Suddenly, I had an idea. “Is the inside door locked, the one from the garage into the warehouse?”
“Of course it’s locked. What do you think I am, some kind of dummy?”
“Does Logan know that?”
“Who’s he?”
“Captain Logan, the guy over there with the van. He’s in charge of the Emergency Response Team.”
“I don’t know if anybody told him or not,” Nick replied with a shrug. “Nobody asked me.”
An idea was beginning to form in my head. “When you talk to Mr. Damm, how do you do it?”
Nick was incensed. “What do you think? I open my mouth and the words come out, just like I’m doing with you.”
“No,” I said. “You don’t understand. Do you go to his office or what?”
“I call him on the intercom.”
“You don’t have to go through his secretary?”
“Hell no. You think I should have an appointment to tell him somebody’s clutch went out?”
“Come with me, Nick. I need your help.”
We hurried over to the van. Captain Logan had deployed his men. Now he stood with a bullhorn in hand, ready to establish voice contact.
“Wait a minute,” I said. “Let me try something.”
“What?”
“Give me a chance to go in there and talk to him.”
“No way,” Logan replied. “It’s out of the question.” He noticed Nick Wallace standing behind me. “Who’s he? What’s he doing here? Get him back on the other side of the barricades.”
“He works in there,” I said. “He runs the garage. He can let me in the back way. I can talk to Martin on his intercom.”
“I told you no, Beaumont. I’m not endangering his life or yours.”
“How many of your men have ever been inside this building?” I asked.
“None,” Logan replied.
“Well, I have. I was in there yesterday afternoon, as a matter of fact. I happen to know there’s an interior door between the warehouse and the garage. It’s always locked from this side.”
“Jesus Christ!” Logan exploded. “Why didn’t someone tell me that before?”
“There’s an intercom, too,” I added. Logan was listening now, his heavy eyebrows knitted in concentration.
“An intercom connected to that room, the one he’s in?” he asked.
“That’s right. I’ve been in there too.”
Logan looked at me for a long minute, then ducked his head into the van. “Hand me a couple of those bulletproof vests,” he ordered.
He came back out of the van holding two vests. He handed one to me and gave the other to Nick. “Wear this if you’re going to be here,” he said to Wallace. Logan turned back to me. “What if he’s had time to break through the door into the garage?” he asked.
“It’s a risk I’m willing to take,” I told him, shrugging my way into the vest.
Logan shook his head. “I hate to do it, but at least you know where to look. That’s more than my guys do. You’re not going in by yourself, though. I’ll send Howell in with you. Howell and Perez.”
“Fine,” I said. “Let’s do it.”
“I can’t go?” Nick asked, disappointed.
“No,” I answered, “you can’t, but give me your keys.”
He pulled a long, heavy key chain out of his pocket and handed it to me. There must have been at least twenty-five keys on it. I gave it right back to him.
“Take off the two I need,” I said. “One for the outside door and one for inside.”
While Wallace struggled to extricate the keys, I looked back at the building. The yellow walls were blank and forbidding. Logan was right: there had been plenty of time for Martin to have broken into the garage if he wanted to. And if he had, we could be walking straight into a trap.
Don’t think I wasn’t scared. I was. Cops are human. They don’t put their lives on the line without being scared. But if anyone was going to go into Damm Fine Carpets and talk to Larry Martin, I was the one to do it. I was the only officer at the scene who knew the first thing about the inside of that building. Besides, it was my erroneous presumption of Larry Martin’s innocence that had gotten us into the mess in the first place.
Nick finally handed me two loose keys. I slipped the key to the inside door into my coat pocket and kept the outside one in my hand.
“Where’s the intercom, Nick?” I asked.
“Over on the workbench, right beside the telephone.”
“And how do I work it?”
“Just press down on the white button and call. He’ll be able to hear you.”
“And will I be able to hear him?”
“Only if he presses the button in his office.”
By the time I turned back around with the keys, Officers Howell and Perez were lined up and ready to move out.
“No heroics, now, Beaumont,” Logan cautioned. “Just get my guys close enough to that room so they can lay down a couple of tear-gas canisters. That’s all you need to do. You got that?”
“Got it,” I said.
With Nick Wallace’s key in one hand and my. 38 Smith and Wesson in the other, I couldn’t cross my fingers.
I crossed my toes instead.
CHAPTER 14
You don’t think about how noisy doors are until you try to open one quietly. When Nick Wallace’s key clicked home in the lock of Damm Fine Carpets’ back door, the sound crackled in the silent air like an exploding firecracker, and when I slowly pushed the door open, the hinges squawked and creaked with electrifying shrillness.
Holding my breath, I more than half expected a bullet to come smashing out through the open door. It didn’t. I crouched there beside the doorway, peering into the shadowy gloom of the garage, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the light.
Three vans were parked inside. Larry Martin’s was still in the same place with the doors still open. Another was raised up on a jack. A tire lay on the floor beside it. My guess was that the alarm had caught Nick in the middle of changing the tire. The third, with no identifiable ailment, was parked nearest the door.
Using the vans for cover, we worked our way into the room, creeping along, heads down, weapons ready. Howell and Perez were packing automatic Uzis. My trusty. 38 didn’t offer nearly the fire power, but I was glad to have it. It felt like an old friend.
Perez reached the interior door first. He tried the knob and found it locked, then motioned for Howell to join him. Meantime, I made my way over to the workbench and located the telephone. The telephone and the intercom.
If I’d had my druthers, I’d have pulled the intercom off the workbench and ducked down behind one of the vans while I attempted to talk to Larry Martin. Unfortunately, this was Nick Wallace’s domain. Both the phone and the intercom had been permanently stationed, bolted firmly to the wall behind his workbench.
I knew that Perez and Howell were poised between me and Larry Martin, but I still felt incredibly vulnerable as I stood with my back to them and to the door and pressed the white button on the intercom.
“Larry? Larry, can you hear me?”
There was no answer.
“Larry, this is Detective Beaumont with the Seattle Police Department. Can you hear me?”
I waited, but still no response. “If you can hear me, press the button on the intercom.”
An endless period of silence ensued. In it, I could hear the minute ticking of my watch and the muffled beat of my own heart thumping away in my chest. I wasn’t scared. Not much.
“What do you want?” Larry Martin’s voice spilled into the room like a splash of ice water. “Where are you?”
“I want to talk to you, Larry. Where’s Richard Damm? Is he all right?”
“I’m okay, but he’s crazy. You hear me? Help me. Get him out-” Damm’s voice, recognizable but verging on hysterics, was cut off in midsentence. I hoped for Richard Damm’s sake that Larry Martin had simply released the intercom button and turned off the sound. I waited, expecting to hear the report of a fired weapon. None came.
“Larry,” I said. “You’re making a terrible mistake. Release him. Let him walk out of the building.”