chapter 74
THE MISSISSIPPI DRUG Task Force had reached out to every state and federal agency to find Tam. They made a special plea to the state troopers along the major arteries leading to the Gulf Coast. They were running low on hope when the Columbus Police Department called to inform them that they had located Tam’s Mercedes parked behind the Gold Mine. The task force officers asked the Columbus PD to surround the building and wait for their arrival.
Traveling at over ninety miles per hour, the adrenaline-infused officers discussed how Tam’s hiding made sense and how the slightest mistake could result in a criminal’s capture when he was on the run. They also talked about how this was a deadly time for law enforcement and the public because desperate criminals routinely take desperate measures to stay free. Alexa had been no help, since she realized it was her fault Tam had been lured into the trap, and her lawyer had advised her not to talk unless he was present. They knew Alexa feared Tam’s rage and figured that she had seen it many times. Her lawyer would no doubt have her released inside the next twenty-four hours, and she was probably thinking through the next steps in her life that would more than likely be without Tam, assuming he didn’t kill her.
As the officers approached Columbus, they were given the Gold Mine’s street address, which was programmed into the dash-mounted GPS. When they arrived, all the other units turned on their blue lights, and they lit up the city block with rapid-fire, intense light. The Columbus PD had a canine officer at the scene, and the sudden light show caused him to bark once at all of the activity. His handler was surprised at the dog’s uncharacteristic breach but understood his excitement.
As they strapped on ballistic vests, the officers were briefed on the layout of the building and possible scenarios. A captain from the Columbus Police Department explained that they had monitored the building from a distance, and no one had come or gone. No inside lights were on, and the Mercedes’s hood was cold.
“You think he’s still in there?” he asked.
“He very well could be, and this little dude is dangerous when cornered.”
“I suggest we send the dog in first and tell your men to expect that the suspect is armed and violent as hell and to act accordingly.”
“Roger that,” the captain replied. Then he walked a few feet away, talking on his shoulder-mounted microphone.
“You ready, John Wesley?” his partner asked.
“Sure.”
“Let’s do this.”
A group of six officers and a well-trained German shepherd rushed to the front door and crouched outside. One officer in a full protective suit and helmet punched the lock with a lock gun, and in less than ten seconds, the front door swung open.
The police officers all looked to the task force guys. John Wesley nodded, and the dog handler pulled the dog close to him, whispered something, stroked his head, and sent him inside. Everyone took a deep breath. They all had the utmost respect for the dog and the handler.
John Wesley looked at his partner. They knew they were thinking the same thing: I sure hope our dog doesn’t get shot. They had witnessed it before. When a canine officer got killed, his partner always took it really hard.
For thirty seconds, there wasn’t a sound. Each person imagined the dog checking every corner of the dark building. Suddenly they heard a loud yelp, and the handler cracked open the door. The dog flew out and sat next to his handler, shaking and whimpering.
All the officers stared in disbelief. What could have scared a fearless police dog and made him retreat! Radios cracked with questions from the police brass who were watching through binoculars. No one could answer. The handler had never seen his dog back down from anything.
“Captain, something really bad is inside. We need reinforcements, lights, and thermal imaging!” John Wesley requested on the dog handler’s radio. “And tell the guys at the back door to be ready!”
“Ten-four. Give me a minute. We have all that gear here in the SWAT van.”
Within two minutes, twelve more officers, dressed completely in black full-body armor and carrying various gear, arrived and crouched with the others. Each person’s eyes were wild with anticipation yet focused on the mission. John Wesley counted them down, and they stormed through the front door—every officer, except the dog.
The dark store was instantly illuminated, and the officers quickly cleared the front room. Staging beside the partly opened door to the back room, they went on a rehearsed silent count and then burst into the back room. Three quick shots were fired.
Radios erupted with chatter as the captain and his men frantically ran to the building. “I need info!” the captain yelled as he charged to the shop’s outside door. “I need intel!”
Radio silence fell for ten seconds as the men sorted out what had happened.
“I need info! What’s happening!” the captain barked.
“It’s okay, Captain. We’re all clear,” a voice on the radio reported.
“What about the shots!”
“We shot a lion!”
“What?” he asked as he started inside.
“It’s a life-size mounted lion!”
“You’re shittin’ me.”
“I swear, it looks alive, sir.”