It started
out as an ordinary day for Heather Hogan. She kissed her husband before she left
the house in the morning, prayed that he'd come home safely, and hoped that her
kids wouldn't act up today. Usually, she loved the unadulterated energy in a
kindergarten class of twenty children, but she was feeling a little under the
weather. Friday - thank God the weekend was close.
A soft knock on the door preceded Isela and her father into the
room. Heather shook first his hand, and then the little girl's. "My, Isela,
you've grown."
Mr. Quiroga smiled shyly; Isela beamed at her. She had dealt
exceptionally well with the traumatic ordeal after two men had burst into their
home, killed her brother and left her father barely alive. Father and daughter
had moved away shortly after the incident, but yesterday, Mr. Quiroga had called
and asked if Isela could possibly stay with the class for a few hours while he
was in town for a job interview. Heather had said 'yes' immediately, because
she'd been looking forward to seeing the girl again.
Isela found herself a place to sit with another girl, and Heather
started the class with a song she'd taught them earlier this week. It was good
that the girls and boys sang with enthusiasm, so she didn't have to put much of
a strain on her aching throat.
The door opened again, interrupting the singing of those sitting
near the door, while it trailed off in a wave across the classroom as the other
children began to notice the intrusion. For a split second Heather thought that
Mr. Quiroga had forgotten something and come back.
What she saw instead made her heart lurch with sudden fear.
The black-clad man with the ski mask and rifle was as out of place
as he could be in this setting, but she knew with sickening clarity that this
was no bad dream.
The seconds ticked by, the moment frozen in time as she stared at
him in horror, while he stared back coldly. Then one of the boys started to cry,
and a girl joined in. That jolted Heather into motion before the man spoke:
"Make them shut up, or I will."
She gathered the crying children to her, an arm around each. To the
others she said in the firm tone she only ever used when the class went crazy on
her, "Don't you be afraid. Just do what this gentleman says, and it will be
all right. Everything will be all right."
Twenty pairs of wide, disbelieving eyes stared back at her. And
then there was Isela. She had tucked herself into a tight ball, rocking herself,
trembling with the effort to keep quiet.
Heather found that at this moment, she reflected her own feelings
perfectly.
It wasn't going to be an ordinary day after all.
Act
One
Lindsay Boxer leaned back into her desk chair, hands linked behind her
head as she gazed smugly at the computer screen. "A nice quiet morning with
paperwork. It's going to be a good day."
"You're evil," Warren Jacobi observed, having read her
thoughts exactly.
She shrugged. "It wasn't my fault that the defendant tripped
and broke his arm, so the hearing was delayed."
Tripped on the same stairs she had run down not so long ago, as
Cindy had lain at the bottom, bleeding. Lindsay shuddered at the thought, her
good mood gone in an instant. Too much had happened in the meantime, too much
she couldn't afford to dwell upon. If she was getting this tiny break, Lindsay
supposed she'd earned it.
Not for long, anyway, as there was another predator on the loose.
Career Day had come at a bad time, but then again, for anyone in
Homicide, there'd never be a good one.
Jacobi picked up on her shift in mood. "I don't know about
that. You'd do anything to avoid the gates of hell, right?" he teased,
trying to lighten the mood.
Somehow, his choice of words irritated her, but Lindsay went with
the joke anyway. "Gates of hell, huh? I thought you liked children."
"Jill's words, not mine," he revealed.
Lindsay smiled, remembering Jill's reaction when Claire had tried
to talk her into joining her for Career Day in Nate's 5th grade class. Of
course, any protests had become pointless when Denise had ordered her, another
inter-departmental event she wasn't supposed to miss. Though the way Tom's
wedding had turned out, Jill's wariness was certainly understandable.
Even though she was using the court appointment as her excuse, Lindsay
had gotten a free pass out of Career Day due in large part to the fact that Tom
had carelessly neglected to inform her the last time he'd invited Heather and
her kindergarten class to the station. Lindsay would hear all about it anyway,
and truth be told, she was looking forward to an evening with the girls where
Jill would confirm her caution for the k-word, Claire would shake her head at
her fondly, and maybe they'd even have some carefree moments before the subject
went back to the serial killer, and Lindsay's state of mind.
And then there was Cindy. She found herself smiling at the thought
of her. So far Lindsay thought she'd done pretty well with the shields she'd
built around herself, letting few people see glimpses of what was behind the façade.
Cindy had easily circumvented those barriers, in much the same way as she always
managed to make it to the other side of the yellow tape at crime scenes. And
surprisingly, Lindsay found she didn't mind.
