Текст книги "On the Street Where You Die"

Автор книги: Al Stevens

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Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 11 страниц)

Chapter 27  

“Bill, I’ve got good news and bad news.”

Why do people always say that when there’s seldom enough good news to offset the bad news? This time was different. The good news was great, and the bad news wasn’t all that bad.

I was sitting at my desk spinning the DVD on the tip of a pencil. My cell phone was “on speaker” like they say. Rodney sat at his desk and listened.

“What’s the good news?” Bill asked.

“I have evidence that clears Buford Overbee.”

Bill sighed. “So what’s the good news?”

“Seriously, I have a video of someone planting something in the trunk of his car the day of the murder.”

“Okay, what’s the bad news?”

“Well, given that your case is in the dumpster, I am hoping you’ll help me with the interrogation. We need a confession to wrap it up.”

“You want to grill the suspect here in the room?”

“That would be best.”

“What do I tell the boss?”

“Tell him you’re reinforcing the case against Overbee so that a slick lawyer doesn’t get him off.”

“How about if I come over there and look at your evidence? With all the budget cuts, I can’t commit department resources on a hunch, particularly for a closed case.”

“My door is always open, Bill. Look on the bright side. Here we can drink. How soon can you be here?”

“Hear that knock on your door?”

About an hour later, Bill was sitting across from me with a drink in his hand. I told him how I got the video and what the Overbee clan had said about their shopping trip. The date/time stamp on the video established the time frame.

I ran the video start to finish on Rodney’s laptop. Bill leaned forward, his elbows on the desk, and watched intently.

“Well, Stan, that sure is a nice piece of evidence,” he said when the video had played out.

He turned away from the laptop monitor and sat back in the chair across from my desk. “Only problem is it’s circumstantial. You can’t make out the face, no clear shot of either license plate, and you can’t tell what the guy put in the trunk. Not to mention that we shouldn’t even be looking at this thing since the warrant was phony.”

“But the coincidences are compelling,” I said.

“Let’s hear it.”

“First,” I said, “the panel van is from the company Sproles works for. Second, Sproles was out on a bogus service call at that time. I have a copy of the service order. Next, the image matches his description. Finally, how many white Rolls Royces are there in this town? It goes on and on.”

Bill wasn’t moved by my arguments. It usually took a lot to get him to back off.

“But there’s loose ends too,” he said.

“Like what?”

“Like this video was made the afternoon after the killing. Only a few hours. How did he know where the Rolls would be parked that quick? From what you told me, Overbee’s wife went shopping on a whim. Where did the gun come from? There’s no record of it anywhere, and all of Overbee’s guns are unregistered.”

I wanted him to see the big picture, but he was buried in the details. Our different approaches to solving crimes always worked off one another. But that was when we were on the same side.

“Even so,” I said, “all things taken together, it adds up. Sproles killed Vitole and then planted the gun to frame Overbee.”

“I guess that’s possible. His wife saw Overbee’s car at the Vitole house that morning. But why plant it? Why not just toss the piece in the river?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, all these unanswered questions, what do you want to do?”

“Let’s get him in the room and beat a confession out of him.”

“Get me more, Stan. We don’t have enough. Maybe Sproles’s wife can add something. Maybe Mrs. Vitole.”

I filled his glass. He took a sip and listened.

“Maybe we can turn them all on one another. We interview them separately and offer a deal to the first one that spills, and they rat one another out. It’s worked before.”

We both lit cigarettes, Bill his next, me my last.

“Where would we do that?” he asked.

“At the house. In the room.” The house was headquarters. The room would be one of the interrogation rooms. The best place to question a witness. Police territory and a stark, intimidating place. Made you look for the bright light and rubber hose.

“Not on your Aunt Matilda’s straw hat. The boss sees you and me dancing around the squad room with witnesses on a closed case, I go down harder than you did. Ain’t gonna happen. I like my job.”

“Why not show the video to the boss?”

