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What the hell?“Explain,” I said as I pulled out the phone.
“The bag from her house had a small stain. This one’s clean.”
I unlocked the Secret Service phone and swiped to the location app. Sure enough, when I zoomed in, the locator dot was on the far side of the Circle. “Fuck. It’s where she first sat down. Doug, do you have eyes on that location?”
“No. I moved closer to the east exit,” he said.
“I’ve got eyes on it,” Joe radioed. “A guy just sat down. No, now he’s up, and he has the bag.”
The locator dot on the phone started to move north. “That’s our guy. Take him down. Rylie you stay with Benson. Oscar, cut through the center.”
Neil screeched into traffic and around the Circle.
Doug was running in from the south, and Joe from the north.
SMK halted, then took off toward the fountain.
Neil hit the brakes, and we screeched to a halt on the west side of the Circle.
Ron came toward the fountain with his weapon drawn.
SMK turned tail and started running straight toward the two of us.
Neil leaped out of the car. “FBI. Stop right there.”
SMK halted and looked rapidly in each of his possible directions. We’d cut them all off.
I made it around the car and drew my weapon as well.
The man’s eyes darted from one side to the other, like a scared animal.
“Hands behind your head. Interlock your fingers,” Neil commanded.
He didn’t comply. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”
The tone and the words were ominous. The situation could easily spiral out of control.
“We just want to talk,” I told him.
Ron moved off to the side, out of our line of fire.
SMK closed his eyes and put a hand in his coat pocket.
“Hands where I can see them,” Neil yelled. “Now.”
SMK opened his eyes and fixed me with a blank stare. “I’m not going in.” He pulled out a gun.
“Gun,” Doug yelled.
SMK slowly raised his piece in my direction.
We’d trained on this, but training was nothing like the chill that ran through me as he raised the Glock. His eyes were lifeless, blank, and suddenly all I could see was the ugly end of the barrel as it arced toward me.
I fired. Two slugs forced him back, and he collapsed onto the path.
Joe reached him first, kicked away his gun, and checked for a pulse.
SMK stared up into the sky. This killer hadn’t wanted a trial. His words and actions were textbook suicide by cop. He’d decided getting shot was better than getting arrested. A quick end to an ugly life.
