Takeover - Lisa Black [78]
He stood up and reached for the glass door when Jason said, “Detective, wait.”
The young man held a cell phone to his ear, and a cop had just handed him a receiver from a table unit. “This is the PD in Tennessee, and I’m already on with Lucas’s sister. Can you talk to them?”
Patrick nearly leaped over the row of flat-drawer filing cabinets to grab the phone and identify himself.
“Slow down.” The voice on the other end did not conjure up images of honky-tonks and moonshine stills. The syllables were as neatly pronounced and accentless as any TV anchorperson’s, the pace measured and calm. “Who is this again?”
Patrick repeated himself while enunciating and using a sleeve to mop the sweat from his forehead. He leaned on the cabinets and closed his eyes, the better to concentrate on the man’s voice.
“This is Captain Johnson from the Hudson County sheriff’s office in Tennessee. I went out and talked to Jack Cornell, just like you asked.”
“We appreciate that,” Patrick said with fervor. He pulled out his notepad and opened it, discovering that he’d mislaid his pen. He lost a precious second or two patting his pockets before Ms. Elliott handed him hers. “We have a real bad situation up here. One person dead and one cop almost dead, with eight hostages still inside.”
“Yeah, that’s what that first guy told me. It wasn’t any trouble anyway. We know Jack real well, and he lives near town.”
Patrick didn’t like the sound of this. Cornell probably was someone’s brother-in-law, and they wouldn’t give him up no matter how many northerners got shot.
But the police captain went on. “Jack isn’t a bad guy. He’s a little loopy since he got out of the army, but hell, he was a little loopy before that. He’s never hurt anybody, and he sure could if he wanted to, with that arsenal he’s got.”
“He’s got firearms in his possession?”
“It’s his business. It’s all legal. He’s a licensed dealer, and his paperwork is in order. I should know—he and I go over it regularly. Anyway, what you want to know is, he did get a visit from those two boys you’ve got up there, and he’s more’n happy to tell us all about it. He doesn’t want any trouble that would threaten his livelihood, see?”
“When did they get there? When did they leave? Did they say—”
“Hold on, I can do better than that,” the captain said, his voice spilling into the stuffy, sunny map room like a cool spring breeze. “I’ll let him tell you. He’s sitting right here.”
“Thank you, Captain. Thank you.”
“I’ll get back on the phone when he’s done. Here y’go, Jack.”
A pause, and the sound of a receiver being handled. “Hello?”
Patrick introduced himself for what seemed like the millionth time that day. He spoke too fast again, but Jack Cornell didn’t seem to care. “Yeah, the cops here told me that Lucas is in some sort of trouble. He didn’t tell me nothing about it, and I didn’t ask. And what you’re saying doesn’t sound like Lucas anyway. Could be that nut Bobby, but not Lucas.”
Patrick forced himself to slow down. Their first real break in the case, and he had to make it count. “Let’s start from the beginning. When did they show up at your place?”
“Day before yesterday—yeah, Tuesday. Out of the blue.”
“They had just gotten out of prison?”
“Yep.”
“What were they driving?”
“A white Mercedes.” The man laughed. “I just about bust a gut. A damn Mercedes with pearly paint. That was Bobby’s doing, I think.”
“You knew Lucas from the army?”
“Yeah, that’s what I’m telling you. Him ’n’ me were in the same unit over in Germany. We worked at the armory. That’s where I learned so much about guns—course, I already knew a lot about guns—so I started this business when I came back. Lucas went and robbed a place, I guess, so he wound up in jail down in Georgia, but I’m telling you, that’s not like him. He’s a real nice guy. Sensitive, even. He was sweet on this girl who worked at a bar in town, and every day he had leave he’d show up on her shift with a couple of roses. That’s the kind of guy Lucas is.”
“Did he tell you where he was heading?”
“Cleveland, yeah. I guess Bobby lives there.”