“That’s a thought. He’s usually pretty fair when it looks like we have the wrong perp. He’ll be pissed though. Reopening a closed case always gets attention upstairs.”

“Who’s prosecuting?”

“ADA Weatherly. New guy.”

“Okay. Here’s what let’s do. Get Weatherly in. Show him the video. Tell him Overbee’s lawyer has it, which he will. The defense will be allowed to use it in court because it’s exculpatory. Tell them they’ll have lots of egg on their face in court and in the press if it comes out that they knew about it and prosecuted anyway.”

Bill looked at me with a worried look on his face.

“Stan, what if they find out how you got it?”

“How could they? I didn’t leave a copy of the warrant. The rent-a-cop was so happy to be working with the police, that he never asked for it.”

That didn’t seem to satisfy Bill, who didn’t like to speculate.

“But he’ll tell them you had one. And that you flashed a badge and impersonated a cop.”

“I never said I was a cop. And he didn’t see the warrant up close. No big deal. His word against mine.”

“We have to tell Weatherly,” Bill said. “He has to know everything if he’s going to be on our side.”

“Okay, I’ll tell him the whole enchilada.”

“I didn’t want it to come to all this, Stan. I’m going to be in a world of hurt. But, I’ll survive. I think this video will be enough to get your guy released. They won’t be able to use it against the perp, though, because of how you got it.”

“Can’t you get a real warrant for the videos?”

“Nope. Probable cause comes from your video. Fruit of the poisonous tree. Let’s see how this plays out before we figure out what’s next.”

I gave him a copy of the video.

He pulled his overcoat on. “When do I get to hear the good news?”

Chapter 28  

We sat in a conference room in the courthouse. I sat next to Bill Penrod. Across the table from us was ADA Phil Weatherly. Rodney was there in case we had any technical questions, but I had instructed him to observe and speak only when spoken to.

William and Marsha Sproles were in a waiting room while we briefed Weatherly. We showed him the video, and I briefed him on my investigation.

Weatherly excused himself and made a call on his cell phone. When he was done, he said, “That gun was the only piece of physical evidence we had on Overbee, and this video casts a lot of doubt on its credibility. I just talked to the DA. He’s releasing Overbee from house arrest as we speak.”

Right about then, Bill’s cell phone signaled. He pulled it out and looked at it.

“Text from the DA. I am to go pick up the ankle bracelet.”

“Overbee will be glad to see you,” I said.

“Uncle Stanley, what about—”

“Shut up, Rodney.” Let the cops figure out how Buford got the bracelet off.

Bill sent word for the Sproleses to come in. We introduced them to Weatherly.

“Why are we here?” Sproles asked. “We already told the police everything we know.”

“We need you to look at a video. It might convince you to change your story.”

I started the video on Rodney’s laptop and turned it around so Mr. and Mrs. Sproles could watch it. Marsha showed no reaction to the video. Sproles himself didn’t speak either as the video played. But he turned an ashen shade of gray when he saw the service van pull up next to the Rolls.

When the video showed him getting out of the van, he said, “I think I need a lawyer.”

“This is not an official interrogation,” Weatherly said. “You haven’t been charged or read your rights. Nothing you tell us can be used against you. We’re just trying to tie up some loose ends, this visit to Overbee’s car being one of them.”

Sproles just sat there, saying nothing.

“If you don’t want to talk to us, that’s okay,” Bill said. “Just listen to what we have to say.”

Sproles sat there with his lips tightly closed and his arms folded, glaring at me.

“We know you are in witness protection,” Bill said.

Sproles reacted visibly.

Bill continued. “We know Vitole used to be a handler. We know that he had been blackmailing witness protection clients. We know that he had been having an affair with your wife.”

Bill slid copies across the table of the pictures I had taken of Vitole and Marsha. Sproles looked at the pictures, put his face in his hands, and rocked from side to side. Marsha Sproles still didn’t react.

“And we know from this video that you planted the murder weapon in Overbee’s car.”

