The Hardy Boys ran up, crouching as if they were mindful of snipers.
“Here’s what we’ve got. There’s nobody around. Block is -”
“Completely empty.”
“The windows of his building’re all barred. A back entrance -”
“Leading into the alley. The door’s open.”
“Open?” Haumann asked, glancing at several of his officers.
Saul confirmed, “Not just unlocked but open.”
“Booby traps?”
“Not that we could see. Which isn’t to say -”
“There aren’t any.”
Sellitto asked, “Any vehicles in the alley?”
“Nope.”
“Two front entrances. Main front door -”
“Which looks painted shut. The second’s the carriage-house doors. Double, wide enough for two vehicles. There’s a padlock and chain.”
“But they’re lying on the ground.”
Haumann nodded, “So maybe he’s inside.”
“Maybe,” Saul said, then added, “And tell him what we think we heard.”
“Very faint. Could have been crying.”
“Could have been screaming.”
Sachs asked, “The little girl?”
“Maybe. But then it just stopped. How’d Rhyme figure this place?”
“You tell me how his mind works,” Sellitto said.
Haumann called one of his commanders and issued a series of orders. A moment later two ESU vans pulled into the intersection and blocked the other end of the street.
“Team One, front door. Blow it with cutting charges. It’s wood and it’s old so keep the plastic down, okay? Team Two, into the alley. On my three, you go. Got it? Neutralize but we’re assuming the girl’s in there so check your backdrops ’fore you squeeze. ‘Officer Sachs, you’re sure you want to do this?”
A firm nod.
“Okay, boys and girls. Go get him.”
THIRTY-TWO
SACHS AND THE FIVE OTHER OFFICERS of Team Two ran into the torrid alley, which had been blocked off by ESU trucks. Renegade weeds grew profusely through the cobblestones and cracked foundations and the desolation reminded Sachs of the train-track grave yesterday morning.
He hoped the victim was dead. For his sake…
Haumann had ordered troopers onto the roofs of the surrounding buildings, and she saw the muzzles of their black Colts bristling like antennae.
The team paused at the rear doorway. Her fellow cops glanced at Sachs as she checked the rubber bands over her shoes. Heard one of them whisper to another something about superstition.
Then she heard through her earphone:
“Team One leader at front door, charge mounted and armed. We are clear, K.”
“Roger, Team One leader. Team Two?”
“Team Two, in position, K.”
“Roger, Team Two leader. Both teams, dynamic entry. On my three.”
Checked her weapon one last time.
“One…”
Her tongue touched a dot of sweat hanging from the swollen wound on her lip.
“Two…”
Okay, Rhyme, here we go…
“Three!”
The explosion was very sedate, a distant pop, and then the teams were moving. Fast. She sprinted along behind the ESU troopers as they slipped inside and scattered, their muzzle-mounted flashlights crisscrossing the shafts of brilliant sunlight that streamed through the windows. Sachs found herself alone as the rest of the team dispersed, checking out armoires and closets and the shadows behind the grotesque statues the place was filled with.
She turned the corner. A pale face loomed. A knife…
A thud in her heart. Combat stance, gun up. She laid five pounds of pressure on the slick trigger before she realized she was staring at a painting on the wall. An eerie, moon-faced butcher, holding a knife in one hand, a slab of meat in the other.
Brother…
He picked a great place for home.
The ESU troops clopped upstairs, searching the first and second floors.
But Sachs was looking for something else.
She found the door leading down to the basement. Partly open. Okay. Halogen off. You’ve got to take a look first. But she remembered what Nick had said: never look around corners at head or chest level – that’s where he’s expecting you. Down on one knee. A deep breath. Go!
Nothing. Blackness.
Back to cover.
Listen…
At first she heard nothing. Then there was a definite scratching. A clatter. The sound of a fast breath or grunt.
He’s there and he’s digging his way out!
Into her mike she said, “I’ve got activity in the basement. Backup.”
“Roger.”
But she couldn’t wait. She thought of the little girl down there with him. And she started down the stairs. Paused and listened again. Then she realized she was standing with her body fully exposed from the waist down. She practically leapt down to the floor, dropped into a crouch in the darkness.
Breathe deep.
Now, do it!
The halogen in her “left hand stabbed a brilliant rod of light through the room. The muzzle of her weapon targeted the center of the white disk as it swung left to right. Keep the beam down. He’d be at crotch level too. Remembering what Nick had told her: Perps don’t fly.
Nothing. No sign of him.
“Officer Sachs?”
An ESU trooper was at the top of the stairs.
“Oh, no,” she muttered, as her beam fell on Pammy Ganz, frozen in the corner of the basement.
“Don’t move,” she called to the trooper.
Inches away from the girl stood the pack of emaciated wild dogs, sniffing at her face, her fingers, her legs. The girl’s wide eyes darted from one animal to the other. Her tiny chest rose and fell and tears streamed down her face. Her mouth was open and the dot of her pink tongue seemed glued to the right arc of her lip.
“Stay up there,” she said to the ESU trooper. “Don’t spook ’em.”
Sachs drew targets but didn’t fire. She could kill two or three but the others might panic and grab the girl. One was big enough to snap her neck with a single flip of its scarred, mangy head.
“Is he down there?” the ESU cop asked.
“Don’t know. Get a medic here. To the top of the stairs. Nobody come down.”
“Roger.”
Her weapon sights floating from one animal to another, Sachs slowly started forward. One by one the dogs became aware of her and turned away from Pammy. The little girl was merely food; Sachs was a predator. They growled and snarled, front legs quivering as their hindquarters tensed, ready to jump.
“I’m ascared,” Pammy said shrilly, drawing their attention again.
“Shhhh, honey,” Sachs cooed. “Don’t say anything. Be quiet.”
“Mommy. I want my mommy!” Her abrasive howl set the dogs off. They danced in place, and swung their battered noses from right to left, growling.
“Easy, easy…”
Sachs moved to the left. The dogs were facing her now, glancing from her eyes to her outstretched hand and the gun. They separated into two packs. One stayed close to Pammy. The other moved around Sachs, trying to flank her.
She eased between the little girl and the three dogs closest to her.
The Glock swinging back and forth, a pendulum. Their black eyes on the black gun.
One dog, with a scabby yellow coat, snarled and stepped forward on Sachs’s right.
The little girl was whimpering, “Mommy…”
Sachs moved slowly. She leaned down, clamped her hand on the child’s sweatshirt and dragged Pammy behind her. The yellow dog moved closer.
“Shoo,” Sachs said.
Closer still.
“Go away!”
The dogs behind the yellow one tensed as he bared cracked brown teeth.
“Get the fuck outa here!” Sachs snarled and slammed the barrel of the Glock onto his nose. The dog blinked in dismay, yelped, skittered up the stairs.