"Wilcox wasn't killed outright," Budd continued, brushing his hair, as being in Stillwell's presence made you want to do. "He climbed out and crawled to the first squad car. Somebody – they think it was Handy – finished him with a single shot to the forehead."
In his mind Potter heard: You kill when people don't do what they're supposed to. You kill the weak because they'll drag you down. What's wrong with that?
"What about Detective Foster?" Potter asked.
"She was found beside a stolen car about a mile from her house. Her husband said she left the place about ten minutes after she got the call about the barricade. They think the Gunder woman flagged her down near the highway, took her uniform, killed her, and stole her cruiser. Prelim forensics show some of the prints were Gunder's."
"What else, Charlie? Tell us." For Potter saw the look on his face. Budd hesitated. "After the real Sharon Foster had stripped down to her underwear Handy's girlfriend gagged and handcuffed her. Then she used a knife. She didn't have to. But she did. It wasn't too pleasant what she did. It took her a while to die."
"And then she drove to the barricade site," Potter spat out angrily, "and waltzed out with him."
"Where'd they head?" LeBow asked. "Still going south?"
"Nobody's got a clue," Budd said.
"They're in a cruiser," Stillwell said. "Shouldn't be hard to find."
"We've got choppers out looking," Budd offered. "Six of them."
"Oh, he's already switched cars," Potter muttered. "Concentrate on any report of car theft in south-central Kansas. Anything at all."
Tobe said, "The engine block of the cruiser'll retain heat for about three hours. Do the choppers have infrared cameras?"
Budd said, "Three of them do."
LeBow mused, "What route'd put them the furthest away in that time? He must know we'd be on to them pretty soon."
In the otherwise drab, functional office five brilliant, red plants sat on a credenza, the healthiest-looking plant life Potter had ever seen indoors. Stillwell was hovering beside a wall map of the four-county area. "He could cut over to 35 – that's the turnpike, take him northeast. Or 81'd take him to 1-70."
"How 'bout," Budd asked, "81 all the way into Nebraska, cut over to 29?"
"Yep," Stillwell continued. " 'S'long drive, but it'd take him up to Winnipeg. Eventually."
"Was that Canada thing all smoke screen?" Tobe wondered.
"I don't know," Potter said, feeling that he'd stumbled into a chess game with a man who might be a grand master or who might not even know the movement of the pieces. He stood and stretched, which was tough in the cramped quarters. "The only way we're going to find him, short of luck, is to figure out how the hell he did it. Henry? What was the chronology?"
LeBow punched buttons. He recited, "At nine thirty-three p.m. Captain Budd said he'd received a call from his division commander about a woman detective who'd gotten Handy to surrender several years ago. She was located in McPherson, Kansas. The commander wondered if he should send the woman to the barricade site. Captain Budd conferred with Agent Potter and the decision was made to ask this detective to come to the site.
"At nine forty-nine p.m. a woman representing herself as Detective Sharon Foster called from her cruiser and reported that she would be at the barricade site by ten-thirty or ten-forty.
"At ten forty-five a woman representing herself to be Detective Sharon Foster, wearing a Kansas State Police uniform, arrived at the barricade and commenced negotiations with subject Handy."
"Charlie," Potter asked, "who was the commander?"
"Ted Franklin over at Troop B." He already had the phone in his hand and was dialing the number.
"Commander Franklin please… it's an emergency… Ted? It's Charlie Budd… Nope, no news. I'm going to put you on the squawk box." There was a click and static filled the room. "Ted, I've got half the FBI here. Agent Arthur Potter in charge."
"Hey, gentlemen," came Franklin's electronic greeting.
"Evening, Commander," Potter said. "We're trying to track down what happened here. You remember who called you about Sharon Foster this evening?"
"I've been racking my brain, sir, trying to remember. Some trooper or another. I frankly wasn't listening to who he was as much as what he had to say."
"A 'he,' you say?"
"Yessir. Was a man."
"He told you about Detective Foster?"
"That's right."
"Did you know her beforehand?"
"I knew about her. She was an up-and-comer. Good negotiating record."
Potter asked, "Then you called her after this trooper called."
"No, I called Charlie first down in Crow Ridge to see if it'd be all right with you folks. Then I called her."
"So," Stillwell said, "somebody intercepted your call to her and got to Detective Foster's just as she was leaving."
"But how?" Budd asked. "Her husband said she left ten minutes after she got the call. How could Handy's girlfriend've got there in time?"
"Tobe?" Potter asked. "Any way to check for taps?"
"Commander Franklin," Tobe asked, "is your office swept for bugs?" A chuckle. "Nope. Not the kind you're talking about." Tobe said to Potter, "We could sweep it, see if there are any. But it'd only tell us yea or nay. There's no way to tell who got the transmission and when."
But no, Potter was thinking. Budd was right. There was simply no time for Priscilla Gunder to get to Foster's house after the phone call from Franklin.
LeBow spoke for all of them. "This just doesn't sound like a tap situation. Besides, who'd know to put the bug in Commander Franklin's office anyway?"
Stillwell said, "Sounds like this was all planned out ahead of time."
Potter agreed. "The trooper who called you, Commander Franklin, wasn't a trooper at all. He was Handy's accomplice. And the girlfriend was probably waiting outside Detective Foster's house all along, while he – whoever he is – made the phone call to you."
"That means somebody'd have to know about the real Sharon Foster in the first place," Budd said. "That Handy'd surrendered to her. Who'd know about her?"
There was silence for a moment as the roomful of clever men thought of clever ways to learn about past police negotiations – through the news, computer databases, sources within the department.
LeBow and Budd were tied for first. "Handy!"
Potter had just arrived there himself. He nodded. "Who'd know better than Handy himself? Let's think back. He's trapped in the slaughterhouse. He suspects he isn't going to get his helicopter or that if he does we're going to track him to the ends of the earth – with or without his M-4 clearance – and so he gets word to his accomplice about Foster. The accomplice calls the girlfriend and they plan out the rescue. But Handy couldn't have called on the throw phone. We'd have heard it." Potter closed his eyes and thought back over the evening's events. "Tobe, those scrambled transmissions you were wondering about… We thought they were Tremain and the Kansas HRU. Could they have been something else?"
The young man tugged at his pierced earlobe then dug several computer disks from a plastic envelope. He handed them to LeBow, who put one in his laptop. Tobe leaned over and pushed keys. On the screen played a stilted, slow-moving graphic representation of two sine waves, overlapping each other.
"There are two!" he announced, his scientist's eyes glowing at the discovery. "Two different frequencies." He looked up. "Both law-enforcement assigned. And retrosignal scrambled."
"Are they both Tremain's?" Potter wondered aloud.