The Dead Room

35

Darby clipped the phone to her belt as she moved out of the bedroom. She took the steps quickly and made her way through the officers packed inside the kitchen.

Jennings stood in the archway between the kitchen and the living room. She stepped up beside him, catching sight of Coop watching the street through one of the windows, then turned to the crowd. Jennings was still talking when she cut him off.

‘Excuse me, Detective. Gentlemen, I need your attention here, and I need it now… Thank you. I have to speak quickly, so listen up. There’ll be no follow-up questions.’

She had organized her thoughts and spoke quickly but clearly.

‘Jackson Cooper is in the living room watching an older white male standing across the street. This man is bald, about six feet, and built like a beer keg. He’s wearing a light grey sports jacket and brown dress trousers. He’s also armed. This is a person of interest both for this investigation and for the one that’s currently under way in Belham. He’s working with one or more people who may be posing as Federal agents. They may be driving a brown van with a Mass. licence plate.’

She gave them the plate number. ‘Even if the van isn’t here, I’m sure he didn’t come alone. I want you to form groups and create a perimeter by going to the following street corners.’

She knew Charlestown well and rattled off the street names. Then she turned to Coop and said, ‘Is the subject still across the street?’

‘He is,’ Coop said.

‘Okay, good,’ she said, turning back to the men. ‘Get a visual before you leave. Under no circumstances are you to use your radios. I believe these people are monitoring police frequencies.’

She pointed to a man standing directly in front of her and said, ‘Give me your mobile phone number.’

He did. She quickly programmed it into her phone.

‘What’s your name?’ Darby asked.

‘Gavin.’

‘If I need assistance or if there’s a problem, I’ll contact Gavin. I’ll let Detective Jennings take over from here.’

‘And what are you going to do?’ a patrolman in the back asked.

‘I’m going to introduce myself,’ Darby said, ‘welcome him to the neighbourhood.’

Soft laughter.

She opened the back door to an alley of rubbish bins and black bags She ran across the alley, then hooked a left and sprinted across Thatcher Street, the gun holster knocking against her hip. Now a right on to Grover. In less than a minute she’d reach Grafton. Take a right there, run across it and then make her way back up to the top of Old Rutherford Street, where Baldy was standing. Maybe three minutes of running total.

All those mornings spent running in her SWAT gear had paid off. She felt light and fast on her feet and made good time.

She banged a right on to Grafton, surprised to see Baldy trotting across the pavement in his leather wingtips.

Why hadn’t Coop called her?

Darby slowed to a walk, beads of sweat running down her forehead and into her eyes. Her heart pounded, but she wasn’t winded.

Baldy stepped underneath a street light and she could see a mobile phone pressed against his ear. He had a good five inches on her – he was six foot two, she guessed – and he was twice as wide. She also got a good look at his pockmarked face. No question this was the same man she’d seen earlier today.

Baldy’s eyes cut to her. She was removing her sidearm when he abruptly turned and ducked down an alley between two apartment buildings.

Shit. Darby started running.

A moment later she reached the corner leading into the alley, heard footsteps echoing. She turned into it and saw his shadow sprinting past rubbish bins. She gave chase, slowing when she reached the next corner. She turned, saw him running into the street, and followed.

Baldy wasn’t in good shape but for such a big man he ran fast and well. And he had a solid lead.

Darby was closing the gap when she heard a car door shut. Tyres peeled away in a screech of rubber. By the time she reached the street, she caught a flash of a dark car before it disappeared.