The naked edge

14

The cell-phone numbers Cavanaugh pressed were for the landline at William's safe site. As the phone buzzed on the other end, he heard more sirens outside. Red and blue lights flashed beyond the window.

"Hello."

"This is Cavanaugh. Put William on."

"Maybe he'll talk nicer to you than he does to us."

The phone made a bumping sound. Then William's voice said, "I hope this means everything's back to normal and I can get out of here."

"Afraid not," Cavanaugh said. "There's been some shooting and-"

"Some shooting?" the lieutenant said in the background. "I was with the Marines in the first Iraq war. I think we used less ammunition."

"Why don't I let Lt. Russell explain it to you so I don't say anything I shouldn't."

"Name, rank, and serial number," William's voice cautioned. "Nothing else. Put him on the phone."

Cavanaugh handed the phone to the lieutenant, then looked at Jamie and Kim against the wall. Jamie impressed him with her composure, as if she'd been an operator all her life.

But Kim was another matter. The pupils of her eyes resembled pencil points. Her brow was beaded with sweat, her withdrawal symptoms accelerating.

Cavanaugh gave her a firm nod of assurance.

"At the precinct in half an hour," Russell said to the phone, then gave it back to Cavanaugh.

"Yes, William?" Cavanaugh asked into it.

"Name, rank, and serial number. No exceptions."

"I want you to call somebody." Cavanaugh gave William a name and a phone number. "Tell him I need help."

When William heard the name, his response was, "He'll get their attention."

"Okay, we're ready to move this guy," the ambulance attendant said.

The attendant and his partner lifted the semiconscious man onto a Gurney and wheeled him from the apartment. Below, a clatter of equipment indicated that the gunman Jamie had wounded was being lifted onto a similar Gurney.

"Hands behind your back," Russell told Cavanaugh

The lieutenant clicked handcuffs onto him.

The policewoman did the same to Jamie and Kim.

"Is the van here?" Russell asked a policeman.

Cavanaugh managed to stand.

Preceded and followed by police officers, he, Jamie, and Kim left the apartment. On the stairs, a camera flashed, a medical examiner and his team inspecting the other gunman Jamie had shot.

Cavanaugh descended. The smell of burnt gunpowder widened his nostrils. He stepped over empty ammunition casings and left the building, confronted by the chaos of flashing lights, police cars, ambulances, and several hundred onlookers.