But it wasn't like the criminal element in this city cared much about her
personal issues - with the murders of Chris Blake and Robert Dellan still
unsolved, there really wasn't much time for confusion... or even for the grief
for her father she kept tucked away in a more remote corner of her mind. It was
a little disconcerting, but somehow, that was a relief, too. As she kept telling
everybody, work was the best healer.
Lindsay was quickly pulled back into the moment, though, when the
door of Tom's office slammed and Tom hastened down the stairs. She was about to
crack a joke when she saw the slightly dazed look on his face that was so unlike
him, it had her worried instantly.
"Over at Mission Day School," he said as though he could
hardly believe himself. "There have been shots fired. Unknown number of
shooters, or casualties."
The realization came like a gut punch. That was the school where
Heather Hogan worked as a kindergarten teacher. It was also the same building
where Jill and Claire were supposed to be entertaining a bunch of 5th graders on
Career Day.
Unlike other moments of crisis, where the weight of her gun usually
offered a sense of reassurance, in this instance it did nothing to ease her fear
for her friends.
Lindsay shared a worried look with Jacobi. Then, with more
confidence than she felt, she said, "Let's find out who these bastards are
and what we're dealing with."
So much for a quiet morning - or getting any closer to finding the
religiously motivated serial killer
they had on their hands. Not today.
***
"Now that's a surprise!" Claire remarked as they greeted
Cindy in the hallway. "Don't tell me you were sent to cover Career
Day."
"Though it could very well classify as a crime that I was sent
here," Jill added. "So who do you know who's going to kindergarten?
Anything we should know about?" she asked with a wink.
Cindy laughed. "No kids yet, and none for me in the immediate
future. Besides, you already know all my secrets," she said, blushing a
little, since for her, it seemed too obvious what - or who - she was referring
to. "I did a piece on Child Protective Services a while ago, and was just
meeting with a woman and her little girl I was interviewing at that time. So
you're going to show the kids the ropes today? How to abide the law? Cut a dead
body open correctly?"
"When you put it like that, I begin to understand why Nate is
sick at home today," Claire said dryly. "It's not going to be that bad
though. We're just going to tell them that Mommy does more than wash their
laundry and make them dinner."
"Mommy?" Jill shuddered dramatically. "Speak for
yourself."
"They will love you," Cindy said with conviction.
"I've got to run. See you tonight?"
"Yes. Remember that drinks are on Lindsay for bailing on
us."
They laughed at Claire's words, and Jill muttered, "I'll be sure
to remind her."
The bell rang and Cindy left, as Jill and Claire went back to their
class.
***
"We don't know yet who they are or what they want," the
captain of the SWAT team told them. "They went in around 12:15 and shot
everyone in their way. At least two teachers and one of the kids were killed,
that's what we heard from a few who made it out. The negotiator is on the
way."
Lindsay shared a long look with Tom. The gunmen had chosen the most
vulnerable as their shield, hiding in the kindergarten area. Heather was still
inside. As Career Day was being held in the library in the same building, so
were Jill and Claire. That knowledge cut like a laser through every issue that
had taken up her time lately, professionally and personally.
Between the two of them, no words were necessary. We're not
going to lose another loved one.
Passing by her, Tom squeezed her arm gently. "That might be too
late. We have to establish communication with these jerks now. And work out a
plan on how to get in, because they're not going to release those hostages. They
are too valuable to them."
Lindsay shared his assessment, but now that they were going to do
something, she breathed just a little bit easier. Strapping her Kevlar tighter,
she followed him into the van where their operation was being set up.
***
Jill watched with amusement as Claire tried to steer the subject
away from the dead bodies and get the kids to focus on her education as a
medical doctor. Despite Jill's earlier protests, this community-serving job had
actually been fun. These kids were clever and interested. That's why this was
important, to help kids like the Dellans' realize they had choices, and that a
violent father-turned-murder victim and a helpless mother wouldn't be all that
ever defined their lives.
She'd even looked at some of the girls and almost giggled when she
imagined a future 'murder club'. Some of the kids clearly showed potential.
Any sense of humor was lost in a heartbeat though when a noise
resounded in the building, sounds that could only be interpreted in one way:
Gunshots.
Claire stopped her narrative, but she stayed reassuringly calm. "All
right, we're going to check out what happened, but you will all stay here. Ms.
Gavin," she addressed the teacher, "make sure everybody stays away
from the windows."
The young teacher nodded, fear written in her eyes.
Jill jumped up to follow Claire who cautiously opened the door and
peeked outside. The hallway was empty. Jill wished she possessed her friend's
seemingly unshakeable calm. "What the hell is going on here?"
