Beyond Recognition

73

When Garman’s vehicle crossed an imaginary line one mile from the U-Stor-It facility, two members of the SPD bomb squad moved into place, accompanied by Tech Service Officer Danny Kotch and psychologist Daphne Matthews.

Kotch worked flawlessly with the fiber-optic camera, Daphne immediately alongside. The thin black wire was fed under the gap in the garage door and the first images of the unit’s contents were revealed.

Daphne leaned onto Danny Kotch in order to get a good look at the tiny screen. She gasped aloud and began to cry as she saw Ben tucked into a ball in the corner, a single piece of rope binding him. There was no gag in place, and she wondered why he hadn’t called out. The screen was too small to show his eyes.

Let him be alive! she prayed.

The space was empty except for some black PVC pipe, a pair of beach chairs, and some cardboard boxes from Radio Shack.

Attempting to sound professional, Daphne sniffed back her tears and said to the bomb squad team. “He’s inside. We want him out as quickly as possible.”

“With a torch like this, we’re going to move slowly,” the man wearing the thick vest informed her.

She had been warned of this already, but she found the thought of even a minute longer too long.

“Ben, can you hear me?” she shouted.

The little head rocked up, and a single eye angled to look for her. She felt herself burst into tears. Through a blur she told the others, “Shit, hurry it up, would you? I want him out of there.”

A plainclothes detective ran toward them, a radio held in his hand. He shouted, “Matthews, Garman is a half mile and closing. They need you for the count.” He met up with her and passed her the radio.

The decision of when to light the house was hers and hers alone. Boldt had insisted that, of all those involved, she understood the dynamics of the psychology best of all and the call should be hers. This had offended Bahan and others, especially several of the Marshal Fives.

She grabbed the radio, repeating what she had told Boldt several times. “Is the suspect within full visual range of the structure?” she inquired.

“A half mile and closing,” a deep male voice informed her.

“But can he see the building?” she repeated, amazed how so simple a question could become so complicated an issue.

“No. He wouldn’t have a visual at this time.”

Speak English, she wanted to shout.

“When he’s got the building fully in sight,” she informed the dispatcher, “torch it. But he has to see it ignite if he’s to get off on it. He has to participate in it. If he sees it go off, he’ll stay to see them fight it. Do you copy?”

“Another hundred yards,” the dispatcher told her. “I’m told he’ll have full visual in another hundred yards.”

“Let’s go with full visual, shall we?” she said sarcastically.

Releasing the radio’s button, she told the bomb team, “Hurry it up. I want the boy out of there. And I want it now.”