She’d really like to believe him. He seems genuine. Her habit of not trusting law enforcement is powerfully ingrained, though. Rather than embarrass him, Emma just nods.
Carter extends a hand to encourage them into the bullpen. As Emma walks in, she inhales the odor of Camels and burnt coffee,sees the same bustling movement of plainclothes detectives and duty cops, hears the familiar gruff male voices and ringing phones. The fax machine is chattering, spitting out paper. Under the fluorescent strip lighting, everybody looks slightly jaundiced. At least there are no politicians here this time. Kowalski – the guy who gave her whiskey in the bar – lifts his chin at her and Bell as he pecks at a typewriter. Across the room, the door to COD Clyde Horner’s office is open as he talks on the phone.
‘So what’s the plan?’ Emma asks, looking around, looking back at Carter. Bell has broken away to fetch coffee.
‘Gerry Westfall has been testing samples of thirteen likely nightclub stamps,’ Carter says, setting his folder down on the nearest metal desk. ‘His people are doing a comparison of inks and stamp properties, to give us confirmation that Paradise is the club we want.’
‘But you feel pretty confident.’
‘We do. As soon as we have solid information, we can begin arranging—’
‘Carter?’ Clyde Horner is at the doorway of his office, holding the phone receiver against his chest. The pale curly cord stretches behind him. ‘I think this is the phone call you’re after, Faye sent it up from the switchboard downstairs. You wanna step into the office here?’
Carter’s eyebrows have elevated. ‘Absolutely. One moment.’
He gestures to Bell across the room, who abandons the beverages he’s pouring and weaves his way between desks and officers as Emma and Kristin follow Carter toward the chief’s office. Carter takes the phone from Horner, stands in front of a chair by the cluttered desk. The room is gray and brown and utilitarian,with one half wall of glass facing the bullpen, and a lot of loose paper.
‘Gerry, this is Howard. Can you hold on?’ Carter grips the mouthpiece and yanks the cord into less of a tripping hazard. He glances at Horner. ‘I want to put this on speaker. The young people should stay – they were the ones who helped turn up this info.’
‘Suit yourself.’ Horner has already moved to the opposite side of the desk and sat down in the swivel chair there. ‘Speakerphone is that blue button.’
Carter hits the button and replaces the receiver in its cradle. ‘Gerry, you’re on conference. Everyone’s here, what’s the story?’
‘The story is …’ Gerry Westfall is a longtime chain smoker, and he breaks off to cough. When he returns, his voice sounds wheezy and distant. ‘The story is that Carlos did the ink sample tests, and it’s a positive. The club you’re targeting is definitely in the circle. There’s not a heap of available inks used in stamp manufacture, though, so it didn’t all come down to that – hold on, I want to let Linda talk.’
A magnified clunking sound as the phone changes hands. Then Brown’s thoughtful contralto voice. ‘Hello, this is Linda Brown from Documents. Things are looking positive on this end. The ink corresponds, but more importantly, the make and design of the stamp is identical, and the club uses it consistently for patrons, only varying the ink color week to week. I believe we have a match with Paradise.’
Carter nods to himself, glances again at Horner. ‘The Paradise action is going to involve considerable operational weight here in Pittsburgh. Can I say we have one hundred percent certainty from Scientific Analysis?’
‘It’s a match,’ Linda Brown says, then the phone is transferred again.
‘Howard?’ Gerry Westfall’s voice is clearer; he’s brought the phone closer to his mouth. ‘Listen, any difference is vanishingly close, and you know what a stickler I am. Call it.’
‘Thank you both,’ Carter says. ‘I’ll talk with you again soon.’ He ends the call, turns to Horner. ‘Okay, we’re on.’
Horner suppresses a victory smile, but his weathered face suddenly looks less aged. ‘Best news I’ve heard all day. I want a couple units on this. We can get support from the local field office, right?’
‘And SWAT backup,’ Carter confirms. He lifts the phone again as Horner stands. ‘I’ll make some calls.’
‘Let me get the briefing room set up.’ Horner heads for the door. ‘I’ve already got a list of people I want.’ He smacks his hands together. ‘Allright– I’ve been looking forward to catching this son of a bitch. Excuse me, ladies.’
Kristin and Emma move out of the doorway and into the office to make space as Horner stalks out, a man with a purpose. Carter is speaking on the phone to someone from the Pittsburgh field office.
‘What happens now?’ Kristin has her fingers clenched in her cardigan.
‘Now we organize to get into Paradise and stake it out.’ Bell seems energized, his cheeks gently flushed.
‘Tonight?’
‘Don’t know. There’s gonna be a lot of coordination involved between Pittsburgh PD, the local bureau office, and combined SWAT personnel, and they want to get their ducks in a row. But definitely by tomorrow night.’
Carter is still talking. Emma can hear words likesupport,surveillance, andtactical. She feels strangely detached. It suddenly occurs to her that today is Wednesday. Tomorrow is Thursday. Friday is the tenth of September, the anniversary of the day her entire world was pulled inside out.
‘What do you mean, “coordination”?’ Kristin asks.
‘A nightclub is tough to surveil,’ Bell says, glancing at Carter, who disconnects and adjusts his glasses, checks his notepad for another phone number. ‘Lots of people, movement, bad lighting, noise, smoke … We’ll have to talk to the management about accessing spaces, and how to monitor the place. And figure out a way to draw the killer’s focus so he reveals himself.’
‘I know a way,’ Emma says softly.
