Keeping the Peace (33 page)

“Cully told me. Let’s wait and see if he calls us back.” The state cop’s eyes never left the brick building as he reached into his pocket, pulled out a piece of gum, unwrapped it slowly, and nonchalantly began to chew.

“Mom.”

Melanie heard the whisper and looked up at the ceiling of the bathroom.

Her youngest son was dangling, head first, out of the manhole in the ceiling. He reached out to her. “Mom, stand on the toilet and grab my arms. Don’t make a sound. Michael and Mia are holding me. I’ll pull you up. We can get out on the widow’s walk.”

All her strength left her. Her legs nearly buckled under her. “I can’t have you risking your lives like this. This person is a madman. Peter, get out of here. Please. Please. If he finds me gone, he could lose it and kill us all.”

Her words failed to compromise her son’s confidence. He ignored her and said, “Mom. Pay attention! Stand on the toilet seat and reach up. I’ll do the rest. Dad will get Gabriel out.”

Unbidden, memories of the countless times she had reached for him, pulling him from danger—out of trees, up steep embankments, off busy roadways, out of the path of some horse or cow or angry sibling—ran through her mind. Now, he was reaching for her. She swallowed hard and stepped up onto the toilet seat, lifting her arms over her head and extending her fingers.

“Lower me some more,” Peter called behind him, and he was cautiously lowered inch by inch. “I can reach,” he whispered finally as his hands made contact with Melanie’s arms. “Grab hold of the waist of my jeans, Michael, so I don’t slip down.”

Melanie clutched her son’s forearms, and Peter gripped her under her biceps.

“Pull. I’ve got her,” he said.

She could see Mia and Michael on either side of Peter, grasping him tight as they began to pull both of them up. Michael wrapped both arms around his brother’s middle and braced himself against the wall. It creaked, but it held and gave Peter the leverage he needed to pull Melanie up into the stairwell. Once Melanie’s body was safely through the manhole, Mia started back to the rooftop.

Michael said, “Climb over Peter. Follow Mia up the stairs. We’re right behind you.”

Melanie looked up. She could see her daughter had already made it to the widow’s walk, her tiny frame silhouetted against the starry winter night. She clambered over her son and made her way up the stairs.

Chapter Twenty-Four

J
OHN
W
AS
F
RUSTRATED
. “I’m going in there. Maybe I can at least create a diversion so you can get a shot at him, Joe.” He started out across the street, when his cell phone rang. He stopped, and all the men took one step closer to him.

John looked at the number and recognized it as Seeley’s. “Yeah?”

“I don’t want anyone to do anything, Chief,” the man said. “I’m getting angry. I don’t believe you’ll let me go. I don’t deserve to have my life ruined like this.”

“Look, Seeley, let me come in and talk. We can work this out. You don’t need to panic.”

“Panic? I’m not panicked. I’m angry!”

“I’ll do my best for you, Seeley. Right now, you accidentally killed a man. That’s not first degree. You’ve got bargaining power here.”

“You bet I’ve got bargaining power; I’ve got Strand and your wife.”

John began walking toward the house, the cell phone to his ear. He could see Seeley in the window, talking to him on the telephone. He could see the revolver in his hand as he wiggled the gun barrel up and down, side to side. John’s skin prickled with some desperate emotion he did not give himself the luxury of identifying. He could not see far enough into the room to guess where his wife or Gabriel were. Once again, he could only assume.

Then he could make out the form of Seeley peering out one of the long front windows.

“I can see you coming across the street,” he said to John. “I’m going to throw my car keys out to you. Go start my car.”

“What’s your plan, Seeley?”

“I’ll let you know along the way. Just do what I say.” The man’s voice rose. “Just someone do as I say.”

“Okay,” said John. “Throw the keys out. I’ll stop right here until I see you do it.”

“That’s better.”

John tried to gauge the movements he saw inside. He still couldn’t see anyone except Seeley. The door opened a fraction, and light from the front hall spilled out onto the porch. He heard the keys hit the sidewalk leading up to the building’s entrance. He waited.

“You there, Chief?” Seeley said through the phone again.

“Yes.”

“Do I have your word that you will do exactly as I tell you?”

John was silent. His fear was fading as his anger increased.

“Do I have your word? Answer me.”

“I’ll do as you say.”

“Start my car and back it out into the street. Park it so the driver’s side is facing the building and leave the door open. Then get out and leave it running. Do you understand me?”

“Yes.” John took the keys. He opened the driver’s side door to the rental car, a late model Oldsmobile. He got in, started it up, and backed into the street as instructed.

“Now get out. Leave the car running. Tell your posse across the street that I’m coming out with Strand and your wife. If anyone so much as twitches, I’ll kill them. This isn’t a bluff, Giamo.”

“Understood,” John said. He only wanted to lay eyes on Melanie.

Over the phone, he could hear voices and shuffling. Then he heard a sort of strangled roar and a crash, as though someone had stamped hard on the floor or put a fist into a wall.

“Damn it!” Seeley shouted.

“Seeley,” John barked into the phone, “what’s going on? Seeley, if my wife so much as breaks a nail, my men will mow you down so fast, you won’t know what hit you. That’s a fact.”

“She’s gone!” Seeley’s voice shrieked into his ear. “Your wife got away, Chief, but she’s done more damage than she realizes. Just stick to the plan and back away from my car.”

John’s mind raced, exhilarated that she’d been able to escape, but she and their children weren’t out of danger yet. Making Richard Seeley angrier
wasn’t
part of the plan. He tried to keep his voice calm as he said, “Let me talk to Strand.”