"I don't know, but it can't be good. I'm calling
Lindsay."
Before she could even punch in the numbers, another gunshot rang
out, closer this time.
"You stay here," Claire said. "Somebody might need
my help."
"No way. I'm not going to let you go out there alone."
"Jill, this is not the moment to be stubborn. Lindsay will
kill me if something happens to you."
"And it's the same vice versa, so I'm coming with you."
Claire gave in abruptly, obviously realizing that Jill was
determined. "We'll just take a look, then we'll get back inside, barricade
the door, and wait until the police arrive."
"Good idea," Jill said, and it sounded only a bit ironic.
She was too scared for anything else.
Down the next hallway there lay an injured man, bleeding from a
wound in his chest. Claire hurried to his side. Just for an instant she looked
up at Jill and they wordlessly understood that they were both thinking the same
thing. Each of them still had their own nightmares about the day Cindy got shot.
Thank God, Jill thought, she wasn't here anymore to get caught in this
particular mess.
The footsteps of heavy boots echoed loudly.
Claire kneeled beside the man who had fallen unconscious, putting
pressure on the wound. "Go back in there," she snapped at Jill.
"They aren't going to break the door down."
"No."
"Damn it, can't you for once--"
Claire broke off the moment the sounds stopped, and Jill spun
around, finding herself face to face with the barrel of a rifle trained on her
by a masked man.
"You two come with me," he barked.
"I'm a doctor," Claire hastened to explain. "This
man needs help." Which was rather obvious, Jill thought, and wouldn't make
much of an impression.
The gunman snorted. "Help yourself, bitch. You come with me,
or I'll blow her brains out."
For an instant both Claire and Jill were lost in a world of
despair, on their own. Then Claire got up from the floor, her eyes bright. The
teacher had regained consciousness. He looked scared, his eyes imploring the
only person who had promised help, but who was being made to choose her friend
over him.
Jill didn't breathe until the muzzle of the gun left her neck, then
jumped when it was fired at the injured man once more.
***
More men had come inside, all dressed in black with masks, ushering
Heather's colleagues and some older kids inside. She didn't feel much assured by
her co-workers' presence. Martin had a bleeding nose, Angela a bruise on the
side of her face. They both looked shell-shocked, and Heather was worried that
each of them could lose it soon. These men, whatever it was they wanted, seemed
to be itching for a reason to pull the trigger; she was determined to make sure
that neither she nor any of the kids would give them one.
Ever since she had realized that her classroom was going to be the
headquarters of this nightmare, a strange kind of calm had settled over her. For
the kids and herself to survive, all she could do was try her best. She cast a
worried look at Isela who hadn't once looked up since she'd caught a glimpse of
the weapons, cringing every time one of the men spoke up.
It had been Career Day for the 5th grade class today, which
explained the presence of D.D.A. Jill Bernhardt and Chief Medical Examiner Dr.
Claire Washburn. The same women who, Heather remembered, barely stifling a
hysterical giggle in time, had almost blown her wedding. Friends of Tom's
ex-wife.
It was probably the way her mind had dissociated itself from the
situation, but she had faith in Tom to get her out of this.
Him, and Lindsay Boxer.
***
She was calm. Just like she'd been when Cindy had knocked on the
front door of McCarthy's house.
Three, four, five times.
Tom was tapping his fingers nervously.
Six times.
Then, somebody hit the call answer button. Waited. Most likely not
Claire.
"This is Inspector Lindsay Boxer. Why don't we talk?"
***
The laughter sent chills down Claire's spine. He'd made her fish
the cell phone from her purse and then taken it. She'd quickly pegged the man as
the one in charge, since he didn't have to confer with anyone else before he
answered. Other than that, the black fabric over their faces, with holes left
for eyes and mouths, made them all the same, faceless monsters sprung from a
nightmare.
"Yes, we should," he said. "Just so you understand
your situation correctly, Inspector."
There was something reassuring about the notion that it was
probably Lindsay on the phone.
"If you don't want to lose any more lives, you had better
listen closely. I want this area cleared of all SWAT members and other police.
No surprises, no interruptions."
She couldn't hear the answer to that, but it had to have been
something he'd expected. "You're in no position to bargain. You won't see
any of these hostages until you have met my demands."
Claire listened as he gave further instructions regarding money and
their getaway, and as terrified as she was, she wondered who they were. So far,
they hadn't given away anything. The kindergarten hadn't been randomly chosen,
though, and so it was likely that they'd watched the school - this was not some
spontaneous action. These men probably wanted press. With a sinking heart she
realized that would mean more, not fewer, deaths.
