Indelible (20 page)

“Christ,” Jeffrey said, brushing dirt off his jeans. “What the fuck is that?”

Sara forced herself to stand, and walked over to the skeleton that had scared her so much seconds before.

The remains were laid on a rock that jutted out like a seat. Though the bones looked yellowed with age, sinew remained in a few areas, probably because
of the coolness of the cave. Part of the left leg down to the foot was missing, as well as some fingers on the right hand. Even in the dim candlelight, Sara could see the teeth marks where some kind of rodent had gnawed skin from the bone. She held the candle up to the head, which had tilted sideways and become lodged in a crevice between two rocks. The skull was fractured on the right side, the bone collapsed into the braincase from the force of what must have been a very heavy object.

She looked back at Jeffrey just in time to see him slip something into his pocket.

His tone was defensive. “What?”

Sara turned back to the skeleton. “I think this person was murdered.”

1:58
P.M.

L
ena was gritting her teeth so hard her jaw hurt. Wagner wasn't saying much into the phone, but Lena and probably everyone in the cleaners could hear the shooter screaming on the other end.

Wagner said, “Why don't you tell me your name?” Only to be answered with a barked laugh. When she asked about the children, the only response she got was a little girl yelling into the phone. The sound echoed in the room, and Lena fought the urge to cover her ears.

Wagner remained calm. “I take it that means you're holding on to the children?”

The answer was mumbled, but the shooter's last demand was loud and clear, especially since Wagner held the phone a few inches from her ear to deflect the sound. “One hour, bitch. You take any longer than that, the body count's gonna get a lot higher.”

Despite the threat, Wagner smiled as she closed her cell phone. “Well,” she said. “They want beer.”

Lena opened her mouth to restate her offer to volunteer, but Wagner held up a finger for silence, saying, to Frank and Nick, “Gentlemen, if I could have a moment of your time?”

The two men followed her into Bill Burgess's office. Wagner smiled at Lena before shutting the door. It was a cat's smile, and Lena could not tell if the woman was being polite or warning her off. Either way, Lena would fight tooth and nail to be the one to go into the station. She had to do her part. Jeffrey had allowed her back on the force despite what everyone in town was saying. The worst crime was that he was lying dead right now and Lena was alive.

Molly Stoddard had been leaning against the folding table, but she stood up and knocked on the door to Burgess's office. She entered without waiting for a reply, closing the door behind her.

Lena watched Wagner's guys for a reaction, but they seemed uninterested. One of them was talking so low on his cell phone she wondered if he was just moving his lips, and the other two were leaned over a map of the station, pointing to different areas like they were hatching a plan. They had not been able to get a camera into the air-conditioning vent because the shooters had blocked them with clothing.

She walked over to see what they were planning. The guy on the cell phone ended the call. He told her, “Jennings was killed in a six-car pile-up outside Friendswood, Texas, last year.”

“You're kidding,” she said, feeling like all the wind had been knocked out of her.

The guy added, “There were two kids in the back.
One of them walked away from the accident. That's good, right?”

“Yeah,” Lena said, though she doubted the kid felt lucky. She had seen the kind of damage Jennings was capable of firsthand. That the animal had died in such a seemingly normal way was just wrong.

The office door opened and Amanda Wagner came out followed by Frank. Nick and Molly were still inside, and Lena could see that Molly was using the phone on old man Burgess's desk. Her head was bent down and she had her hand wrapped around the back of her neck like she wanted to keep the conversation private.

Wagner's man repeated the information about Jennings. His boss said, “Well, it was a long shot anyway.” She motioned Lena toward the office. “Follow me.”

Nick waited until they were all inside before shutting the door. Molly looked up at Lena, a flash of irritation in her eyes. Into the phone, she said, “Baby, Mama has to go now, okay?” She waited a beat. “I love you, too.”

Lena had not given Sara's nurse much thought beyond noticing her around the clinic, and it had never occurred to Lena that the woman was a mother. She was probably a good one, too—always calm, always there for her kids. She did not seem to have a selfish bone in her body. Some people were just made for that kind of life.

“Detective Adams,” Wagner began. “We've selected you to go into the building.”

Nick said, “I want to repeat that I'm against this.”

Lena went on the defensive. “I know what I—”

“Not you,” Nick interrupted. “Her.”

