Time Expired Read Free Page B

Wednesdays.”
    Moving carefully on the slippery ground, Murakawa edged around me to look at the caldron. I squatted down and unhooked the loudspeaker from my belt. The lean-to wasn’t much but it was as good a setup spot as we were likely to find for the moment.
    Still bending over, Murakawa turned back to me. He was holding a black running shoe. A woman’s shoe with mud caked on the back of the heel. He squatted and eyed the ground. “Looks like drag marks.”
    “There’s supposed to be a quarry office, or remains of one, farther into the canyon.”
    “How far?”
    “Thirty yards, maybe. Grayson was trying to round up a kid who’d been down here recently.” We both knew we couldn’t wait to see whether Grayson succeeded.
    The perp could be in the quarry office remains, or not. But I had to play it as if he were in spitting range. I clicked on the speaker. “This is the police. We’ve got you surrounded. Give us your location. Call out, and flash your flashlight.”
    No answer.
    Murakawa had his hand on my shoulder. “You see anything?” he whispered.
    “Nothing. We wait.” I had a palm on the ground for balance. We squatted, stone still. The wind rasped the leaves. The stream sounded like Niagara Falls. I could have sworn I heard the thump of feet, but I knew that adrenaline had magnified everything, and those feet, if they even were feet, belonged to nothing larger than a squirrel.
    “This is the police …” I repeated the instructions. “Can you make out any movement, Murakawa?”
    “Nothing.”
    I lowered the speaker. “We’ll give John another minute.”
    We called the perp John, the most innocuous name. He hadn’t given us a name, and we knew not to make up another one, one to which we’d unconsciously attach attributes. No tough guy we’d overestimate or weenie we’d take too lightly. I’d heard a tale about guys who’d labeled their perp Twinkie, flubbed and called him that on the line, and blew the whole scene.
    Behind me I could hear Murakawa talking softly into his mike.
    “Anything from up top?” I asked, even though I knew he’d tell me if there were.
    “ Nada. Doyle’s checking back with the city manager.”
    I lifted the speaker. “This is the police. Signal us, now. Flash a light. Make noise. We want to work with you. Give us a sign.”
    The sudden silence told me Murakawa was holding his breath. When he started breathing it sounded like someone turned on the air-conditioner.
    The Tac Team would be in place for the final assault by now. From the look of the overhanging branches, the high ground observers could be right over the perp—if they could spot him. I opened the mike one more time and repeated the call, expecting no reply and getting none. To Murakawa I said, “Tell the inspector we’re getting no response.”
    I leaned forward and moved my feet out to the sides. There was no decent position in here. The damp rose up from the ground. Already my butt felt icy. I thought of the hostage. Most likely she’d be lying on the bare ground. She’d been dragged down the chute. That descent was jarring on foot. To get down there and haul her, the perp had to be in good shape. I wished it were light enough to look at the trail to see if he’d had to stop to adjust his burden, or if we were dealing with someone strong enough to carry the body over the hard spots. Whichever, by the time he got here he’d been dragging her. And when her shoe came off, he’d have been banging her stockinged foot along the ground. Farther along the path the mud would have pulled off the sock, the rocks would have scraped her heel raw, and now, was that heel lying bloody in the mud?
    “Any word, Murakawa?” I whispered.
    “Doyle can’t get an answer.”
    “We got a hostage here who could have broken bones, infected wounds; she’s probably terrified and freezing. She could be dying while they test the wind.”
    Murakawa nodded. “Inspector,” he said, softly, “Smith says to ask them to