She thought of her family and the possibility that she wouldn't be
seeing them again, and as she choked back tears, she thanked whoever was
responsible for the fact that Nate was safe at home. A movement to her side
distracted her, as Jill took her own cell phone out of her purse and slipped it
into one of her boots. Claire moved a little so she blocked her from view, and
they shared a grim smile.
The odds might not be good, but they were going to do their best to
survive.
***
He had hung up on her.
Lindsay felt herself flush with nausea for an instant. The leader
of this group had been quite specific as to what he wanted - $1 million and to
get away with it - but they still didn't know anything about their motives. She
had screwed it up. No one said so, but she felt it.
"That's why they usually leave these things to us,
Inspector."
If it was possible, hearing that voice made Lindsay feel even
worse. The hostage negotiator, Nelson Wilcook, and his team had arrived. They'd
had a run-in before, and if she'd never had to meet him again, it would have
been too soon. No such luck.
"Usually hostage takers don't have the patience to wait while
you're stuck in traffic." Tom gave her a warning glance. It was
unnecessary. Lindsay saw it most sensible to relent, at least for the moment
anyway. There were too many lives at stake.
"They seem to have randomly chosen hostages, most of them
children, but also a few teachers and a couple of speakers for Career Day."
Jill.
Claire.
She cleared her throat and continued, "Heat sensors tell us
they're back in the kindergarten area."
"Not good," Wilcook murmured, pushing his gold-rimmed
glasses higher up on his nose. "We need to get them back on the phone. As
long as they're talking, it's less likely that they're killing people."
Only the seriousness of the situation kept Lindsay from rolling her
eyes at him.
***
"They killed her. They killed her right in front of me! She
was my best friend!"
Cindy held on to the sobbing woman with a heavy heart, wondering
how this day could have gone to hell so abruptly. On her way out of the school,
she had passed two men who didn't seem to fit into the environment, but she'd
assumed they'd been some hired workers. Somehow, she'd had this feeling,
but she'd pushed it aside quickly in favor of anticipating an evening with the
girls at the end of the workday.
Not that it was very likely now.
At least there had been one lucky coincidence for her friend Sarah
and her daughter whom Cindy had met today. Little Chelsea had been sick, so
Sarah had picked her up even before Cindy had met Jill and Claire.
She had tried to call Lindsay as soon as she had realized what was
going on, but couldn't reach her. Chances were she was already in the thick of
things. Of course.
Cindy had come here to the tent that had been put up a safe
distance from the crime scene. The tent was equipped with a crisis intervention
staff to tend to scared and traumatized children, parents and staff. Most of
them had been in the neighboring buildings that were able to be evacuated
quickly. No such luck for the kindergarten staff and the children, and many of
those who had been attending Career Day.
No one had questioned her presence so far, and she had probably
already gathered more information than if she had been closer to the scene. She
had checked in, and needless to say it was making her boss happy, but what was
bothering her was that she hadn't yet found out about Claire and Jill. Cindy
didn't want to think about what that could mean.
"I'm so sorry," she repeated, feeling selfish for wishing
that, at the end of this day, she wouldn't have to share the woman's grief.
Betty Lowan was a teacher whose friend had been shot right in front
of her. In the following commotion, she had been able to make it out. "I
told her it was too dangerous," she whispered, and Cindy started at the
words, a shiver tracing down her spine.
"Tell me more," she said.
***
"I just hope he doesn't mess this up."
Secretly Lindsay thought the same, but she didn't voice her opinion
to Tom, who was obviously under enough stress already. They stood together in a
corner of the van, viewing the layout of the school, but she could sense that he
was having a hard time standing still. It unnerved her, as much as she could
understand his unease.
"He's arrogant, but at least on that level he can relate to
the guy," she made a lame attempt to reassure him.
So far the intruders hadn't given an inch. Fortunately, they also hadn't
shot anybody else, but the pressure on both sides was increasing. They had no
way out, and everybody knew it.
There seemed to be no alternative to finding a way in and ending
this without any more people getting hurt, because there was no progress in
identifying the intruders. Lindsay took a look at Wilcook who seemed outwardly
cool, though obviously the man on the other end of the line wasn't giving them
anything to work with. Then she glanced back to Tom. Lindsay could tell he was
nervous. Hell, she was too, but there was something about his posture that had
her worried.
"I'll go find the principal," she said. "We'll look
at those plans with her. There's got to be a way to surprise them."
"I don't like it. The moment we go in, they're going to start
shooting the hostages." His voice was strained with the effort to keep his
voice quiet.
