The Broken Window

take 522 as soon as the backdrop was safe and no bystanders were in danger. This portion of the sidewalk was still partly visible from a nearby street and the construction site and they’d been gambling that the killer wouldn’t attack until Bell was closer to the tactical officers. But he seemed to be moving in more quickly than they’d planned on.
    Bell hoped, though, that the man would hold off for a few minutes; a firefight here could endanger a number of passersby and construction workers.
    But the logistics of the takedown vanished from his mind as he heard two things simultaneously: the sound of 522’s footsteps breaking into a run toward him and, much more alarming, the cheerful Spanish chatter of two women, one pushing a baby carriage, as they emerged from the back of the building right next to Bell. The tac officers had sealed off the sidewalk but apparently nobody’d thought to notify the superintendents of the buildings whose rear doors faced it.
    Bell glanced back and saw the women walk right in between him and 522, who was staring at the detective and running forward. In his hand was a gun.
    “We’ve got trouble! Civvies between us. Suspect’s armed! Repeat, he’s got a weapon. Move in!”
    Bell started for his Beretta but one of the women, seeing 522, screamed and jumped back, slamming into Bell, knocking him to his knees. His gun dropped to the sidewalk. The killer blinked in shock and froze,undoubtedly wondering why a college professor was armed, but he recovered fast and aimed at Bell, who was going for his second gun.
    “No!” the killer shouted. “Don’t try it!”
    The officer could do nothing but lift his hands. He heard Sellitto say, “First team’ll be there in thirty seconds, Roland.”
    The killer said nothing, just snarled for the women to flee, which they did, and then he stepped forward, gun on Bell’s chest.
    Thirty seconds, the detective thought, breathing hard.
    It might as well have been a lifetime.
    •   •   •
    Walking from the parking garage to One Police Plaza, Captain Joseph Malloy was irritated that he hadn’t heard anything about the set involving Detective Roland Bell. He knew Sellitto and Rhyme were desperate to find this perp and he’d reluctantly agreed to the phony press conference but it really was over the line, and he wondered what the fallout would be if it didn’t work.
    Hell, there’d be fallout if it did work. One of the top rules in city government: Don’t fuck with the press. Especially in New York.
    He was just reaching into his pocket for his cell phone when he felt something touch his back. Insistent and purposeful. A pistol.
    No, no . . .
    His heart galloped.
    Then came the voice, calm. “Do not turn around, Captain. If you turn around, you’ll see my face and thatmeans you’ll die. You understand?” He sounded educated, surprising Malloy for some reason.
    “Wait.”
    “Do you understand?”
    “Yes. Don’t—”
    “At the next corner you’re going to turn to the right into that alley and keep going.”
    “But—”
    “I don’t have a silencer on the gun. But the muzzle is close enough to your body that nobody will know where the sound came from and I’ll be gone before you hit the ground. And the bullet will go through you and with these crowds I’m sure it will hit somebody else. You don’t want that.”
    “Who are you?”
    “You know who I am.”
    Joseph Malloy had made a lifelong career in law enforcement, and after his wife was killed by a drug-crazed burglar the profession became more than a career; it was an obsession. Maybe he was brass, an administrator now, but he still had the instincts he’d honed on the streets of Midtown South precinct years ago. He understood instantly. “Five Twenty-Two.”
    “What?”
    Calm. Stay calm. If you’re calm you’re in control. “You’re the man who killed that woman on Sunday and the groundskeeper in the cemetery last night.”
    “What do you mean, ‘Five Twenty-Two’?”
    “What the department’s calling you internally. An unknown subject, UNSUB, number Five Twenty-Two.” Give him some facts. Make him relax too. Carry on a conversation.
    The killer gave a brief laugh. “A number? That’s interesting. Now, turn to the right.”
    Well, if he wanted you dead, you’d be dead. He just needs to know something, or he’s kidnapping you for leverage. Relax. He’s obviously not going to kill you—he doesn’t want you to see his face. Okay, Lon Sellitto