He gestured to Kristan. “Open her drawer now.” He then said to Carina, “Stop talking.”
Charlie motioned for Kristan to stand. Kristan looked at Carina, as if she wanted a second opinion.
“Go ahead, Kristan,” Carina said. “He wants to see his sister.”
Kristan slowly stood up. She said to Charlie, not looking him in the eye, “I … I need to see the chart on the desk. I don’t know which drawer.”
He nodded, keeping an eye on her.
There were sixteen drawers, eight across and two high. According to the chart, Sarah Peterson was in number 8, in the bottom corner.
Kristan walked over, then looked at Charlie again. “Are you sure?”
“Open the drawer.”
Kristan did and then went back to sit with Brian and Rena. They were all watching Charlie, but trying not to be obvious.
Carina didn’t care if she was obvious. She needed to keep an eye on him. If things went south, she had to act.
Charlie squatted next to his sister and stared. He didn’t say anything; he didn’t touch her. He just looked at her, unblinking.
Carina took that moment, when she was in his peripheral vision, to retrieve her cell phone from her pocket. She had one hand free, which had helped, but she still took care not to make a sound. She didn’t have time to think, so sent a message to the last person who’d texted her, Nick.
Charlie Peterson, Army, sister Sarah deceased on 22nd. Minimum 2 guns. No fatalities, 1 injury. Explosives set at door.
She hit Send, needing to get that message out. She hoped it went, because she had one bar that fluttered in and out. Then she sent a second message.
I love you.
She slid her phone back in her front pocket. One of the hostages, Rena, had been watching her. Carina didn’t give any indication that she’d done anything. No sense tipping off Charlie that he hadn’t searched her.
Charlie’s face was unreadable and he appeared as frozen as the corpse in front of him. Carina didn’t know if that was good or bad. She could only see his profile.
He squatted there for a good ten minutes before he pushed the drawer back in with finality. Kristan stifled a scream. Charlie walked over to Carina, reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone. He read her message to Nick.
“Who’s Nick?”
“My husband.”
“Cop?”
“No.”
“Doctor? What does he do?”
“He’s a private investigator.”
“He sent you a message.
Tom’s in charge, Will’s here, Lucy and Dillon on their way. Hold tight.”
Charlie looked at Carina. “Who’s Tom? Your partner?”
“Will’s my partner. Tom is probably Tom Blade, SWAT team leader. He and Nick are friends.” Carina knew enough about hostage negotiation to keep him talking, make it personal, but she wasn’t trained in this. She was an investigator, not a psychologist.
“Lucy and Dillon? More cops?”
“My brother and sister.”
“Special forces?”
“No. That’s Jack. Dillon is a forensic psychiatrist.”
“How many siblings do you have?”
“Two sisters and four brothers.”
Charlie glanced at the drawer where Sarah lay. “I only had Sarah.”
“You loved her.”
“When I was in Iraq, she sent a care package every week. Every damn week, without fail. She was a teacher—third grade. She included pictures from the kids. She sent Oreos, because they were my favorite cookies when we were little. Letters telling me what she was doing, what her students were doing, her neighbors, my friends from high school. Normal stuff. She never forgot. Sometimes mail was delayed and I’d get four or five packages at once. She sent books—hundreds of books—that she bought at library sales. There were days—weeks—when we were bored out of our minds. The books helped.
“Then I was on base for a year, and we had dinner every week instead of exchanging letters. Our dad left when we were little, our mom died when Sarah was in college. I was already in the army. And now—she’s gone, for no reason.”
“She wouldn’t want you to—”
“What’s your sister like?”
“Lucy? I haven’t seen her in nearly two years. She seems to be doing well.”
“Why haven’t you seen her?”
He was almost accusing her of something.
“She lives on the East Coast.”
“That’s no excuse.”
“You’re right.”
“She’s younger?”
“Yeah—eleven years.”
“We’re supposed to take care of our younger sisters,” he said, though Carina didn’t think he was talking to her anymore.
“This wasn’t your fault, Charlie,” Carina said.
“I know.” He looked at the three nurses. “It’s one of theirs.”
Kristan was biting her nails. Rena had her head down. Brian was sweating.