“Wait a minute,” Lena said, finally understanding what Molly had done. “She's going, too?”

Wagner provided, “We'll send you in as paramedics under the guise of offering medical assistance.”

“You said Barry was probably dead.”

Molly looked at Nick as she spoke. “Some of the kids could be hurt. Sara could need me.”

Nick's mouth went into a straight line, and Lena wondered why he was so vehement. His objection seemed more personal than professional.

“Just for the record,” Wagner began, “I'm a little hesitant to send you in, Detective, but Nicky assures me you're up to the challenge.”

Lena bit back the defensive remark that wanted to come. Instead, she swallowed her pride and said, “If you're not certain . . .” She tried to find the words, struggling with her emotions. “If you think someone else is more qualified, then I'll step down.”

“That's just it,” Wagner answered. “There isn't anyone more qualified. If I send in one of my boys, the shooters will know immediately what's going on. I think our best plan of action is to send in both of you. They'll be more comfortable with women.”

“Or they'll take you both hostage,” Nick added. “Or just shoot you.”

“He's right,” Wagner said. “There's nothing to keep them from doing either or both.” She crossed her arms. “Are you still so eager to get into that building?”

Lena did not hesitate. “Yes.”

They all looked at Molly.

“Ms. Stoddard?” Wagner asked.

Molly exchanged a look with Nick. “Yes.”

Wagner said, “Your resolve seems to have slipped a little.”

“No.” Molly stood. “I'm ready.”

2:15
P.M.

L
ena washed her hands in the bathroom sink of the Grant Medical Center. Her hands shook slightly, but that was nothing new. Her hands had been shaking off and on for the last two years, ever since she was abducted. Sometimes, Lena thought the shaking was because of the scars in her hands that her attacker had made, but her doctors assured her there was no nerve damage.

“You okay?” Molly Stoddard asked. She was watching Lena's hands like they told a story.

“I'm fine,” Lena told her, snatching a paper towel off the roll.

“It's okay to be nervous,” Molly said. “As a matter of fact, I'd feel better if you did.”

“Right,” Lena answered. She took the EMT uniform off the counter and went into a stall to change.

“
I'm
nervous,” Molly said. She was obviously waiting for Lena to speak, but when she did not, Molly drew out an “O-okay.”

Lena took off her jacket and hung it on the hook on the back of the stall door. She was unbuttoning her shirt when a knock came at the bathroom door.

Nick Shelton asked, “Y'all decent?”

Molly said yes as Lena said no.

“Sorry,” Molly apologized, but Lena could already hear Nick in the room. She sat on the toilet, not wanting to be undressed with him in the room, even though there was a locked stall door between them.

“I wanted to say,” Nick began, his voice sounding hesitant. “I just . . .”

“We'll be fine,” Molly said, as if she knew exactly what was bothering him. Lena peered through the crack in the door and she saw that Molly had her hand on Nick's face.

Molly whispered again, “I'll be fine.”

“You don't have to do this,” Nick said.

“If I was in there and Sara—”

“Sara doesn't have two kids at home, and that's exactly what she'd be telling you now if she was here.”

Molly looked Lena's way, and Lena stood to continue changing so they would not think she had been watching. Her pants dropped to the floor and she heard a muffled clank as the knife she always kept in her back pocket hit the tile. Lena looked out the crack to make sure Molly and Nick had not seen. They were still whispering, as if the fact that she was three feet away meant nothing. Nick clearly did not want Molly to go into the station. Lena couldn't blame him. There was no guarantee the shooters weren't looking for more hostages.

Lena opened her pocketknife and ran her finger along the sharp blade. The knife was little more than three inches long, but she could do some damage with it. The only question was where she could hide it in case the shooters frisked her.

Nick raised his voice to include Lena. “They capitulated too easily,” he said. “Usually, hostage takers are unstable. They're emotional. You have to deal with them for a while, get their trust, before they make concessions. They're sending Marla out too soon.”

Lena slipped on the pants for the paramedic's uniform. They were about one size too big, which was a better fit than she had hoped. She suggested, “Maybe they're hungry.”

“There's something not right here,” Nick insisted. “They obviously know what we're doing. They wouldn't have blocked the vents just for the hell of it. They knew we would have cameras and that standard operating procedure is to try the vents first. This could be a trap to get more hostages.”

