Hostage (2001) (6 page)

Talley keyed his mike to talk to his other cars.

'This is Talley. Clear the freq and listen. Jorgenson and I are currently in front of the house at one-eight Castle Way in York Estates. Anders is evacuating the residents of the surrounding houses. Dreyer and Mikkelson are at the rear of the property on Flanders Road near a red Nissan pickup. We believe that one or more of the people who shot Junior Kim and Mike Welch are in the house. They are armed. We need an ID. Did Welch run the plates on that truck?'

Mikkelson came back.

'Chief, two.'

'Go, two.'

'The truck is registered to Dennis James Rooney, white male, age twenty-two. He has an Agua Dulce address.'

Talley pulled out his pad and scratched down Rooney's name. In another life he would dispatch a unit to Rooney's address, but he didn't have the manpower for that now.

His radio popped again.

'Chief, Anders.'

'Go, Larry.'

'I'm with one of the neighbors. She says the people in the house are named Smith, Walter and Pamela Smith. They've got two kids. A girl and a boy. Hang on. Okay, it's Jennifer and Thomas. She says the girl is about fifteen and the boy is younger.'

'Does she know if they're in the house?'

Talley could hear Anders talking with the neighbor. Anders was so anxious that he was keying his mike before he was ready. Talley told him to slow down.

'She says the wife is in Florida visiting a sister, but she believes that the rest of the family is at home. She says the husband works there in the house.'

Talley cursed under his breath. He had a possible three hostages inside. Three killers, three hostages. He had to find out what was happening inside the house and cool out the shooters. It was called 'stabilizing the situation.' That's all he had to do. He told himself that over and over like a mantra: That's all you have to do.

Talley took a deep breath to gather himself, then another. He keyed his public address system so that he could speak to the house. In the next moment he would engage the subjects. In that instant, the negotiation would begin. Talley had sworn that he would never again be in this place. He had turned his life inside out to avoid it, yet here he was.

'My name is Jeff Talley. Is anyone in the house hurt?'

His voice echoed through the neighborhood. He heard a police car pull up at the mouth of the cul-de-sac, but he did not turn to look; he kept his eyes fixed on the house.

'Everyone in the house relax. We're not in a hurry here. If you've got wounded, let's get them tended to. We can work this out.'

No one answered. Talley knew that the subjects in the house were now under incredible stress. They had been involved in two shootings, and now they were trapped. They would be scared, and the danger level to the civilians would be great. Talley's job was to reduce their stress. If you gave the subjects time to calm down and think about their situation, sometimes they realized that their only way out was to surrender. Then all you had to do was give them an excuse to give up. That was the way it worked. Talley had been taught these things at the FBI's Crisis Management School, and it had worked that way every time until George Malik had shot his own son in the neck.

Talley keyed the mike again. He tried to make his voice reasonable and assuring.

'We're going to start talking sooner or later. It might as well be now. Is everyone in there okay, or does someone need a doctor?'

A voice in the house finally answered.

'Fuck you.'

Her father's eyes flickered as if he were dreaming, back and forth, up and down. He made a soft whimpering sound, but his eyes didn't open. Thomas hunched beside her, whispering.

'What's wrong?'

'He's not waking up. He should be awake, shouldn't he?'

This wasn't supposed to be happening; not in her house, not in Bristo Camino, not on this perfect summer day.

'Daddy, please!'

Mars knelt beside her to feel her father's neck. He was large and gross. She could smell him. Sweat and vegetables.

'Looks like brain damage.'

Jennifer felt a rush of fear and nausea, then realized that he was toying with her.

'Fuck you.'

Mars blinked uncomfortably, as if she had surprised and embarrassed him.

'I don't do things like that. They're bad.'

Mars walked away.

Her father's wound pulsed steadily, but the bleeding had almost stopped, the clotted blood and injured flesh swelling into an ugly purple volcano. Jennifer stood, and faced Dennis.

'I want to get some ice.'

'Shut up and sit your ass down.'

'I'm getting some ice. He's hurt.'

Dennis glared at her, his face red and angry. He glanced at Mars, then at her father. Finally, he turned back to the shutters.

'Mars, take her into the kitchen. Make sure Kevin isn't fucking off back there.'

Jennifer left without waiting for Mars, and went to the kitchen. She saw Kevin hiding behind the couch in the family room so that he could see the French doors. She wanted the backyard to be crowded with police officers and vicious police dogs, but it was empty. The pool was clean and pure, the raft that she had been enjoying less than thirty minutes earlier motionless on the water, the water so clear that the raft might have been floating on air. Her radio sat on the deck beside the pool, but she couldn't hear it. It had all happened so fast.

Jennifer opened the cabinet beneath the sink. Mars kicked it shut.

'What are you doing?'

He towered over her, his groin only inches from her face. She slowly stood to her full height. He was still a foot taller, and so close that it hurt to look up. Jennifer smelled the sour vegetables again. It took all of her strength not to run.

'I'm getting a washcloth. Then I'm going to open the freezer for the ice. Is that all right with you?'

Mars edged closer. His chest brushed the tips of her breasts. She did not let herself look away or step back, but her voice was hoarse.

'Get away from me.'

Mars stared down at her, his eyes unfocused, almost as if he couldn't see her. A vacant smile played at his lips. He swayed, his chest massaging gently against her breasts.

She still would not let herself step back. She summoned her strength again, and spoke clearly.

'Get away from me.'

The vacant smile flickered, then his eyes focused as if he could once more see her.

