The Twelfth Card (A Lincoln Rhyme Novel) by Jeffery Deaver

Author:Jeffery Deaver [Deaver, Jeffery]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: detective, forensics, mystery, police procedural, thrillers
ISBN: 9780743491563
Amazon: 0743491564
Publisher: Pocket Star
Published: 2006-04-18T07:00:00+00:00

At the sound of the gunshot, Roland Bell leapt to the window of the apartment, looked out carefully. He unbuttoned his jacket and grabbed his radio.

He ignored Aunt Lilly’s wide-eyed friend, who said, “Lord, what’s going on?”

The great-aunt herself stared silently at the huge gun on the detective’s hip.

“Bell,” the detective said into the microphone. “What’ve we got?”

Luis Martinez replied breathlessly, “Gunshot. Came from the back of the building, boss. Pulaski was there. Barbe’s gone to check.”

“Pulaski,” Bell called into his radio. “Respond.”

Nothing.

“Pulaski!”

“What’s this about?” Lilly demanded, terrified. “Lord.”

Bell held up a finger. Into his radio: “Positions. Report.”

“I’m still on the front porch,” Martinez responded. “Nothing from Barbe.”

“Move to the middle of the ground-floor corridor, keep your eye on the back door. That’s the way I’d come in, I was him. But cover both entrances.”

“Roger.”

Bell turned to Geneva and the two elderly women. “We’re leaving. Now.”

“But—”

“Now, miss. I’ll carry you if I have to but that’ll put us more at risk.”

Barbe Lynch finally transmitted. “Pulaski’s down.” She called in a 10-13, officer needs assistance, and requested medics.

“Back entrance intact?” he asked.

Lynch answered, “Door’s closed and locked. That’s all I can tell you.”

“Stay in position, cover the back alley. I’m taking her out.

“Let’s go,” he said to the girl.

The defiance faded but she said, “I’m not leaving them.” Nodding toward the women.

“You tell me right now what’s this about,” her great-aunt said, eyeing Bell angrily.

“It’s a police matter. Somebody might be trying to hurt Geneva. I want you to leave. Is there a friend’s apartment here you can stay in for a spell?”

“But—”

“Gonna have to insist here, ladies. Is there? Tell me quick.”

They glanced at each other with frightened eyes and nodded. “Ann-Marie’s, I guess,” the aunt said. “Up the hall.”

Bell walked to the doorway and looked out. The empty corridor yawned at him.

“Okay, now. Go.”

The older women moved quickly down the hall. Bell saw them knock on a door. It opened and there were some hushed voices, then the face of an elderly black woman looked out. The women vanished inside, the door closed and the sound of chains and locks followed. The detective and the girl hurried down the stairs, with Bell pausing at every landing to make sure the lower level was cleared, his large, black automatic in hand.

Geneva said nothing. Her jaw was set; fury had blossomed inside her once again.

They paused in the lobby. The detective directed Geneva into the shadows behind him. He shouted, “Luis?”

“This level’s clear, boss, for now at least,” the cop called in a harsh whisper from halfway up the dim corridor that led to the back door.

Barbe’s calm voice said, “Pulaski’s still alive. I found him holding his gun—he got off one round. That was the shot we heard. No sign he hit anything.”

“What’s he say?”

“He’s unconscious.”

So maybe the guy’s rabbited, Bell thought.

Or maybe he planned something else. Was it safer to wait here for backup? That was the logical answer. The real issue, though: Was it the right answer to the question of what Unsub 109 had in mind?

Bell made a decision.

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