Dead Wrong by Allen Wyler Page B

longer this dragged on, the more time McCarthy had to break through the perimeter. Although very unlikely, the possibility that McCarthy had actually escaped grew more worrisome every minute Womack and Lewis came up empty. They should’ve already nailed McCarthy’s ass by now. Then again, the Seattle cops could be put to good use in sealing the perimeter of the larger medical center complex. Maybe he could persuade them to bring in a SWAT team to sweep the building. Yeah, some SWAT action might not be a bad idea.
    Hansen inspected Sikes’s ID, looked back up at him, asked, “Uh, what agency is this?” before handing it back.
    “DIA—ah, Defense Intelligence Agency.” Sikes flashed a conspiratorial grin, playing up to Hansen’s law enforcement fantasies. “That’s all I can tell you.” Then, putting it on even thicker: “Your rapid response is impressive, sir.”
    “Thanks.” Basking in his moment of glory, Hansen sidestepped to look past Sikes. “What kind of situation we have here?”
    Doolittle remained wide-eyed at the hall door, obviously torn between wanting to enter with Hansen and being repulsed by the murder scene.
    “A very ugly one, sir. Double homicide. That woman over there and,” moving aside to give Hansen a better view, “that man there,” pointing at Washington. “Don’t know the woman’s name but he was my partner, Sergeant Elroy Washington. Goddamn traitor wasted them both in cold blood.” Sikes didn’t try to contain his anger. It added credibility to his story.
    Hansen paled as he stood seemingly transfixed by the sight. “You witnessed this?”
    “Hell yes. I’m just lucky he didn’t get me too.”
    Hansen nodded, took another tentative step toward the bodies. “Who we talking about? The shooter, I mean?”
    “Name’s Thomas McCarthy.”
    From the doorway Doolittle added, “You’re standing in his office, Frank. Sikes says the woman might have been an employee here,” and edged one step further into the room.
    Hansen paled further. “Jesus!” He stared down at Maria’s body several seconds. “Think we better leave this for the metro boys.” He turned and shooed Sikes and Doolittle toward the hall door before asking, “Tell me again what happened.”
    Sikes checked his watch. What in the hell were Womack and Lewis doing? “Our agency believes McCarthy is in possession of classified information obtained illegally. We began an investigation into him several days ago. This morning I made the decision to detain him for questioning. Approximately forty-five minutes ago I positioned two men in the lobby, and Washington and I proceeded directly here. We entered the office through the front door and announced ourselves to him. He immediately became agitated and started shouting. Before I could react, he rushed my partner, took possession of his weapon, and opened fire. One shot killed my partner. Next shot—which he aimed at me—killed her,” jutting his chin at Maria. “Before I could return fire he was out the door. Rather than pursue him, I immediately notified my men and attempted to do what I could for Washington, but he was clearly already gone. My team is covering both first-floor stairs and the elevators, but so far there’s been no indication he’s exited the building, leaving me to assume is he’s still hiding here someplace.”
    Sikes continued. “Now, I understand you have a job to do. But, so do I. My friend and longtime partner is lying dead on the floor, shot down like a dog in cold blood. The more time I waste hanging around jawing with you, the more likely it is McCarthy will escape.” Sikes could barely contain his rage now. “I assume your department notified the Seattle police?”
    Hansen came to attention, like his manhood had just been challenged. “Yes, sir. SPD was notified immediately after Doolittle called it in. They’re already downstairs. Along with about a hundred vultures from the press. The reason it took me so long to get here is