The detective on the other end of the line said, “We spoke with the deceased’s wife and closest friends, but no one can tell any reason why Doctor Splitfield might’ve been murdered.”
“What about DNA taken from the scene? Any indication there on who killed him?”
“We have several samples from the table and the body, and we took a sample from all the staff at the museum so we can rule them out if necessary.”
What he didn’t say was that it could also identify the killer, not just cross contamination.
The detective continued, “I would’ve said there’s no way we’d have results back anytime soon—until the mayor got wind of what had happened and pulled strings. Now I’m expecting the DNA back by tomorrow morning.” After a pause, he added, “Apparently, they know each other.”
Carlos’s partner hit the brakes and stopped the police cruiser in front of the museum, not far from a crowd of people who all seemed to be fighting one another.
He spotted officers interspersed in the throng, attempting to control the gathering before anyone got hurt more than they already were.
Carlos said into the phone, “I’d love to know the results when you get them. But I gotta go. We just pulled up to a scene, and it’s chaos.” He ended the call and shoved the phone in his pocket as he got out, bulletproof vest already on.
He didn’t pull his weapon right away, as he didn’t see any pistols in anyone’s hands in the crowd. No one had fired. He didn’t see any weapons except purses and picket signs. This all seemed like a lot of shoving, punching, pulling hair, and scratching each other.
Halstood didn’t seem quite as inclined to keep things from escalating to gunfire, but Carlos would back the guy up anyway.
He headed toward two women who were trying to pull each other’s jackets and purses off.
“Ladies.” He tried to sound authoritative, and this might’ve seemed like a humorous situation, except that everyone in the crowd had a haze of something in their eyes. It looked a whole lot like anger. Maybe even vengeance.
What about this was personal? It seemed more like mob violence had erupted.
Carlos got between them. “Both of you step back from each other now, or you’re going to be under arrest.”
The woman to his right lunged at him, but he grabbed her forearm before she could swing it down and scratch him with those talons. He then spun her and tugged her arm up behind her back. She cried out in anger, rather than pain or frustration, over what was happening.
The other woman screamed as well. Carlos tugged the Taser from his belt, but she didn’t even notice. She screamed again and came at him, so he fired the weapon. Twin barbs shot out andembedded themselves in her front, pulsating electricity through her body. She slumped to the ground.
Around him, other officers did the same thing, trying to subdue these out-of-control people.
Carlos was pretty sure he heard Halstood yell something about pepper spray or tear gas. Whatever the guy wanted to do, there were better ways to calm these people. They just needed to call in and get the right unit deployed.
It had been a very long time since a crowd like this had been face-to-face with police in the streets. Especially after the chaos and tragedy of Saint Louis years ago, where protesters had fired on the police and the whole situation ended in a bloodbath.
Carlos pulled his cuffs and secured them around the woman’s wrists, then walked her away from the crowd and ordered her to sit on the curb.
She looked up at him, teeth bared, and he was pretty sure she growled.
Again, he noticed the haze of something in her eyes. Carlos took a step back for a moment and surveyed the scene. On the ground he spotted one, then two canisters—about ten feet apart. Tossed in the center of the crowd.
He elbowed a couple of people out of the way and picked up a canister off the ground.
A guy wrapped his arms around Carlos from behind and lifted him off his feet. The canister fell away. Considering the guy might have stolen his weapon from him, this was probably one of the better things that could’ve happened.
Still, Carlos couldn’t breathe against the tight grip the man had on his hips. He kicked with his feet and slammed them against the guy’s legs, then elbowed back, twisting his torso to strike out behind him, trying to hit the guy in the head.
The guy’s stance faltered and his grip loosened. Carlos did the same thing a couple more times, and finally the guy let go ofhim. He dug out zip ties from his belt and secured the guy, now facedown on the ground. Then he hauled the guy to his feet and sat him next to the woman.
Sirens entered his awareness for a moment, but the sound didn’t grow louder. The vehicle passed by a couple of streets away. An ambulance responding to another scene. What on earth was going on?
Carlos picked up the canister again and looked at it. The nozzle was locked open. He didn’t sniff the spout from which the compound had been expelled, but he could already feel his thoughts swimming inside his head. He looked around at the crowd, cops now mixed in with civilians. All of them whipped into a frenzy. If they weren’t careful, this was going to turn into Saint Louis.
He grabbed his radio. “Central, this is Unit Six-Five requesting additional backup and crowd control measures.”
“Six-Five, be advised backup will be delayed. Multiple calls across ten blocks are reporting crowds out of control.”
