“What are you looking for?” Abe asked, as Gabriel rotated the two bullets beneath the magnifying lens.
“Same caliber. Both about eighty grams…”
“They should be the same. They were fired from the same weapon.”
“But these are not identical.”
“What?”
“Look at how the second bullet sits on its base. It’s subtle, but you can see it.”
Abe leaned forward, frowning through the lens. “It’s a little off-kilter.”
“Exactly. It’s at an angle.”
“The impact could have deformed it.”
“No, it was manufactured this way. At a nine-degree cant, to send it in a slightly different trajectory from the first. Two missiles, designed for controlled dispersion.”
“There was only one cartridge.”
“And only one entrance wound.”
Maura was frowning at the skull X-rays hanging on the light box. At the two bullets, glowing brightly against the fainter glow of cranium. “A duplex round,” she said.
“That’s why you only heard one shot fired,” said Gabriel. “Because there was only one shot.”
Maura was silent for a moment, her gaze on the skull films. Dramatic as they were, the X-rays did not reveal the track of devastation those two bullets had left in soft tissue. Ruptured vessels, mangled gray matter. A lifetime’s worth of memories atomized.
“Duplex rounds are designed to inflict maximum damage,” she said.
“That’s their selling point.”
“Why would a security guard arm himself with bullets like these?”
“I think we’ve already established this man was not a hospital employee. He walked in with a fake uniform, a fake name tag, armed with bullets designed not just to maim, but to kill. There’s only one good explanation I can come up with.”
Maura said, softly: “The woman was meant to die.”
For a moment no one spoke.
It was the voice of Maura’s secretary that suddenly broke the silence. “Dr. Isles?” she said, over the intercom.
“Yes, Louise?”
“I’m sorry to bother you, but I thought you and Agent Dean should know…”
“What is it?”
“Something’s happening across the street.”
ELEVEN
They ran outside, into heat so thick that Gabriel felt as though he’d just plunged into a hot bath. Albany Street was in chaos. The officer manning the police line was shouting, “Stay back! Stay back!” while reporters pressed forward, a determined amoeba threatening to ooze through the barriers. Sweating Tactical Ops officers were scrambling to tighten the perimeter, and one of them glanced back, toward the crowd. Gabriel saw the look of confusion on his face.
That officer doesn’t know what’s going on, either.
He turned to a woman standing a few feet away. “What happened?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. The cops just went crazy and started toward the building.”
“Was there gunfire? Did you hear shots?”
“I didn’t hear anything. I was just walking to the clinic when I heard them all start yelling.”
“It’s nuts out here,” said Abe. “No one knows anything.”
Gabriel ran toward the command and control trailer, but a knot of reporters blocked his way. In frustration, he grabbed a TV cameraman’s arm and pulled him around. “What happened?”
“Hey, man. Ease off.”
“Just tell me what happened!”
“They had a breach. Walked right through their goddamn perimeter.”
“The shooter escaped?”
“No. Someone got in.”
Gabriel stared at him. “Who?”
“No one knows who he is.”
Half the ME’s staff was gathered in the conference room, watching the TV. The set was tuned to the local news; on the screen was a blond reporter named Zoe Fossey, standing right in front of the police barrier. In the background cops milled among parked vehicles and voices were yelling in confusion. Gabriel glanced out the window at Albany Street, and saw the same scene they were now watching on TV.
“… extraordinary development, clearly something no one expected. The man walked right through this perimeter behind me, just strolled into that controlled area, completely nonchalant, as though he belonged there. That may have been what caught the police off guard. Plus, the man was heavily armed and wearing a black uniform very much like those you see behind me. It would have been easy to mistake him as one of these Tactical Operations officers…”
Abe Bristol gave a can-you-believe-this? snort. “Guy walked right in off the street, and they let him through!”
“… we’re told there is also an inner police perimeter. But it’s inside the lobby, which we can’t see from here. We haven’t heard yet if this man penetrated the second perimeter. But when you see how easily he walked right through the outer line, you can imagine he must have caught the police inside the building by surprise as well. I’m sure they were focused on containing the hostage taker. They probably didn’t expect a gunman to walk in.”
“They should have known,” said Gabriel, staring in disbelief at the TV. “They should have expected this.”
“… it’s been twenty minutes now, and the man has not re-emerged. There was initial speculation that he’s some self-styled Rambo, trying to single-handedly launch a rescue operation. Needless to say, the consequences could be disastrous. But so far, we’ve heard no gunfire, and we’ve seen no indication that his entry into the building has touched off any violence.”
The anchorman cut in: “Zoe, we’re going to run that footage again, so that the viewers who’ve just joined us can see the startling development. It took place about twenty minutes ago. Our cameras caught it live as it happened…”
Zoe Fossey’s image was replaced by a video clip. It was a long-shot view up Albany Street, almost the same view they could see out the conference room window. At first, Gabriel did not even know what he was supposed to focus on. Then an arrow appeared on screen, a helpful graphic added by the TV station, pointing to a dark figure moving along the lower edge. The man walked purposefully past police cars, past the command post trailer. None of the cops standing nearby tried to stop the intruder, though one did glance uncertainly in his direction.
“Here we’ve magnified the image for a better look at this fellow,” the anchorman said. The view zoomed in and froze, the intruder’s back now filling the screen. “He seems to be carrying a rifle, as well as some sort of backpack. Those dark clothes do blend in with all the other cops standing around, which is why our cameraman at the time didn’t realize what he was seeing. At first glance, you’d assume this is a Tactical Operations uniform he’s wearing. But on closer inspection, you can see there is no insignia on the back to indicate he’s part of the team.”
The video clip rolled forward a few frames and again froze, this time on the man’s face, as he turned to glance over his shoulder. He had receding dark hair and a narrow, almost gaunt face. An unlikely Rambo. That one long-distance frame was the only glimpse the camera caught of his features. In the next frame, his back was once again to the camera. The video clip continued, tracking the man’s progress toward the building, until he vanished through the lobby doors.
Zoe Fossey was back onscreen, microphone in hand. “We’ve tried to get some official statement about just what happened here, but no one’s talking, Dave.”
“You think the police might be just the slightest bit embarrassed?”
“To put it mildly. Adding to their embarrassment, I hear the FBI has just stepped in.”
“A not-so-subtle hint that things could be better managed?”
“Well, things are pretty chaotic out here right now.”
“Any confirmation yet on the number of hostages being held?”