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O'Neil's face grew still. "Your deputy was wounded. Martinez. He'll be okay, I heard, but he took a round in the arm."
"Ricky." Ralston nodded. "Sure. I know him."
The security man took a call, listened. "Thanks." He disconnected and said, "Nothing. Well, we've got all the exits covered. This is the only park exit but there are service entrances with gates."
Ralston said, "I've got officers headed there now. He's armed. I don't want your boys and girls approaching," he said to the security head.
"No. We'll work with your folks," the man assured the cop. "They'll call in if they see anything. I've told 'em."
Ralston added to Dance and O'Neil: "I've got teams circling the outer perimeter. There's no way he'll get out unseen."
Southern shook his head, looking over the growing crowd of park-goers. These were his people, those he was in charge of protecting. Dismayed, he said, "Hostages?"
But, to Dance, a taking seemed unlikely. The strategy was that you negotiated only to buy time to talk reason into the HT or to get a sniper into position for a kill shot. You never gave him his freedom. This unsub was smart--no, brilliant. He'd guess that grabbing a hostage was a futile proposition.
She explained this, glancing at O'Neil, who agreed.
Then she said, "Here's a thought. We don't have a solid facial ID but he doesn't know that. Can we--?" Dance looked around and saw a business office nearby. "Can we get a hundred printouts?"
"Of what?"
O'Neil was nodding. He got it. "Of anything with a man's face on it. Distribute them to officers and security people. Walk through the park, just looking at them from time to time and scanning the crowd."
"And keeping an eye out for anybody tall and blond, whatever he's wearing. Anybody who turns away or avoids eye contact, that'll be him."
Southern walked to the office and a few minutes later came back with a stack of paper. He held one up. "Message from our new manager. Just saying hi to all the employees, happy to be working with you, that sort of thing."
"Excellent," Dance said. It had a face shot of the manager, which from more than three feet away could very well be a security camera image of their unsub.
Southern and Ralston divided the sheets to distribute to the officers and guards and sent them on their way.
Dance took one and handed another to O'Neil.
The sergeant said, "You want radios?"
"Phone's fine for me," Dance offered.
O'Neil nodded and they both typed Ralston's number into theirs.
Then: "And Agent Dance needs a weapon."
"What?" she asked. "No."
"Kathryn," O'Neil said firmly.
The Orange County sergeant looked at her curiously.
"I'm assigned to the Civil Division of the CBI, not authorized to carry," she explained.
"Oh," Ralston said. That settled it. It would be illegal to hand over a weapon.
O'Neil sighed and said, "Then why don't you stay near the entrance and--"
Wait here...
But Dance was already walking through an open turnstile, right under the nose of a large and disturbingly realistic grizzly bear in a Viking helmet, glaring down at her angrily.
Chapter 44
