Sherlock burst out of the stairwell, panting.

Savich said immediately, “Ramsey’s okay. Everyone’s alive. Is he still inside the building?”

She started toward Eve, but Eve said quickly, “I’m in one piece. Did you get the guy?”

Sherlock ignored the god-awful mayhem in front of her and forced herself to calm. “He made it out of the elevator shaft. We started a search, but we can’t lock down the whole hospital. He’s probably out on the street by now.”

“How could he have pulled this off?” Eve asked.

Sherlock said, “Okay, he had to case out the elevators and hang out close enough to the ICU to find out when Ramsey was going to be moved. It looks like the shooter called both of the east elevators to the roof. There’s an access hatch up there for servicing. He immobilized one of them and settled himself on top of the working elevator when it was called down. He loosened the ceiling hatch and waited. We don’t know how long he was up there, but he must have cut this pretty close, otherwise someone would have called for service on the immobilized elevator, and he didn’t want that.”

“But how did he know?” Eve smacked the side of her head. “Am I an idiot or what? I’ll bet even the dishwashers in the cafeteria kitchen knew when Ramsey was being moved.”

Sherlock said, “It’s even better than that. He didn’t even have to look in. The shaft acoustics are incredible, so he could hear Ramsey being pushed into the car, got himself set. The moment the car started up, he shoved the hatch aside, dropped the smoke canister in, and started firing. He couldn’t see any better than you guys could through all the smoke, but he must have seen where Ramsey’s bed was, focused his fire there. Eve, what happened inside?”

Eve tried to straighten, but a jab of pain punched her ribs. She felt Harry’s hand tighten on her arm. She said, “I didn’t think; I threw myself on top of Ramsey, and right away three shots hit me in the back—in the blessed Kevlar. He kept firing, but our guys were firing back, so his shots were pretty wild. Whatever he hit was random after that. I’ll tell you my heart nearly stopped while I was lying there, thinking of how helpless Ramsey was.” She paused for a moment. “You know, I’m betting the shooter thinks he killed Ramsey.”

Sherlock stared at the blood splattered on the elevator walls, stared at Eve and at Harry standing behind her. She knew that three close-range shots in the back, even through Kevlar, would make you feel like you’d been beaten with a baseball bat. “If you hadn’t been wearing the vests, he’d have killed all of you.” She felt such rage she was shaking with it.

Sherlock asked Officer Mancusso, “What about Hughes and Milton? How badly are they hit?”

Officer Jay Mancusso said, “Deputy Milton’s head wound looked bad, but they always do. I heard one of the doctors say it was only a scalp wound, though. Eddie Hughes—he got it in the arm, through and through. The orderly who got shot in the leg went right off to the ER.”

A nurse, still looking on, called out, “Doug was pressing on his leg wound himself. You’d better believe he was hollering for the trauma team. He’ll be all right.”

Jay said, “Both Eddie and I got two shots in the Kevlar, but we’re okay. We didn’t get hammered like Deputy Barbieri.”

Savich said, “Eve, tell us what else you remember.”

“Jumping on Ramsey, covering him as best I could, screaming at the orderly to take cover. There was so much gunfire after a second or two, most of it from our guys, shooting wildly upward through the thick smoke, and then there wasn’t any more return fire. The shooter was gone.”

Sherlock patted her arm. “Yeah, he got out, but guess what? I’ve got some good news I haven’t told you—one of you wounded him. I saw some blood drops on the top of the elevator car, bloody handprints on the shaft ladder, and a couple of drops on the roof and in the stairway. Then he must have managed to get himself bandaged enough so he didn’t spill anymore. That means we can spot him on the security cameras, see how badly he’s hurt, but best of all, we’ll have his DNA.” She cocked her head to one side. “Or Sue’s DNA.”

“Excellent,” Savich said. “At last we’ve got a break.”

Harry cupped his elbow around Eve’s arm and said without looking at her, “You think you got any broken ribs?”

“They feel like they’re in splinters. Don’t worry, I’ll get it checked out.” She knew she wouldn’t be up for smelling the roses for the next couple of days. Bruises would cover her back. She prayed no ribs were cracked. She wondered who’d managed to nail the shooter. DNA. Dillon was right, at last they’d caught a break.