And if we wait too long, they're going to do it anyway. But
she didn't say that out loud. Lindsay wished she could call Claire again, but
that wasn't an option. They needed a good plan, and soon, before these men
realized that they weren't going to get what they wanted.
Making her way to the area where the principal was talking to her
staff and trying to calm everyone in the crisis intervention tent, Lindsay took
a moment to pray that her friends weren't hurt. Then again, no one deserved
anything like this happening to them. They would bring this to an end.
Hearing a familiar noise, she looked up to see a news helicopter
circling the area.
Lindsay shook her head. She began to wonder why Cindy wasn't
anywhere to be seen, but felt guiltily relieved about it. After all, she already
had her big story with the connection between Dellan's and Blake's murders. At
the moment, that felt like a distant, alternate universe.
***
Cindy had gone behind the tent with the distraught woman. The more
she heard of Betty Lowan's story, the more she felt like she had to talk to
Lindsay, and soon.
Lowan told Cindy how she had tried to find records of a girl's
earlier school visit, but had come up empty. She'd done more digging, talked to
the principal and her friend who had been killed today, and found out they had a
secret. They had been hiding the girl's true identity.
"Why would they do that?" Cindy's mind was spinning. This
hostage situation had seemed so random, from what she'd heard from teachers and
a few older kids who had gotten out. A senseless, violent act. But it was
beginning to look like it was anything but.
"I'm not sure - they said her parents would only stay for a
couple of months, and no one was to find out about them. I don't know, I think
they were in the US illegally." She started crying again.
"What was the girl's name?" Somebody had found out about
them, and if this was related, Cindy assumed there was more to it than
immigration issues.
Betty Lowan looked up at her, a sudden distrust in her eyes.
"Why are you asking me all these questions?"
"Look, I'm working with the police--"
The disbelief got a little more pronounced. "Kind of. I'm a
crime reporter for the Register, and I have a contact in Homicide. She's
probably out there as we speak, and they will want to know about this. Please,
I'm telling the truth."
She must have sounded sufficiently trustworthy, because Betty Lowan
gave in. "Her name's Isela Quiroga. At least she attended here under that
name; I never knew her true identity."
***
The air in the van seemed to get more stifling by the minute.
Lindsay had brought a reluctant principal back from the crisis
intervention area. The principal had wanted to stay with her staff, offer
support and solace, but they needed her. She'd been at the school for nearly 20
years and knew it inside out. They needed Marla Graham to show them a way in.
The rooms that housed the kindergarten area and the library had
huge windows facing the playground. There were guards by the door. There was no
possible way to approach that wouldn't alert the men who had taken over the
school building. Not from the ground, at least.
"Damn
it!"
Lindsay flinched at Tom's sudden outburst. Pacing within the
confines of the van, she was equally sympathetic and annoyed - he wasn't the only one who had someone to fear for. She
wouldn't even start thinking about the parents or colleagues of the hostages. As
far as Wilcook was concerned, there wasn't much they could do about it anytime
soon.
"Yeah, I'm not happy about it, either," she said dryly.
"Who the hell are these creeps? Why kindergarten?" Though partially,
she had already answered the question: With little children, the pressure was
highest. But there was a deeper meaning to it, she just hadn't figured out what
that was yet.
Wilcook, now off the phone, turned to her. "Looking for
something specific - or maybe someone? If they were in it just for the audacity
of it, a whole lot more people would have been killed already. So far, they've
been remarkably patient. That means they haven't found what they were looking
for yet."
Whatever that was, Lindsay hoped they hadn't realized that the
teacher of the class was the lieutenant's wife. As much as she feared for Jill
and Claire, that connection was... worrisome.
There were detectives currently covering that angle, looking into
past arrests, but she had the feeling that Tom denied it could be an option. He
was probably right, though. If they'd been after Heather, there was no use in
holding a whole school hostage, right?
In the oppressive silence, the ringing of her cell phone startled
all of them.
Impatiently, she answered it, then froze at the sounds in the
background. Children crying.
The caller ID showed Jill's number.
"Quiet!" she said sharply, making everyone turn in her
direction. The quality of sound was as to be expected, but still clear enough to
hear a male voice speak. Lindsay recognized him; it was the one she'd spoken to
earlier. The leader.
"You let her go now."
"No!"
The other voice belonged to Heather, her protest turning into a scream.
In the midst of the commotion, Jill spoke over the crackling line
in a hushed whisper, "Lindsay? There are at least a dozen of them in here,
heavily armed, and they're looking for a girl, Francisca Jimenez. And, Linz,
they're getting nervous."
The last words sent a cold shiver down Lindsay's spine. Before she
could answer, there was a gunshot and the sound of shattering glass.
***
