In Death 10 - Witness in Death

"Peabody, Trueheart, with me. Let's see what the transit boys have for us."
    There were two transit cops sealing the exit. Both came to attention when Eve held up her badge. "Status?"
    "Your suspect's inside, Lieutenant. Level Two, Area C. There are a number of passengers in that area. The express for Toronto was sold out. There are several shops, eateries, and rest room facilities. Men are posted at all lifts, glides, and walkways leading in or out of the area. He's in there."
    "Stand by."
    She walked into the great sea of noise and movement.
    "Lieutenant, Feeney and McNab approaching south side of the building."
    "Give them the target location. We don't have data on weapons, but we go in assuming he's armed." She crossed the wide expanse of floor while people rushing home or away streamed past her. "Alert the commanding officer we're heading down."
    "Captain Stuart, sir. Channel B on your communicator. She's standing by."
    "Captain Stuart, Lieutenant Dallas."
    "Lieutenant, we have our net in place. Traffic Control Center will continue to announce delays for the twelve-oh-five to Toronto."
    "Where's my suspect?"
    Stuart's face stayed blank and hard, but her voice tightened. "We've lost direct visual of the subject. He has not, I repeat, has not exited the patrolled area. Our security cameras are executing a full sweep. We'll pick him up."
    "Contact me, this channel, when you spot him," Eve said briefly. "Inform your men that NYPSD is now on-scene and taking charge. Their full cooperation and assistance is appreciated."
    "This is my turf, Lieutenant. My command."
    "Target is suspected of two homicides on my turf, Captain. That's an override, and we both know it. Let's get the job done. We can have a pissing contest later." Eve waited a beat. "We're approaching Level Two. Please inform your men. Weapons are to be programmed to lowest setting and to be deployed only in extreme circumstances and for the protection of bystanders. I want a clean snatch."
    "I'm fully aware how to perform an operation of this nature. I was informed the target may be armed."
    "We can't confirm. Use caution and minimal force. Minimal force, Captain; that's priority. The area is packed with civilians. I'll maintain this channel for further communications."
    Eve tucked the communicator back in her pocket. "Hear that, Peabody?"
    "Yes, sir. She wants the collar. 'This evening, the New York City Transit Authority, led by Captain Stuart, captured the primary suspect in Richard Draco's murder, in flight. Pictures at eleven.'"
    "And what is our objective?"
    "To identify, restrain, and incarcerate target. In one piece, and with no civilian injuries."
    "You following that, Trueheart?"
    "Yes, sir."
    Eve noted the transit officers holding the perimeter of Area C. And the flood of people who milled, loitered, or rushed over the wide platform and through the snaking corridors that opened into shops and eateries.
    She smelled the greasy aroma of fast food, the hot scent of humanity. Babies were crying. The latest urban rock was pumping out of someone's tune box in direct violation of the noise pollution code. A small band of sidewalk singers was struggling to compete.
    She saw weariness, excitement, boredom on the sea of faces. And with mild annoyance, she saw a strolling pocket-dipper snag a wallet.
    "Trueheart, you're the only one who got a look at him. Keep your eyes open. We want to take this down smooth, but we don't want to waste time. The longer that express is delayed, the more nervous Stiles is going to get."
    "Dallas, Feeney and McNab at nine o'clock."
    "Yeah, I see them." She saw them, the surging tide of civilians, the dozens of byways. "This place is like an insect hive. We're going to spread out. Peabody, troll the right. Trueheart, take the left. Maintain visual contact."
    She took the center, cutting through the crowd, eyes scanning. Across the tracks, a southbound train shot down the tunnel with a hot whoosh of air. A panhandler, his beggar's license smeared with something indefinable, worked the passengers waiting for the delayed Toronto express.
    She was about to overlap with Feeney, shifted her gaze to lock Peabody's position, turned her head to lock Trueheart's.
    She heard the shout, a series of screams, an explosion of glass as the panel on one of the busy storefronts shattered. Even as she spun, she saw Stiles shove his way through the panicked crowd, pursued by a transit cop.
    "Hold your fire!" She shouted it, grabbing both weapon