“No.”
“Larry, please. It’ll be a lot worse for you if you don’t.”
Larry didn’t answer. At the door, Perez was motioning for me to join them and bring the key. I ignored him. I was determined to try it my way first.
“Look,” I pleaded. “You know the place is surrounded. You can’t get away. Give it up, Larry. Let Damm come out first and then you follow.” Automatically I fell back on my negotiation training. Use the suspect’s first name as much as possible. Try to win his confidence.
“You’ll have to kill me first.”
Those are chilling words when you’re in a standoff. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. A clutch of cold fear gripped my stomach. Those are words that tell you that negotiation isn’t working, that the other guy has nothing left to lose, that he doesn’t care if he lives or dies. When that happens, you’re not playing by the same rules. The odds aren’t even.
“Larry, we don’t want to kill you. You got that? We don’t want you to die.”
“I won’t go back.”
I heard what he said, and I knew what he meant, but I forced him to repeat it. “You what?”
“I said I won’t go back. I’ve been in the joint once. Once was enough!“
It grew quiet again as I wondered what to say next, searching desperately for some life-saving words that would break the stalemate. Again, impatiently this time, Perez motioned for me to bring him the key. I shook my head and released the intercom button for a moment, cutting Larry off from what was said.
“Wait,” I told Perez. “Not yet.” Again I pushed the button. I wavered, but only momentarily. “Did you kill him?” I asked.
“What?”
“You heard me. Did you kill Dr. Nielsen?”
“I was only trying to help,” Larry answered. “I thought he was going to kill her. Then he came after me. I didn’t think she hit him that hard.”
A wave of gooseflesh covered my body. It was the same thing LeAnn had said, the exact same story. “What did she hit him with?” I asked.
“Jesus, I don’t know. Something from the floor. A vase or something. I didn’t know he was dead, for God’s sake. I never thought he was dead.” Martin’s voice broke into something like a sob. A light came on in my head. I knew then and there he was telling the truth, and if he was, so was LeAnn Nielsen.
“Larry, I believe you. Let Richard Damm come out. Help me get to the bottom of this.”
“No,” he answered stubbornly. “It’s a trick. You’re lying. I’m sure of it. I’m not going to talk anymore.”
“Larry?”
There was no answer, only oppressive silence.
“Larry, I’m sure you can still hear me. What happened after LeAnn hit him? What happened next?”
Perez strode over to me, his face thunderous. I let go of the intercom button so Larry wouldn’t be able to hear.
“Will you give me the fucking key?” Perez demanded.
“No,” I answered. “Not yet.”
I turned the intercom back on. “Come on, Larry,” I wheedled. “Tell me what happened. Did he fall?”
“I caught him and carried him over to the chair.”
“The one there in the examining room?”
“Yes.”
“And then what?”
“We left. There was so much blood in my eyes that I could barely see. She led me to my car and drove me to the hospital.”
“And Nielsen was still alive when you left?”
“He was still breathing. His heart must have stopped.”
“It stopped all right. It stopped because somebody shoved a dental pick in his throat.”
I waited, letting my words sink home.
“What?”
“Somebody shoved a dental pick in his throat after you left. He bled to death.”
Perez was staring at me like I’d gone stark raving crazy, but I wasn’t paying much attention to him. I was waiting to see what kind of impact my words would have on Larry Martin.
When he spoke again, he sounded stunned. “You mean he didn’t die because she hit him over the head?”
“That’s right.”
“You mean somebody else…” He paused. “Wait a minute, is this the truth?”
“It’s the truth, Larry, I swear to God. Let Richard Damm go.”
His voice came back, almost a whisper. “It’s too late.”
My heart fell. Was Richard Damm dead then? Had Larry finished him off when he tried to talk to me? I tried to stay calm, focused.
“It’s not too late, Larry. It’s never too late.”
“If I come out, they’ll kill me. I know how SWAT teams work.”
“Larry, listen to me. I’m not on the SWAT team. I’m just a detective, a plain old homicide detective. If you won’t come out, let me come in. Trade me for Richard Damm. Is he still there? Is he all right?”
I could hear a muffled sound in the background, but I had no idea what it meant.
“If you didn’t kill Dr. Nielsen, you’ve got nothing to worry about. It’s all a mistake, Larry. Don’t make it worse. Let Damm go.”
“It’s a trick. It’s gotta be a trick.”
I decided to go for broke. It was a gamble, but all of life is a gamble, and there are far worse ways of dying than attempting to save innocent lives.
“It isn’t a trick, Larry. I’ll prove it. We’re in the garage right now. There are three of us.”
“Beaumont!” Perez howled. “What are you trying to do?”
“We’re in the garage,” I repeated, plunging ahead. “I’m with two guys from the Emergency Response Team. I’m giving them my gun.”
Perez stepped away from me. “What? Are you crazy?”
“Unlock the door. I’m coming in unarmed, Larry. Just me, do you understand? You won’t be able to talk to me anymore. I’m turning off the intercom.”
I put my. 38 on the workbench beneath the telephone and started toward the door with the key to the inside door clenched tightly in my fingers. “Okay, guys, let me through.”
Howell was standing in front of the door. “You can’t do this. Logan will shit a brick.”
“Let him,” I said. “I’ve got to end this before it gets worse. You two stay here.”
They could have stopped me, if they’d put their minds to it. After all, there were two of them and only one of me. They had guns; I didn’t. But there’s a certain understanding that’s usually unspoken among cops, a mutual respect, that says when to back off. Howell and Perez knew that Larry Martin was mine. Grudgingly, Howell stepped aside to let me pass, holding out his hand for the key.
“You’ve got five minutes,” he said tersely. “After that we come in with the tear gas.”
“It’s a deal,” I said, giving him the second key.
I made my way through the warehouse and showroom. The place was well lit yet eerily silent except for the soft swish of my shoes on the thick carpeting. Standing outside the door to Richard Damm’s private office, I whipped off my jacket, revealing the empty shoulder holster under my arm. I tried the doorknob. It was still locked.
“Let me in, Larry. It’s Beaumont. Hurry. There’s not much time.”
After what seemed an eternity, the lock clicked. I turned the knob and opened the door a crack. The room was totally dark. I stopped and shut one eye, hoping to help ease the visual transition.
“Turn on the light so you can see I’m unarmed. I just want to talk to you.”
“Come in first. Put your hands up.”
Martin’s voice came from behind the wall next to the door. With my knees shaking, I stepped into the room and stopped. Behind me the door swung shut. I was still holding my breath when the lights came on.
The room was a shambles. The fish tank had been smashed to bits. The carpeting was soaked and littered with shards of glass and pieces of decorative shells and plants that had once decorated the bottom of the tank. All the booze bottles had been shoved off the shelves of the bar and lay in a shattered, soggy heap on the floor. A huge hole had been beaten into the face of Richard Damm’s big screen television set.
“Turn around slowly,” Larry Martin ordered. “Keep your hands up.”
I turned. The first thing I noticed was his face. Three separate lines of stitches fanned the length of his cheek from scalp to chin. He was lucky he hadn’t lost an eye. He was standing there in a big league batter’s stance with an old wooden baseball bat aimed at my head.