who are right in front of you.”
“OK, Sergeant. So, what’s the contact protocol?”
“Guy said to give him a shout when you got here, but that he wants to see your face when you call. As far as we can tell, his advantage against us would work to his disadvantage as well. He can’t fire out, we can’t fire in. We’ve searched all other snipe points and came up with zip. If he’s got an accomplice, it would have to be a world-class shooter with high tech and spotter. You’ll still be behind a strong enough plate glass to stop anything but military-grade ammo. Your call, Sir.”
“Set it up, Sergeant.”
The shield was already in place, sitting on the hood of a City cruiser. That would protect him above and below. Captain Burhans stood with is back to Pretty Paws Grooming, facing Penway and Grostic’s two-story brick building across the two-lane street. Each of the building’s two floors was 1400 square feet total space, minus a bit for the stairs and elevator.
Captain Burhans stood before the glass, making those difficult first choices. Little decisions could easily lead to complete success or disaster. The best tack was to be neutral and get as much information as possible to paint a picture of the perp. Protocols were different depending on motivation. There was a lot at stake on this first call, well, first for him. They knew some from previous contact, but it was time to learn more. He punched in the number.
“This is Roger Burhans. I understand you wish to speak with me.” [ID only. No question or demand. Hold off on mentioning rank, in case the guy’s touchy about law reps in general. That’s as safe of a pawn move on this chess board as I can make.]
“Captain Roger Peter Burhans. It’s an honor. Thanks for making the extra effort to answer my needs. How true to your calling you are.”
[Knows my rank and middle name. Pronounced the name correctly. Stalked me or just researched me? Is there a difference? He has needs. Find those needs. Seems sarcastic to a policeman’s duty, but the voice is calm, in control. Sounds rational so far.]
“It’s my job, son. Since you seem to hold ‘honor’ in high regard, would you reciprocate by letting me know who I’m speaking with?”
“In time. It’s your job. It’s my game. I’m the dealer. You play the cards I give you.
[He’s a gamer type. Card reference. Poker? Blackjack? Go Fish? Different games, different rules, all have elements of chance. He deals cards? Hit me.]
“Fair enough. I’d like a couple cards to start off the game with. Go easy. I’m not as sharp as I used to be. Getting old for this.”
“OK, Captain Burhans, my dear old man. I’ll give you a major card. Might give away the whole thing. ‘Pendleton’.”
[Uh oh.]
The conversation had to keep going, kept fluid. He wanted the man’s name to establish a relationship and rapport. That was denied. He got a name, and from the sound of it, it was THAT Pendleton. Miriam.
That was, what, twenty-four years ago? He and she dated. Burhans competed for her with Jack Park, the popular man with a dynamic name and personality to boot. Burhans was a Sergeant back then. He tried to give it his all, and it really had seemed he won her over one night, but in reality he had just pushed too far. Getting to home base was not winning a heart…he was out at the plate. It showed clearly in her blue eyes. Her whole family was blue-eyed. He was lucky he hadn’t been called out on a date rape charge, but that wasn’t in his intentions at all. In his youthful passion, he betrayed the honor of that too-gentle heart, and she jumped his ship and swam to Jack’s ship for safe harbor.
Miriam found out too late that Jack Park wasn’t what he seemed on first blush. Guy got mixed up in drugs. She tried to save him, and what did she get for her troubles? A granite headboard with her name carved on it. She left behind two kids...twin boys. Last he heard, they went out on the foster home route. Park was still serving time and would be for at least another twenty. Burhans had been one of the arresting officers. He even arranged for referral to the foster program for the twins he never laid eyes on. The perp said in one word that Miriam’s history was a biggie. He’d have to tread very carefully.
“I remember the name. If we’re talking about the same person, then you bring up a very sad story.” [Pendleton. He didn’t use her married name of Park. Was the perp denying the marriage?]
“Ah, you DO remember. Now that just goes to show you that even the hardest heart can have a soft spot in it. Two blue-eyed lovers, and you blew it. The policeman with all that honor in his code of ethics blew it and scared her into a maniac’s arms. You found out he was nuts, but didn’t do anything about it. Her kids got knocked around pretty bad, and still you did nothing about it. There, you got a full hand now. Maybe it’s time you laid down a card?”
