“He isn’t going to hold out much longer. I don’t know why he wants the stupid car, and I don’t care. All I know is that I can at least get that into place in case he decides to start shooting. He’s melting down, this Lucas.”
“All due respect, Mrs. MacLean,” Jason told her as he followed her down two flights, “but you’ve never been through a negotiation in your life, right? Perhaps you’re not the best person to predict what’s going to happen.”
She reached the bottom, held the door as he caught up. “All due respect, Jason, but you can’t stop me.”
11
10:55 A.M.
“The car’s here,” Theresa announced as soon as she reached the reading table. Cavanaugh sat in front of the phone system, with the scribe, Irene, at his side and another woman next to Irene. Both Frank and the head librarian had left; Kessler sat drinking coffee as if it were an act of penance. Jason took a seat on the other side of Cavanaugh. Assistant Chief Viancourt browsed the library shelves with polite interest, the way one might do at the in-laws’ house. “It’s down on Superior, in front of the Hampton Inn,” she added.
Cavanaugh looked at her with a gaze so sharp she wondered what he saw. A red face and a crumpled blouse, a voice tight enough to tune a violin-not a professional scientist but a woman on the edge? She forced herself to take a deep breath, slow to a stop, drape one hand over the back of a chair as if she had nothing better to do than drop by the library on this sunny morning.
He said only, “Can they see it from the lobby?”
“Not unless they go through the employee lobby and the security team to the Superior entrance.”
“Good.” He turned back to the woman in front of him, middle-aged, black, wearing a navy suit and sensible shoes. “Go on, Mrs. Hessman.”
Theresa sidled over to the nattily dressed assistant chief of police, now perusing the spine of The British Museum Catalogue of Seals. She introduced herself to the man, who cooed with admiration over how “cool” her job must be before she could go on. He did not seem to know about her relationship with Paul, and she did not see the need to inform him. “I can use your clout on something.” She handed him the blank, powder-processed envelope from the robbers’ car and explained about the postage-meter number. “They won’t be able to give it to me, not immediately. I’d have to fax them all sorts of letters and forms. But someone in your position…”
Theresa had never been much of a manipulator, and she couldn’t believe how easy it was. The man’s chest expanded, and he nodded with great solemnity. He even patted her hand and told her he’d have it taken care of in no time before striding forcefully from the room. She watched him leave. The poor guy just wanted something to do.
Now if she could convince Cavanaugh to give Lucas his car back, her day might end well after all.
Theresa leaned against the metal shelving, listening to Cavanaugh question the woman, trying to stay still and quiet and patently under control. She wished Frank were there. She worked with cops every day but was not one of them, and she liked having Frank and Paul to buffer the unfamiliar faces.
“You handled getting Mark Ludlow on board?” the hostage negotiator asked.
“Yes. A number of our bank examiners were hired at the same time, so they all retired at the same time, and we didn’t have enough qualified replacements locally. It’s hard to find an experienced Fed examiner who wants to move, much less move to Cleveland, I’m sorry to say.”
She chuckled, and Cavanaugh nodded. A survey of large cities with good self-esteem would not have Cleveland in the top ten. Or fifty.
“So you convinced him to leave Atlanta?” “No, he responded to the online posting. He wanted to come here.” “Why?” She paused, fingers stroking the gold cross around her neck. “I think he said Atlanta had gotten too crowded. It is a huge city. But he still drove a hard bargain-he got a promotion and a job for his wife out of it.”
“What does his wife do?” “She’s a secretary in the savings bond unit.” “She doesn’t work with her husband?” “Oh, no. Family members can’t be in a supervisory relationship with other family members. She can type and had done some clerical work before the baby was born, so we fitted her in with the support staff.”
“Did you meet her?” “Yes-Jessica, her name is. Sweet girl.” “How did she feel about the move, about her new job?” Again the human resources manager fingered her pendant. “I don’t really know. I only met her twice, once for the testing and interview process and once to sign all the paperwork. She seemed excited about the job but expressed some… misgivings, I guess you could say, about moving to the new city. I suppose that’s normal. She’s young and probably away from her family for the first time. I was a new bride of nineteen when I left Biloxi. It’s hard.”
“True,” Cavanaugh said, so briskly that Theresa winced. He didn’t understand. Didn’t he have a family, some sort of foundation he’d be reluctant to leave? “Did she seem angry about it?”
“No, not at all. Just nervous. She also, I think, would have preferred to stay home with her little boy instead of working. She said something about ‘at least until he started kindergarten.’ I could understand that, too. The first years are so important.”
“So her son is in a new house, a new city, and then has to start day care, too,” Cavanaugh said, showing more sensitivity than he had a moment before. “That probably worried her.”
“It was a lot of changes at once. Scary but exciting. She really is a sweet girl-an artist, too, likes to paint, and I told her about our art museum. I remember she joked that her son is taking after her and draws constantly, sometimes on the walls.” She chuckled again at the memory. “I think that’s all I can tell you. Why are you so interested in Jessica?”
“We believe she’s one of the hostages.” Cavanaugh pointed at the flat-screen, its images flickering silently on the tabletop. “Can you tell us if that’s her, on the left?”
The blood drained from the woman’s face to see her coworkers crouched on the marble floor, guns pointed at their bodies. “Oh, my Lord.”
“No one is hurt, and I’m sure we can get them out safely. But does that look like Jessica Ludlow?”
She squinted. “Yes, I’m sure. She has the baby with her?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“We’re wondering that ourselves. Thank you for your help, Mrs. Hessman-”
Theresa interrupted. “What time does she start work?”
“Seven-thirty,” the woman answered without hesitation.
Cavanaugh took a swig from his water bottle, allowing Theresa to continue her questioning.
“What time does Mark Ludlow start work?” she asked.
“Eight, usually. But a senior examiner… well…”
“Doesn’t punch a time clock.”
“Exactly,” Mrs. Hessman told her. “Some are more flexible, come in at eight-thirty or nine and stay later, but only a few. They’re all accountants, so they tend to be a bit regimented.”
“Do you know what day-care arrangements she had for their son?”
“No, I sure don’t.”
Theresa mulled this over while Cavanaugh thanked the woman again. “This officer will see you out.”
The room fell silent, except for the hum of distant cars and the terse, quiet exchanges from the staff offices. Then Theresa said, “Maybe they drive separately to work because she starts earlier. It still seems funny, considering the price of gas these days.”
“Come here,” Cavanaugh said to her. He pushed an empty chair out from the desk, next to him. “Sit down. Need a bottle of water?”
“No-yeah, actually. That would be good.”
Irene pulled an Aquafina from a small cooler and passed it down.
Cavanaugh handed it to her. “Or she drives separately because she drops the baby at day care. Are there still officers at the scene?