“I do need a lawyer,” Sproles said.

“Yes, you do,” Weatherly said. “So don’t talk if you don’t want to. But listen.”

Bill continued.

“This can go several ways. If the feds see this video, or if we charge you with this murder, tampering with evidence, or anything else, you’re out of witness protection and back in prison.”

“And dead,” Sproles added. “Marsha too. They’ll figure she knows what I know.”

“Who’s they?” Weatherly asked.

“Drug dealers in Baltimore,” Sproles said. “The guys I am testifying against.”

“So you see what’s at stake here,” Bill said. “If you want any kind of deal, you better talk to us now. You can get a lawyer if you want, but as soon as that happens, all deals are off the table and you get charged with, at the very least, accessory after the fact. At the worst, first degree murder. A date with the needle.”

Marsha Sproles spoke up for the first time. “That video. You can’t tell that it’s William. The details are blurred.”

“That’s because we’re watching the raw version,” I said. “The enhanced version is still being processed. It will show not only your husband’s face but the license plate numbers too.”

“Uh, Uncle Stanley—” Rodney said.

“Not now, Rodney.”

“But—” he said.

“Clam up and observe,” I said. He did. I wanted them to believe that the lab could do what they’d seen done on CSI, NCIS, and other cop shows countless times. It was all bullshit, but they didn’t know that.

“What kind of deal would you offer?” Sproles asked.

“You confess, and we prosecute you under your new name. The Baltimore crowd never finds out it’s you. We take the death penalty off the table. We intervene with the feds on your behalf to maintain your protection. You do twenty-five to life.”

Marsha started crying. “Prison? For twenty-five years? No, I won’t let that happen.”

“Marsha, don’t,” Sproles said.

“No, William, I have to.” She reached over, put her hand on her husband’s arm, and looked at Bill. “I shot Mario Vitole,” she said. “William didn’t have anything to do with it.”

“Mirandize both of them,” Weatherly said. “Now.”

Bill read William and Marsha their rights. Then he said, “You realize this makes William an accessory. We’ll have to deal with that.”

“I understand,” she said. “But it’s better than murder.”

“Do you want to waive your right to legal counsel?” he asked.

“Yes, I waive them.”

“How about you, Mr. Sproles?”

“Yes,” Sproles said.

People are dumb about giving up their rights. If I was a suspect, I wouldn’t say squat to the cops without a lawyer. Bill and I had used this kind of ignorance to get confessions and close cases many times.

Bill turned on the voice recorder on his cell phone and put it in the middle of the conference table. He said the date and time, his name, the names of the others in the room, and that the Sproleses had been read and had waived their rights. Then he said, “Proceed with your statement, Mrs. Sproles. Start with your name and address and then tell us everything that happened.”

She wiped her eyes, blew her nose, and started in. “My name is Marsha Sproles. I live at 512 Cherokee Avenue, Delbert Falls, Maryland.  About three months ago, Mario Vitole visited me during the day. He said he knew my husband and I were in witness protection. He said if I’d have sex with him during the day, William and Stella didn’t need to know, and he wouldn’t tell the people in Baltimore where we were.”

This was what I had suspected. But up until now, it had been only a hunch. Now, I would have shot the asshole myself.

“I had no choice but to succumb,” she said. “I told him every time that I didn’t want to do it, but he made me do it.”

“How did you happen to shoot him?” Bill asked.

“Every time he wanted to see me, usually two or three times a week in the morning, he’d call to say he was coming up. Sometimes I’d have company in, maybe another housewife in the neighborhood, but I could only use that excuse sometimes. Finally, I had enough. When he called that morning, I went out into the street as if to greet him. When he was close enough, I shot him.”

“Where did you get the gun?” Bill asked.

“It was his. He used to carry it in his pocket. He had put it on my nightstand one time when he undressed. I guess he forgot it. I hid it in a drawer, and he never asked about it.”

Bill turned off the voice recorder.

“Probably his drop gun when he was on the job,” Bill said.

