“Larry, Jorgy, listen up.”
They were young guys. Men who would work as carpenters or salesmen if they weren’t working as suburban policemen. They had never seen anything like what was now developing on Castle Way, and neither had any of Talley’s other men. They had never pulled their guns. They had never made a felony arrest.
“We’ve got to evacuate these houses and seal the neighborhood. I want all the streets coming in here blocked.”
Anders nodded vigorously, excited and scared.
“Just the cul-de-sac?”
“All the streets coming into the neighborhood. Use Welch’s unit to get back to the corner, then go from house to house here on the cul-de-sac through the backyards. Climb the walls if you have to, and move everyone out the same way. Don’t expose yourself or anyone else to this house.”
“What if they won’t leave?”
“They’ll do what you say. But don’t let anyone come out the front of their homes. Start with the house directly behind us. Someone could be wounded in there.”
“Right, Chief.”
“Find out who lives here. We need to know.”
“Okay.”
“One more thing. We might have one or more perps still on the loose. Have the other guys start a house-to-house. Warn everyone in the neighborhood to be on the lookout.”
Anders duckwalked to Welch’s unit, the first car in the line, then swung it around in a tight turn and accelerated out of the cul-de-sac.
The first few minutes of any crisis situation were always the worst. In the beginning, you rarely knew what you were dealing with, and the unknown could kill you. Talley needed to find out who he was dealing with, and who was at risk in the house. Maybe all three perpetrators were in the house, but he had no way of knowing. They might have split up. They might have already murdered everyone inside. They might have killed the occupants, shot up the street, then committed suicide. Jeff Talley might be staring at a lifeless house.
Talley keyed his mike to talk to his other cars.
“This is Talley. Clear the freq and listen. Jorgenson and I are currently in front of the house at one-eight Castle Way in York Estates. Anders is evacuating the residents of the surrounding houses. Dreyer and Mikkelson are at the rear of the property on Flanders Road near a red Nissan pickup. We believe that one or more of the people who shot Junior Kim and Mike Welch are in the house. They are armed. We need an ID. Did Welch run the plates on that truck?”
Mikkelson came back.
“Chief, two.”
“Go, two.”
“The truck is registered to Dennis James Rooney, white male, age twenty-two. He has an Agua Dulce address.”
Talley pulled out his pad and scratched down Rooney’s name. In another life he would dispatch a unit to Rooney’s address, but he didn’t have the manpower for that now.
His radio popped again.
“Chief, Anders.”
“Go, Larry.”
“I’m with one of the neighbors. She says the people in the house are named Smith, Walter and Pamela Smith. They’ve got two kids. A girl and a boy. Hang on. Okay, it’s Jennifer and Thomas. She says the girl is about fifteen and the boy is younger.”
“Does she know if they’re in the house?”
Talley could hear Anders talking with the neighbor. Anders was so anxious that he was keying his mike before he was ready. Talley told him to slow down.
“She says the wife is in Florida visiting a sister, but she believes that the rest of the family is at home. She says the husband works there in the house.”
Talley cursed under his breath. He had a possible three hostages inside. Three killers, three hostages. He had to find out what was happening inside the house and cool out the shooters. It was called “stabilizing the situation.” That’s all he had to do. He told himself that over and over like a mantra: That’s all you have to do.
Talley took a deep breath to gather himself, then another. He keyed his public address system so that he could speak to the house. In the next moment he would engage the subjects. In that instant, the negotiation would begin. Talley had sworn that he would never again be in this place. He had turned his life inside out to avoid it, yet here he was.
“My name is Jeff Talley. Is anyone in the house hurt?”
His voice echoed through the neighborhood. He heard a police car pull up at the mouth of the cul-de-sac, but he did not turn to look; he kept his eyes fixed on the house.
“Everyone in the house relax. We’re not in a hurry here. If you’ve got wounded, let’s get them tended to. We can work this out.”
No one answered. Talley knew that the subjects in the house were now under incredible stress. They had been involved in two shootings, and now they were trapped. They would be scared, and the danger level to the civilians would be great. Talley’s job was to reduce their stress. If you gave the subjects time to calm down and think about their situation, sometimes they realized that their only way out was to surrender. Then all you had to do was give them an excuse to give up. That was the way it worked. Talley had been taught these things at the FBI’s Crisis Management School, and it had worked that way every time until George Malik had shot his own son in the neck.
Talley keyed the mike again. He tried to make his voice reasonable and assuring.
“We’re going to start talking sooner or later. It might as well be now. Is everyone in there okay, or does someone need a doctor?”
A voice in the house finally answered.
“Fuck you.”
JENNIFER
Her father’s eyes flickered as if he were dreaming, back and forth, up and down. He made a soft whimpering sound, but his eyes didn’t open. Thomas hunched beside her, whispering.
“What’s wrong?”
“He’s not waking up. He should be awake, shouldn’t he?” This wasn’t supposed to be happening; not in her house, not in Bristo Camino, not on this perfect summer day
“Daddy, please!”
Mars knelt beside her to feel her father’s neck. He was large and gross. She could smell him. Sweat and vegetables.
“Looks like brain damage.”
Jennifer felt a rush of fear and nausea, then realized that he was toying with her.
“Fuck you.”
Mars blinked uncomfortably, as if she had surprised and embarrassed him.
“I don’t do things like that. They’re bad.”
Mars walked away.
Her father’s wound pulsed steadily, but the bleeding had almost stopped, the clotted blood and injured flesh swelling into an ugly purple volcano. Jennifer stood, and faced Dennis.
“I want to get some ice.”
“Shut up and sit your ass down.”
“I’m getting some ice. He’s hurt.”
Dennis glared at her, his face red and angry. He glanced at Mars, then at her father. Finally, he turned back to the shutters.
“Mars, take her into the kitchen. Make sure Kevin isn’t fucking off back there.”
Jennifer left without waiting for Mars, and went to the kitchen. She saw Kevin hiding behind the couch in the family room so that he could see the French doors. She wanted the backyard to be crowded with police officers and vicious police dogs, but it was empty. The pool was clean and pure, the raft that she had been enjoying less than thirty minutes earlier motionless on the water, the water so clear that the raft might have been floating on air. Her radio sat on the deck beside the pool, but she couldn’t hear it. It had all happened so fast.
Jennifer opened the cabinet beneath the sink. Mars kicked it shut.
“What are you doing?”
He towered over her, his groin only inches from her face. She slowly stood to her full height. He was still a foot taller, and so close that it hurt to look up. Jennifer smelled the sour vegetables again. It took all of her strength not to run.