Cat checks Roxie’s pulse at her neck. It is slow. Her breathing is labored and shallow. Cat can see beads of cold sweat glaze Roxie’s forehead. Her color is not good.
“Call dispatch. Get an ambulance out here stat,” Cat screams at the police officer coming up the walk. Cat recognizes the signs. Roxie is going into shock. She is having the classic vasovagal reaction to pain. Cat has seen it hundreds of times before.
“Hurry,” Cat screams at the cop, who is just standing there staring. He turns and is gone.
Roxie’s eyelids flutter as she goes in and out of consciousness. She is trying to say something to Cat. Cat kneels in the blood. It doesn’t matter. She needs to get closer to hear what Roxie is trying to say.
Cat picks up Roxie’s hand squeezes it. Her palm is cold and clammy. She whispers, “It’s okay, honey. I’m here.” Cat reassures her, “You’ll be okay.”
Roxie’s throat is turning black and blue, but she is trying to speak.
As Cat leans in, Roxie whispers words just barely audible.
“The man wanted papers.”
Cat looks around. Next to Buddy, she sees blood-soaked papers that look like they were once crumpled up and stapled together. Cat wonders how much or how little they will be able to retrieve from them given their condition.
Outside, Cat hears a familiar wail from ambulance sirens. Getting louder.
“It’s okay, Roxie.” Cat says it even though she is not sure it is true, looking up at the partial handprint and fingerprint on the door. Thankfully, that may be the best evidence they have yet about what has been going on.
And what is going on may cost Roxie her life.
Kneeling here, Cat wonders silently if she can really make any promises to Roxie. In this small Pembroke Pines house, with its queen palms, bougainvillea and pink anthuriums out front, she wonders, Will things be okay for Roxie? Will Roxie ever return to this house? Will Roxie recover?
Cat doesn’t know the answers. She can’t. She only knows that she can be here for Roxie. She can hold her hand until help arrives. That is all she can do.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Things seen are mightier than things heard.
—Alfred Lord Tennyson, “Enoch Arden”
With a palm and partial fingerprint on Roxie’s door, they have a non-suspect ident situation. “Ident” is cop lingo for “identification.” For Cat, this means that there is no evidence of the perp except the latent print. There is no suspect to match the print. And Cat can’t get a physical description from Roxie until she recovers.
If she recovers.
The thought of Roxie’s possible funeral gives Cat the chills. She prays the woman will pull through surgery to repair her damaged throat and neck. It will be a while until Roxie will be talking to anyone.
And with a serial killer/rapist out there waiting to commit another crime, a while is just too long to wait.
Luckily, Cat has access to the FBI’s AFIS—the Automated Fingerprint Identification System. It can check through millions of criminal fingerprint card files in a single night. Given the search parameters “South Florida,” “assault and battery,” “male,” “birth date unknown,” the computer will search what it has in the system and spit out up to ten possible matches. Then it will be up to Cat and others at the FBI to make a match and run the suspects down.
Cat has the necessary photographs of the prints taken ASAP. A technician enlarges them five times and then traces the print in black ink on white tracing paper. Each print is photographed and then reduced back to one-to-one size. This is placed in the computer and Cat watches as the technician manually sets cross-hair references on the core and axis. The computer rotates the print left and right of the axis, plotting where minutiae or identification points are located. It plots short ridges, dots, bifurcations, deltas, ridge endings and the like, all unique to this print and whoever left it.
The palm print is a lucky find. Combined with the fingerprint, it gives AFIS that much more to work with as far as a match.
Cat knows that there is a chance they will be able to pull prints off Roxie’s skin. While it sounds unbelievable, Cat believes that the perp’s hands were moist when he put them around Roxie’s neck. After all, the night air is so humid, especially in South Florida.
Or when he grabbed her, he may have grabbed the inside of her wrist or her arm. This means there might be additional prints that they can pull off Roxie’s skin.
It is a long shot. But it is worth a shot.
