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Then Fowler screamed, “Do you understand that, Barry?”
“Listen to him, Barry. Please listen,” Diana begged.
“I’m listening,” said the doctor, barely audibly. “And of course I understand.”
Now Fowler spoke with quiet and controlled rage. “No one in this room should have anything to say, not anything. Not a word. But that’s especially true of you, quackster. So listen to me very carefully. If you say one more word, just one…more…word—if you make any sound at all, even a cough or a hiccup—I’m going to kill you. Nod your head yes if you understand the rules.”
I assumed that Dr. Nicholson nodded, because Fowler’s voice came back to me as if he were returning to a business call he’d put on hold. “Hey, Cross. Sorry to keep you like that. You know how tough a courtroom can be.”
“Right,” I said, still not quite understanding the twisted logic he had going. The courtroom. The jury. The Grinch. Then it dawned on me that trying to guide him to some safe resolution of the situation was perhaps not the best way forward, at least not yet. Better to play along with his version of reality, and perhaps use it.
“Mr. Fowler. Seeing how you’ve named me jury foreman, I was wondering if I could come in the house and observe the proceedings,” I said matter-of-factly, going for a kind of could-I-borrow-your-lawnmower style.
Nu and McGoey were looking at me as if I were insane.
CHAPTER
15
THERE WAS A LONG PAUSE BEFORE FOWLER SAID, “WHY WOULD YOU WANT TO do that, Cross?”
“Don’t jury members learn as much from a witness’s facial expressions and body language as they do from his testimony?”
Another pause. That pause stretched into thirty seconds. The thirty seconds stretched into the longest minute of my life.
My fear was that Fowler would explode again and turn his guns on the hostages. I could see McGoey shaking his head as if he knew I’d made the wrong move.
Finally Fowler said, “I don’t think so, Cross. Nice try, but I don’t think so.”
Persistence. Persistence.
“It would give me the opportunity to hear your side of the story,” I said. “Face-to-face. Man-to-man.”
Another few seconds.
Then Fowler said, very quietly, very calmly, “I will frisk you when you come in, Cross. If I find you’re carrying a gun, I’m going to kill you. And then I’ll kill a hostage or two. Starting with the good Dr. Quack N. Cash.”
“I don’t need a gun to have a conversation,” I said, and I handed my Glock to McGoey.
Fifteen seconds passed. Then Fowler’s voice came again.
“Jeremy, go open the front door for Mr. Cross. I’m going to be right behind you, buddy. So don’t even think about running out of the house. Understand? Okay, get going.” I guess the boy didn’t go fast enough, because I heard this father, on Christmas Eve, shout at his eleven-year-old son, “Move, Jeremy, or I will kick your fucking obscenely obese ass until you do!”
I looked at my watch. It was almost midnight when I got my jacket and hat and headed toward the Nicholsons’ house.
I walked through the now empty shelter and out into the falling snow thinking that I should have been with my family right then, at St. Anthony’s, singing “O Little Town of Bethlehem” to start midnight mass.
CHAPTER
16
WHILE I’D BEEN ON THE PHONE WITH FOWLER, NU AND MCGOEY HAD BEEN putting the storm-and-protect operation into full effect. As I crossed Thirtieth Street I saw that SWAT officers had started circling the house again. Only this time their weapons were cocked and cradled. They were ready for trouble, for anything that might happen in the next few minutes. Like me getting killed.
The second and third floors of the surrounding houses were manned with sharpshooters. Inside those four houses, lights flickered on and off slowly.
Signals were being exchanged. I couldn’t begin to work out what they meant. I had other problems to figure out, and figure out fast. In a few seconds I was directly facing the house. My eyes darted to the right and I saw police officers quickly herding reporters back and away. The cops didn’t have to ask them twice, which made me wonder if I was making the right move here.
The snow soaked the hem of my pants as I walked the short path to the house. The big front door, flanked by frosted-glass windows, was ajar. From inside the house came the sound of Diana Nicholson weeping. Suddenly, lights were turned off—front rooms, hallway, and all outdoor lights. Total blackout.