“What’s a drop gun,” she asked.

Bill nodded to me, and I explained. “Sometimes cops carry untraceable guns for when they shoot an unarmed person. They drop the gun on the perp so it looks like he was carrying. The practice makes righteous shoots out of on-duty mistakes.”

She shook her head and looked at the floor. Bill turned the recorder on again.

“How did your husband get involved?” Bill asked.

“I called him and told him what happened and why. He came home, took the gun, told me to call the police and report the body. Then he left.”

Bill spoke into the recorder. “This next question is addressed to Mr. William Sproles. Mr. Sproles, please state your name and address.”

“William Sproles, 512 Cherokee Avenue, Delbert Falls, Maryland.”

“Tell us what you did with the gun after your wife gave it to you.”

“I went back to work and got the master key set for Rolls Royces. Then I took the gun to Mr. Overbee’s car, opened the trunk, and put the gun in the trunk.”

“How did you know to put it in Overbee’s car specifically?”

“Marsha had told me a white Rolls had been parked there earlier that morning.”

“How did you know where the Rolls would be?”

“A coincidence. When I was coming home, I drove past Belksdales and saw it pull into the parking lot ahead of me. You tend to notice a Rolls.”

“And did you know that Mr. Overbee owned a white Rolls?”

“No. I don’t know him, never met him, never heard his name until you guys arrested him.”

“Why didn’t you just toss the gun in the river?”

“I might have been seen on the bridge in the van. This way, it would just look like a service call for somebody who locked their keys in the car. And that if you guys found it, it might divert suspicion away from Marsha.”

He hadn’t been thinking straight. Anything happening around a Rolls Royce would be noticed. But I gave him credit for a creative solution to his problem.

Bill turned the recorder off. “Well, what do you think, Mr. Weatherly?” he asked

“The only case you stand a chance of making is a charge of tampering with evidence. And no jury would convict on that after hearing this story.”

“What about Mrs. Sproles?” Bill said. “She confessed to the murder.”

“Self-defense. You heard her. The guy was raping her on a regular basis. She couldn’t call you guys about the rape, and she couldn’t tell you about the shooting. Their witness protection cover would be blown. I think a judge would toss it out. Mr. and Mrs. Sproles, you are free to go.”

William and Marsha Sproles got up from the table and left without saying anything. I couldn’t blame them.

“Well, at least I still have a closed case,” Bill said. “That ought to keep the bosses happy.”

“If I was to bring charges against anyone,” Weatherly said, “It would be against Bentworth here for impersonating a police officer and counterfeiting a court document.”

Bill started laughing. I didn’t.

“But I won’t,” Weatherly said. “Call it gratitude for acting in the name of justice. Or, more accurately call it a case I probably couldn’t even get an indictment on.”

Chapter 29  

Back at the office, Rodney made the final entries on the whiteboard. He photographed it for the files and wiped it clean. The Overbee case was closed.

His cell phone rang, and he answered it.

“It’s Mom,” he said. “She’s crying.”

“Give me the phone...Mandy, what’s wrong?”

“Jeremy is back, Stanley,” she said. “He called me here at the office. He’s coming to see me tonight.”

“Here we go again,” I said. “Don’t worry. Rodney and I will be there like before. How come you didn’t call me?”

“I did. You didn’t answer.”

I pulled out my phone. Dead battery. I had forgotten to charge it again.

“What time do you get home?”

“About five-thirty.”

“We’ll meet you there.”

I hung up and turned to Rodney. “Go home, and wait inside. That Captain Pugh is back.”

“I thought he got blown up.”

“Apparently not. He’s coming there sometime tonight. Lock the doors and windows, and wait for your mother. I’ll be there after a while.”

I dug around in my jacket pockets until I found the card for the CID guy, Stewart. I tried to call, but my phone was dead. The AC adaptor was home in my apartment, and Willa was on the land line, so I went down to my car where I had an adaptor. It didn’t work. Bad connection or a malfunctioning cigarette lighter receptacle or something. I walked from the car back to the office and went up. I’d wait for the phone. Besides, I had forgotten Roscoe and didn’t want to go on this adventure without heat.