Cat calls the hospital where Roxie is taken.
“This is Dr. Catherine Powers with the FBI. Has Roxie Jennings gone into OR yet?”
A pleasant-sounding nurse on the end of the line. “They’re prepping her right now for surgery.”
“Can they hold on? I need to get fingerprints off her skin before she is taken into surgery.”
The nurse gets off the line. Cat can hear her speaking to someone.
“They were just getting ready to prep her for surgery. The surgical team says they can hold her for twenty minutes, no longer. Is that enough time?”
“It’ll have to be.”
On her way, Cat calls one of the police department’s fingerprint guys whom she knows well from prior cases. She tells him to meet her at the hospital stat.
She meets the tech in the lobby as they hurry up, running to the OR suite. Roxie looks a mess. Her eyes are closed, but under her eyelids, Cat can see Roxie’s eyes are moving. They have given her something to calm her down. Cat wonders what she is thinking.
Is she reliving the attack in her mind?
Cat goes closer to Roxie. She is startled at a sound above her, her eyes wide with fear.
“It’s okay, Roxie. It’s me. I brought a technician with me, okay? He is going to try and pull some prints off your skin. It’s important that you stay completely still while he does it, okay?” Cat talks to Roxie in a small, steady, calming voice. She knows from the trauma that Roxie has been through tonight, there is a good chance the woman will never recover from the ordeal.
Cat hopes Roxie is tougher than that.
Right now, it is difficult to tell. She appears still in shock, at first saying nothing. After Cat speaks to her, she nods that she understands what Cat has told her. Roxie motions to Cat as though she wants to write something down. Cat jumbles through her purse for a pen and paper and gives them to Roxie. With much effort and a shaking hand, Roxie writes the word “Ran.” She struggles to write these three simple letters. She seems exhausted as she finishes, her body seems smaller with the effort. She drops the paper on her lap and the pen to her side so it falls to the floor. Cat picks up the paper and reads it. She is not sure what it means. Cat wants to question Roxie but the woman is in no condition to be questioned. Cat wonders if she will even make it out of surgery alive.
“Now, be still and do what the technician says,” Cat soothes Roxie.
Cat watches as the tech goes through a familiar routine. Silver plates given an extremely high polish with jeweler’s rouge. Then he clamps them down firmly in one motion on the inside of Roxie’s left forearm, wrist and upper arm.
With each clamp, Roxie cringes just a little, as if the thought of something foreign touching her right now is something she cannot bear.
Cat holds Roxie’s right hand in hers to comfort the woman as the tech goes through his business on Roxie’s left side. Then Cat switches to the other side. Roxie’s pleading eyes never leave Cat’s, as she reassures Roxie, telling her each step the tech is going to do next.
Carefully, he lifts off each silver plate and transfers each print to a lifting card.
Cat dares not exhale hard as she watches the work.
It is a delicate and painstaking process.
Clearly, some of the prints are useless, destroyed or distorted by too much pressure or not enough moisture to leave a usable print.
But one stands out. It looks to be a thumbprint, but Cat is not sure.
When they are done, looking at the state that
Roxie is in, suddenly, Cat feels anger rise in her.
How could I have put this poor woman, a secretary, in this situation?
Roxie isn’t equipped to be an investigator. She isn’t a sleuth. She isn’t a cop. She isn’t a soldier. She isn’t a warrior. She isn’t equipped to deal with any of this. She isn’t prepared for violence.
Damn it, I should have been more careful.
Cat feels she should have told Roxie to have someone come and stay with her at her house 24/7. After all, all the signs were there. Roxie was being stalked. Pursued. And whoever was doing it was being very careful. It is clear they were professionals. Roxie lived alone. Just her and Buddy. There was no one there to protect her.
No one to hear her screams.
No one to keep her safe.
Roxie should never have been put in such a dangerous position.
Damn it, I did this to her.
I am responsible for this.
