Brus had originally had the idea to fence off the area before people could arrive, but it was impractical, since so many protesters were already there and others arrived so early. This was going to be a first of its kind for Brayton, and Brus told his second command that it would “permanently change the way we’re viewed by the people who live here.”
But even a town as small as Brayton has procedures in place for situations like this, and they spent the late morning going over them, and talking about how they would react to various scenarios that could come up.
When they were finished and ready, Brus called Holland. “Mayor, we are as prepared as we will ever be.”
“Good. I’ll speak to them, and alert them as to what is going to happen. If they don’t listen to me, you move your men in.”
“You’re the boss,” Brus said, signaling his reluctant agreement to go along with the plan. He thought this was a serious overreaction, even after the Carlton murder. On the positive side, if it all went the way he expected, Holland wouldn’t ever get another vote in Brayton.
“Tony, I know you think I’m overreacting on this,” said Holland. “But the downside to doing it is that people will be pissed at us. The downside to not doing it as that people can die.”
“OK,” Brus said, “I can see that.” He knew that Holland did not want any citizens of Brayton to be killed. He also knew that Holland especially did not want them to die on his watch.
The reports coming in from the field were not good.
Barone called to say that officers had already checked out nine of the seventeen matches and come up with nothing. I took down the list of the ones that had been checked out, so that I could check them off our lists.
“What are they doing if the houses seem to be empty?” I asked.
“Hey, Lucas, you think I’d let them leave it at that? Our people are instructed to enter and search the homes, whether people are not home, or not cooperative. We’ll deal with the fallout later.”
“Thanks, Captain.”
“I’ll keep you posted as reports come in.”
I got off the phone and saw that the next group of lists was coming out. We got started on them, and I didn’t eliminate the homes that Barone had reported were already checked out, just in case the officers missed something.
Thirty-five minutes later we had the pared-down list. There were six homes on it, four of which had already been checked by Barone.
Which left two possibilities, one of which was only fifteen minutes from where we were. I called Barone and gave him this new information, and he said that officers were only ten minutes from the other location. He was close to there as well, and would meet up with them.
He would also send some as backup for us, but we were closer than his officers were, so we’d likely get there first.
When I got off the phone, I said, “Let’s go. We’re covering one of the two; Barone’s got the other.” I turned to Robbins. “You know how to get to this address?”
“Yes.”
“Then come on,” I said, and the four of us were off.
The address was in Mount Freedom, a small town northwest of Morristown. Robbins was only partially familiar with it, but told us he thought the address was on the outskirts of town, in mostly undeveloped farmland.
I drove, only because I got in the driver’s seat first. Emmit got in the back with Julie, and Robbins sat in the passenger seat. I drove in a way that emulated Emmit’s technique, which is to go so fast that the front wheels start to leave the ground. It was all open road, so I turned on the siren and let it rip.
I didn’t turn on the GPS, trusting Robbins’s assurance that he knew the way. This appeared to be a major mistake when at one point he said, “Turn right here-no, wait.” But he soon seemed to get his bearings, and told us he was positive he knew where he was going.
And he did.
We turned off on a small dirt road and pulled up to a farmhouse, small but in good condition. There was a car parked outside, and a pickup truck that looked like it had been a while since it was serviceable.
We got out of the car and ran to the front porch. I rang the bell and no one answered. I rang it again … no response.
So I nodded to Emmit, and he kicked down the front door.
The four of us went inside and started looking around. “We’re looking for doors in the floor,” I said. “Move every piece of furniture; the door might be hidden.”
So we searched, with Julie screaming Bryan’s name periodically, even though there was no way he could hear us even if he were there. The house was a small one, and we covered every piece of floor at least three times, then went out and looked around the yard.
I could see the satellite dish above the garage, so we went in there and searched just as carefully.
Nothing.
Bryan was not there.
My phone was ringing; it was Barone.
By five o’clock the number of protesters had exceeded ten thousand.
Even though there was no official program, a number of people had gotten up and made impromptu speeches from the stand that had been constructed for the occasion. Everyone knew that Mayor Holland was going to speak at six o’clock and Alex Hutchinson after that.
Holland had not arrived, but Chief Brus had, and was walking among the protesters. The courtesy with which he was greeted, and the almost festive atmosphere, confirmed his conviction that Holland was overreacting to the perceived danger. For God’s sake, Brus thought, half the children in town were there with their parents. Would people about to commit violent acts want their children there?
Holland was an idiot.
Brus’s strategy was a simple one. He would execute Holland’s order and send his men in to clear the place out. If they went peacefully, then that would be the end of it. Holland would take some political grief for having done it, but he could cover himself by claiming to only be concerned with the safety and welfare of the citizens.
If they resisted, Brus would not instruct his men to forcefully remove them. Holland would go nuts, and would demand the use of tear gas or other irresistible force. There would be a public disagreement between the two men, and Brus would not back down.
The net result would be that it would cost Brus his job; Holland had the right to fire him, and would exercise that right. But it would firmly and permanently elevate him well above Holland in the minds of the townspeople, and would be the perfect kickoff for his candidacy for Mayor.
It may not have been a win-win for Brus, but at the very least it was a no lose-win.
So all Brus had to do was sit back and watch Holland dig his own political grave and Brus would move in once he stopped shoveling.
At first, Bryan didn’t recognize what was happening.
He sensed that he was breathing slightly faster than normal, but he couldn’t tell if that was because he was feeling intense anxiety. He was pretty sure that extreme nervousness caused quickened breathing, but it was hard to remember.
And it was really important that he remember.
But after a few minutes, there could be no denying it. The air he was breathing was less satisfying; he needed more of it. That’s why he was inhaling faster and faster, but it wasn’t getting the job done.
In full-fledged panic, he turned on the computer, to see if there was a message from Lucas, providing a reason to hold on. There was none, so he quickly typed one of his own. The pills were three feet away, sitting on the desk, next to a glass of water. Waiting.
Then the computer went black and stayed that way. It was obviously out of power; he wasn’t even sure if the e-mail he sent went out. The battery had run out, as had Bryan’s life.