[Pain. Ignore it. Focus. Miriam. Historical; Jack got into trouble, minor stuff at first; ran with a bad crowd. Lost a couple jobs from showing up drunk or late. Personality changes followed, then complaints from neighbors. I couldn’t go check up on their domestic calls as I was compromised by previous relationship. She covered for Jack, like most abused spouses do. CPS couldn’t do anything about the kids. Jack kept his abuse bruise-free. Guy wasn’t totally bad, but went further downhill in the leap from booze to drugs. Jack was out of his mind when he killed her. The shrinks said he had no memory of the event. This perp was familiar with case. Relative? One of the kids? The voice on the phone seemed too young to be an ex-lover.]
“My hands were tied. I tried to help behind the scenes. It wasn’t enough. I was sorry it wasn’t enough, and still get sick about it.” [Be patient or pick the scab? Winging it sucks, but the gut says go for it, carefully. OK, take a breath. Here goes.]
“You must have cared for her very deeply to do what you’re doing now. I have to ask you, though. I remember her to be a gentle and loving spirit, someone who was as non-violent as a lamb. This isn’t the way to honor her memory. Let the hostages go, son, and let me do what I can for you. If she cared about you, and I think she did from what you’ve said, then she’d want you safe from harm. What do you say?”
Silence for a minute. “Nice. You following instructions? Reading verbatim from your handbook on handling homicidal nut cases? It ain’t gonna work. Police say they protect and serve, or at least that’s what you paint on your squad car doors. You didn’t do either, more than you realize. But enough about you for now. We’ll get back to that.
“Let’s talk about another abuser of that gentle lamb you get so upset about. You know, you and Jack had help in ripping Miriam’s heart out. Yep, it was a team effort. Let’s talk about Mr. Penway here. Did you know that he managed to screw up what little she had in savings, the little that Mister Jack didn’t rob from her? Bad investments, got careless, lost half of what she had saved for her kids in just two months. Then, community pillar Penway convinced her to roll the dice, then lost most of that, too. Oops. Now she was too broke to get away from her husband. His next play was to stop returning her calls. Sweet guy. Well now, it’s time to call his hand and up the ante.”
[The line went dead. Not good. Action step imminent. Perp called me hard-hearted. Penway was part of a team effort? Perp sees me as a member of that team? I failed to protect more than I realize?]
There wasn’t time for more analytic thought. The stage of the initial verbal dance had just seen the curtain fall. The next act would BE an act, an action step; it would follow what their conversation had paved the way to. Helpless, over a hundred police and emergency personnel witnessed Act II, Obscene I.
The lower half of the tall left window raised up. It was Old Man Penway, looking sheet-white. Slowly flipping a latch, the aging finance advisor opened the metal grating, swinging it outward, dreamlike. Those with rifle scopes saw him mouth the words ‘help me’ just before a single pop sound came from behind him. The man’s face lost the expression of fear, replaced by a curious expression, almost as i
f he had heard a joke that he didn’t get the punch line to. Time was snatched back to reality as Mr. Penway fell forward, his fall accompanied by a woman’s scream, and finalized on the downbeat by the thud of his body on the pavement.
The decision to place tear gas through the now open window was shelved, partly due to shock of the event, and from a woman’s figure now blocking the opening. Following instructions that could barely be heard outside, shaking feminine hands closed and clasped the grating then, weeping, closed the window once more.
A Reeve’s stretcher was brought in by thick-vested and helmeted police, hugging the storefront as much as possible, while support-crew guns were trained on any perceived threat from within the building. One officer pointed to the wound location on Penway, briefly shook his head at the other side of the street, then the team rushed the body to a vehicle that would then take its time in transport.
[Perp has now crossed the threshold to murder. Stakes are now higher for remaining hostages. The protocol is now to upgrade fire orders for sharpshooters to shoot on sight, but only if and when the perp is identified and visually confirmed. Tear gas is still a poor choice, given lack of access for the canister and the threat of booby-trap