Charlie said, “I want a private autopsy, right now, right here, where I can watch.”
“If you want a cause of death, I can get an autopsy done for you. But it’s not going to happen fast. There are tox screens they need to do, and it takes time to get the results from the lab.”
“They can rush it.”
“Charlie, if you let everyone go, I promise you, I’ll make sure there is a full and complete autopsy on your sister. I give you my word.” She doubted that it was as simple as that, but she could try. In the back of her mind, she knew that this was about more than an autopsy. There shouldn’t have been a problem getting one, even if a doctor signed off on the cause of death. If the family asked, it would be done. It was standard.
The phone started ringing again, and this time it didn’t stop. After a full minute Charlie walked over and answered.
“Yes, this is Sergeant Charlie Peterson. Everyone here is fine. Brian Glover, an RN, has a GSW to his lower calf, but the bleeding has stopped and he’ll be fine … No, I’m not going to release him. I already released two hostages, and that’s it … Just ask me about the explosives, I know Detective Kincaid already sent out the information … It’s a pressure-sensitive switch. I also have a detonator that I can and will use if I suspect you’re attempting to breach this room.”
Charlie looked around the room and settled on Carina. “My demands are simple. I want what you want. A peaceful resolution.”
Then he turned to the nurses. Carina didn’t know what he was thinking, but if he thought that one of them was responsible for his sister’s death, he wasn’t going to let them leave alive. That had to be the final play here—vengeance.
“I want an autopsy on my sister. There’s a reason I picked the morgue for this exercise. I want a medical examiner who doesn’t work for the county or the hospital. Someone independent.”
Carina had an idea. “Charlie,” she said.
He frowned, but told the negotiator to hold on. “You have something to say?” He sounded irritated.
“Lucy. My sister. She’s not an ME, but she’s a pathologist for the Washington, D.C., medical examiner’s office. She’s a trained criminologist. You can trust her.”
Carina didn’t really want to bring Lucy into the middle of a hostage situation, but Charlie didn’t know her background, that she was a criminal psychologist and a newly minted FBI agent. That could help them get the upper hand. Better, Lucy had dealt with hostage situations before.
Charlie considered. He must have seen honesty in Carina’s expression, because he said into the phone, “Send down Lucy Kincaid, the pathologist. Have her wait outside the morgue. When I’m confident that no one is with her, that she is alone, I’ll bring her in. No weapons, no tricks. Have a lab ready to run tests. If everyone does what they’re supposed to do, this will be over before midnight and everyone will be home for Christmas.” He hung up.
“Everyone,” he continued, looking at the three nurses, “except the person who killed my sister.”
CHAPTER 27
As soon as Lucy arrived at the hospital, two San Diego uniformed officers ushered her, Sean, Dillon, and Kate to the SWAT staging center on the north side of the hospital complex. Nick was there with Carina’s partner, Will Hooper.
The scene around them was controlled chaos. There were two snipers at the top of the parking garage directly across from the north wing. Others were positioned at key locations outside each entrance. Lucy overheard that the entire north tower was being evacuated. Some of the patients were being moved to the south tower and main building, and others were being transferred to nearby hospitals.
Will immediately approached them. “I need Lucy,” he said. He gestured to Nick. “Fill them in.”
“Hold it,” Kate said. “What the hell’s going on? Why do you need Lucy?”
“Took the words right out of my mouth,” Sean muttered.
Will glanced at the group. “We don’t have a lot of time for a debriefing.”
Lucy said, “Whatever you need from us, you know we’ll help.”
Tom Blade, whom Lucy recognized, stepped out of the SWAT truck. “Is she here?”
“Yes,” Will said.
Tom sighed with obvious relief. “Great. Are you up to speed?”
“No,” Lucy said.
Tom assessed the assembled group, then said, “The shooter is Charles Peterson, career army. We’re still pulling his records, but I spoke to his commanding officer and he has a solid service record, multiple commendations, and a Purple Heart. A couple blemishes on his record for fighting, nothing out of the ordinary. His sister, his only family that we know about, died from cancer two days ago. We made contact with him fifteen minutes ago, but he broke it off after making his demands.”
“What are his demands?” Kate asked.
“He wants a full autopsy by someone not affiliated with the hospital.”
