The Big Bad Wolf

DETECTIVE COULTER HAD ASKED FOR ME. What the hell was that all about? I hadn't known we were so close. Because we weren't. I'd met him only a couple of times. We were friendly, but not exactly friends. So why did Dennis Coulter want me here? A while back, I had worked with Dennis Coulter on an investigation of drug dealers who were trying to connect, and control, the trade in D.C. and Baltimore and everywhere in between. I'd found Coulter to be tough, very egotistical, but good at his job. I remembered he was a big Eubie Blake fan, and that Blake was from Baltimore. Coulter and his hostages were huddled somewhere inside the house, a gray wood-shingle Colonial on Ailsa Avenue in Lauraville, in the northeast part of Baltimore. Venetian blinds were tightly closed in the windows. What was going on behind the front door was anybody's guess. Three stone steps climbed to the porch, where a rocking chair and a wooden glider sat. The house had recently been painted, which suggested to me that Coulter probably hadn't been expecting trouble in his life. So what happened? Several dozen Baltimore PD, including SWAT team members, had surrounded the house. Weapons were drawn and, in some cases, aimed at the windows and the front door. The Baltimore police helicopter unit Foxtrot had responded. Not good. I already had one idea. "What do you think about everybody lowering their guns for starters?" I asked the field commander from the Baltimore PD. "He hasn't fired on anybody, has he?" The field commander and SWAT team leader conferred briefly, and then weapons around the perimeter were lowered, at least the ones I could see. Meanwhile, one of the Foxtrot helicopters continued to hover close to the house. I turned to the commander again. I needed him on my side. "Thank you, Lieutenant. Have you been talking to him?" He pointed to a man crouched behind a cruiser. "Detective Fescoe has the honor. He's been on the horn with Coulter for about an hour." I made a point of walking over to Detective Fescoe and introducing myself. "Mick Fescoe," he said, but he didn't seem overjoyed to meet me. "Heard you were coming. We're fine here." "This intrusion isn't my idea," I told him. "I just left the force in D.C. I don't want to get in anybody's way." "So don't," Fescoe said. He was a slender, wiry man who looked as if he might have played some ball at one time. He moved like it. I rubbed my hand over my chin. "Any idea why he asked for me? I don't know him that well." Fescoe's eyes drifted toward the house. "Says he's being set up by Internal Affairs. Doesn't trust anybody connected to the Baltimore PD. He knew you'd gone over to the FBI recently." "Would you tell him I'm here? But also tell him I'm being briefed now. I want to hear how he sounds before I talk to him." Fescoe nodded, then he called the house. It rang several times before it was picked up. "Agent Cross has just arrived, Dennis. He's being briefed now," said Fescoe. "Like hell he is. Get him on the hook. Don't make me shoot in here. I'm getting close to creating a real problem. Get him now!" Fescoe handed me the phone and I spoke into it. "Dennis, this is Alex Cross. I'm here. I did want to be briefed first." "This really Alex Cross?" Coulter asked, sounding surprised. "Yeah, it's me. I don't know too many of the details. Except you say you're being set up by Internal Affairs." "I don't just say it, I am being set up. I can tell you why too. I'll brief you. That way you'll hear it straight." "All right," I told him. "I'm on your side so far. I know you, Dennis. I don't know Baltimore Internal Affairs." Coulter cut me off. "I want you to listen to me. Don't talk. Just hear me out." "All right," I said. "I'm listening." I sat down on the ground behind a Baltimore PD cruiser, and I got ready to listen to the armed man who was supposedly holding a dozen of his family members hostage. Jesus, I was back on the Job again. "They want to kill me," Dennis Coulter began. "The Baltimore PD has me in its crosshairs." POP! I jumped. Someone had pulled open a can of soda and tapped me on the shoulder with it. I looked up to see none other than Ned Mahoney, head of the Hostage Rescue Team at Quantico, handing me a Diet Coke, caffeine-free. I had taken a couple of classes from him during orientation. He knew his stuff - in the classroom, anyway. "Welcome to my private hell," I said. "What am I doing here, by the way?" Mahoney winked and dropped down beside me. "You're a rising star, or maybe a risen star. You know the drill. Get him talking. Keep him talking," said Mahoney. "We hear you're real good at this." "So what are you doing here?" I asked. "What do you think? Watching, studying your technique. You're the director's boy, right? He thinks you're gifted." I took a sip of soda, then pressed the cold can to my forehead. Hell of an introduction to the FBI for the FNG. "Dennis, who wants to kill you?" I spoke into the cell phone again. "Tell me all you can about what's going on here. I also need to ask about your family. Is everybody all right in there?" Coulter bristled. "Hey! Let's not waste time on a lot of bullshit negotiation crap. I'm about to be executed. That's what this is. Make no mistake. Look around you, man. It's an execution." I couldn't see Coulter, but I remembered him. No more than five-eight, goatee, hip, always cracking a wiseass joke, very tough. All in all, a small-man complex. He began to tell his story, his side of things, and unfortunately I had no idea what to make of what he was spilling out. According to Coulter, detectives in the Baltimore PD had been involved in large drug payoffs. Even he didn't know how many, but the number was high. He'd blown the whistle. The next thing he knew, his house was surrounded by cops. Then Coulter dropped the bomb. "I was getting kickbacks too. Somebody turned me in to Internal Affairs. One of my partners." "Why would a partner do that?" He laughed. "Because I got greedy. I went for a bigger piece of the pie. Thought I had my partners by the short hairs. They didn't see it that way." "How did you have them by the short hairs?" "I told my partners that I had copies of records - who had been paid what. A couple years' worth of records." Now we were getting somewhere. "Do you?" I asked. Coulter hesitated. Why was that? Either he did or he didn't. "I might," he finally said. "They sure think I do. So now they're going to put me down. They were coming for me today... I'm not supposed to leave this house alive." I was trying to listen for other voices or sounds in the house while he kept talking. I didn't hear any. Was anybody else still alive in there? What had Coulter done to his family? How desperate was he? I looked at Ned Mahoney and shrugged my shoulders. I really wasn't sure whether Coulter was telling the truth or if he was just a street cop who'd gone loco. Mahoney looked skeptical too. He had a don't ask me look on his face. I had to go somewhere else for guidance. "So what do we do now?" I asked Coulter. He sniffed out a laugh. "I was hoping you'd have an idea. You're supposed to be the hotshot, right?" That's what everybody keeps saying.