"All right!"
When the message reached maintenance worker Gene, he shook his head at the normally functioning breaker box, then aimed his flashlight into the shaft beside it.
"If this won't work, the only thing I can think of is to go back to the roof, climb down on top of the elevator car, and restart it manually."
In the monitoring room.
Ronald and Adolf exchanged glances, then pressed the button and replied.
"Looks like that's our only option, Gene. Call me when you get up there."
"OK. I'll radio in."
Gene released the walkie-talkie button and stared straight into the shaft, an odd feeling rising inside him—he kept sensing something was in there, and the longer he looked the stronger the déjà-vu that he absolutely should not go down became.
So, flashlight in hand, he edged closer. Before he reached it a sudden clang from the concrete lining made him jump.
"Damn it!"
Gene cursed under his breath and shone the light inside, but visibility in the shaft was even worse than outside; he couldn't see everything.
He kept moving until he stepped into the shaft itself, and finally spotted the source of the noise.
Several steel cables were tangled together, being pulled taut by some unseen force.
Gene's eyes widened. He looked up at the elevator hanging overhead and swore again.
"Oh, shit!! Bloody hell!!"
Even as the words left his mouth the taut cables whipped toward him…
Monitoring room.
The two guards glued to the monitors had only two choices.
One: wait for the officers to arrive. Two: wait for maintenance worker Gene to get back to the roof.
All they could do was keep staring at the screens and wait.
Perhaps growing impatient, Adolf began to get irritable.
"Ronald! Why hasn't our dear officer shown up yet?"
"Shit!! Are our tax dollars just for decoration?"
Ronald shot his captain a glance, chose to ignore him, and kept studying the monitors, piecing together the killer's identity.
Inside the elevator everything was as before: lights still flickering, passengers apparently talking, but no sound came through.
Watching them, Ronald couldn't help taking out his crucifix and praying for the innocent people trapped inside.
"Lord, protect these poor souls."
Yet the moment he raised the cross, a skull seemed to form out of the after-images left by the flickering lights.
"What the—?"
Ronald stared, convinced his eyes were playing tricks. He blinked; the lights still flashed, but the skull was gone.
"What's wrong?" Adolf asked, noticing Ronald's reaction.
"Ronald, what did you see?"
Though the image had vanished, it had left a mark on Ronald's mind. He clutched the crucifix and kept his gaze fixed on the screen.
"Nothing."
Adolf shrugged it off, turned to another monitor and, though his tone relaxed, the sarcasm remained.
"Well, well—our dear officers have finally arrived."
…Jesse Building.
A group of officers streamed in.
"Seal every entrance and exit, clear the civilians."
"And bring me the visitor log."
"…"
Leading the case, Officer Jeffrey and Beck strode through the lobby, barking orders; within minutes the entire Jesse Building was under police control.
With Adolf and Ronald waiting to receive them, Jeffrey and Beck stepped up to the bank of monitors.
Jeffrey studied the scene, his expression calm.
"Nothing happened before we arrived, correct?"
Adolf answered, recounting everything.
"No, sir. Just a sudden lighting problem; our maintenance man is about to fix it…
"Also, they can hear us, but we can't hear them…"
"…"
At the mention of the maintenance man Jeffrey stared at the screen, then glanced at Beck. On the way here they had already deduced that if the killer could murder inside the elevator, the maintenance worker might be an accomplice.
"Where is your maintenance man right now?"
Adolf blinked, not catching the implication, and looked at Ronald.
Ronald glanced at the monitor and replied.
"Gene? Probably still in the basement or up on the roof."
Jeffrey nodded to Beck.
Beck understood instantly, waved several officers out and hurried from the monitoring room.
"Officer, what's going on?"
Jeffrey didn't answer. He picked up the handset Adolf indicated, keyed it, and spoke while watching the screen.
"This is Officer Jeffrey of the NYPD. We're doing everything we can to get you out; it won't take long.
"So stay calm and listen carefully. Take out whatever ID you have and hold it up to the camera so we can identify each of you…"
Jeffrey's voice echoed in the elevator. Perhaps because the police had arrived, the four people huddled in opposite corners relaxed a little.
Under the flickering lights, plain-clothes Max looked at the other three, who hadn't moved, and shrugged.
"I'm not the killer, I'll go first."
Still watched warily by the others, Max pulled out his ID and lifted it toward the camera.
Though the lights kept flashing, the name was legible.
"Max Ward."
In the monitoring room Jeffrey told Adolf to jot the name down.
"Next."
Hearing that, Max knew he was done and, unruffled, returned to his spot, looking at the remaining three.
"I'll go."
With no way to avoid it now, the black man Relf stepped out second and held his numbered plate up.
"Relf Luke."
The monitoring room recorded it.
Next came Abigail, Vic, even the old woman produced her ID—"May Biller."
"…"
Jeffrey took the list from Adolf and handed it to a waiting officer.
"Have the bureau run these names. I want to know how they're connected and whether any of them knew the victim."
Motive is always key in a homicide investigation; the officer knew its importance and hurried off with the paper.
"Whew…"
Jeffrey exhaled quietly and stared again at the monitors, his gaze lingering on Relf and Max.
On-scene and with all the facts combined, his suspicions centered on the black man Relf and the plain-clothes Max.
If a maintenance worker was helping from outside—or had set things up in advance—those two had the physical strength to kill May Biller the instant the lights went out.
Yet that plausible theory hit a wall the moment Beck radioed in.
"Oh, shit! Jeffrey—he's dead."