Another place of possible escape.
Another place of vulnerable victims.
Striker spotted the facility and slowed his speed. He scanned the road ahead, then the entranceway, and finally the entire lot. Safety was his foremost concern right now. Their safety. Billy Mercury had just killed two cops and two ambulance attendants.
He would surely kill again if given the chance.
From the east side of Boundary, the lot appeared empty of people. Unfortunately there were tons of hiding spots: a passenger van sat by the roundabout, its side door open, its interior lights off. Just ahead of the van, an outdoor patio area was sunken and fenced off, providing additional cover. And opposite that, the trees of the park offered numerous spots of concealment. All in all, it was a bad place for police entry. Had time not been so pressing, he would have waited for some extra units and a dog.
But not today. There was no time.
Billy was gone. Billy had killed. And Billy would kill again.
Striker gave Felicia a quick glance. ‘Be ready for anything,’ he said. Then he drove into the entranceway of the compound.
Straight ahead sat the three-level facility that was Mapleview Clinic. It was a relatively new building, with lots of tinted glass and clean beige stone. With the fountain and garden centred out front, the place looked more like a spa retreat than a clinic.
Striker reached the roundabout, considered driving around it, then opted not to. Any further ahead and they’d be dead centre between the park, the old folks’ home, and the medical clinic.
A perfect target section for any sniper.
At least now they were behind the cement wall and the foliage of the roundabout.
Striker rammed the steering column into Park, opened the door and hopped out. Getting free of the car felt good. When Felicia did the same, Striker pointed to the old folks’ home. ‘Lock it down,’ he said.
She raced across the lot without so much as a word.
With her gone, Striker turned back towards the clinic. He kept his gun at the low-ready, passed the concrete roundabout, and ran up the stairs. He kicked open the front doors, and they banged against the wall, releasing a loud hollow thud in the high-ceilinged foyer of the entrance. The wired window glass rattled.
At her desk the receptionist let out a sharp gasp.
‘Vancouver Police!’ Striker announced. ‘Has Billy Mercury been in here?’
The woman placed a hand over her heart. ‘Well, yes, yes, yes . . . he has.’ She looked at him in bewilderment, realizing something bad was going on. ‘He left here not twenty minutes ago. With the other officers.’
‘In the ambulance?’
She nodded emphatically. ‘Yes, in the ambulance. He was sent to Riverglen. He’s been . . . he’s been sectioned.’
‘Well, he’s escaped,’ Striker said. ‘And he just killed two cops and a couple of paramedics.’
The receptionist’s pale face turned even whiter and her mouth tightened into a straight line. She looked stunned. And then Dr Ostermann suddenly appeared from the back room. He walked up to the front counter and met Striker with a look of concern.
‘What exactly is going on here?’ he demanded.
Striker stepped forward to meet the man. ‘Your patient has escaped.’
‘Who? Not Billy?’
‘Yes, Billy. He just killed two cops and the ambulance attendants.’
Dr Ostermann wavered where he stood. For a moment, Striker thought he might keel over in front of him. But then he placed his hands on the receptionist’s counter and blinked.
‘Oh God. Oh dear God,’ he got out.
‘Let’s go,’ Striker said. ‘You’re coming with me.’
This seemed to wake the doctor up. ‘Go? But . . . but where?’
‘Three blocks north. To Billy’s place.’
Dr Ostermann took a full step back. ‘Billy’s place? But-but-but . . . why me?’
‘Because you’re the only one I know who has any kind of a rapport with the man. He’s your patient, Doctor. Depending on how things go out there, we might have need of you.’
‘But, but I can’t—’
‘You’re coming, Doctor. End of discussion.’
Striker took Dr Ostermann by the arm and guided him out of the front doors of the facility. Before closing the door, Striker looked back at the receptionist and gave the order. ‘Lock this place down. Every door, every window. And don’t open up again until the police return.’
The receptionist nodded daftly, blinked, then got herself moving and hurried down the hall. With her gone, Striker turned to face the front and spotted Felicia racing back to their car. He pushed Dr Ostermann forward, down the building’s steps. When they reached the cruiser, he gave the man an intense stare.
‘Prepare yourself, Doctor,’ he said. ‘We’re about to find out just how good a psychiatrist you really are.’
Fifty-Four
Billy Mercury lived in a rundown dump in the thirty-six hundred block of East Hastings Street. Safe Haven Suites. Striker knew the building well.
Safe Haven.
Nothing here was safe, and it sure as hell wasn’t a haven. The place was a halfway house for people of all types who were trying to glue their life pieces back together again. Everyone from the mentally ill to the criminally minded lived here.
It had been that way for ten years.
The place was poorly designed. Having been constructed and reconstructed several times over the years in order to create more and more suites, the layout was now a maze. All the evennumbered suites faced on to the front side of the building, which was Hastings Street. All the odd-numbered suites – like Billy’s unit, number 103 – backed out on to the north lane of Pender. Knowing this, Striker dumped his vehicle at the east end of the laneway, then got out on foot.
A few blocks north and east was the primary crime scene, where Billy had killed two cops and two paramedics. There were more than six units up there now, and Striker considered calling a few of them away to block off the north side of the building. Even though Billy had no exit there, it was always good practice to have the place contained.
In situations like this, surprises were generally bad.
Striker got on the radio. ‘We need a few more units to this location,’ he said.
The dispatcher’s response was blunt. ‘There are none. I’ve got some coming from District 4, but they’re gonna be a while.’
Striker thought this over. ‘Send the first one here to cover the north side of the building. I don’t want this guy running on me.’
The dispatcher said she would, and Striker opened the trunk. Inside were a shotgun and two bulletproof vests. He took out Felicia’s vest and handed it to her. He then gave his own vest to Dr Ostermann.
‘Put it on,’ Striker ordered.
The doctor said nothing, and quickly draped it around himself. Once he had his arms through the openings, Striker readjusted the straps so that the trauma place was properly centre. He gave it a hard rap with his knuckles.
It was good.
Felicia took notice. ‘You need a vest, Jacob.’
‘Just keep your eyes up,’ he told her. ‘Billy could be anywhere right now.’
‘Which is all the more reason you need some Kevlar.’
He gave her a hard look. ‘We only got two.’
‘Then take Ostermann’s vest and keep him here out of trouble.’
‘The doctor comes.’
‘But—’
‘He’s the only one Billy trusts and connects with. We might need him, and if we do there won’t be time to come back to the car. The doctor comes.’
Dr Ostermann cleared his throat nervously. Back in the safe setting of the clinic environment, he had offered a powerful and impressive aura; now he looked as scared as a field mouse. ‘Billy has never been an especially close patient of mine,’ he said. ‘He’s generally resistant to my suggestions.’