The Negotiator. Kay David

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СКАЧАТЬ didn’t appear to even notice she’d said anything. He raised his hand to his bottom lip and pulled gently, then after a minute, he spoke. “That policeman fellow on the phone—he said he’d help me. Do you think he could make her give me my job again? And make ’em give me my truck, too?”

      Her heart fell. He simply didn’t grasp the seriousness of what he’d done. “I don’t know, Howard.”

      He stood up and gripped the rifle’s barrel with both hands. “You call ’em,” he said, nodding his head to the phone. “Tell ’em what I want. You can do it.”

      BECK GRABBED THE PHONE even before the first ring ended. “Winters.”

      “This is Jennifer. Did Taylor make it out okay?”

      “She’s fine, just fine. Her mother is here and they’re together. I’ve got the drinks coming. They’ll leave it at the door.”

      “Are the other parents there?”

      Beck glanced down the street. Behind a cordon of officers, the media was gathering, along with the gawkers events like this somehow always attracted. Mixed in the throng, there were worried school officials and moms and dads going crazy. Lena had been down twice to reassure them.

      “A few of them, yes,” he said. Switching gears, he spoke again. “Let me talk to Howard, Jennifer. That’s the only way this is going to get resolved.”

      “He wants me to ask you something,” she said, by way of answering. “He wants to know if you can help him get his old job back.”

      “Tell him anything’s possible,” Beck said instantly, “but not until I talk to him. I can’t help him if I can’t talk to him.”

      Jennifer’s voice was soft as she relayed his message. A second later, she spoke again. “He wants his truck, too,” she said. “It was repossessed yesterday. He said if you bring his truck to him, he’ll talk to you.”

      “I’ll get the truck and we’ll talk. But I want another child, too.”

      She was starting to sound tense, and just around the edges, a little unraveled. Beck glanced at the countdown clock he’d started when he’d gotten there. They’d been at it almost two hours already. It seemed like he’d just arrived; it seemed like he’d been born there. Catching his eye, beside the clock, were the photos Sarah had obtained. With the phone propped against his shoulder, he shuffled through the mess of papers until he came to the one he wanted. The school picture of Jennifer Barclay.

      Sometimes when he watched television, he placed bets with himself. He’d close his eyes, switch channels, and listen to whoever was on the screen. Nine times out of ten, he could guess what they looked like by the way they spoke. He would have lost the farm on this one, though. Jennifer Barclay did not match her voice at all. Her chestnut shoulder-length hair was straight and shiny and her gaze was dark and sad. Except for those eyes, she looked much younger than he would have expected. He’d imagined a woman in her forties, someone with a lot of experience behind her, a person who knew and understood others well.

      Flipping through the profiles of the suspect and all the hostages Sarah had gotten along with the photos, Beck found the notes on Jennifer. She lived in Fort Walton Beach, in a small condo complex a few blocks off the beach. She drove a white 1995 Toyota Camry, had no outstanding tickets or warrants and she lived alone.

      She’d sounded middle-aged, but Jennifer Barclay was young, pretty and single.

      She came back on the line. “Okay, he’ll do it. As soon as he sees the truck, he’ll send another child out.”

      The line went dead and Beck grabbed the microphone attached to the headset he wore. “Lena? Did you get all that? You got a line on the truck?”

      “We’re trying. Sarah knew he’d had a vehicle repossessed so she’s contacting the dealership now, but they’re closed. It’s going to take a while.”

      Beck nodded, but before he could reply, his ear phone crackled to life.

      “Get him to the window to see the damned truck. I want to set my shot.”

      Beck spoke instantly. “That’s premature—”

      Lena’s voice interrupted. “Beck, we don’t have another option. We can’t do a chemical assault here, not with those kids, and this guy isn’t going to surrender. He’s not the type and you know it. We need to be prepared just in case.” She spoke to someone nearby, then came back over the headset. “While you were talking to the teacher, I told Randy you’d move the guy.”

      “This is ridiculous.” Beck felt his jaw clench, the pain in his head intensifying, his voice going cold. “What are you doing? Trying to make the ten o’clock news?”

      When Lena answered, her tone was as chilly as Beck’s. “I don’t make command decisions based on the media. If you don’t know that by now, you should. You’re out of line.”

      Beck closed his eyes and shook his head. Dammit, what in the hell was he thinking? What in the hell was he doing? His head throbbed, and suddenly he felt like the situation was sand slipping through his fingers. Lena had seen what he hadn’t in forcing him into taking that vacation. He did need some time off.

      But not yet.

      “You’re right. That was out of line, and I’m sorry,” he said stiffly. “But I still think Jennifer’s got a point. Howard French doesn’t have a sheet and I can get him out of there. Randy should be our last resort, and you know that.”

      “What I know is he didn’t have a record before, but not now. Cal called in while you were talking. There’s been a new development. It’s not good.”

      “What is it?”

      “One of the guys found someone in the maintenance shack, out behind the school. We’re not sure yet, but it looks like it might be French’s supervisor.” She took a breath, then spoke. “He’s been shot with a .22 rifle.”

      CHAPTER THREE

      BECK’S GUT TIGHTENED. “Damn! Is he dead?”

      “He’s hanging on but barely.”

      “Has anyone talked to him?”

      “No. He was completely out of it and fading fast. The medics were struggling just to get him to Central before it was too late.”

      His gaze went to the school, his mind going with it to the woman and children inside. Did Jennifer Barclay know? He answered his own question. Obviously not. She wouldn’t be defending Howard French if she knew he’d shot his boss. Would she?

      “Get him to the window.” Randy spoke bluntly. “It’s at the front, away from the kids. If he’s looking for the truck, I can get a clean shot.”

      “And that’s it? The decision’s made?”

      Lena answered. “We’re setting the shot, Beck, that’s all. I haven’t given Randy the green light.”

      “All right.” Beck’s words were clipped. “But I think this is premature. СКАЧАТЬ