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“Thought I was; guess I’m not. Hope this works. It better work. I think they want to kill him, Ned.”
“Yeah. So do I. I think we’re making the right call.”
“We?” I asked.
Mahoney nodded. “I’m in this with you, podjo. No guts, no glory. It’s a Bureau thing.”
Minutes later, Mahoney and I watched the Baltimore police very reluctantly pull back from the house. I had told Sheehan I didn’t want to see a single blue uniform or SWAT coverall anywhere around. The captain had his idea of what constituted acceptable risks and I had mine. If they rushed the house, somebody would die for sure. If my idea failed, at least nobody would get hurt. Or, at least, nobody but me.
I got back on the phone with Coulter. “The Baltimore police are out of sight,” I told him. “I want you to come out, Dennis. Do it now. Before they get a chance to think about what just happened.”
He didn’t answer at first, then said, “I’m looking around. All it takes is one sniper with a nightscope.”
I knew he was right. Didn’t matter. We had one chance.
“Come on out with your hostages,” I told him. “I’ll meet you on the front steps myself.”
He didn’t say anything more, and I was pretty sure I’d lost him. I focused on the front door of the house and tried not to think about people dying here. C’mon, Coulter. Use your head. This is the best deal you’re going to get.
He finally spoke again. “You sure about this? Because I’m not. I think you might be crazy.”
“I’m sure.”
“All right, I’m coming out,” he said. Then he added, “This is on you.”
I turned to Mahoney. “Let’s get a protective vest on him as soon as he hits the porch. Surround him with our guys. No Baltimore PD anywhere near him no matter what they say. Can we do that?”
“Brass balls.” Mahoney grinned. “Let’s do it—try, anyway.”
“Let me bring you out, Dennis. It’s safer that way,” I said into the cell. “I’m coming to you now.”
But Coulter had his own plan. Jesus, he was already on his front porch. He had both hands raised high over his head. Clearly unarmed. Vulnerable as hell.
I was afraid I’d hear shots and he’d go down in a heap. I started to run forward.
Then half a dozen HRT guys were all over him, shielding Coulter from harm. They rushed him to a waiting van.
“We got him inside the truck. Subject is safe,” I heard the report from HRT. “We’re getting him the hell out of here.”
I turned back toward the house. What about the family? Where were they?
Had he made up his story? Oh, Christ, what had Dennis Coulter done?
Then I saw the family walking single file out of the house. It was an incredible scene. The hair on the back of my neck stood up.
An old man in a white shirt, black trousers, and suspenders. An elderly woman in a blowing pink dress and high heels. Tears were streaming down her cheeks. Two small girls in white party dresses. A couple of middle-aged women holding hands. Three males in their twenties, each of them with their hands up. A woman with two little babies.
Several of the adults were carrying cardboard boxes.
I figured I knew what was in them. Yeah, I knew. The records, the proof, the evidence.
Detective Dennis Coulter had been telling the truth after all. His family had believed him. They had just saved his life.
I felt Ned Mahoney pat my back hard. “Nice job. Really good job.”
I laughed and said, “For an FNG. That was a test, wasn’t it?”
“I really couldn’t say. But if it was, you aced it.”
