Commander Penn was tense when she said to me, ‘There’s some gear in the office.’
‘Yes,’ I said.
We hurried back to a cramped space with a beat-up wooden desk and chair. She opened a cabinet and we grabbed shotguns, boxes of shells, and Kevlar vests. We were gone minutes, and when we returned to the control room Lucy was not there.
I looked at the closed-circuit TV monitors and saw a picture blink onto the fourth screen as someone shut the ladies’ room door. The flashing red code on the survey grid was deeper inside the station now. It was on a catwalk. At any second it would be on the platform. I looked for my Browning pistol, but it was not on the console where I had left it.
‘She took my gun,’1 said in amazement. ‘She’s gone out there. She’s gone after Carrie!’
We loaded shotguns as fast as we could but did not take the time for vests. My hands were clumsy and cold.
‘You’ve got to radio Wesley,’ I said, frantic. ‘You’ve got to do something to get them here.’
‘You can’t go out there alone,’ Commander Penn said.
‘I can’t leave Lucy out there alone.’ ‘We’ll both go. Here. Take a flashlight.’ ‘No. You get help. Get someone here.’ I ran out not knowing what I would find. But the station was deserted. I stood perfectly still with the shotgun ready. I noticed the fixed camera bracketed to the green tile wall near the restrooms. The platform was empty, and I heard a train in the distance. It rushed by without pause because it did not have to stop at this station on Saturdays. Through windows I saw commuters sleeping, reading. Few seemed to notice the woman with a shotgun or even think it odd.
I wondered if Lucy could be in the bathroom, but that didn’t make sense. There was a toilet just off the control room, inside our shelter where we had been all day. I walked closer to the platform as my heart pounded. The temperature was biting and I did not have my coat. My fingers were getting stiff around the stock of the gun.
It occurred to me with some relief that Lucy might have gone for help. Perhaps she shut the bathroom door and ran toward Second Avenue. But what if she hadn’t? I stared at that shut door and did not want to go through it.
I walked closer, one slow step at a time, and wished I had a pistol. A shotgun was awkward in confined spaces and around corners. When I reached the door my heart was pounding in my throat. I grabbed the handle, yanked hard and thrust myself inside with the shotgun aimed. The area around the sink was blank. I did not hear a sound. I looked under the stalls and stopped breathing when I saw blue trousers and a pair of brown leather work boots that were too big to be a woman’s. Metal clanked.
I racked the shotgun, shaking as I demanded, ‘Come out with your hands in the air!’
A big wrench clanged to the tile floor. The maintenance man in his coveralls and coat looked as if he might have a heart attack when he emerged from the stall. His eyes bulged from his head as he stared at me and the shotgun.
I’m just fixing the toilet in here. I don’t have any money,’ he said in terror, hands straight up as if someone had just scored a touchdown.
‘You’re in the middle of a police operation,’ I exclaimed, pointing the shotgun at the ceiling and pushing the safety on. ‘You must get out of here now!’
He did not need the suggestion twice. He did not collect his tools or put the padlock back on the bathroom door. He fled up steps to the street as I began walking around the platform again. I located each of the cameras, wondering if Commander Penn saw me on the monitors. I was about to return to the control room when I looked down dark tracks and thought I heard voices. Suddenly there was scuffling and what sounded like a grunt. Lucy began to scream.