Hangman: A Novel Read Free Page A

repressed excitement, the guilty little secret of law enforcement. We love the big cases, she thought, the scary ones, the spectaculars. Anything to put us on the front lines and take us away from the dreariness of people stealing from the local Wegmans to feed their kids.
    But as she scanned the crowd, she saw something else. Gray, drawn faces, strangely bloodless. Stiff postures, hands clenched behind backs.A few men with the corners of their eyes ticking. This is like a funeral, she thought, but where nobody knows yet who died.
    Chief Albert Perelli spotted her and nodded. He was dressed in a checked blazer and dark slacks, a white shirt open at the neck. He was talking to a sheriff in a broad-brimmed hat who looked like his face had been carved out of granite.
    “See me after,” Perelli mouthed, and Abbie nodded back, taking her place at the back of the crowd.
    There was a thrum of low conversation as Perelli spoke to the sheriff, his head ducking down to listen. Then he nodded and straightened up, looked over the room. He waved his hand in the air once. There was no platform for him to step on and address the troops, so he stepped up on a sturdy wooden chair.
    “Everybody listen up,” he said sharply. The voices in the room subsided almost immediately.
    “You’ve all heard the news, I’m sure. Marcus Flynn, aka Hangman, escaped while being transferred from Auburn Correctional to Attica. A Corrections officer was killed by two bullets to the head. His service revolver and his watch are missing. The escape location is about fifty miles east of here and most of you will be headed that way in a few minutes. The collection point is behind 74 Franklin and you’ll be going up in vans to the different checkpoints. That’s what we’re here for. We’re building a perimeter out there and we
will
have this … this …”
    Perelli’s eyes grew wide as he looked for the right word.
    “This
prisoner
in jail by morning.”
    Abbie noted the respect given to Hangman. “This prisoner,” not the usual cop talk of “this freak” or “this scumbag.” Perelli’s eyes swept from left to right.
    “We have a hundred and fifty men and women here. Syracuse will contribute, Rochester, too, and the Wyoming County Sheriff’s Department is already manning roadblocks on Route 20A and its feeder roads. Let’s hope that by the time you all get halfway up to Warsaw, the prisoner will be back in custody. I’m sure that’ll be the case but to make it happen I need you to listen very carefully.”
    He paused.
    “This is not a time for individual heroics, this is a time for what willwork most effectively. And that’s teamwork and communication. You’re going into hunter’s country up there. People have guns and they’re not shy about using them. I don’t want to lose two men in the effort to catch one. Wear your orange vests if you’re going into the woods, and only go into the woods if you’re told to.”
    Perelli motioned to a man next to him wearing the sheriff’s outfit.
    “This is John O’Neill. In case you don’t know him, he’s with the Erie County Sheriff’s Department and he’s got the duty roster. Most of you will be stationed on the highways and local roads coming west. The Syracuse PD will be coordinating all recovery operations east of the escape point. Know where you are. We’re about”—he swiveled around toward the plain clock on the back wall—“six hours till nightfall and I want Hangman in custody before we get there.”
    Perelli paused for a moment, and Abbie saw something troubled in his eyes, a look of uncertainty. That was rare for Perelli, an expert smotherer of all forms of worry.
    “A few words on Hangman,” he said, his voice dropping. “He’s a Buffalo native. I’m sure you all know that. This is his home territory, this is the place he’s most comfortable with, and if somehow he gets through the perimeter that we’re setting up, this is most likely where he’ll be