“Wasn’t an autopsy done?” Lucy asked.
“According to her records, she died while under a doctor’s care. She had an adverse reaction to a new medication and was admitted to the hospital. They changed her meds and thought she was responding, but she died that night. She’s been in and out of the hospital for the past year.”
“We need all her records, and her doctor—” Lucy began.
“Her doctor left on vacation before she died. He’s unreachable. What Peterson wants is to witness the autopsy.”
“He won’t know what he’s seeing.”
“Carina told him you’re a pathologist and could do it. He asked for you specifically.”
“Why would Carina put Lucy in the middle of a hostage situation?” Sean said. “That makes no sense.”
“It seems she told Peterson that Lucy was her sister and a pathologist, but made no mention that she’s also an FBI agent,” Will said.
“I’m not qualified,” Lucy said. There had to be a good reason that Carina would bring her into this.
“But you know what to do,” Tom said.
“Yes, I’ve assisted in dozens of autopsies, but it’s been nearly a year since I left the medical examiner’s office. And unless there’s something visually noticeable, the lab work is what’s important.”
“We need to buy time,” Will said, “and the best way to buy time is to go through the motions of performing an autopsy.”
“You don’t have to do this,” Tom said. “We’ll think of something else.”
But even as Tom said it, Lucy couldn’t think of another way. Carina was a smart cop. She had to have a logical reason for wanting Lucy down there—she wouldn’t intentionally put her in harm’s way. She might feel that this was the best way to talk the shooter out of hurting anyone else, if he thought someone was really listening to him and getting him the answers that he wanted.
“Carina wouldn’t have told him I was a pathologist unless she had a plan. But I need to be fully prepared to perform the autopsy and take samples. There are protocols that need to be followed.”
“Absolutely.” Will squeezed her hand. “Let’s get you geared up.”
“Whoa,” Sean said, looking from Will to Dillon. “You’re okay with this? With sending Lucy down there with a gunman?”
“No,” Dillon said. “Will, I need access to all Peterson’s files. I need to put together a profile quickly. But what you’ve said doesn’t make sense. He took hostages because he wants an autopsy done on his sister’s body? There’s something more to this.”
“Until we get him talking, we don’t have anything other than what he’s already said.”
Tom said, “We have a tablet with wireless access. Lucy can use it as a resource for the autopsy, but its primary purpose is to give us an audio recording of everything in the room. That’s going to give you what you need, Dr. Kincaid. I’m happy to have you consult, but we need eyes and ears in that room. We have blueprints, but he has a bomb on the door and we’re moving ahead with caution before we try to access the vents. The ventilation system in the morgue and lab is separate from the main hospital’s. This is good in that we may be able to send in a harmless sleeping gas, but if he suspects—and he might because he’s special forces—he has a fail-safe. He’s set a C-4 charge on the main door. We need to see the charge, get a good description, to figure out how to disarm it or interrupt his transmission.”
Tom handed Lucy blue scrubs and a medical bag. “This should have everything you need. There’s also a key to the supply cabinet in the morgue. Your job is to do the autopsy and get out. He’s agreed to let you leave when you’re done.”
“And Carina?”
“Carina seems to have built a rapport with him. We need more information before we can decide a plan of action. But know that we will have a plan, and we will get you all out.”
Will caught her eye. “Can you fake it?”
“Fake it? I thought we agreed I was going to actually do the autopsy.”
“Go through the motions, but that’s secondary to getting everyone out safe.”
“Maybe,” Lucy said, “if he gets the answers he wants, he’ll give himself up without anyone being hurt.”
“We can’t count on that. We’re going to run tests on the samples, but it’s all for show—we’ll give him nothing, but tell him whatever it takes to get him to release the hostages.”
Lucy understood why, but she still wasn’t certain it was going to work.
She caught Sean’s eye. He didn’t want her doing this, but he didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to.
She took his hand. His whole body was tense. “I hate this idea,” he said.
“I know.”
“But you have to do it.”
She nodded. “It’s going to work.” She sounded more confident than she felt.
One of the uniformed officers approached Will. “Detective, the supervising nurse is here to talk to you.” He gestured to a diminutive older woman standing just inside the barricade.