She opened the cabinet again without waiting for him to answer, found a cloth, then went to the freezer for ice. It was a huge black Sub-Zero, the kind with a freezer drawer on the bottom. She pulled it open, then scooped ice into the washcloth. Most of it spilled onto the floor.

'I need a bowl.'

'So get one.'

Mars walked away as she got the bowl. He went into the family room, and asked if Kevin had seen anything. She couldn't hear Kevin's answer.

Jennifer chose a green plastic Tupperware bowl, then saw the paring knife on the counter, left from when she diced a slice of onion for the tuna. She glanced at Mars, but Mars was still with Kevin. She was terrified that if she reached for the knife they would see her, and then she thought that even if she had the knife what would she do with it? They were older and stronger. She glanced up again. Mars was staring at her. She averted her eyes, but saw from the corner of her eye that he stayed with Kevin. Her shorts didn't have pockets and her suit top didn't have enough material to cover the knife. Even if she took it, what would she do with it? Attack them? Puh-lease. Mars came back to the kitchen. Without thinking about it, she pushed the knife behind the Cuisinart mixer her mom kept on the counter.

Mars said, 'What's taking so long?'

'I'm ready.'

'Hang on.'

Mars went to the refrigerator and pulled it open. He took out a beer, twisted off the cap, and drank. He took a second bottle and tipped it toward her.

'You want one?'

'I don't drink beer.'

'Mommy won't know. You can do anything you want right now, and Mommy won't know.'

'I want to go back to my father.'

She followed him back to the office, where Mars gave the second beer to Dennis at the shutters. Jennifer joined Thomas at their father beside the desk. She scooped ice from the bowl into the washcloth, then made an ice pack and pressed it to her father's wound. She cringed when he moaned.

Thomas edged closer and spoke so softly that she could barely hear him.

'What's going to happen?'

Mars's voice cut across the room.

'Shut up!'

Mars was staring at her. Slowly, his gaze moved down along the lines of her body. She flushed again, forcing herself to concentrate on her father. She knew he was playing with her, just as he had before.

The phone rang.

Everyone in the room looked at the phone, but no one moved. The ringing grew louder and more insistent.

Dennis said, 'Jesus Christ!'

He stalked to the desk and scooped up the phone, but the ringing continued.

'What the fuck is this? Why won't it stop?'

Thomas said, 'It has more than one line. Press the blinking light.'

Dennis stabbed the blinking light, then slammed down the phone. The ringing stopped.

Dennis went back to the shutters, grumbling about rich people having more than one line.

The phone rang again.

'Fuck!'

The public address voice from the street echoed through the house.

'Answer the phone, Dennis Rooney. It's the police.'

Hunkered behind the front wheel of his radio car, Talley listened to the ringing in his ear as a helicopter appeared. It spiraled down for a closer look until Talley could see that it was from one of the Los Angeles television stations. They would have heard about Kim and Welch by monitoring police frequencies. If the helicopters were here, the vans and reporters would be close behind. Talley covered the phone and twisted around to see Jorgenson.

'Where are the Sheriffs?'

'Inbound, Chief.'

'Get back on the horn and request air cover. Tell them we have news choppers coming in.'

The phone inside the house was still ringing. Talley thought, Answer the phone, you sonofabitch.

'Tell Sarah to call the phone company. Get a list of all the lines to the house and have them blocked except through my cell number. I don't want these guys talking with anyone on the outside except for us.'

'Okay.'

Talley was still giving orders when the phone stopped ringing and a male voice answered.

'Hello?'

Talley waved Jorgenson quiet, then took a breath to center himself. He did not want his voice to reveal his fear.

'Is this Dennis Rooney?'

'Who are you!'

'My name is Jeff Talley. I'm with the Bristo Police Department, out here behind the car in front of you. Is this Dennis Rooney?'

Talley specifically did not identify himself as the chief of police. He wanted to appear to have a certain degree of power, but he also did not want to be seen as the final authority. The negotiator was always the man in the middle. If Rooney made demands, Talley wanted to be able to stall by telling him that he had to check with his boss. That way Talley remained the good guy. He could build a bond with Rooney through their mutual adversity.

'That cop was going for his gun. That Chinaman pulled a gun, too. No one wanted to shoot him. It was an accident.'

'Is this Dennis Rooney? I want to know with whom I'm speaking.'

'Yeah. I'm Rooney.'

Talley felt himself relaxing. Rooney wasn't a raving lunatic; he didn't start off by screaming that he was going to murder everyone in the house.

Talley made his voice firm, but relaxed.

'Well, Dennis, I need to know whether or not anyone in there needs a doctor. There was an awful lot of shooting.'

'We're cool.'

'We can send in a doctor, if you need it.'

'I said we're cool. Aren't you listening?'

Rooney's voice was strained and emotional. Talley expected that.

'Everyone out here is concerned about who's in there with you, Dennis, and how they're doing. Do you have some people in there with you?'

Rooney didn't answer. Talley could hear breathing, then a muffled sound as if Rooney had covered the phone. He would be thinking it through. Talley knew that thinking things through logically would be hard for Rooney during these next few minutes. Rooney would be pumping on adrenaline, frantic, and scared. Finally, he came back on the line.

'I got this family. That isn't kidnapping, is it? I mean, they were already here. We didn't grab'm and take'm someplace.'

Rooney's answer was a good sign; by showing concern for the future, he revealed that he did not want to die and feared the consequences of his actions.