As she holds Roxie’s hand in hers, Cat bows her head to hide the water that is welling in her eyes. Cat tastes salty tears, unsure if Roxie knows she is softly crying.
Cat’s shoulders shudder; she is unable to hold back the physicality of the sudden emotion any longer. Unable to hide it. She is still holding Roxie left hand in her right hand, feeling the woman’s warm skin in her palm.
Roxie cannot find her voice to say anything. Instead, she squeezes Cat’s hand, offering some reassurance that everything will turn out fine.
Cat is crying now without holding back. The emotions are pouring out of her though she does not know why. It is survivor’s guilt, but there is something more. Cat looks at Roxie’s face and it hits her like a spark of lightning. It’s not so much the coloring, but the shape of Roxie’s face and the size of her body. It reminds Cat of her mother. The woman Cat knew only as a girl and as a teenager before she was taken.
Yes, that is it.
Even Roxie’s mannerisms remind Cat of her own mother. The gentle kindness, the frailty, the nuanced softness of Roxie’s expressions.
In her heart, Cat’s emotions swirl as if caught in a tornado.
Roxie holds Cat’s hand tighter, as though she knows what Cat is thinking, feeling.
Yes, Mama was always like that.
Always could tell when something wasn’t right no matter how hard I tried to hide it. No matter how deep it hurt. Mama always knew. Always. Just from the look in my eye. She knew.
Cat’s sobs come harder now and deeper. Roxie is crying too, a softer cry—one filled with fear for what is to come and fear for what Cat is to face. These men. These criminals. These killers.
Cat and Roxie stay like this for a while, until a surgical tech comes in and breaks the bond. Cat looks at Roxie while wiping away her tears, then leans into her by her ear. “I’ll be praying for you. I know you’ll be all right. I will be waiting for you when you get out of surgery, okay?”
Roxie nods. It is all she can do at this moment.
As the fingerprint tech leaves the room, Cat watches the surgical nurses wheel Roxie down a long hallway into the surgical suites and watches the large automatic doors close behind Roxie, Cat says a silent prayer.
Don’t let me lose her.
Don’t take her from me like you did my mama.
* * *
At the crime scene, blood samples are retrieved. Despite Cat’s fear that it is Roxie’s blood, the paramedics and doctors assure Cat that Roxie is free from wounds. So, this must be the perp’s blood. And there is a lot of it.
Cat smiles to herself, picturing Roxie going to town on whoever attacked her.
Good for you, Roxie. You show them who is the boss. Kick some ass.
Cat remembers looking into this woman’s eyes; maybe Roxie isn’t so helpless after all.
Just the thought of it makes Cat feel better.
* * *
With all the commotion and crime scene tape across Roxie’s front door, her entire neighborhood clamors to see what is going on. Cat is always amazed how people find crime so fascinating.
It isn’t fascinating if you deal with it every day.
One of Roxie’s neighbors, Mrs. Sanderson, agrees to take Buddy for as long as needed.
“When Roxie wakes up, tell her Gladys has Buddy and is taking good care of him.”
The little guy is still agitated from all he has been through, but he goes to the neighbor after some coaxing and seems to know her, his tail wagging as she takes him in her arms. Gladys asks if one of the cops can grab the dog’s bed, food and treats. The young cop gladly obliges and the woman is gone.
All Roxie’s neighbors want to know what happened. Is Roxie hurt? Is she going to be all right? Cat does her best to give them some information but not too much. Some wonder out loud if it was a burglary or robbery gone bad. One man says Roxie was raped. Cat tells them she can’t give many details, but assures them that is wrong. The old man sighs in relief. Roxie is clearly well liked. Many neighbors relay well wishes to Cat to pass along to her. Cat does not tell them that Roxie is in surgery. HIPAA laws prevent such a disclosure, and even if they did not, Cat decides it is better to not worry these nice folks.
For now, in their minds, Roxie is safe.
That is how it should be.
