"Vanish" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gerritsen Tess)

EIGHT

I come to the hospital to have a baby. Instead I’m about to get my head blown off.

Jane sat on the couch, wedged between Dr. Tam on her right and the black orderly on her left. She could feel him trembling beside her, his skin cold and clammy in the air-conditioned room. Dr. Tam sat perfectly still, her face a stone mask. On the other couch, the receptionist sat hugging herself, and beside her, the woman technician was quietly crying. No one dared say a word; the only sound came from the waiting-room television, which had been playing continuously. Jane looked around at the name tags on the uniforms. Mac. Domenica. Glenna. Dr. Tam. She glanced down at the patient wristband she was wearing. RIZZOLI, JANE. All of us are neatly labeled for the morgue. No ID problems here, folks. She thought of Bostonions opening their Tribune tomorrow morning and seeing these same names printed in stark black and white on the front page. VICTIMS KILLED IN HOSPITAL SIEGE. She thought of those readers skimming right past the name “Rizzoli, Jane,” and then turning their attention straight to the sports page.

Is this how it ends? Something as stupid as being in the wrong place at the wrong time? Hey wait, she wanted to shout. I’m pregnant! In the movies, nobody shoots the pregnant hostage!

But this wasn’t the movies, and she couldn’t predict what the crazy lady with the gun would do. That’s what Jane had dubbed her. The Crazy Lady. What else could you call a woman who stalks back and forth, waving a gun? Only occasionally did the woman stop to look at the TV, which was tuned to channel six. Live coverage of the medical center hostage situation. Look Ma, I’m on television, thought Jane. I’m one of the lucky hostages trapped in that building. It’s kind of like the reality show Survivor but with bullets.

And real blood.

She noticed that the Crazy Lady was wearing a patient wristband like Jane’s. Escapee from the psych unit? Just try to make her sit obediently in a wheelchair. The woman was barefoot, her shapely ass peeking out from the backless hospital gown. She had long legs, muscular thighs, and a luxuriant mane of jet black hair. Dress her up in a sexy leather outfit, and she’d look like Xena the Warrior Princess.

“I gotta pee,” Mr. Bodine said.

The Crazy Lady didn’t even glance at him.

“Hey! Is anyone listening to me? I said I gotta pee!”

Oh jeez, just do it, old man, thought Rizzoli. Pee in your wheelchair. Don’t tick off someone who’s holding a gun.

On the TV, a blond reporter appeared. Zoe Fossey, reporting from Albany Street. “We have no word yet on how many hostages are trapped inside the hospital wing. Police have cordoned off the building. So far there is one known fatality, a security guard who was shot to death while trying to restrain the patient…”

The Crazy Lady halted, her gaze riveted on the screen. One of her bare feet landed on the manila folder that was lying on the floor. Only then did Jane notice the name on that chart, written in black felt ink.

Rizzoli, Jane.

The news report ended, and Crazy Lady resumed her pacing, her bare feet slapping across the folder. It was Jane’s outpatient chart, which Dr. Tam had probably been carrying when she’d walked into Diagnostic Imaging. Now it was right at the Crazy Lady’s feet. All she had to do was bend down and flip open the cover and read the first page, where the patient information was listed. Name, birth date, marital status, Social Security number.

And occupation. Detective, Homicide. Boston Police Department.

This woman is now under siege by the Boston PD SWAT team, thought Jane. When she finds out that I’m a cop, too…

She didn’t want to complete the thought; she knew where it would lead. She looked down once again at her arm, at the hospital ID band printed with the name: RIZZOLI, JANE. If she could just get this thing off, she could jam it between the cushions, and the Crazy Lady wouldn’t be able to match her to the chart. That was the thing to do, get rid of this dangerous ID band. Then she’d be just another pregnant lady in the hospital. Not a cop, not a threat.

She slipped a finger under the wristband and tugged, but it didn’t give way. She pulled harder, but could not break it. What the hell was it made of, anyway? Titanium? But of course it had to be sturdy. You didn’t want confused old guys like Mr. Bodine yanking off their IDs and wandering the halls, anonymous. She strained harder against the plastic, her teeth gritting together, the muscles quietly straining. I’ll have to chew it off, she thought. When the Crazy Lady isn’t looking, I could-

She froze. Realized the woman was standing right in front of her, a bare foot planted once again on Jane’s medical chart. Slowly Jane’s gaze lifted to the woman’s face. Up till then she had avoided looking directly at her captor, afraid to draw any attention to herself. Now, to her horror, she saw that the woman was focused on her-only on her-and she felt like the herd’s lone gazelle singled out for slaughter. The woman even looked like a feline, long-limbed and graceful, her black hair glossy as a panther’s. Her blue eyes were as intense as searchlights, and Jane was now caught in the beam.

