Takeover - Lisa Black [85]
“What if I could let you talk to your brother? That would show you that I’m not lying, right, that I can be trusted?”
“What are you going to do, hold one of those séance things?”
“Your brother is not dead, Bobby.”
“Sure.”
“I know this for a fact. One of our officers interviewed him this morning. He works for Continental Airlines, right?”
A pause. Bobby started pacing again, within the length of the phone cord, back and forth, back and forth. He had room, since Lucas had moved their hostages away from the desk.
Patrick retook his seat. “Records has nothing on Eric Moyers. No arrest for DUI. Neither does Lakewood. They’re checking the other suburbs as well.”
“Bobby? Your brother was never arrested for DUI. I don’t know why your friend told you that. He must have gotten Eric confused with someone else.”
“He knew who my brother was.”
“Well, so do we, and he’s very much alive and well. More than that, he’s here with us, in the library across the street from you. If I get him on the phone, then you’ll have to admit that I told the truth, right? That if I say I can get something to happen, then I can. Right?”
It didn’t take a Ph.D. to see where Cavanaugh was heading. He needed Bobby and Lucas to believe that they could come out, give up, and not be killed or even mistreated. And they wouldn’t do that unless they trusted him.
“Sure,” Bobby said at last. “Go ahead, get him on the phone.”
“Okay. It will take a few minutes. He’s downstairs.”
“Is that truck here yet?”
“I don’t see it.” Of course he didn’t, unless he could see through stone walls.
“Then we got time.”
He covered the mouthpiece and whispered to Patrick, “Go get him.”
Patrick returned in four minutes with Eric Moyers in tow. The man seemed considerably less enthusiastic about the idea than his brother had. “What am I supposed to say to him?”
“Just tell him you’re not dead,” Cavanaugh said. “Otherwise just keep it neutral and calm. Don’t be judgmental or tell him he’s screwed up.”
“Even though he has.”
“But we’re trying to make him calm and sentimental here, right? Don’t get drawn into an argument. I’ll be right here listening to every word, but we’re not going to be on speakerphone, in case you and I need to consult. Are you ready?”
Moyers couldn’t have looked gloomier if he had been in line for the guillotine. “I suppose.”
“Bobby? I have your brother here.”
“Sure you do.”
Cavanaugh plugged a second receiver into his console and handed it to Eric Moyers. He put it to his ear, carefully, as if he might need to pull it away again in a hurry. “Bobby?”
“Is this supposed to be Eric?”
“It is Eric, Bobby. I don’t know why you think I’m dead, but I’m not.” No answer. He looked at Cavanaugh, who made a rolling motion with one finger—keep it going. “I see you’re in a jam over there. I want to help you out of it.”
“I’ll just bet you do.”
Eric Moyers glanced at Cavanaugh again. The hostage negotiator said, “Talk about something only you would know.”
“Bobby, listen to me a minute,” Eric tried. “For Mom’s sake.”
“Don’t say a word about my mother! You cops will stoop to anything to blast me out of here! I don’t know who you are, pal, but you’re not my brother Eric, so get off the phone and put Cavanaugh back on so I can tell him to go to hell.”
“Bobby, it’s me.”
“You don’t sound anything like Eric.”
Calm and nonjudgmental had been thrown out. “I have a cold, you idiot!”
“Call back when the truck is here,” Bobby said. A clicking sound came from the phone’s speaker.
“Did he hang up?” Eric Moyers asked. “I can’t say I’m surprised. Listening never was a specialty of Bobby’s.”
Cavanaugh rolled his head from side to side, stretching neck muscles. “It was worth a try. Maybe he’ll think about it. In the meantime I can’t stall them about the money anymore, and there’s no reason to try. There is the possibility that he’s telling the truth, that they’ll just take it and go.”
“Go where?” Moyers asked.
“That’s the hard part.”
Somewhere behind the books, Patrick heard the voice of a very young woman: “—don’t care. I don’t give a crap