“Fuck!” Decker turned to Garrett and Diaz. “TV’s flashing a picture of Rudy Banks over the airwaves.”

“Oh shit!” Garrett mumbled. “He’s probably watching our moves right now.”

Irish said, “What the fuck is going on? Is Mudd involved?”

“I don’t know, Liam, I have to go.” He hung up, but his cell sprang to life a few moments later. It was Cindy. “Daddy, I was listening to the news, and apparently Rudy Banks is holed up at the Sand Dune with some hostages.”

“I’m already down here.”

“I’m coming down—”

“Don’t…” Too late. She’d hung up. Ah, fuck it! It would probably be over by the time she made it through traffic. Ten minutes later, Marge and Oliver arrived after having slogged through almost two hours of traffic. She was wearing sweats, but somehow Scott had found the time to put on a glen plaid sport jacket and a pair of brown slacks. It took Decker just a few minutes to bring them current.

Diaz said, “We’ve been asked to stand by. Right now, we’re just accessories.”

Garrett said, “Turf war.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Oliver said. “We included them in every step of the operation.”

“True, but if there’s a homicide, it’s gonna fuck up their statistics, not ours.”

The media started coming their way: just in time for a live report on the eleven o’clock news. There was a woman from ABC, a man from CBS, a man and a woman from NBC. There were people from the local networks, people from Fox, people from CNN and MSNBC. The print media—Internet as well as newspapers—was equally eager for answers. Big headlines sell. If Rudy Banks had expectations of regaining his bad boy spotlight, dormant for the last decade, now was his chance.

The detectives were barraged with questions.

All the respective media got for their efforts were legitimate shrugs of ignorance. The press kept at them for a while, then moved on to another group in hopes of snagging something more interesting. By then, it was eleven-thirty.

Decker’s cell rang again. It was Liam again. “How can I get over to you? I can’t get through this bloody mess.”

“Go home, Liam. You can see all the action better on your own TV set.”

“I’m already seeing it on TV, mate. There are about a hundred people with laptops. Another hundred with video cameras.”

“O’Dell, I have to go.”

“If you don’t talk to me, I’ll start talking to them. Lots of bloggers out there, mate.”

“Don’t do that, Liam!”

“Where are you, mate?”

“You tell me where you are.” Decker listened and then said, “I’ll send someone to get you.” He hung up and said, “Liam O’Dell is threatening to talk to the media unless we pick him up and let him watch at close range.”

Marge said, “I’ll find him.”