Hostage

Sonny looked back at the televisions and thought it through. Control and containment.

'Who's the controlling authority? LAPD?'

Salvetti grunted. Salvetti, like Phil Tuzee, was a graduate of USC Law who'd worked his way through school stealing cars and selling cocaine. He knew criminal law.

'Bristo is an incorporated township up by Canyon Country. They have their own police force, something like ten, fifteen guys. We're talking a pimple on LA's ass.'

Tuzee shook his head.

'That doesn't help us. If the locals can't handle this, they'll call in the Sheriffs or maybe even the Feds. That's all we need, the Feebs rolling in. Either way, there'll be more than a few hick cops to deal with.'

'That's true, Phil, but it will all be processed back through the Bristo PD office because it's their jurisdiction. They've got a chief of police up there. It's his crime scene even if he turns over control.'

Sonny turned back to the televisions. A street -level camera was showing the front of the house. Sonny thought he saw someone move past a window, but couldn't be sure.

'This chief, what's his name?'

Salvetti glanced at his notes.

'Talley. I saw him being interviewed.'

The television shifted its shot to show three cops hunkered behind a patrol car. One of them was pointing to the side of the house like he was giving orders. Sonny wondered if that was Talley.

'Put our people on the scene. When the Feds and Sheriffs come in, I want to know who's running their act, and whether they've ever worked OC.'

If they had experience working Organized Crime, he would have to be careful who he deployed to the area.

'It's already happening, Sonny. I've got people on the way, clean guys, not anyone they would recognize.'

Benza nodded.

'I want to know everything that comes out of that house. I want to know about the three turds who started this mess. That bastard Smith might start talking just to cut a break for himself or his family. He might let them in on everything.'

'He knows better than that.'

'I want to know it, Phil.'

'I'm on it. We'll know.'

Sonny Benza watched the three cops hunkered behind the patrol car, the one he believed to be the chief of police talking on a cell phone. He had never murdered a police officer because killing cops was bad for business, but he would not hesitate to do so now. He would do whatever it took to survive. Even if it meant killing a cop.

'I want to know about this guy Talley. Find out everything there is to know about him, and every way we can hurt him. By the end of the day, I want to own him.'

'We'll own him, Sonny.'

'We better.'

PART TWO. THE FLY

CHAPTER 6

Friday, 6:17 P.M.

TALLEY

Two of Talley's night-shift duty officers, Fred Cooper and Joycelyn Frost, rolled up in their personal cars. Cooper was breathless, as if he had run from his home in Lancaster, and Frost hadn't even taken the time to change into her uniform; she had strapped her vest and Sam Browne over a sleeveless cotton top and baggy shorts that showed off legs as pale as bread dough. They joined Campbell and Anders in the street.

Talley sat motionless in his car.

When Talley rolled to a barricade-hostage situation with SWAT, his crisis team had included a tactical team, a negotiating team, a traffic control team, a communications team, and the supervisors to coordinate their actions. The negotiating team alone included a team supervisor, an intelligence officer to gather facts and conduct interviews, a primary negotiator to deal with the subject, a secondary negotiator to assist the primary by taking notes and maintaining records, and a staff psychologist to evaluate the subject's personality and recommend negotiating techniques. Now Talley had only himself and a handful of untrained officers.

He closed his eyes.

Talley knew that he was in the beginning moments of panic. He forced himself to concentrate on the basic things that he needed to do: Secure the environment, gather information, and keep Rooney cool. These three things were all he had to do until the Sheriffs took over. Talley began a mental list; it was the only way he could keep his head from exploding.

Sarah called him over his radio.

'Chief?'

'Go, Sarah.'

'Mikkelson and Dreyer got the security tape from the minimart. They said you can see these guys plain as a zit on your nose.'

'They inbound?'

'Five out. Maybe less.'

Talley felt himself relax as he thought about the tape; it was something concrete and focused. Seeing Dennis Rooney and the other subjects would make it easier to read the emotional content in Rooney's voice. Talley had never bet a hostage on his intuition, but he believed there were subtle clues to emotional weakness – or strength – that an astute negotiator could read. It was something he knew. It was familiar.

His four officers were staring at him. Waiting.

Talley climbed out of his car and walked up the street. Metzger had a look on her face, the expression saying it was about goddamned time.