the woman’s first name to build a bond of trust in as few words as possible. “Are you all right?”
“That wasn’t me. That was Clara. I’m okay.”
“Thank you. Hold on, Janina, we’re going to get you out of there. Please pass on the phone.”
The next voice was preceded by ragged, watery breaths.
Clara.
“This is Clara. Clara Sutton.” The woman’s voice was only the thread of a whisper, but it was coherent.
“Clara, this is Detective Gemma Capello of the NYPD Hostage Negotiation Team. Are you hurt?”
A whimper was the only response.
“Can you describe your injuries?”
“Hit me. With his gun. Across my cheek.”
Gemma beat back the fury that rose like a wave. Pistol-whipped. But still talking and coherent, so likely not concussed or with a broken jaw or cheekbone, which is probably better than Greenfield. “Clara, we’re going to get you out of there. Stay strong.”
Gemma took the murmured response as an affirmative and then asked that the phone be passed on to Elizabeth.
After assuring herself the last female hostage was okay, Gemma hung up and stared thoughtfully at the phone. That had gone better than she expected.
Suspicion reared its ugly head. Why had it gone better than expected?
What had she missed?
CHAPTER 9
“Why didn’t you let me talk to him?”
The mayor’s question pulled Gemma’s thoughts from her contemplation. “I’m giving him the impression he’s in charge, when, really, we are—we control when the calls go through and who talks. And I wanted to give him a few minutes to think over that call, and to feel confident in how it went. What he perceives as a weakened position might make him desperate. A position of control may make him more likely to deal with us and consider any offers fairly.” She sat back in her chair, pushing her headset down to hang around her neck, and turned to her team. “But there’s something . . .”
Garcia looked at her sharply. “What?”
She shook her head slowly. “I’m not sure. Something about that conversation is bothering me. Something I’m picking up, but can’t put my finger on yet. Did anyone else get anything from it?”
“Besides his slightly placating attitude that they stuck him with a woman?” McFarland asked. “Not that he ‘little lady’d,’ you or anything obvious, but it was in his tone. You told him you were a detective, but he may think you’re freshly minted.”
“In which case, he’s not carefully considering the situation,” Taylor interjected. “This is likely the most important hostage situation in the city all year. He started with a lieutenant, so we aren’t going to follow up with a cadet.”
“I don’t think that’s it,” Gemma countered. “He’s old school. Those are the guys who will ‘little lady’ you. And he didn’t. But I feel like something important is just out of reach.” Gemma turned to Rowland. “Which means you’re up, sir.”
“Any new instructions?” Rowland asked.
“Lieutenant Garcia laid it out for you before. The only thing I can add is to avoid being the ‘voice of authority.’ You may run this city, but you don’t run this incident. We need you to step back from that. I didn’t get the impression from you that you recognized his voice?”
“No.”
“Then call him by the first name he’s assumed and let him call you by yours. That will put you on a more even playing field in his mind. Otherwise, just listen very closely to everything he says. And we’ll be here to advise during the whole call.” She pulled her headset back into place and nodded at McFarland. “Put us through.”
The suspect picked up on the third ring. “Is the mayor there?”
Gemma motioned to Rowland. Go ahead.
“I’m here. Is this Patrick?”
“Yes.”
“Hi, Patrick. Please call me Kevin. I understand you wanted to talk to me.”
“Yes.”
“Before we start, I’d like to talk to First Deputy Mayor Willan.”
Gemma’s head whipped sideways to face him, but Rowland was staring unblinkingly at the table in front of him.
“That’s how you’re going to start? With a demand?”
“I’m happy to talk to you. I just need to make sure Charles is okay.”
Silent seconds ticked by as Gemma’s heart rate picked up. She glanced at Garcia and recognized the lockjawed expression. Her lieutenant wasn’t happy. He’d given the mayor instructions, and the mayor had done what he damn well pleased.
“Fine.” The man’s answer carried a note of suppressed anger. “Wait a second.”
The thump of the handset being dropped on the desk was followed by mumbled voices. Then there was the sound of something heavy falling and a ragged exhalation, as if the man had pushed Willan into a chair near the phone.
The handset was fumbled; then a new voice came over the line. “Hello?”
The mayor slumped back in his chair, relief etched on his florid face. “Charles, it’s Kevin. Are you okay?”
“I haven’t been physically harmed.” Unsaid was the first deputy mayor’s stress level, since he was being held hostage. “You’ll talk to him?”
“I will. I’ll do everything I can to get you out of there.”
And the rest of the hostages, Gemma thought, but the words went unsaid by the mayor.
Rowland continued, “The team I’m working with knows—”
Gemma was reaching to close her fist over Rowland’s headset microphone, but McFarland was already ahead of her. He jabbed a button, looked up, and said, “Muted.”
Garcia leaned over the table, temper snapping in his eyes. “You’re going to risk getting them all killed. Do not give away any information about our operation or any information we specifically know. We don’t know if the suspect is listening or if he’ll harm Willan to get the information from him.” He nodded at McFarland. “Unmute it.” He stabbed a finger at Rowland and mouthed, “Go.”
Rowland stared blankly at him for a moment. “Uh . . . the team I’m working with is really solid and will treat your guy fairly. Charles, hang tough. I’m going to help them get you all released.”
“Kevin, if I don’t make it out—”
Rowland
