High Noon

own actions and methods, if and when. She sat through the meeting with the crisis team, the chief and the representatives from IAB.
    Questions were asked and answered. Her log was displayed, the situation tape replayed. She listened to her voice, to Commander Harrison’s, to Charlie’s and Opal’s, to the relays between her or the second negotiator and command, from command to members of the tactical team.
    “Lieutenant Mac Namara clearly related the information that the HT agreed to surrender, was coming out unarmed. That information was received and acknowledged.” The chief lifted his hands. “There was no breakdown in communications. The tactical commander did not give the go, and the shots were not fired by any authorized member of the department.”
    He paused. “The shots were fired from a weapon—recovered—not issued to any member of the crisis team, from a position where no member of said team was posted. Known members of the rival gang live in the building from where the shots issued, other known or suspected members reside inside the perimeter set during the crisis. These are facts. But there’s another. The perimeter was breached. And from that fact come more questions. Who and how and when? The breech opens the department up to criticism and speculation, and potentially to civil suits.”
    “The who is being investigated,” Harrison began. He was a tough-looking man of considerable presence, with a deep basso designed for giving orders. “Every known gang member of the Lords and the Posse is being interrogated. It’s a long process, sir.”
    “The how?” The chief looked directly at the tactical commander.
    “The building was cleared in a floor-by-floor sweep.” Harrison got to his feet, stepped over to the diagram. “A three-man team entered the building here. Civilians were evacuated and moved outside the barricades. While this location wasn’t optimum for coverage of the hostage scene, members were posted on the roof and at this third-floor post. Other members were posted in the building directly south, as this location afforded the best visual of the liquor store from the front. Others were posted here, to cover the back. Here, the sides.
    “Each building was cleared, or thought to be cleared, and the perimeters set and posted. There were disturbances here and here during the negotiations. Heckling and threats from some onlookers. And here, a physical altercation between local residents.”
    He straightened stiffly as he turned. “It’s possible that someone slipped through during the incendiary first stage. More likely, in my opinion, someone already inside the building slipped into the vacated apartment and set up his sniper’s nest. The team’s objective was to get civilians to safety quickly. It’s not possible in these circumstances to spread the team thin enough to check every closet, under every bed. If someone was determined to evade detection, they could and would.”
    “Someone armed with an AK-47?”
    Harrison’s mouth tightened. “Yes, sir, as was the case.”
    “Chief.” Phoebe caught Dave’s frown when she interrupted. “You said the questions were how, who, when. Respectfully, I think a vital question is why. We can speculate, given the gang violence, the weapon used, the fact that its serial number was filed off, a member—or sympathizer—of the east side Lords is responsible. But I’ve been back to the scene, and I stood in the window where those shots were fired. I’ve looked at the diagrams, read the reports, replayed the coms.”
    “As have I,” the chief reminded her.
    “Then you’re aware, sir, there were dozens of police officers and personnel outside at any given time during those hours. Officers and personnel in the open from the angle of the sniper’s nest. Yet none of them was fired on. When Johnson was shot, not a single police officer was hit. Nearly every bullet went into Charles Johnson. I believe any of our tactical team would agree that’s some damn fine shooting.”
    “Knew what he was doing,” Harrison agreed, meeting Phoebe’s questioning glance.
    “As a negotiator, as someone who studies and deals with human behavior, I have to say it’s also some superior control.
    “Why kill Charles Johnson?” she continued. “He was low rung in the Posse.”
    “He’d made a stink on their turf,” the chief pointed out. “He was demanding their captain be brought to him. It’s disrespect.”
    “Agreed. Agreed. So maybe