The alternative? Tell the truth.
Sure. Tell the public there was more than probably an angry freak loose in LA. What did that get you? Six years ago all over again. Three days of eight million people panicked out of their minds while a changeling ran wild killing free as it pleased. Three days of chaos before it got put down. Three days Metcalf didn't want to live through one more time. So for now…
Deny, stonewall. Lie for the public good.
So ENG cameras purred, flashes popped, radios squawked, cell phones chirped. Cops darted and dashed and ran making double time but getting closer to absolutely nothing.
Into all this zombied Fiero. He'd made the five-and-three-quarter-mile walk back from the call to Valley Bureau just like he was told to do. No one saw him along the way, or people saw him but paid him no mind because even though he was being looked for, no one would've figured a missing MTac cop—the one remaining of four—to be strolling through the Valley. And apparently no one figured on Fiero all of a sudden just showing up at Valley Bureau, because the craziness that was going on there didn't slow down a lick for him. All around, the cameras kept purring, the flashbulbs kept popping. The radios and cell phones kept on doing their thing.
Fiero, softly: "… Listen to me…"
Questions shouted. Answers evaded. Orders given.
"Listen…"
Shouts. Purrs. Denials. Flashes.
"LISTEN TO ME!"
Everybody stopped. Everybody turned. They all looked and listened; listened because they were too stunned by the sight of the sweat-drenched, terror-filled cop with the blood flooding from his nostrils to make a sound.
"The… the rev…" Fiero fought. Hard as he could he fought. He didn't want to say what was planted inside his mind. Wasn't because of the message itself. That he didn't give a damn about. But he knew what was waiting for him once the message was delivered. He knew what happened to messengers."The reve…"
Metcalf said, started to say: "Fiero… Adam, what happ—"
"Don't let me say it!" Tears and sweat and blood all mixed together dripped from beneath Fiero's chin.
"Don't let you say what? What happened?"
"Jesus Christ! Don't let me…" No more fighting. There was no fighting to be done."The revelation is coming. The truth will set them free. But… but not us. Not… this is what's waiting for us."
Arm up, gun in hand. Gun into mouth. Fiero jerked the trigger. A. 45 slug lodged in the ceiling. It carried most of the top of Fiero's head up there with it.
The camera guy from Channel 9 got a real nice shot of the whole thing.
Rumors.
Rumors were flying. Rumors were chased by speculation and hearsay. Everybody, every cop at Parker Center had a version of what went down in the Valley. Orders from up high were: Stick with the official story. Stay away from rumor and speculation. Nobody say nothing.
Orders got ignored.
Blues talked: Didjya hear there was a badass freak in the Valley? Didjya know Valley MTac got wiped out? Again. Did they tell you one of the cops popped himself? Sounds like a telepath.
Parker Center was like a brass beehive. This deputy chief was calling, that lieutenant commander wanted info. Every MTac cop wanted to know what was truth and what was the company line.
Soledad wanted to know what was going on. Desperately wanted to know. Back on a desk, away from MTac, information flew past her, around her. It avoided her. Frustrating. The almost but not quite knowing of things was very frustrating.
No good asking Yarborough. Yarborough didn't know much. All he cared about was: If a telepath was out there, when would he get a crack at it?
Bo knew things. Bo followed orders. Bo didn't talk.
Vin knew things. Vin could answer some questions. No way was Soledad going to Vin for a favor. Better to be in the dark. Better to wonder about the situation. Better to…
Then again…
Maybe going to Vin wouldn't be so awful. So she'd owe him one in his mind. Was that so bad for a scrap of info?
Soledad looked up. Every cop in the joint looked up, saw Deputy Chief of OVB Metcalf, saw Special Assistant Deputy Chief Tannehill, saw Bo, saw all of them striding toward Lieutenant Rysher's office. A plan of action was about to get strategized on. And every cop would've given anything to have been in Rysher's office with them. None more so than the MTacs. None more so than Soledad.
Bo, as he passed, gave Soledad a look. The look was quick. The look was just long enough to say: Sorry, kid. Know you want in on this, but not much I can do.
Bo said that with his look, then disappeared into Rysher's office along with Metcalf and Tannehill.
Soledad watched them go in, watched the door get closed. For a good while she stared at the door, hypothesized about who was saying what to who about whatever really happened in the Valley, what should be the first consideration and what would be the next step.
All the staring in the world gave Soledad no clairvoyance.
She went back to moving a pen over paper. It made for a crappy distraction. Going through the motions of work did nothing to take her mind off what kinds of plans were being cooked up to deal with the—
The door opened. Bo half popped himself out.
"Soledad." He ticked his head back toward Rysher's office.
Soledad sat a moment, then fumbled Jerry Lewis-style for the office, her heart pounding, her mind working on fantasies of getting the call to duty: They needed her, they needed her piece, there's no way they can stop the freak without…
Inside the office. Tomb quiet. Soledad got no notice from Metcalf or Tannehill. Bo said to Rysher: "O'Roark?"
Rysher hesitated a little, said: "Yeah, she's fine for this. Get a pen and paper, take notes."
Soledad's heart slowed, practically quit beating. Fantasies, that's all they were.
And the way Rysher'd said Soledad was fine for" this," told her to get a pen and paper. Those weren't just assessment and direction. To Soledad's ears they were comments of condescension.
The poisoned well? Lies and deceit and conspiracy?
But she wanted in. Deal with the lies later.
From Rysher's desk Soledad took a pen and paper, took a seat.
A secretary with a gun. Except she didn't have a gun anymore.
Tannehilclass="underline" "Let's get to it. David?"
Metcalf said: "Media's playing ball, for now at least."
"Playing ball or swallowing bullshit?"
"Mostly swallowing. They're going with the story. Murder-suicide."
"Now, hold on." Bo interrupting."You gonna put out Fiero killed those other three and himself? He's good cop."
"This isn't about him," Rysher cautioned.
"Hell, I know what it's about. But the man's got family. You're gonna leave him painted like a nut job killer for them?"
"Sooner or later," Tannehill said,"the truth will come out. We'll put it out. He'll be vindicated."
"Sooner or later?"
"If it keeps the people from panicking, consider Fiero doing his job even in death. I promise you, when this is done, he'll be fully, completely cleared. His family will receive benefits over and above what they're due. But we've got to keep the peace. Any way we can, we've got to."
Silence was acceptance. But Bo, even under the circumstances, didn't like a dead cop being mud-dragged.
Tannehill asked Rysher: "What's the status of the MTacs?"
"Valley is up to full strength. We've transferred over one operator from Harbor, Pacific and West LA, and one TOL. Now, that's going to shake things up at all the divisions, but it's better than having one green team. Especially if this freak is hiding out in the Valley."
"Do we know it's still in the Valley?" Tannehill asked.
"No," Metcalf answered.
"Do we even know what we're up against?"
"We're pretty sure it's a telepath."
Pretty sure didn't sit too well with Tannehill."Jesus, David. What have you got your DMI doing?"