Glitsky nodded. "We'll get his statement, then see where we are," he said. "But unofficially, I don't think you need to worry. It'll all come out."
"At least enough to clear Andrew," Hardy said. "Let's hope."
Wu let out a heavy breath. "But how did you know I'd open the door?" she asked. "I almost didn't."
"I didn't know that for sure," Hardy said. "That was Plan A. Plan B was the door comes down anyway about five seconds later. Abe and I both thought it was worth a try to get you out of the way first."
They heard noises from out on the landing, footfalls and voices on the stairs. "I'm going to want a more complete statement from you tomorrow," Glitsky said, "but we can let that go tonight." His eyes went to the shattered door leaning up against the wall, the empty door frame with its hanging hinges. "Are you going to need a place to stay?"
"She can come to my place," Hardy said, turning to her. "If you're good with that? Same spacious quarters and comfortable bed?"
"Same night chef?" she asked.
"It might be arranged."
At that moment, Jason Brandt broke from the ranks of police that were accompanying him up the stairs and stopped in the open door frame. "Jesus," he exclaimed at all the damage. Then, seeing her at the table, he closed his eyes and blew out heavily in relief. Hardy and Glitsky might as well not have been there. "Amy, are you all right?"
Her face lit up. "Jason. What are you doing here?"
"What's he doing here?" Hardy asked. "He's the hero, that's all."
Brandt shook his head in embarrassed denial, spoke to Hardy. "No. From what I hear, you're the hero. I just-"
Hardy cut him off. "You just figured it all out and called Chief Glitsky here and got us moving, that's all. Without which none of this happens."
Wu was staring at Brandt. "But I told you to get away, Jason. To get out of here."
"I know." He shrugged. "I snuck back up and listened at the door."
"But why? How did you know?"
"Because I know you, Amy," he said. "You wouldn't have just sent me off. Not that way. No matter what. That's not who you are."
Lanier and Ariola appeared from the steps, on the landing behind Brandt. Hardy turned back to Wu and saw that her eyes had brimmed.
Brandt stepped into the room, out of the cops' way. He hesitated, then came over behind Amy at the table. He put a hand on her shoulder, and Wu put her hand over his.
In the door frame, Ariola said, "If we're sealing this place up, we're going to want to get to it pretty soon, Chief."
"All right," Glitsky said. He motioned to the civilians. "When they're ready to go down, let's get that done."
Lanier spoke up. "Also, just a heads up, Abe, but there's some people waiting for you downstairs," he said. "Cameras."
Glitsky's face went dark. He took in the scene here one last time, said "Swell" and pushed through to the landing.
Out in the street, at the impromptu press conference, Glitsky stood in a circle of halogen and uniforms and spoke into a hastily assembled cluster of microphones. As usual at this type of event, he found himself on the defensive. "Well," he said. "Assuming that our sharpshooter could not take him out, which was always a viable option, there were really two main objections to simply calling him up on the telephone or using a bullhorn to tell him he was surrounded.
"The first was that we knew that he'd already killed seven people at close range and in cold blood. After some serious discussion downtown, we decided-"
"Who's 'we,' Chief?"
"Myself, homicide Lieutenant Marcel Lanier and Dismas Hardy."
"The lawyer?" A woman's voice. "What's a lawyer doing making police decisions?"
"Mr. Hardy didn't make the decision, Claudia. He had some detailed knowledge of the situation and it proved useful. In any event, getting back to the original question, in view of Mr. Cottrell's behavior in the past few weeks, if we announced our presence, we thought it extremely likely that he would simply kill the hostage and then himself. The second objection was that we thought we had a better plan."
"But one that exposed civilian lives to danger, isn't that true?"
"That's true, but it was only one civilian and Mr. Hardy volunteered, and his involvement was crucial. Ms. Wu is his business associate and friend. And let's not forget, if you don't mind," Glitsky said, forcing himself, "the operation was a success."
Another disembodied voice from out in the darkness: "Yes, but how sure are you that Ray Cottrell is in fact the Executioner?"
"Close to a hundred percent. He confessed as much to Ms. Wu. But now that he's in custody, you'll be hearing lots more about that, I'm sure."
"I understand he was an abused child who grew up in a succession of foster homes."
"Is that a question?" Glitsky asked. "If so, I have no comment."
"Chief? What part of your decision not to use your sniper in this instance comes from the tragic results of the LeShawn Brodie situation?"
"Well, first, that LeShawn Brodie decision wasn't made by me or anybody else in this jurisdiction. Second, as I thought I'd already made clear, Mr. Ralston, we never made the decision not to use our sharpshooter in this case, and in fact that option was on the table throughout the course of the operation, if the opportunity presented itself. Which it didn't."
"In other words, you approved the order to have Cottrell shot out of hand, but by the same token you elected not to give him a chance to surrender by letting him know that his options had run out and he was surrounded?"
Glitsky brought one hand to his side and pushed in against the spasm there. He raised his other hand up against the bright lights. Trying not to look too menacing, and to possibly even look cooperative and friendly, and failing abysmally, he glared out into the invisible circle in front of him. "As I believe I've already explained…"
35
On the Wednesday of that week, at a little before one o'clock in the afternoon, Wu walked up the hall from her office and turned right toward Hardy's, passing directly behind Phyllis's workstation. The elderly receptionist obviously had eyes in the back of her head, because as Wu came abreast of her, she whirled in her ergonomic chair and actually held a hand up. "He's busy and doesn't want to be disturbed. Did you make an appointment?"
Wu stopped, forced a polite smile. "I just opened my mail," she said, holding up a yellowish manila envelope, "and he'll want to see this. I promise."
"That's what everyone says. All of you associates believe he'll want to see you, which of course he does. He and I have discussed this. He's happy to make time for the associates, but he'd really prefer that those times are convenient to him, not necessarily to them." Phyllis possibly actually thought she was softening the message with her schoolteacher smile. "I'm sorry," she said, as one of the phones in her bank rang behind her and she whirled around again to get it.
Wu didn't hesitate for a moment, but broke right as quietly as she could, got to Hardy's door and knocked.
"Ms. Wu!"- from behind her, as from the other side of the door she heard, "Yo!" and got herself inside.
Her boss, coat off, tie loosened, was rummaging through the drawers of his desk. He greeted her arrival with a smile that seemed more or less welcoming behind the more obvious fluster of his demeanor. "How did you…?" he began, and was interrupted by the sharp buzz of his intercom.
He reached over, pushed the button and said "Yo!" again, this time into the speaker. He knew that of all the things hated by Phyllis, and in his experience this included nearly all forms of human interaction, his cavalier telephone greeting ranked near the top. He winked at Wu during the short, distinctive pause while Phyllis bit back her natural reprimand. "Mr. Hardy! I told Ms. Wu you weren't to be disturbed, and she went ahead."