a description now, at least. APB went out all over Manhattan for that asshole.’
‘The other kids?’ Josh asked.
‘Bussed to the 10th’s Precinct house. Their parents are on their way over. Some have already arrived.’
‘Press?’
‘They heard there was an incident from our scanners, and the APB, but they don’t know exactly what’s gone down yet. Just that there was an incident at the school which resulted in the deaths of three people.’
‘Statements concerning the guards’ deaths are gonna be released by nightfall,’ Shepherd said. ‘On top of all the other crap we’re dealing with, we get a nice big beacon of media attention drawn to this goddamn case. Just what Isabel needs right now. And God knows how the other kids’ families are gonna react.’
‘And three men don’t get to go home to their families tonight,’ Josh said as Shepherd nodded, acknowledging the real tragedy of the day. Down the corridor, Marquez saw Isabel sitting on a chair, Vargas perched on another beside her, watching as her adopted daughter was checked over by a paramedic. Vargas had seen her partner reappear and whispered something to Issy, leaving her in the care of the paramedic who knelt on one knee beside the girl, chatting to her in soothing tones as she continued to check her over.
Shepherd looked beyond the medical professional, and was reassured to see armed officers guarding all entrances and exits, as ordered.
Leaving Isabel alone, even for a second, felt like a risk.
‘How’s she doing?’ Marquez asked Vargas as she joined them.
‘Doesn’t know where she is, who we are, or her name. It’ll come back. But it’s always scary when she has a fit.’
‘Injuries?’ Marquez asked, watching the paramedic.
‘Inside of her mouth is chewed up and she pulled one of her hamstrings. Photosensitivity triggers seizures in only three percent of epilepsy sufferers.’ Vargas ran her hands through her hair worriedly. ‘Unfortunately, Issy’s in the three per cent.’
‘I thought she was religious about taking her medication?’ Marquez said. ‘I know you never let her miss a tablet.’
‘Just found out she’s been trying to do without them lately. Told me she’s been throwing them in the trash.’
‘Why would she do that?’
Vargas sighed. ‘Said she wants to feel normal.’
‘Guess she learned her lesson,’ Marquez replied quietly, looking over at the child.
‘Whoever he is, he knows her medical status somehow,’ Shepherd said, as Vargas saw the door to the school open and the Police Department therapist assigned to the CT Bureau walk in, a woman called DiGregorio. ‘And this was his second, back-up attempt. He didn’t expect his first try to miss at the fair, but he had that bed booby-trapped as a safeguard. When he realised that failed too, he came here to finish her off. All indications are he had these other plans set up and ready to execute, if needed.’
‘He’s on a mission,’ Josh said quietly.
‘And he’s toying with her,’ Marquez replied. ‘The strobe light wasn’t necessary. It feels like he was trying to make her suffer,’ she added, echoing Chalky’s words from the night before in the bar with Archer.
‘He’s succeeding,’ Vargas muttered, looking back at the still-recovering young girl down the corridor.
Inside the auditorium, Archer was on his haunches beside the second dead guard, keeping his knees off the floor and with blue booties on his feet so as to not risk contaminating the scene, which was a gruesome one. CSU had removed the knife which had killed the man, and with the weapon safely stowed in an evidence bag, an investigator passed it to Archer, his hands protected by latex gloves.
Archer examined the blade in the bag, then at the damage to the man’s throat. It had hit him front on, right through the Adam’s apple. The stairs around him were drenched with blood.
‘What was his name?’
‘Karl Dolloway,’ the investigator said. ‘Head of security says he’d worked with him for almost ten years. Guy upstairs dumped in the closet was John Patrick Ianetti. Former cop from Rhode Island. Moved down here with his wife when she enrolled in culinary school. He had a set of keys on him; included two for the theater. Your guy killed him, took the keys and must’ve locked the doors each side of the stage to make sure the girl couldn’t escape.’ The investigator glanced across the theater, at two of his colleagues. ‘Man’s name who took the triple tap to the face was Luke Rizzo. Bronx kid. Worked NYPD for four years before taking the security job.’
Archer looked at the blade, Chalky also checking it out from his position at the end of a row of seats; he was wearing gloves and booties too.
‘Describe him again,’ the investigator asked Chalky. ‘The man you saw.’
‘Most memorable thing was, he’s really tall. Had to be six foot seven or six eight.’ His description reminded Archer of that camera footage from 38th, that figure walking down the street last night in cap and aviators but who never reappeared.
He’d been around that height.
Archer looked at the stage, which was b
eing photographed, numbered evidence cards being placed everywhere there were bullet holes and shell casings. ‘Disciplined bursts, nothing wild,’ Chalky continued. ‘When he was on stage, he dropped this guard with one knife, just when the man had fired on him. Bullet might’ve grazed him, but not sure.’
Archer looked at the stage. ‘He hit him with the blade, from that angle?’
Chalky nodded. ‘A hard throw. Very hard.’
‘His face?’
‘Sharp cheekbones. Dark eyes. Lean. His teeth weren’t good. Yellow, and crooked.’ Chalky thought back. ‘Something else too, related to that. Another detail. Doesn’t really help us, but saw it when he was standing in front of us on the stage, the second before the guard showed up.’
‘What?’ Archer asked.
‘He was grinning.’
‘Franklin called me last night and said someone went after Isabel at a fair,’ Dr DiGregorio said, having shaken hands with the members of Shepherd’s team in the main corridor. She’d been one of the people who’d helped the child deal psychologically with the aftermath of her previous traumas, beginning with the death of her family and continuing with that day a few years ago on the Upper West Side in Harlem. ‘I came into the Bureau this morning to see him, and he told me there was another attempt at your home last night, Alice. And now this?’
‘I know. It’s crazy. This is a shock for all of us.’
‘She needs to go into Wit-Sec immediately.’
‘Absolutely not.’
‘Why?’
‘Last time that happened to her, a lot of good people died. You know that, Doc.’
‘I also know this: in the last…eighteen hours, someone has tried to kill her three times. She isn’t a hardened cop or a DEVGRU soldier, Detectives. This child is eleven years old. I’ve been amazed at her resilience so far, but I don’t know how much more she can take. And if she breaks, there’s no guarantee we’ll ever be able to repair the damage.’
