Opening Moves Read Online Free

the breaking point.
    “No!” Vincent couldn’t help but yell. If he didn’t get away—
    But then he was cuffed and the officer was pinning him down with his knee, calling for backup. “Do not move,” he told Vincent.
    “You don’t understand—”
    “Quiet,” the officer said. “This is Detective Bowers.” He was talking into his radio. “I’m on the southeast corner of Twenty-sixth and Wells. I have the suspect.”
    “Please,” Vincent gasped. “He has her. If you don’t let me go, he’s going to kill her. You can’t let that maniac kill my wife!”

3
     
    I paused. “Who has her?”
    “Some guy—I don’t know his name! He broke into our house, told me I had to take a black man to that alley. Please—he said if I got caught, it’d be too late for last rites, that he’d slit her throat. Slit her like a pig.” The guy’s voice cracked. “That’s what he said.”
    I patted him down. “Where are they?”
    “I don’t know. You have to believe me!”
    No weapons. A wallet. Car keys. A portable phone in his pocket. Not just a pager, an actual portable phone. Though they were starting to become more popular, it spoke of wealth. I removed the items. “What’s your name?”
    “Vincent Hayes.”
    A few seconds ago he’d knocked my gun, a .357 SIG P229, away, and now I quickly retrieved it and slipped it into my holster, then held Hayes down firmly.
    Assess the threat. Clear the scene.
    I scanned the shadows to make sure no accomplices were coming to assist the guy, but the view in all directions was restricted. After evaluating the sight lines, the distance to the nearest intersection, and the spacing between the streetlights, I realized I didn’t like our position here at all.
    “You said he told you to do it. Did you meet with him?”
    “On the phone!”
    It was possible for someone to be making something like this up on the spot, but it seemed unlikely. The best way to ferret out a lie is with a follow-up question. “Who are you working with, Vincent?”
    “No one.” A pause. “What do you mean?”
    “Abducting the man in the alley. Who else was involved?”
    “No one. It was just me.”
    “Don’t lie to me.”
    “He made me do it! I swear. Stop wasting time. He’s going to kill her if—”
    “Where do you live, Vincent?”
    He rattled off an address and I radioed it in to get a car over there. I was still holding him down and he was a hefty man, so I was glad that, at least for the moment, he’d stopped trying to roll away.
    “No, no no, they’re not there—” Then abruptly, he seemed to change his mind. “Wait. You can’t go in. If he sees you, he’ll kill her! He said no cops!”
    There was no question that I needed to check out this guy’s story to see if his wife was safe. “Go in dark,” I told dispatch. “Possible hostage situation.”
    Swift, light footsteps approached us. I whipped out my SIG, snapped around, ready, wired. But it was just Sergeant Brandon Walker, the guy we called Radar, entering the circle of light tossed down from one of the streetlights about thirty meters away.
    At thirty-seven, Radar was twelve years older than me and was the one officer Lieutenant Thorne thought wouldn’t be threatened or insulted partnering with the youngest homicide detective on the force. He’d been right. Radar was a good cop. A good man. A great dad. Even though he wasn’t an imposing guy—slim, balding, stuck with a nose that was a little too big for his face—Radar was scrappy and smart, and I was glad he was my partner.
    I holstered my weapon, hailed Radar, then asked Vincent, “Why would he kill her?”
    “I don’t know! He made me do it. Like I told you, he said if I got caught, he’d slit her throat! You have to—”
    “You alright, Pat?” It was Radar jogging toward us, weapon out to cover me.
    “I’m fine. You hearing this?”
    “Yeah.”
    He arrived at my side.
    “Get two cars over here, Radar. I want this guy in a cruiser ASAP so we can