Locked.
Gio drove his shoulder into the door.
It didn’t budge.
He cursed loudly, stepped back and delivered a powerful, thrusting kick directly next to the doorknob. With a crash, the doorjamb shattered. The door swung open and Gio dashed inside, his gun extended in front of him.
“MacLeod?” he shouted. He scanned the living room and kitchen for any movement. The bathroom door stood open, the remnants of steam still visible on the mirror. Another siren drew closer, followed by another set of tires screeching to a stop.
He could detect the unmistakable scent of fired gunpowder hovering in the air. And something else, too, but it was a moment before he recognized the odor.
Blood.
“MacLeod?” he shouted again. “Where are you?”
The only room that remained was the bedroom. He shuffled toward it, his gun trained on the doorway.
“I’m in here,” Katie called out weakly. Then, a moment later, she added, “Code Four.”
Gio lowered his gun but didn’t holster. He strode quickly into the room. Katie sat with her back to the wall on the far side of the bed. She’d drawn her knees up to her chest and wrapped herself in her bloodstained terry cloth robe. Her wrist rested on a raised knee. A still-smoking automatic dangled from her hand.
“Are you all right?” Gio asked.
Katie didn’t answer. Instead, she stared at the ground in front of her. Gio followed her gaze, moving around the foot of the bed.
In front of her lay a man, collapsed in a twisted heap, a bloody knife still clutched in his hand.
Gio covered the man with his own gun and brushed the knife away with his foot. The blade skittered and spun across the wooden floor. Then he reached for his radio.
“Adam-254, situation is Code Four here,” he transmitted. “I need medics to this location.” He hesitated, then added, “Two ambulances.”
“Copy.”
“And start a supervisor,” he said. “This is an officer-involved shooting.”
Behind him, Gio heard the stomping of heavy feet. Before him, he heard the rasping, gurgling breath of the downed suspect. He ignored both sounds. Instead, he stepped over the bent form and knelt in front of Katie. His uniform blocked her view of the attacker. Gio looked into Katie’s eyes. He waited until their focus shifted and met his own.
“You did it,” he told her softly. “You’re okay.”
Part V
RIVER CITY, WASHINGTON
I sit and savor that I’m alive
Abandon the world to die and thrive
Moment by black moment passes me by
Beneath a weeping sky.
Rebecca Battaglia
TWENTY-ONE
Friday May 9th
1406 hours
Detective John Tower stood on the fringe of the crime scene. He watched as Detectives Finch and Elias from Major Crimes worked the scene. The pair was an efficient tandem and he knew he shouldn’t resent them for being inside the yellow tape, examining evidence and espousing theories. It was their job. Moreover, this was an officer-involved shooting, so it fell under the purview of Major Crimes. It wasn’t their fault he was on the sidelines, so he shouldn’t be pissed at them for it.
But he was.
He stood at the front of his car, sipping terrible convenience store coffee from a Styrofoam cup. The acid in the foul brew made his stomach gurgle in protest, but he ignored it. Instead, he watched the hustle and bustle of the crime scene. Watched Elias direct Diane from Forensics and other support personnel this way and that. Watched Finch’s careful contemplation. He watched it all happen outside the residence and then he watched it all drift gradually inside as a careful, measured, recorded process.
A few minutes later, Ray Browning arrived. The compact, cocoa-skinned detective gave Tower a soft, sympathetic smile before ducking under the yellow crime scene tape.
Tower didn’t smile back.
He knew he shouldn’t resent Ray, either. But he did.
Lieutenant Crawford stood inside the crime scene perimeter, overseeing the activity but giving very little direction. Everyone knew their job, so little was necessary. He glanced over at Tower. Even at the distance of forty yards or so, Tower could read the disgust plainly on the lieutenant’s face.
Everyone knows their job, all right.
Tower held Crawford’s gaze, refusing to look away.
And my job is to stand here and watch. To have it rubbed in my face.
Crawford stared back until one of the crime scene photo-graphers approached a few moments later and asked him a question. He broke away and spoke with her. After that, he studiously ignored Tower.
“I had him,” Tower whispered. “I fucking had him, and I blew it.”
A dark green Lincoln pulled to a stop across the street. The Prosecuting Attorney, Patrick Hinote, exited along with Julie Avery. Both approached Tower. Hinote offered his hand. Tower shook it without much conviction.
Avery greeted him with a nod.
“Not how we’d have planned it, huh?” Hinote remarked, motioning toward the house.
Tower shook his head.
“What do you know?” the Prosecutor asked.
Tower took a sip of the brackish coffee. He eyed the lawyer for a moment, then said, “He attacked one of our officers. She shot him. They’re both up at the hospital.”
Hinote nodded, his expression calm and open. When Tower didn’t continue, he asked, “I’m sure there’s more to it than that, right?”
Tower motioned toward Crawford. “You can get it from him.”
Hinote gave Tower a confused look, but said nothing. Without another word, he turned and headed toward the lieutenant.
Tower watched him go. Then he peeled off the plastic lid on his cup and dumped the remainder of his coffee onto the black asphalt of the street. Turning, he headed toward the car.
“Wait.” Julie Avery’s voice stopped him as he opened the driver’s door.
He glanced over his shoulder at her. “What?”
Avery cleared her throat. “You said the officer was up at the hospital?”
“Yeah.”
“Is he all right?”
“She,” Tower corrected. “And I don’t know.”
“She? Who was it?”
“Katie MacLeod.”
Avery’s eyes widened slightly. “She was the decoy, right?”
Tower nodded.
“And he attacked her?”
“That’s what I said.”
Avery walked around the nose of his car and to the passenger side. She tried the door handle, but it was locked. “Open it,” she instructed Tower.
“Why?”
“Because I need a ride to the hospital, that’s why.”
Tower regarded her for a moment, then nodded. He flipped the door lock switch. Avery opened the passenger door and got into the car without a word. Tower did the same. He started the car and drove away from the crime scene.
1442 hours
Beeps.
He heard beeps.
Not pleasant ones, either. No, these were insistent, shrill, accusatory beeps. He listened to the machine that made them, knowing in his rational mind that there was no emotion behind the monotonous sounds. But his rage wouldn’t listen.
He heard his mother.
You are the reason my entire life has been wasted.
His father.
You little whore’s son. You’ll never be shit.
Maybe they were both right.
Beep… Beep… Beep.
He pushed the medication button in time with the beeps.
He wanted to go away.