zones called in. Everybody’s on overtime. Nobody goes home until it’s over.”
“Everybody?” Maggie couldn’t begin to imagine how much that would cost. “They didn’t even do that with Duke.”
“Duke was different.”
“They were both cops.”
“Don’t play coy, gal. You know it ain’t the same. Duke was in a bad place at a bad time. This is Terry Lawson’s nephew out on the job, almost taking two in the head.”
“Two?”
“That’s the word at the station.” She pointed to the side of her head. “Don had one here.” She moved her finger to her cheek. “And one here.”
Maggie could tell they were both thinking the same thing. “Those are hard shots to make.”
“Just one of ’em’s hard. Two of ’em—that far from the target, cheap throwaway gun—that’s Paladin territory.”
“It’s different from the Shooter,” Maggie said. “The other four got it once each in the forehead. Point-blank range. Execution-style.”
Gail eyed her carefully. “You’re thinking it’s the Atlanta Shooter?”
“Aren’t you?”
“The Shooter’s still out there. We went balls to the walls the last two times and came up with fucking zero. And the murder this morning, the boys were in an alley when Don was shot, same as the other four victims.” Gail shrugged. “What do I know? Could all just be a crazy coincidence.”
“Sure.” One of the first lessons Gail had taught Maggie was that there was no such thing as a coincidence.
Gail asked, “You hear about the tires?”
“They were slashed.”
Gail tipped her lighter end over end, making a tapping sound against the table. “I know a gal in dispatch says he didn’t call it in.”
“What do you mean?”
“Jimmy didn’t call a sixty-three.” Officer down. The call was standard procedure when a cop was injured. Gail said, “Dispatch didn’t even know that Don was hurt until they got a call from one of the docs at Grady saying he was dead.”
Maggie looked down. The transmitter for her radio was by her leg. Everybody on the force carried a radio. PCOs, like Gail, kept them in their purses. Patrol wore them clipped to the back of their belts. They were ungainly, thicker than a paperback, heavy as a can of Crisco, and covered in a plastic shell with knife-sharp edges. You either took it off when you sat down or you sat on the edge of your seat to keep from puncturing your spine.
Maggie said, “They could’ve been in a dead pocket.” There were pockets all over the city where the radios didn’t work. “They were in Five Points off Whitehall. Reception can be patchy over there.”
Gail’s eyebrow went up. She worked in the area. She knew the dead spots.
What she didn’t know was something Maggie had just realized: Jimmy’s transmitter had been missing from his belt this morning. She could see it clearly in her mind’s eye. Keys, nightstick, handcuffs, revolver.
But no transmitter.
“Hey, kid?” Gail tapped the table with her lighter. “You in there?”
Maggie looked at her watch. She thought about her earlier experiment. Five seconds. That was a long time. Even longer if Don was shot twice. Jimmy had maybe seven or eight seconds to respond. Or not, as the case might’ve been.
Gail knocked on the table again. “Am I talking to myself here?”
Maggie looked up. “Where’d you work last night?”
“Not at the Five, if that’s what you’re asking. I was off. This is for today.” Gail indicated her skimpy outfit. “I’m bait for the johns. Zones Two and Three are lending their umbrella cars to round up the pimps. They’re hoping to shut down business.”
“That should bring out the snitches.”
“Yeah, but when?” She took one last hit before stubbing out her cigarette. “All it’s gonna do is waste time. Same with the reward money. We already got a million leads from the last two shootings. Bunch of women turning in their husbands and boyfriends, trying to get that five thousand bucks.”
Maggie had
“Everybody?” Maggie couldn’t begin to imagine how much that would cost. “They didn’t even do that with Duke.”
“Duke was different.”
“They were both cops.”
“Don’t play coy, gal. You know it ain’t the same. Duke was in a bad place at a bad time. This is Terry Lawson’s nephew out on the job, almost taking two in the head.”
“Two?”
“That’s the word at the station.” She pointed to the side of her head. “Don had one here.” She moved her finger to her cheek. “And one here.”
Maggie could tell they were both thinking the same thing. “Those are hard shots to make.”
“Just one of ’em’s hard. Two of ’em—that far from the target, cheap throwaway gun—that’s Paladin territory.”
“It’s different from the Shooter,” Maggie said. “The other four got it once each in the forehead. Point-blank range. Execution-style.”
Gail eyed her carefully. “You’re thinking it’s the Atlanta Shooter?”
“Aren’t you?”
“The Shooter’s still out there. We went balls to the walls the last two times and came up with fucking zero. And the murder this morning, the boys were in an alley when Don was shot, same as the other four victims.” Gail shrugged. “What do I know? Could all just be a crazy coincidence.”
“Sure.” One of the first lessons Gail had taught Maggie was that there was no such thing as a coincidence.
Gail asked, “You hear about the tires?”
“They were slashed.”
Gail tipped her lighter end over end, making a tapping sound against the table. “I know a gal in dispatch says he didn’t call it in.”
“What do you mean?”
“Jimmy didn’t call a sixty-three.” Officer down. The call was standard procedure when a cop was injured. Gail said, “Dispatch didn’t even know that Don was hurt until they got a call from one of the docs at Grady saying he was dead.”
Maggie looked down. The transmitter for her radio was by her leg. Everybody on the force carried a radio. PCOs, like Gail, kept them in their purses. Patrol wore them clipped to the back of their belts. They were ungainly, thicker than a paperback, heavy as a can of Crisco, and covered in a plastic shell with knife-sharp edges. You either took it off when you sat down or you sat on the edge of your seat to keep from puncturing your spine.
Maggie said, “They could’ve been in a dead pocket.” There were pockets all over the city where the radios didn’t work. “They were in Five Points off Whitehall. Reception can be patchy over there.”
Gail’s eyebrow went up. She worked in the area. She knew the dead spots.
What she didn’t know was something Maggie had just realized: Jimmy’s transmitter had been missing from his belt this morning. She could see it clearly in her mind’s eye. Keys, nightstick, handcuffs, revolver.
But no transmitter.
“Hey, kid?” Gail tapped the table with her lighter. “You in there?”
Maggie looked at her watch. She thought about her earlier experiment. Five seconds. That was a long time. Even longer if Don was shot twice. Jimmy had maybe seven or eight seconds to respond. Or not, as the case might’ve been.
Gail knocked on the table again. “Am I talking to myself here?”
Maggie looked up. “Where’d you work last night?”
“Not at the Five, if that’s what you’re asking. I was off. This is for today.” Gail indicated her skimpy outfit. “I’m bait for the johns. Zones Two and Three are lending their umbrella cars to round up the pimps. They’re hoping to shut down business.”
“That should bring out the snitches.”
“Yeah, but when?” She took one last hit before stubbing out her cigarette. “All it’s gonna do is waste time. Same with the reward money. We already got a million leads from the last two shootings. Bunch of women turning in their husbands and boyfriends, trying to get that five thousand bucks.”
Maggie had
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