One Shot Read Free Page A

mouthpiece.
    “This is Kelly,” it said. “First Sergeant, United States Marine Corps. Who am I speaking with?”
    “Emerson, PD. I’m in traffic, about ten minutes out. What have we got?”
    “Five KIA,” the Marine said.
    “Five dead?”
    “Affirmative.”
    Shit.
    “Injured?”
    “None that I can see.”
    “Five dead and no injured?”
    “Affirmative,” the Marine said again.
    Emerson said nothing. He had seen shootings in public places. He had seen dead people. But he had never seen
only
dead people. Public-place shootings always produced injured along with the dead. Usually in a one-to-one ratio, at least.
    “You sure about no injured?” he said.
    “That’s definitive, sir,” the Marine said.
    “Who are the DOAs?”
    “Civilians. Four males, one female.”
    “Shit.”
    “Roger that, sir,” the Marine said.
    “Where were you?”
    “In the recruiting office.”
    “What did you see?”
    “Nothing.”
    “What did you hear?”
    “Incoming gunfire, six rounds.”
    “Handguns?”
    “Long gun, I think. Just one of them.”
    “A
rifle
?”
    “An autoloader, I think. It fired fast, but it wasn’t on full automatic. The KIAs are all hit in the head.”
    A sniper,
Emerson thought.
Shit. A crazy man with an assault weapon.
    “Has he gone now?” he said.
    “No further firing, sir.”
    “He might still be there.”
    “It’s a possibility, sir. People have taken cover. Most of them are in the library now.”
    “Where are you?”
    “Head-down behind the plaza wall, sir. I’ve got a few people with me.”
    “Where was
he
?”
    “Can’t say for sure. Maybe in the parking garage. The new part. People were pointing at it. There may have been some muzzle flash. And that’s the only major structure directly facing the KIAs.”
    A warren,
Emerson thought.
A damn rat’s nest.
    “The TV people are here,” the Marine said.
    Shit,
Emerson thought.
    “Are you in uniform?” he asked.
    “Full dress, sir. For the recruiting office.”
    “OK, do your best to keep order until my guys get there.”
    “Roger that, sir.”
    Then the line went dead and Emerson heard his dispatcher’s breathing again.
TV people and a crazy man with a rifle,
he thought.
Shit, shit, shit. Pressure and scrutiny and second-guessing, like every other place that ever had TV people and a crazy man with a rifle.
He hit the switch that gave him the all-cars radio net.
    “All units, listen up,” he said. “This was a lone nutcase with a long gun. Probably an automatic weapon. Indiscriminate firing in a public place. Possibly from the new part of the parking garage. So either he’s still in there, or he’s already in the wind. If he left, it was either on foot or in a vehicle. So all units that are more than ten blocks out, stop now and lock down a perimeter. Nobody enters or exits, OK? No vehicles, no pedestrians, nobody under any circumstances. All units that are closer than ten blocks, proceed inward with extreme caution. But do not let him get away.
Do not
miss him. This is a must-win, people. We need this guy
today,
before CNN climbs all over us.”

    ______

    The man in the minivan thumbed the button on the remote on the visor and the garage door rumbled upward. He drove inside and thumbed the button again and the door came down after him. He shut the engine off and sat still for a moment. Then he got out of the van and walked through the mud room and on into the kitchen. He patted the dog and turned on the television.

    Paramedics in full body armor went in through the back of the library. Two of them stayed inside to check for injuries among the sheltering crowd. Four of them came out the front and ran crouched through the plaza and ducked behind the wall. They crawled toward the bodies and confirmed they were all DOA. Then they stayed right there. Flat on the ground and immobile next to the corpses.
No unnecessary exposure until the garage has been searched,
Emerson had ordered.

    Emerson double-parked two blocks from