what had happened, but she was sobbing and babbling incomprehensibly. Not that she could’ve been heard over the alarm in any case, much less over the sirens outside that now joined the cacophony. The din was deafening.
Gaspar supposed he should take comfort in the rapid response rate by everyone involved, but there was no time to appreciate that just then. Otto shoved the court reporter to him and he passed her back to the agents behind him, then followed Otto into the room where he could just hear her shouting “FBI! FBI” over the pandemonium. Sound reverberated through Gaspar’s entire body like electroshock.
15
The first person Gaspar saw was Jennifer Lane.
She stood empty-handed, staring, eyes as wide as basketballs.
The deafening fire alarm continued, now transitioned to incessant blasts brief moments apart, loud enough to wake the morgue.
Just ahead of him, he saw Otto pivot, assume shooter stance and yell, “Hands up! Hands up!”
Steven Kent stood facing Otto, one hand extended with a .38 caliber handgun pointed toward Jennifer Lane.
Slowly, he raised both hands in the air. He pointed the gun in his right hand toward the ceiling. His blue scrubs, face, arms, and hands were splattered with blood. But he made no further move. He said nothing. He seemed to understand what was expected of a man in his situation and he performed appropriately.
Like the pause button on a video had been pushed, all action stopped for a long moment, and then each actor in the drama flew into perfectly scripted motion.
Agents Crane and Bartos quickly controlled the shooter.
Otto confirmed both Westons were dead.
Gaspar approached Jennifer Lane, who stared as if the scene remained paused at a point when Kent had shot both Westons twice in the head, shot and missed Natalie Chernow, and turned the gun on her.
“Ms. Lane,” Gaspar said, grasping her elbow. “Jennifer? It’s okay. Are you hurt?” She did not answer. Her face was pale. She was breathing rapidly. Pupils were dilated. The skin of her arm was cold and clammy to his touch.
“Come over here,” he said, but the accursed fire alarm continued and he had to shout to be heard. He holstered his weapon and tried to lead her away from the carnage, but her terror acted like adhesive on her soles. She would not move.
Gaspar yelled, “Jennifer! Jennifer!”
Finally, she turned her head to look at him, but she didn’t see him. He could tell. Grasping her arm again as gently as he could, he again tried to lead her away. But she wouldn’t budge.
She returned her stare toward the bloody mess that had been Samantha Weston.
Gaspar tried once more to get through to her. He shook her a little bit and yelled to be heard over the damned obnoxious buzzing of the fire alarm.
“Jennifer! Let’s go!” She didn’t move.
Then instantly the fire alarm stopped. Its absence was surreal, and the unnerving quiet acted like a switch to release Jenny from horrified rigidity. Before he could do more than slow her descent with his grip on her elbow, she fainted and collapsed into a pile on the shiny waxed floor.
In the eerie silence, Gaspar could hear Crane repeating the familiar words accompanying arrest, including full Miranda warnings. Bartos had collected Kent’s gun and was using his cell phone to call for backup.
Otto asked Kent, “Steven what were you thinking? Why did you do this?”
Kent said nothing, which Kent had the presence of mind to know was absolutely the best thing to do under the circumstances.
Agent Crane led Stephen Kent toward the exit.
16
On the instructions of one of the other agents, Kimball had been standing inside the recovery room blocking the door to prevent anyone from entering. She moved aside for Crane and Bartos to lead Kent away, then pulled the door closed behind them and approached Gaspar.
“Let’s get Jenny into the waiting room. We can talk there.”
Gaspar saw Otto making use of the small window of calm before the
Sophie Kinsella, Madeleine Wickham