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The officers helped the big man to his feet and they started out the door. Vincent Reynolds could hardly walk, he was so shaken. "How could Sally Anne get married? How could she do this to me? We were going to be together forever. . . . How could she?"
Chapter 28
Like assaulting a medieval castle.
Sachs, Baker and Pulaski joined Bo Haumann around the corner from the church in the nondescript Chelsea section of town. The ESU troops had deployed quietly up and down the streets surrounding the place, keeping a low profile.
The church had only enough doors to satisfy the fire code, and steel bars on most of the windows. This would make it difficult for Gerald Duncan to escape, of course, but it also meant that ESU had few options for access. That, in turn, increased the likelihood that the killer had booby-trapped the entrances or would wait for them with a weapon. And the stone walls, two feet thick, also made the risk greater than it might otherwise have been because the Search and Surveillance team's thermal-and sound-sensing equipment was largely useless; they simply couldn't tell if he was inside.
"What's the plan?" asked Amelia Sachs, standing next to Bo Haumann in the alley behind the church. Dennis Baker was beside her, his hand close to his pistol. His eyes danced around the streets and sidewalk, which told Sachs that he hadn't been on a tactical entry for a long time--if ever. She was still pissed about the spying; she wasn't very sympathetic that he was sweating.
Ron Pulaski was nearby, his hand resting on the grip of his Glock. He too rocked nervously on his feet as he gazed at the imposing, sooty structure.
Haumann explained that the teams would do a simple dynamic entry through all doors, after taking them out with explosive charges. There was no choice--the doors were too thick for a battering ram--but charges would clearly announce their presence and give Duncan a chance to prepare at least some defense within the building. What would he do when he heard the explosions and the footsteps of the cops charging inside?
Give up?
A lot of perps do.
But some don't. They either panic or cling to some crazy idea that they can fight their way though a dozen armed officers. Rhyme had told her about Duncan's mission of revenge; she didn't figure somebody that obsessed would be the surrendering type.
Sachs took her position with a side-door entry team while Baker and Pulaski remained at the command post with Haumann.
Through her headset she heard the ESU commander say, "Entry devices are armed. . . . Teams, report, K."
The A, B and C teams called in that they were ready.
In his raspy voice, Haumann called, "On my count . . . Five, four, three, two, one."
Three sharp cracks resounded as the doors blew open simultaneously, setting off car alarms and shaking nearby windows. Officers poured inside.
It turned out that their concern about fortified positions and booby traps had been unfounded. The bad news, though, was that a search of the place made it clear that the Watchmaker was either one of the luckiest men on earth or had anticipated them yet again. He wasn't here.
"Check this out, Ron."
Amelia Sachs stood in a doorway of a small, upstairs storeroom in the church.
"Freaky," the young officer offered.
That worked.
They were looking at a number of moon-faced clocks stacked against a stone wall. The faces stared out with their cryptic look, not quite a smile, not quite a leer, as if they knew exactly how much time was allotted for your life and were pleased to be counting down to the final second.
All of them were ticking, a sound that Sachs found unnerving.
She counted five of them. Which meant he had one with him.
Burn her to death . . .
Pulaski was zipping up his Tyvek crime scene suit and strapping his Glock outside the overalls. Sachs told him that she'd walk the grid up here, where Vincent had said the men had been staying. The rookie would take the ground floor of the church.
He nodded, looking uneasily at the dark corridors, the shadows. The blow to his skull the previous year had been severe and a supervisor had wanted to sideline him, put him behind a desk. He'd struggled to come back from the head injury and simply would not let the brass take him off the street. She knew he got spooked sometimes. She could see in his eyes that he was constantly making the decision whether or not to step up to the task in front of him. Even though he always chose to do so, there were some cops, she knew, who wouldn't want to work with him because of this. Sachs, though, would far rather work with somebody who confronted his ghosts every time he went out on the street. That was guts.
She'd never hesitate to have him as a partner.
Then she realized what she'd thought and qualified it: If I were going to stay on the force.
Pulaski wiped his palms, which Sachs could see were sweaty, despite the chill, and pulled on latex gloves.
