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not convinced,” said Hartz. “Kearney, what the fuck is he doing? What does he want with you?”
    Kearney watched the door of the ambulance close.
    â€œI don’t know.”
    â€œWell,” bellowed Hartz. “I’ll tell you what he’s getting. Shit. That’s what he’s getting. I want him down and I don’t care how. Down and fast. The mayor’ll be getting up in an hour or two, and he’ll be on my ass about this. If Shepard isn’t down by then, I’ll be on your ass.”
    â€œHe’s picked a good spot,” said Brooks, looking around the street. “High ground. What about doors to the roof?”
    â€œOne door,” said Lieberman. “Steel. He’s got it blocked and locked. The stairway is narrow.”
    â€œCopter or blow open the door,” said Brooks.
    â€œAnd Bernie Shepard pulls the plug on the whole neighborhood,” said Kearney.
    â€œLook …” Hartz began, having no idea what he wanted anyone to look at. Brooks decided to save him.
    â€œI don’t think he’s got the roof wired. If he does, we can spot it from the copter and back away.”
    â€œAnd if he does have it rigged?” asked Kearney.
    â€œThen,” said Hartz, “we have a goddamn circus. Who the hell does he think he is—God?”
    Hartz was looking at Lieberman now, so Lieberman answered, “Something like that.”
    Hartz shook his head and checked his watch.
    â€œThe hell with it. Brooks, get a copter up there.”
    â€œI’ll need light to look for wires. Sun’ll be up in an hour.”
    â€œMay not have wires,” said Lieberman. “Could all be plastic explosives.”
    â€œYou were up there,” said Hartz. “Did you see wires, anything that would prove any of this claim?”
    â€œI saw Shepard. That convinced me.”
    â€œAll right. All right,” said Hartz holding up his hands as if he were calling for all present to be calm, which Lieberman found amusing since only Hartz seemed to be on the verge of losing control.
    â€œFirst light comes, you send someone up there in a copter. Take him out, gas him out. Get him before he talks to any television people. Before the mayor gets up. Why the hell does he want to talk to goddamn television?”
    â€œI don’t know,” said Kearney.
    â€œOkay. Why does he want to talk to you?”
    â€œDon’t know,” said Kearney.
    â€œI’ll take a look at that door,” said Brooks, moving into the lobby. Hartz started after him into the building, changed his mind, and took a few steps in the direction of his waiting car before he stopped, turned to Kearney and Lieberman, and pointed at them.
    â€œI want him down.”
    With that as an exit line, the chief of police went back to his car, being careful to walk as close to the protection of the building as possible.
    â€œYou want a coffee, Captain?” Lieberman asked.
    Kearney shook his head no.
    â€œWhat’s the longest you ever stayed awake?” asked Lieberman.
    Kearney looked at him.
    â€œTwo days, two nights on a stakeout,” he answered.
    â€œLots of coffee.”
    â€œLots of coffee. You don’t think Brooks will get him down?”
    â€œNo,” said Lieberman. “You?”
    â€œNo,” said Kearney. “Not Bernie Shepard. I’ll have the coffee, Sergeant.”
    In his fourth-floor apartment across the street from the Shoreham where he lived alone, Jason Belding, DDS, a portly, man in his early forties, stood fully dressed sipping his tea and looking out of his living room window.
    His lights were out and his television on with the first uninformative reports about what was taking place across the street. Gunfire, reports of a double murder, the possibility of a police officer being involved. That was it.
    Jason watched the police hugging the building, watched the ambulance pull away, watched his neighbors’ faces in