“This is what they do,” the woman said, eyeing Jane’s wristband. “They put labels on you. Like in concentration camp.” She showed her own wristband, printed with DOE, JANE. There was an original name for you, thought Jane, and she almost wanted to laugh. I’m being held hostage by Jane Doe. It’s down to Jane vs. Jane. The real one versus the fake one. Didn’t the hospital know who this woman was when they admitted her? Judging by the few words she’d spoken, it was clear she was not American. Eastern European. Russian, maybe.

The woman ripped off her own wristband and tossed it aside. Then she grabbed Jane’s wrist and gave her ID band a sharp yank as well. It snapped apart.

“There. No more labels,” the woman said. She glanced at Jane’s wristband. “Rizzoli. This is Italian.”

“Yes.” Jane kept her gaze on the woman’s face, afraid to even glance downward, to draw her attention to the manila folder lying beneath her bare foot. The woman took her steady eye contact as a sign of connection between them. Up till now, Crazy Lady had scarcely said a word to any of them. Now she was talking. This is good, thought Jane. An attempt at conversation. Try to connect with her, establish a relationship. Be her friend. She wouldn’t kill a friend, would she?

The woman was looking at Jane’s pregnant belly.

“I’m having my first baby,” said Jane.

The woman looked up at the clock on the wall. She was waiting for something. Counting the minutes as they ticked by.

Jane decided to dip her toe further into conversational waters. “What-what is your name?” she ventured.

“Why?”

“I just wanted to know.” So I can stop calling you the Crazy Lady.

“It makes no difference. I am dead already.” The woman looked at her. “So are you.”

Jane stared into those burning eyes, and for one frightening moment she thought: What if it’s true? What if we are already dead, and this is just a version of hell?

“Please,” the receptionist murmured. “Please let us go. You don’t need us. Just let us open the door and walk out.”

The woman began to pace again, her bare feet intermittently treading across the fallen chart. “You think they will let you live? After you have been with me? Everyone who is with me dies.”

“What’s she talking about?” Dr. Tam whispered.

She’s paranoid, thought Jane. Having delusions of persecution.

The woman suddenly came to a stop and stared down at the manila folder near her feet.

Don’t open it. Please don’t open it.

The woman picked it up, eyeing the name on the cover.

Distract her, now!

“Excuse me,” she said. “I really-I really need to use the bathroom. Being pregnant and all.” She pointed to the waiting room toilet. “Please, can I go?”

The woman dropped the chart down on the coffee table where it landed just out of Jane’s reach. “You do not lock the door.”

“No. I promise.”

“Go.”

Dr. Tam touched Jane’s hand. “Do you need help? Do you want me to go with you?”

“No. I’m okay,” said Jane and she rose on unsteady legs. Wanted desperately to sweep up the medical chart as she moved past the coffee table, but the Crazy Lady was watching her the whole time. She walked to the restroom, turned on the light, and closed the door. Felt sudden relief to be alone, and not staring at a gun.

I could lock the door anyway. I could just stay in here and wait it out until it’s over.

But she thought of Dr. Tam and the orderly and Glenna and Domenica clinging to one another on the couch. If I piss off Crazy Lady, they’ll be the ones to suffer. I’d be a coward, hiding behind a locked door.

She used the toilet and washed her hands. Scooped water into her mouth, because she did not know when she’d next get a chance to drink. Wiping her wet chin, she scanned the small restroom, searching for something she could use as a weapon, but all she saw were paper towels and a soap dispenser and a stainless steel trash can.

The door suddenly swung open. She turned to see her captor staring at her. She doesn’t trust me. Of course she doesn’t trust me.

“I’m finished,” said Jane. “I’m coming out now.” She left the restroom and crossed back to the couch. Saw that the medical chart was still lying on the coffee table.

“Now we sit and wait,” the woman said, and she settled into a chair, the gun on her lap.

“What are we waiting for?” Jane asked.

The woman stared at her. Said, calmly: “The end.”

A shudder went through Jane. At the same time, she felt something else: a tightening in her abdomen, like a hand slowly squeezing into a fist. She held her breath as the contraction turned painful, as sweat beaded on her forehead. Five seconds. Ten. Slowly it eased off, and she leaned back against the couch, breathing deeply.

Dr. Tam frowned at her. “What’s wrong?”

Jane swallowed. “I think I’m in labor.”

“We’ve got a cop in there?” said Captain Hayder.

“You can’t let this leak out,” said Gabriel. “I don’t want anyone to know what her job is. If the hostage taker finds out she’s holding a cop…” Gabriel took a deep breath, and said quietly: “It can’t get out to the media. That’s all.”