Lena slid off her sneaker and dropped in the pocketknife. She stepped back into the shoe, wiggling the knife around until it was snug against the arch of her foot.

“Lena?” Nick prompted.

“I know the dangers, Nick,” Lena snapped, thinking he was treating her like a ten-year-old instead of a seasoned cop. She put on the white paramedic's shirt, which was tight across her chest. The badge over the pocket read
martin
, and she wondered if Martin was a skinny guy or a flat-chested woman.

When she opened the door, Molly moved away from Nick as if they had been caught. Lena checked herself in the mirror, thinking that with the buttons stretched across her chest she looked like some slut out of a porn movie. Considering some of the
Grant paramedics she had seen around town, she fit right in.

She told Nick, “I know you don't trust Wagner.”

“Do you know why?” Nick asked, but he did not let her answer. “I know the rumor, but let me set it straight. I'm the one who hesitated. She didn't hesitate. She never hesitates. She's ice. And I'll tell you another thing.” He gave Molly a meaningful look. “She doesn't like women.”

Lena blew air out through her lips.

“It's true,” Nick said. “She doesn't mind using them as bait. That's exactly what she's doing here, no matter what you think. That's what happened in Ludowici. She sent in a female cop and the shooters kept the woman. She was dead ten minutes later.”

“Because
you
hesitated?” Lena asked. She could see the guilt flash in his eyes and she regretted her words—not because she didn't mean them, but because the situation was stressful enough without having Molly Stoddard pissed off with her, too.

Nick said, “This won't go down like you think. You've been on the job long enough to know something isn't right here. You feel it in your gut. You know that, Lena.”

“I'll be outside,” Lena told him, thinking it would be best to leave them alone. She walked out of the bathroom and ran into one of Wagner's men. He was built like a brick wall, and he grabbed her in surprise. His hands stayed on her body a little too long, and she pushed him back, trying not to show her anger. She walked toward Wagner, who was standing at the end of the hallway with a cell phone to her ear. She ended the call as Lena reached her.

Wagner said, “What's in your shoe?”

“It's just tight,” Lena said. “Kind of like this shirt.”

“Better too tight than too big,” Wagner countered. “What happened to your lip?”

Lena put her hand to her mouth, a second later realizing she had given herself away. “Accident,” she said, but the lie sounded weak even to her.

Wagner seemed to be taking all of this in, but she did not challenge Lena. “I don't quite trust you, Detective Adams, but I'm letting you go in there because you're familiar with the layout and because they'll see you as less threatening.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“You don't need any more confidence from me, Detective,” Wagner shot back. “Listen closely: you're to deliver the food and get Marla Simms out of there as quickly as possible.”

“All right.”

“I don't need heroics, and I certainly don't need you exchanging yourself for any hostages.”

Lena looked down, trying to hide her expression. That had been exactly what she was planning.

“It might seem like a good idea, but you're more useful to me out here than you are in there. You're trained to appraise dangerous situations. I need your expert opinion.”

She seemed like a frank person, so Lena decided to say what was on her mind. “That sounds like you're blowing smoke up my ass.”

Wagner's lip curled up in a smile, and she got a look in her eyes that Lena had seen several times before in other people; the woman realized she had
underestimated Lena. “Maybe a little of it's smoke, but you worked with Brad Stephens. Maybe he can communicate something to you. I know partners pick up on each other's codes.”

“He wasn't my partner.”

“I don't have time for your ego,” Wagner reprimanded. “What I want from you when you come out of that place is a detailed drawing of where everyone is. I need to know how many desks and filing cabinets are against the doors and I need to know exactly how they're armed. What are they using, Sig, S&W, Glock? Detective Wallace thinks the shotgun is a Wingmaster. Did they bring extra ammo? What caliber? Are they still wearing Kevlar? How are they getting along? Is one getting a little too big for his britches? Maybe the other one can be turned or distracted. I need to know every weakness in their armor, and I can't get that from you if you stay inside.”

Lena nodded. All of that would be useful, and there was no way Molly Stoddard would even begin to know how to tell the difference between a twenty-two and a nine-mil, let alone give an accurate assessment of available firepower.