“Jane. You listen. I’ve been trying to reach you. Did you have your phone off? Where are you?”
She knew it. She should never have ignored her job. “Ah, well-”
“Jane? There’s been a shooting at Boston police HQ. Like, two hours ago. Apparently it’s bad. But all we can find out is it’s something to do with Curtis Ricker.”
“Who’s that?” Was this someone Jane was supposed to know? Why did Alex’s voice sound so strange?
“Curtis Ricker? You kidding me? The guy who was arrested for the Tillson murder. Don’t you read the paper?”
Jane stood, slowly, then sat down again. Her pad tumbled to the floor, her pencil rolled after it. Jake hadn’t answered his phone.
“Jake?” She cleared her throat. The word hadn’t come out properly. She tried again. “Jake?”
“That’s the thing,” Alex said. “Police aren’t confirming or denying. Not till a four o’clock news conference. We’ve got a reporter there. But right now? We don’t know. I need you to call your cop sources and find out.”
57
“Three!” With DeLuca holding open the screen storm door, Jake slammed his left heel at the wooden door, aiming to hit right beside the crummy-looking lock, the door’s weakest spot. Shattered chips of white paint rained down. Jake could feel the wood begin to splinter and crack. Luckily old doors like this were hollow, and the deadbolt mechanisms cheap, this one probably extending only an inch into the flimsy doorframe. It could work.
He paused, taking a breath. He’d seen enough rookies dislocate their shoulders. Kicking was the only way to go, especially with an already-neglected door like this one.
“You got this, Harvard.” D gave him a thumbs-up.
“Anyone in there with the baby, they’re sure gonna know the cavalry is on the way.”
“Well-”
Jake held up a palm. “Hang on. Listen. Let’s see if anyone comes.”
“Or goes.” DeLuca gestured toward the driveway, watching for bad guys heading out the side door. “Nada. All clear.”
“One more time,” Jake said. “And we’re in. You set?”
He gathered himself, grateful for his sturdy cop-issue boots. “Three!”
With a heave and a shouted “Police!” Jake’s second kick splintered the thin veneer of the rickety door, the bar of the deadbolt breaking free from the doorjamb. Jake fell back with the force of his effort, almost landing in DeLuca’s steadying arms.
The door-what was left of it-swung open.
Call her cop sources? Alex wanted her to call her cop sources? Jane’s “cop sources” were Jake, and calling him was exactly what she’d already tried to do. And her sources-Jake-were not answering the phone. She’d told Alex she’d call him right back if she found anything. She dialed again. Voice mail. Where was Jake?
She called PR guy Tom O’Day at police HQ, nothing. Called Jake again. Nothing. It was two minutes to four, and she was about to lose it. Carlyn’s little television worked fine, but she didn’t have cable and they were out of the Boston viewing area. So no way could they watch a four o’clock news conference on Boston TV. No local TV stations around here had four o’clock newscasts. Jane could check the Web on her phone, of course. But it would take a little time for the news cyberjournalists to get the conference posted. She punched up another contact, hit “call.” Neena’s phone was ringing, and if she didn’t ans-
“Neena. Oh, thank God. It’s me. I’m down in Connecticut with Tuck. But is everything-Have you heard anything about-Listen, can you go check my front door?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Just-can you? I’ll hang on while you look. And can you-” Well, she couldn’t ask Neena to turn on her TV and look at her door at the same time. One thing at a time.
“On my way. Eli, you watch little Sam for two seconds, okay? I’ll be right back. Okay, Jane. On the way. I’ll look over the banister. What on earth, Jane?”
“I got another phone call. Like the other one. They didn’t say anything about-But you know, I just want to make sure-I put a tiny piece of paper in the door. If everything seems okay, can you see if-”
She couldn’t manage to finish a sentence. There were too many questions.
“Well, isn’t the guy across the street still watching out for-Okay, I’m here. Looking over the railing. Hang on. Nope, nothing. Hang on, going down. Nope. Fine. Door locked, all good. And yup. I see the paper. I’ll leave it. But don’t you-”
“Oh, thank goodness.” It was troubling, though. Both calls had come in when she was not home. Did the caller know that?
“Jane? Don’t you think you should call the police?”
“One more thing, I know this seems strange.” Jane ignored the question, couldn’t believe she was doing this, but she had to know about Jake first. “Are you going back upstairs now?”
“Jane? Shouldn’t you call Jake? Isn’t it about time you-”
“That’s exactly what this is about,” Jane interrupted. “Are you upstairs?”
“Hang on, opening the door. Yes, I’m back in our apartment. Hey Eli, I’m here.”
“Turn on the TV. Channel Eleven.”
“Jane?”
“Please.”
Jane heard the sound of a door closing, Sam babbling, Neena babbling back at her son. Eli’s voice. A pause.
“Okay, TV’s on and-Oh.”
“What? Is it the news?”
“Yeah, it’s a live shot from police headquarters, reporter is saying, hang on, it’s on mute.”
“Neena.” Jane was dying. In one second, she’d know. And if Jake was okay, she promised, promised, they’d never be apart again. If she had to give up her job, fine. Whatever. If the universe would only make him safe, she’d agree to-
If that’s what Jake wanted, of course. All that mattered was that he wasn’t dead.
“Jane?”
Jane touched her chest with the flat of one hand, certain she’d feel the pounding of her heart. She remembered to breathe.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, okay,” Neena said. “There was a shooting… um, at police headquarters. I’m just looking at the readout thing on the screen now. Apparently the guy they arrested in the Brianna Tillson murder was holding a police officer hostage.”
“Who?” It was Jake. Of course it was Jake, since he’d probably arrested this Ricker person.
“Ahhh… a rookie? The caption says. No name. Seems like it’s a woman.”
Jane steadied herself on the kitchen counter. Thank you.
“And apparently-hang on. Another police officer offered to take her place, and then-oh.”
Jane sat down. She couldn’t feel her feet. She couldn’t feel her hands. This was unbearable. “Oh, what?”
“He was shot. And killed.”
“Who?”
“That Curtis Ricker. The suspect. A cop shot Curtis Ricker to death, and now the incident is being investigated.”
“Anything about Jake? Do you see Jake at the news conference?”
“Nope.”
“Nope what?”
“He’s not in the background, I don’t see him. And they’re not-hang on, stop talking, let me listen.”
Tuck, with Carlyn behind her, appeared at the kitchen door.
“Jane, what’s up with you?” Tuck held out a hand, reached out to her. “What on earth-are you crying?”
Jane touched her own cheek. She was.
Jake stood in the twilight of the entryway of 343A Edgeworth Street, listening. Beside him, DeLuca, weapon pointed dead ahead, took a step into the apartment. Stillness surrounded them, so intense Jake thought he could hear the buzz of electrical current. Huh. That electric bill. Addressed to Leonard Perl. The landlord who’d never returned their calls. The one who lived in Florida.