Leroy Stillman nodded. “We won’t let it. After what happened to that security guard…” He stopped. “We need to keep this under wraps.”

Hayder said, “Having a cop in there could work to our advantage.”

“Excuse me?” said Maura, startled that Hayder would make such a statement in Gabriel’s presence.

“Detective Rizzoli’s got a good head on her shoulders. And she can handle a weapon. She could make a difference in how this goes down.”

“She’s also nine months pregnant and due to deliver any minute. What, exactly, do you expect her to do?”

“I’m just saying she’s got a cop’s instincts. That’s good.”

“Right now,” said Gabriel, “the only instinct I want my wife to follow is the one for self-preservation. I want her alive and safe. So don’t count on her to be heroic. Just get her the hell out of there.”

Stillman said, “We won’t do anything to endanger your wife, Agent Dean. I promise you that.”

“Who is this hostage taker?”

“We’re still trying to ID her.”

“What does she want?”

Hayder cut in: “Maybe Agent Dean and Dr. Isles should step out of the trailer and let us get back to work.”

“No, it’s okay,” said Stillman. “He needs to know. Of course he needs to know.” He looked at Gabriel. “We’re going slow on this, giving her a chance to calm down and start talking. As long as no one’s getting hurt, we have time.”

Gabriel nodded. “That’s the way it should be handled. No bullets, no assault. Just keep them all alive.”

Emerton called out: “Captain, we’ve got the list. Names of personnel and patients still unaccounted for.”

Stillman snatched up the page as it came off the printer and scanned down the names.

“Is she on it?” Gabriel asked.

After a pause, Stillman nodded. “I’m afraid she is.” He handed the list to Hayder. “Six names. That’s what the hostage taker said on the radio. That she’s holding six people.” He neglected to add what else the woman had said. And I have enough bullets for them all.

“Who’s seen that list?” said Gabriel.

“Hospital administrator,” said Hayder. “Plus whoever helped him compile it.”

“Before it goes any further, take my wife off it.”

“These are just names. No one knows-”

“Any reporter could find out in ten seconds that Jane’s a cop.”

Maura said, “He’s right. All the crime beat reporters in Boston know her name.”

“Scratch her name off the list, Mark,” said Stillman. “Before anyone else sees it.”

“What about our entry team? If they go in, they’ll need to know who’s inside. How many people they’re rescuing.”

“If you do your jobs right,” said Gabriel, “there’ll be no need for any entry team. Just talk that woman out of there.”

“Well, we’re not having much luck on the talking part, are we?” Hayder looked at Stillman. “Your girl refuses to even say hello.”

“It’s only been three hours,” said Stillman. “We need to give her time.”

“And after six hours? Twelve?” Hayder looked at Gabriel. “Your wife is due to give birth any minute.”

“You think I’m not considering that?” Gabriel shot back. “It’s not just my wife, it’s also my child in there. Dr. Tam may be with them, but if something goes wrong with the birth, there’s no equipment, no operating room. So yes, I want this over as quickly as possible. But not if there’s a chance you’ll turn this into a bloodbath.”

“She’s the one who set this off. The one who chooses what happens next.”

“Then don’t force her hand. You’ve got a negotiator here, Captain Hayder. Use him. And keep your SWAT team the hell away from my wife.” Gabriel turned and walked out of the trailer.

Outside, Maura caught up with him on the sidewalk. She had to call his name twice before he finally stopped and turned to face her.

“If they screw up,” he said, “if they go charging in there too soon-”

“You heard what Stillman said. He wants to go slow on this, just like you.”

Gabriel stared at a trio of cops in SWAT uniforms, huddled near the lobby entrance. “Look at them. They’re pumped up, hoping for action. I know what it’s like, because I’ve been there. I’ve felt it myself. You get tired of standing around, endlessly negotiating. They just want to get on with it, because that’s what they’re trained to do. They can’t wait to pull that trigger.”

“Stillman thinks he can talk her out.”

He looked at her. “You were with the woman. Will she listen?”

“I don’t know. The truth is, we know almost nothing about her.”

“I heard she was pulled out of the water. Brought to the morgue by a fire and rescue crew.”

Maura nodded. “It was an apparent drowning. She was found in Hingham Bay.”

“Who found her?”

“Some guys at a yacht club down in Weymouth. Boston PD’s already got a team from homicide working the case.”

“But they don’t know about Jane.”

“Not yet.” It will make a difference to them, thought Maura. One of their own is a hostage. When another cop’s life is on the line, it always made a difference.

“Which yacht club?” Gabriel asked.