Since the emergency tone would keep beeping until someone called Code 4, Lainie advised that they were on-scene so everyone would be aware that the beat car had backup.
Sara had exited her vehicle. By the way she moved, Lainie had to believe she heard or saw something dangerous. Mike saw it too because he sped up and slammed on the brakes when they were one house away from the address.
They both got out and hurried toward the dispatch address.
“Drop the knife!”
Sara clearly faced a threat.
Lainie sprinted up five stairs and saw a courtyard to the right. Sara’s back came into view. She repeated the command to drop the knife.
Lainie saw a man holding a woman by the hair. She was on her knees, face bloody, and in his free hand, the man held a knife, a big one.
“I’m not going to prison.”
When he spoke, Lainie recognized him. He was what they called a frequent flyer. Someone every beat cop in the city had interacted with at some point. She’d arrested him for burglary when she was in uniform and had noted his name in several reports now that she worked violent crimes. Hank Bucshon.
He jerked the woman’s hair and raised the knife.
“Taser, Taser, Taser,” Sara said as she deployed the less-than-lethal tool.
The prongs hit the target, and the knife fell to the ground as Bucshon stiffened and fell backward, toppling like a tree. The Taser delivered electrical currents meant to overwhelm the central nervoussystem. When it worked like it should, it totally incapacitated a suspect long enough to get him cuffed and secured.
All three of them surged forward. Sara secured the knife and the man, while Lainie helped detangle the woman’s hair from Bucshon’s clenched fingers. She and Mike moved her to the side as gently and quickly as they could.
The woman sobbed, in shock. Lainie requested paramedics and knelt next to her, comforting her until they arrived.
Later back at the station, after the woman had been admitted to the hospital, Sara called Lainie from booking.
“This guy wants to talk.”
Lainie shrugged, not really concerned. After all, they’d witnessed Bucshon while he was threatening his girlfriend with a knife. They didn’t need a confession. “I’ll be around to talk to him after he’s booked.”
“No, you don’t understand. He wants to talk now. We found some receipts on him. He works for Dallas Vine.”
Lainie sat up straight. Sara had her full attention. Dallas Vine—a name Lainie would never forget. The first big arrest of her career. And the first crushing disappointment. “What?”
“He sounds legit. Bucshon’s saying he’s got inside knowledge, and he wants to spill. He doesn’t want to go to jail again; it’s a third strike for him.”
“I’ll be right down.” Lainie ended the call, and Mike shot her a quizzical expression.
“Come on, I’ll explain on the way downstairs.”
Lainie finished telling Mike in the elevator.
“He’s totally pulling our legs,” he protested as they exited in the basement. “No one rolls over on Vine.” Mike shook his head. “You of all people should know that.”
“We can talk to Bucshon and figure it out. It’s worth a few minutes of our time.”
She could tell he wasn’t sold.
“What can it hurt?” She went to push open the door to booking, and he stopped her.
“Lainie, you were sued by Vine for harassment. Your obsession with him almost ended your career.”
“Ahh.” Lainie closed her eyes, brought her palms to her forehead. “Mike, that was years ago. I’ve stayed away. Other than reading the occasional news article about him, I haven’t been watching him or searching for evidence against him.”
She opened her eyes, lowered her hands, and held his gaze. “Bucshon dropped right. In. My. Lap. All I want to do is see if he’s on the level.”