Willa was off the phone. “What got into Rodney?” she asked.

“What do you mean?”

“After you left, he came tearing in here, went in your office, came tearing out, and was gone in a flash.”

I went in my office. The safe was open and Roscoe was gone. Somehow, Rodney had gotten into the safe and was on his way to his house with Roscoe. I looked at Mickey. Quarter to five. I had time to make my call, get there ahead of Amanda, and take Roscoe away from Rodney before he shot himself in the foot. I used the office land line to call Stewart.

“USACIDC. Stewart here.”

“This is Stanley Bentworth. Are you still looking for the missing Captain Jeremy Pugh?”

“Yes, assuming he’s alive.”

“He is. He’s coming to my sister’s house tonight, probably some time after five thirty.”

“Give me the address. We’ll be there.”

I read off Amanda’s address and hung up.

Then I called Buford.

“Is the bracelet off?”

“Has been for a while.”

“Somebody should be there to get it soon. Your charges have been dropped.”

“I don’t know how to thank you,” Buford said. He sounded like he was about to cry. I’d have paid money to see that.

“I do need help,” I told Buford. “That Army captain is back.”

“Help is on the way,” Buford said.

I gave him Amanda’s address and hung up.

I went into the outer office. Willa was about to leave.

“You have a wall adaptor to charge a phone?”

“Right here.”

I hooked it up and left the cell phone there.

“How did Rodney get into the safe?”

“Back when he made you that DVD. He said you said I should give him the combination.”

“Sneaky little shit. That’s not what I told him.”

“Sorry. I wondered at the time.”

“It’s okay. Call Bill Penrod, and tell him there’s trouble at Amanda’s house. Captain Pugh is back. I’ve got CID on the way. I don’t know what’s going to happen, but Rodney took my gun and is probably there by now. Tell Bill not to shoot Rodney.”

I figured between Rodney, CID, the cops, and whatever Buford sent, I might just have an edge.

Chapter 30  

I left the office and went to my car as fast as the cane and cast would allow. Ten minutes later I was at Amanda’s house. Rodney’s truck was parked in front. There was no sign of him or anyone else on the premises.

I went to the door and tried to open it. It was locked. I listened but couldn’t hear anything. I walked around the house looking in windows. Most of them were covered with curtains. You’d think I’d have remembered that having lived in the house for several miserable days, but I don’t pay attention to curtains.

I did remember that the kitchen window over the sink had no window dressing. I had often looked out into the back yard when I washed dishes for Amanda. I got up on tiptoe, not easy with a leg in a cast, and looked in. Rodney sat on the floor next to the refrigerator tied with a pair of pantyhose and gagged. I had to let myself down before I fell down.

I went up again to look in. Rodney began to twist around, trying to say something. He was agitated and couldn’t make more than a muffled yell through the gag, which I recognized as one of my old socks. I hoped it was clean.

I heard the front door open and close followed by a scream, loud at first then muffled. It was Amanda. I’d heard that same scream one day when a mouse ran across the kitchen floor.

I stretched up and looked in the window again. Nothing happened for a while. Then Jeremy Pugh came into the kitchen dragging Amanda tied and gagged like Rodney. Her face was distorted with fear, and she tried to cry out, but the gag, one of her own stockings, kept her from yelling.

Jeremy looked up and saw me. His hand came up, and he pointed Roscoe directly at me. I dropped to the ground and Roscoe spoke for the first time since I’d gotten him. The bullet drilled a small round hole in the window pane and went over me out into the back. I hoped it didn’t hit another house.

He knew I was here now, but he didn’t know whether I was armed. Which is probably all that kept him from coming to the back door and finishing me off.

I went around to the front of the house. I wanted to call him and do some hostage negotiation, but my cell phone was back at the office getting charged. I got close to the front of the house near a window and yelled, “Jeremy!”

