The Pied Piper by Ridley Pearson Page A

semicircle. “No one comes in here!” he shouted.
    â€œIt’s only me,” Daphne announced, stepping inside. “I’m with Lieutenant Boldt. He’s the one who has been looking into those nine-one-one calls. Your grudge is with them, Sidney, not any of these people.”
    Boldt stepped through behind her, knowing nothing of any 911 calls.
    The heavy door closed with a thump, distracting Weinstein.
    In that instant, Boldt caught a signal from Flemming, who pointed to the coffee lounge—the glass wall on which Weinstein was leaning. Formerly a copy room, the lounge had two doors around the corner from each other. Flemming intended to reach Weinstein through the lounge if Boldt could shift the man closer to the door that stood open to Weinstein’s left.
    Daphne continued to work with the man, Boldt blocking out her words, his attention riveted on Flemming, who gently twisted the doorknob and slipped into the lounge. Daphne ignored Flemming, her methods psychological, not physical. “Let’s think about Hayes for a moment,” she encouraged, winning back Weinstein’s attention. She didn’t want any mention of his deceased mother—there was still hope for Hayes. She stepped closer.
    â€œYou stay where you are!” he thundered, shaking the gun at her.
    Daphne stopped short. “Okay … okay … let’s think about this. Together. Sidney? Okay. You are an intelligent man, not a criminal. If you shoot one of us, where does that leave you? Where does that leave Hayes? You are going to be shot dead or locked up if you fire that weapon. That’s what they’ll do to you,” she said, indicating the gathering of uniforms and detectives. “Where does that leave Hayes?”
    â€œHe’s never coming back. Not one of those kids has been found.”
    â€œAre you giving up?” Daphne asked. “Do you want us to give up?”
    Weinstein strained to make a decision. “My mother,” he moaned.
    â€œPut down the weapon, Sidney,” Daphne advised. “Right now.” The man continued to wave the gun. “What if Hayes, right this minute, has a weapon aimed at him, the same way you’re aiming it at us? Are you going to condone that?”
    The weapon bobbed in Weinstein’s grip, his finger dangerously on the trigger. Daphne took another step forward.
    â€œNo,” Boldt hissed at her.
    She motioned Boldt away. She had spotted Flemming and wanted to prevent a violent solution.
    Boldt knew that her ambitions could blind her. She carried an ugly scar on her neck from an encounter with the Cross Killer and wore turtlenecks and scarves to cover her mistake.
    She asked Weinstein, “How do you think these people feel with a gun trained at them?”
    Weinstein swept the crowd with the barrel of the weapon. To Boldt, he looked unpredictable and crazed.
    Flemming, unseen on hands and knees, reappeared briefly at the door nearest Weinstein. He needed Boldt to move Weinstein closer.
    Boldt edged right, threw his hands over his head, and said loudly, “Most of us in this room have children, Mr. Weinstein. I have two. Miles and Sarah.”
    Weinstein tracked Boldt with the gun and in the process shifted slightly closer to Flemming. “You stay where you are.”
    Daphne glared at Boldt, angry that he would assist a violent solution. “Yes,” she said, “you stay where you are.”
    Keeping his hands over his head, Boldt continued to his right, maintaining Weinstein’s attention.
    â€œYou see this man?” Daphne asked Weinstein, gesturing at Boldt. “He has been working around the clock on these kidnappings, and now here he is having to deal with you instead. Is that fair to Hayes, Sidney? Think about it. Put the gun down!”
    Flemming, still on all fours, again appeared in the doorway to Weinstein’s left. Everyone saw him but Weinstein, whose back remained pressed against the