“No way, Chief. You stand back. I’m coming out. I’ve still got Strand.”

John clicked off the connection and rejoined his men across the street. “He’s bringing Strand out,” he told them. “Nobody move.”

The group of officers, standing in the shelter of Cully’s cruiser, lifted their arms in acknowledgment. All except Joe, John noticed. The officer had kept out of sight, and now, slowly, hidden by the night shadows, he’d leaned on the hood of his own cruiser and lifted his rifle to his shoulder. Luckily, Seeley’s request for positioning his car on the street ensured Joe’s line of sight was clear. The weather had calmed, but there were no clouds overhead to hold in what little warmth the pale winter sun might have imparted during the daylight. The night was becoming bitterly cold. The snow squeaked under his feet as John shifted his weight in anticipation.

The front door opened slowly. The first person John saw was Gabriel. He walked slowly out onto the porch, with Richard Seeley close behind him. Gabriel’s right arm was twisted up in back of him. Seeley obviously had it in a death grip as he pushed the musician along ahead of him. He also had the gun pressed to Strand’s head, just at the back of his ear. Melanie and the kids were likely hiding on the roof or in back of the house. Either way, they were smart enough to stay hidden. John figured his best option was to go along with everything Seeley demanded and hope that a chance to overcome the gunman would avail itself. Unstable as Seeley was, there would be no second try. John stood still beside the car as Seeley and Strand approached.

Finally, they were close enough for John to make out their faces in the darkness.

“Are you okay, Strand?” he asked.

“Shut up,” said Seeley through his teeth, but Gabriel managed to nod his head. “Stay away from my car.” The man pivoted so that Gabriel faced the chief as he walked to the passenger side and backed up to the open door of the idling car. “I’m going to leave you with two things, Chief: a corpse and a bullet in the brain.”

The words had barely left Seeley’s lips, and John did not hesitate a moment longer. Any further attempt at negotiation might prove fatal for someone. He leaped the ten or so feet that separated him from the gunman and his hostage. He grabbed Gabriel, holding him in his arms as he kicked out at Richard Seeley. He heard a strange explosion, like a gunshot and yet different, followed by a cry as he and the musician crashed to the ground.

In the next few seconds, many things went through John’s head. He thought he might have been shot, or maybe it had been Strand. They both lay face down in the street, his arms still wrapped around the young man. John rolled over just in time to see the car, with Seeley behind the wheel, speed down the road. Steve Bruno and Joe Bernard took off in pursuit in Bernard’s cruiser.

There was a warm feeling on his exposed hand. He sat up and, by the street light, saw a dark pattern on the pavement. Blood. He knew by then that it wasn’t his blood. He gripped Gabriel and pulled him into a sitting position.

“Where are you hit?” he asked, his voice urgent.

“I—I’m not hit. I don’t think so.” The musician was gingerly looking at himself.

John stood. On the ground near where the car had been parked lay the .22 caliber revolver. The old gun had misfired and exploded. The blood was Seeley’s. John grabbed Strand by the shoulders and pulled him to his feet.

“Where is my wife? Where is Melanie?”

“I don’t know. She said she had to go to the bathroom before he got on the phone with you. When he smashed in the bathroom door, she wasn’t there.”

Melanie was safe; the kids had rescued her and knew enough to stay out of harm’s way. The relief that John felt made him feel lightheaded.

“John! Are you all right?” Firefighter Caleb Cochran was now standing in front of him, searching his face with worried eyes.

John nodded.

“Take care of Strand, Caleb,” he said. “Get him checked out.”

Caleb nodded his acknowledgment. He stepped up and put a blanket over the shoulders of the shivering musician. John ran to his Suburban and climbed in. Patterson and Cully were already there. He flipped the lights on, and the bulky vehicle careened down the snowy road, south out of town. Its sturdy snow tires allowed them to catch up to the chase underway. Ahead of them, they could see the Oldsmobile going too fast for the conditions, slipping around on the slick pavement. Joe Bernard’s cruiser, its lights flashing and siren blaring, was bearing down on it.

“He’s trying to get to the interstate,” said Cully from the back seat.

“He can’t go that way,” Jason said. “The bridge is out.”

The bridge
was
out. John had forgotten. Already, he could see the yellow warning lights as they flashed in the darkness. The Oldsmobile was speeding right toward them. Just ahead, they saw Joe abruptly turn his cruiser into a side street.

“He’s giving him room to turn down River Street,” Jason said.

John slowed the Suburban to a stop in the middle of the street. The lights flashed their eerie blue light on the snowbanks.

“The fucking idiot is going right through the lights,” muttered Cully.

Joe’s cruiser poked its head out of the mouth of the side street. Helpless, they all watched the Oldsmobile ram through the barricade. The yellow warning lights sailed into the night sky and shattered as they hit the street. The wooden barricades splintered, and the fluorescent orange and white barrels bounced frenetically in every direction. The Oldsmobile disappeared into the darkness.

“Fucker’s in the water,” Cully yelled, vaulting from the vehicle and grabbing the emergency bag. He raced down the road on foot, the others right behind him.

John held the huge spotlight.

They made their way through the wreckage of the barricade as quickly as they could manage. Standing on the edge of the damaged bridge, John swung the spotlight down into the river. Fifteen feet down, they could make out the rear end of the car. It had gone nose first through the ice, and the current had wedged the vehicle up to the back doors under broken ice pieces. The black water swirled around the wreck, piling the ice higher and higher.