No response. I yelled again. Then the window opened, and an awesome sight presented itself. Dad’s old shotgun barrel came sticking out the window. I didn’t want to call out again. I didn’t want him to figure out where I was from the direction of my voice. I kept quiet.

“Bentworth? You still out there? Speak up. I won’t shoot.”

Could I trust him? What else could I do? I spoke quietly. “I’m here Jeremy. What do you want?”

“I want Amanda. You people keep getting in the way. Her kid comes in here waving a pistol and then you. All I want is to talk to her.”

“So you tie her up and toss her in the kitchen?”

“She started screaming. I just wanted to talk.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why don’t you come out, and you and I can talk?”

“I come out, I come out shooting. You had my two best friends killed.”

Probably his only friends.

“That wasn’t me, Jeremy. I had a beef with those two guys after the beat-down, but I don’t shoot people. Besides, the cops checked my piece. It wasn’t me.”

“Okay, I’ll hold off until I’m sure. But if you’re lying...”

“Okay, Jeremy. Just don’t hurt anyone. Don’t let it get out of control. You haven’t done anything really bad yet. Let’s keep it that way while we figure out where this is going.”

A black SUV pulled up across the street. Sanford got out and stood there in his ill-fitting black suit and a black trench coat. He watched me to see what would happen.

“Who’s that guy over there?” Jeremy said.

“That’s someone who can help you get out of here unharmed. I’ll go talk to him. Don’t shoot.”

I went across the street to where Sanford stood.

“Need help? The boss says we owe you.”

“I figured we were even after those two army guys and the wise guy.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about. You want help or not?”

“I could use some.” I explained what was happening.

“I can take him. Clear shot.”

“There’s a direct line from here into the kitchen. You might hit one of the hostages.”

“Okay. What can I do?”

“How about you go in the back door into the kitchen. Get my sister and nephew out while I’m talking to Pugh. Shoot him if you have to, but I have the cops and the Army on the way. They can take him out. Save you the trouble of explaining anything. And the paperwork.”

“And them checking my piece.” He patted the left side of his chest.

“You got bodies on that piece?”

“Could be.”

That figured.

“Okay. Wait until I get back to the window. Then drive around the block, and come in from the rear so he can’t see you coming. You’ll need a knife to cut them loose. They’re tied with stockings. Butcher knives are on the countertop.”

Sanford pulled a long switchblade from his pocket and held it up.

“That’ll do,” I said.

I walked back toward the house, hoping Jeremy would keep his promise not to shoot me. The shotgun barrel was still sticking out the window. I made it to the wall.

“Where’s that guy going?” Jeremy asked.

“Putting his car out of sight so no one can see him help you escape.”

“Why would he do that.”

“I asked him to. To save Amanda and Rodney.”

“I’m not going to hurt them.”

“Good.” I had to keep him talking. “What happened with your boat?”

“I got it blown up. They were going to repossess it, and I needed to drop out of sight. I thought maybe my wife and kids could use the insurance if they thought I was dead.”

“Why did you need to drop out of sight?”

“The brass got it in their heads that I was stalking Amanda. Sent me to an Army shrink. He was talking about confinement.”

“You didn’t think that might help you?”

“No, goddammit. There’s nothing wrong with me.”

Add denial to this fruitcake’s disorders.

“Who did the explosive device?”

“An army demolition guy I served with in Iraq. We set it off with a cell phone. You should’ve seen it go.”

This was good. He was starting to talk to me like we were old friends. Probably the manic side of his disorder kicking in.

“How about letting Amanda and Rodney go?”

“Can’t. They’re my insurance.”

That didn’t make sense. How did he think holding two civilians hostage would keep him out of the loony bin?

“Where’s that guy at?” he asked.

“He’s over there.” I pointed to the side of the house out of Jeremy’s sight. “I can see him.” I couldn’t, but I didn’t want Jeremy to start worrying about where Sanford was. I had to keep him diverted.

