Wardell’s going after Annie. He’s at the school.
Blake’s words were so clear in her head it was as though it were being relayed through the car’s speakers on a loop. She nosed out into the intersection, giving oncoming cars space to swerve, if not stop completely, then pushed through the gap. She yanked the wheel right to duck in front of a braking taxicab, ripping the left side of her car across its bumper. She was in luck. Nothing caught. The car rocked on its tires a little and fishtailed as she came through the intersection and back onto the road west.
A clear patch of road emerged with half a block to go before the next set of red lights. Banner realized that she hadn’t taken the time to tell anybody else about the new threat, about Wardell being at Annie’s school. As far as she knew, the only people who were aware of it were herself and Blake. Which was exactly what Wardell wanted, of course.
She would call Donaldson from the school, as soon as she knew Annie was all right. Right now she needed a quick response. She took her eyes off the road to hit 911, jamming the phone in the crook of her neck and raising her right hand again, poised to start pummeling the horn. Then the traffic light ahead flicked to yellow and she put the hand back on the wheel and the gas pedal back on the floor.
“Nine-one-one emerg—”
Banner cut across the operator. “This is Special Agent Elaine Banner, FBI, with the Chicago field office. I have just received credible information that Caleb Wardell has been sighted in the Barkley Elementary School on North Western Avenue.”
There was a pause, and Banner knew exactly what was coming next.
“Could you repeat that information?”
“Barkley Elementary. Wardell. Now. Get some fucking cars down there.”
She cut the call off and let the phone drop. The next red light turned green again. Another break. She made herself focus on the lights. They stopped her from thinking about Annie.
The next intersection was a hundred yards ahead, the light switching from green to yellow. Beyond was the on-ramp for I-90. She leaned on the horn and kept the gas pedal down.
Don’t think; just drive.
78
The corridor dipped into darkness, but beyond the point the lights were extinguished there was still enough backlight to see where I was going. I ran toward the sound of the gunshots, knowing I’d failed. The corridor hit a T junction. Straight ahead were the doors to the main gym. They were the same wood and glass doors that I’d encountered throughout the school, but the little windows were covered on the inside with red curtains.
I hesitated at the doors, glanced left and right along the new length of corridor. There was another set of doors to the left, a flight of stairs to the right. The stairs would probably lead to the stage. I thought about taking the time to climb the stairs and enter the hall from a less obvious direction. After a moment I discounted the idea: A direct entrance was riskier, but it would save precious seconds. Depending on what I found behind the door, those seconds could mean the difference between life and death.
There was no prospect of sneaking in, so I just barged through the doors, ducking and rolling to my left, coming up on my heels. From three o’clock and a little above me — the level of the stage, at a guess — I heard a female scream and the sound of a door slamming shut. The slam echoed in the vast stillness. As it dissipated, I became aware of another sound: small and wet and insignificant in the space. I recognized it. It was the sound somebody’s breathing makes when they’re hurt very badly — the sound that suggests the breathing isn’t going to continue for much longer.
Almost unconsciously, I held my breath and walked in the direction of the sound. The pupils of my eyes had dilated all the way, just enough to make out the shapes of overturned chairs and avoid them. It was useless to worry about whether Wardell was watching me through a scope with a night sight. There was nothing I could do about it. In any case, I didn’t think he’d settle for such an easy kill — or at least I hoped not.
The edge of the stage was five feet off the ground and marked with white fluorescent tape, making it stand out like a beacon. I put a hand out and touched the line of tape. The raspy breathing had reduced in volume and frequency to the point where I could barely discern it from the silence. I put both arms on the stage and hauled myself up. By the time I’d gotten to my feet, the breathing had stopped entirely, replaced by a long, rattling wheeze.
Hesitating briefly, I took my phone out and tapped it to activate the flashlight. The illumination cast a bright, narrow beam a few feet in front of me. I moved it around a little and located a foot in a leather shoe. I angled up and found it attached to a leg, and then a body, and finally a bloody face. There was a bullet hole in the forehead, the diameter of the wound and the powder burns telling me the weapon had been a handgun at point-blank range. The death rattle petered out as the flashlight beam passed over the eyes of the dead man. A tall man, balding and in his late forties. His comfortable slip-on shoes and V-neck sweater marked him out as a quasi-off-duty teacher. Mr. Bence, most likely. I swept the beam around, highlighting frustratingly small patches of the stage at a time. I hoped I would find nothing, but I’d heard two shots. I knew there was at least one more body to locate on this stage.
I walked forward slowly and closed my eyes as the beam caught first a pool of red and then curls of dark hair on the boards. The framed picture of Annie from Banner’s apartment flashed in front of my eyes. I followed the dark hair and found another head, facing away from me. Gently, I reached out and felt for a pulse in the neck. Finding nothing, I moved my fingers below the jaw and gently moved it so I could see the face. The eyes were closed as though sleeping. The bullet hole was in the right temple this time.
It wasn’t Annie.
79
The body that lay before me was a good deal older. A petite woman in her midtwenties. Maybe another teacher, maybe a parent. But not Annie.
Not yet.
I sprang to my feet. The kid outside had said Wardell had Banner’s daughter. Two shots fired, two more bodies on my conscience. But it meant Wardell had spared Annie for the moment. She was his ace in the hole — he knew the building would be surrounded, knew nobody would enter right away if he had hostages. Nobody but me or Banner.
I closed my eyes and replayed the scream and the slamming door I’d heard on entering the hall, lined it up with my current position and scrabbled across the stage to get there, colliding with a couple of upturned pieces of stage furniture on the way. I found a brick wall, moved my palms around it until I found a metal door with a push bar. The door creaked open and dim light returned. I was in another cinder-block-walled corridor. This one had small plastic skylights that let in dirty streetlight.
The stage door exited adjacent a blank wall, so there was only one way to go. I gripped my gun and ran along the corridor until I reached another door. The clanging fire alarm grew louder as I approached another wall-mounted bell. I pulled the door open and found a stairwell. Which direction? Experience said up. Wardell liked high ground. I stopped and listened between the clangs of the bell.
Ring riiiiiiiiiing.
Ring riiiiiiiiiing.
Ring riiiiiiiiiing.
There. I heard the sound of someone crying out, suddenly cut off, as though somebody had clamped a hand over their mouth. The cry had lasted a heartbeat longer than the end of the last pulse of the bell. It had come from below.