that’s just it,” she argued. “He’s having a problem with authority. You need me because I’m a woman.”
Garcia started to say something, then caught himself, and considered her thoughtfully while the phone rang futilely in the background of their headsets. “You think he’ll see you as weak? A pushover?”
She nodded. “He’s older, and I get a vibe from him that says he’s old school. Old Testament even, given the ‘on the side of the angels’ reference. He strikes me as an ‘eye for an eye’ type of guy. I bet he’s also the type whose wife stayed home and raised the kiddies while he brought home the bacon. The type of man who thinks today’s women are rising above their own station. Which we all know is BS”—she gave Taylor a side-eyed glance—“but I think that’s his take on it. And he’ll lump me into that category.”
“He’s wrong.”
“Thank you, sir. But he won’t know that until it’s too late.”
“We’ll use his own prejudice against him. I like it. Taylor, we’re going to hold you in reserve for now, but if this backfires on us, I want you ready to step in.”
With a curt nod, Taylor sat back in his chair, the expression on his face clearly stating he wasn’t pleased, but he acquiesced to the decision structure.
Garcia swung around to McFarland. “We need to get through to him.”
“Trying, sir,” McFarland grated between gritted teeth.
Garcia cleared the chair for Gemma and they switched headsets and places. “Now, if we could only—” Garcia cut off abruptly at the click on the other end of the line.
“I’ll talk to you when I’m good and ready, Garcia, and not a second be—”
“I’m not Garcia.” Gemma purposely kept her voice quiet and nonconfrontational as she pulled her legal pad and pen toward her. Kept her tone light, feminine.
“Who’s this?”
“NYPD Detective Gemma Capello.”
There were several seconds of silence, broken only by a low background keening; then he said, “Capello.”
“Yes, sir.”
Gemma imagined the conference room. She saw shelves lined with books and legal decisions surrounding a long conference table. A faceless man stood at the head of the table, his back to the open door. Hostages huddled at the far end of the room, trying to put as much distance between them and their captor as possible.
Her heart racing too fast, so fast her lungs couldn’t keep up, and feeling on the edge of hyperventilation. Hostages huddling together, drawing comfort from the stranger beside them who had suddenly become the second most important person in the room. Fear keeping her immobilized, her eyes fixed on the fathomless hole at the end of the gun pointed at them. Her father had taught her respect for firearms and how to handle them safely. But he’d also taught her they were killers in the wrong hands.
Like right now.
“What do you want, Capello?”
“To talk to you.”
Another pause. “That’s all?”
“I think that’s a good place to start. What can I call you?”
His laugh was harsh and derisive. “I’m not telling you my name.”
She echoed his laugh with one of her own, one she hoped sounded brainless and bubbly. At McFarland’s raised eyebrows, she rolled her eyes. “I didn’t ask for your name, I asked what I could call you. ‘Hey, you’ doesn’t seem polite. Surely, there must be something I can call you?”
Rowland stared at her in confusion, but Garcia was nodding because he could see exactly what she was doing. Establish a connection by offering assistance and a friendly ear, get the suspect talking, start to build a bond. Nothing else could proceed without those bedrock steps.
“Henry? James? Bart?” She randomly threw out names. “Darren? Steve? Patrick?”
“That’ll do,” the man interrupted. “Or you’ll be at this for hours.”
“Wonderful.” Gemma let her smile infuse her tone as she wrote the name down on her pad of paper in block letters and underscored it with a single bold line. “Patrick. Now, you know I have to ask after the hostages. We heard a scream when you hung up. I need to speak to Clara, Janina, and Elizabeth.”
“Why would I do that? Garcia asked for that last time and then didn’t follow through.”
“You’re not dealing with Garcia. You’re dealing with me.” She glanced at Garcia and shrugged her apology. “And he might not have been, but I’ll be straight with you. If I say a thing will happen, it will. Talk to me. Tell me what you need. I’m listening.”
“That’s what you do, isn’t it?”
“Of course.”
“Tell me, does your daddy approve of your career?” The man’s tone implied he was talking to a small child.
There it was, the old-school misogyny. She’d nailed his personality. “He does. Look, Patrick, this isn’t about me. It’s about you. You’re holding all the cards. You’re the one who orchestrated this situation perfectly. You’re calling the shots. I can provide what you need up to a certain point. But to do that, I need the hostages in one piece. All of them.” She paused for emphasis, hoping her words would also give Willan some comfort. “If not, there’s nothing I can do to help you. So, again, I need to speak to Clara, Janina, and Elizabeth.”
“And then what?”
“And then we’ll get the mayor back here”—out of the corner of her eye, she saw Rowland jerk in surprise—“and then you can have the conversation you want. That’s what started all of this, isn’t it? Something bad happened? Something that pushed you to take this kind of step so you could have a conversation with the mayor?”
“I want a face-to-face conversation.”
“I promised you honesty, Patrick. I’m not going to hoodwink you. You threatened to kill the first deputy mayor, so there’s no way the NYPD will allow Mayor Rowland to set foot into City Hall. I can’t promise you a face-to-face meet, but I can arrange a phone conversation. And then we’ll go from there. Is that fair? I can tell you right now, you won’t get a better offer.”
Gemma could practically hear the man grinding his teeth in frustration as he weighed his options. “Fine.” The word was clipped.
“Wonderful!” Gemma poured every bit of enthusiasm she had into the single word. “Let me talk to the girls. Then I’ll call back in a few minutes, once we get the mayor back in the room.”
He didn’t say another word, but after a few seconds, she heard the low rumble of the man’s voice and a scuffle of movement, followed by a tremulous female voice. “H-hello?”
“This is Detective Gemma Capello of the NYPD Hostage Negotiation Team.” All traces of lightness were gone. The hostages needed