“Where did you meet your two friends? The ones that got shot?”

“Years ago. At the Moose lodge. We were like brothers. They made a good team.”

“I’ll say, and I have the bandages to show for it.”

“Sorry about that.”

“Yeah, me too. I think you and I could’ve been friends under different circumstances.”

Fat chance.

“Shit!” Jeremy said.

“What?” I looked behind me. Two Army vehicles were pulling up across the street where Sanford had been parked. Stewart and his two associates got out of one. Four MPs in full SWAT gear got out of the other.

“Wait, Jeremy,” I said. “I’ll go talk to them. You’re safe as long as you’re holed up in there and have Amanda and Rodney.”

I hobbled over to the Army cars where Stewart and his entourage were waiting, crouched behind their cars, guns aimed at the house.

“How did you know it was this much trouble,” I asked. “When I called, I didn’t know he was here yet.”

“We know the Captain,” Stewart said.

“He’s in the house at the window,” I told Stewart. “He has an old shotgun and my pistol. He has hostages, my sister and her son.”

“A child?”

“No. Teenager. They’re both tied up in the kitchen at the rear of the house. I have a man sneaking in the back way to get them out while we keep Pugh occupied.”

“Isn’t your man likely to get hurt going in there like that?”

“He can take care of himself. Pugh has been getting chummy, so maybe we can talk him out. Do you know him?”

“Yes. He’s been on our radar for a while. Had to pull him out of Afghanistan. Post traumatic stress disorder. He ought to be in a hospital.”

“I need to go back and keep him talking.”

“Well don’t trust him to stay friendly. He has a short fuse. One minute he’s your pal, the next minute he’s in your face yelling and screaming.”

“So I’ve seen. My guy will sneak the hostages out and, your guys can deal with the short fuse.”

“Okay, we can give it a try if you think your man can handle it.”

“He can. Pugh told me that he had his boat blown up to fake his death so you guys wouldn’t send him to the funny farm.”

“Figures. My guys can take him out. He’s in clear view in the window. Fool.”

“Absolutely not. Let’s get the hostages out first.”

Stewart looked at me as if to ask where I got the authority to run a hostage situation. Before he could raise the question, an unmarked police car pulled up. Bill Penrod got out and came over to where we were crouched behind the Army cars.

“What’s going on here, Stan? Willa called.”

I explained the situation to him.

“I better get our SWAT team over here,” he said.

Everybody wanted to shoot this guy. Must have been a slow SWAT day.

“Look around, Sergeant,” Stewart said. “We have ours in place and ready.”

“So you do,” Bill said. “But these are civilian hostages on civilian premises. The police department has jurisdiction.”

“Hey, guys,” I said. “It’s kind of busy here. Let’s not get into a turf war.”

A black SUV turned the corner and came toward us. It pulled up behind Bill’s car and stopped. Sanford held a skinny arm out the window and gave me a thumbs up. I went to the SUV and looked in. Amanda and Rodney were in the back seat looking frightened and tussled but none the worse for wear. I grinned at them and went back to Bill and the Army.

“He’s all yours, guys. The hostages are out.”

“Is there a phone in there?” Stewart asked.

“Yes, on a table next to the window.” I said and gave him the number. He called. We could hear the phone ringing through the open window. After about seven rings, it stopped.

Stewart said, “Captain Pugh. This is Special Agent Stewart, USACIDC. We got the hostages out. You’re all alone. You want to come out, or would you rather die today?”

“Man,” I said to Bill, “That’s a hell of a way to negotiate.”

He shrugged and said, “I wouldn’t do it that way. I guess they have their methods.”

Stewart turned to me. “He wants to talk to you.” I took the phone.

“What’s up, Jeremy?”

“Bentworth, this is going to come to a bad end, I can tell. Those guys want to shoot me.”

“It doesn’t have to happen. What can I do?”

“Come back up here so we can talk without them listening in.”

“You won’t shoot me, will you?”