Cat and others go about notifying Roxie’s relatives about her condition and where she has been transported. It is a part of her job Cat hates. It is never easy telling someone that a loved one has been brutally attacked, is hospitalized and is going into surgery.
* * *
As Big Tiny’s Audi merges into traffic on the highway, he curses to himself, slamming his monster-sized palm into the Audi’s black-leather-wrapped steering wheel. His blood is all over the car’s interior. He is still bleeding now, although it has slowed, running down his shirt and pants. It smells like copper, a metallic smell that persists, even though he cranks up the AC.
He hates the smell of his own blood.
“Bitch,” he curses over and over to himself, seeing Roxie’s face like a shadow in front of him. With each curse word, the pain she inflicted on him gets sharper and more intense. There is a steady throbbing under his chin that he can feel with each beat of his heart. The bleeding has slowed from his wound. But it still hurts like hell.
Big Tiny’s crotch hurts too, but that is the least of his worries.
The bitch has seen his face. The woman.
She can identify him, if she lives.
He will have to make sure that doesn’t happen.
He must figure out where they have taken her. Which hospital? Which facility? Probably Mercy Memorial because it is the closest to her house. And working for the firm, she has health insurance, which means they won’t transport her to a county facility.
Yes, for sure she is at Mercy.
But Big Tiny has to be smart. He must quell his desire to go to Mercy right now to get the bitch, as hard as that is to do right now. He has to think smart. He has to slow down. Give himself time to think.
He’s already screwed up once tonight. Hang back and think a while about what to do next. Fumbling while driving, he calls Thomas Pierce on his cell phone, but the guy doesn’t pick up. Big Tiny curses to himself, looking at the cell phone as it just rings and rings. His head is throbbing. He drives around for a while, trying to clear his head. He pulls off the highway onto a street, Davie Road, he thinks, then into a smaller side street that is surrounded by cow and horse pastures and pulls over. He parks, gets out, takes his shirt off and holds it up to his bleeding chin and neck. He ties the shirt around his neck and chin as tight as he can to try to apply pressure, so the bleeding will stop. He gets back in the Audi. It is a risk, but he hopes no one has seen him since it’s nighttime. With the car’s dark, smoked windows, he is pretty sure no one can see him.
People have seen weirder things in south Florida at night.
With the pressure, the bleeding starts to slow. He pops four extra-strength Tylenol and dry swallows them before he turns over the Audi’s ignition. He waits ten minut
es for the medicine to course though his body. Eventually, it starts to take effect. As his pain subsides, his mind begins to clear.
He tries Pierce again on his cell phone. Still no pickup and answer. Voice mail.
“Goddamn it,” Big Tiny throws the phone so hard, it almost shatters the passenger-side window. As it falls into the passenger seat, he grabs it and hangs up, cursing again as loud as he can.
With both hands on the steering wheel, he puts his head back against the headrest. He can’t seem to raise anyone by phone. He is covered in blood. He can’t go after Roxie looking like this.
He will go home to figure things out. It is the best thing to do right now. He will go to ground. Where he feels safe. A place he knows.
He can drive the Audi through his gates, into his garage and close it so no one will see his condition. All this damned blood. That is the thing to do. Then he can try Pierce again. Pierce will tell him what to do. If he can’t get Pierce on the line, he will call Isabella.
He dreads that thought.
She will be livid.
But at least one of them will know how to handle this situation.
* * *
Roxie survives emergency surgery to repair her throat and trachea. As expected, the surgeon goes in from the front of her neck, not the back. Cat watches Roxie come out of surgery, sedated and heavily bandaged around her neck. Cat notices bruising on her arms and wrists.
Poor woman has been through a lot.
Roxie won’t be talking for quite some time.
Cat asks the nursing staff to call her as soon as there is any movement or when Roxie wakes up. It is important. From Cat’s experience, she knows that Roxie won’t be doing anything but sleeping for at least twenty-four hours.
In the meantime, hopefully, AFIS will do its job.
Find a match.
Find out who did this.
Within the hour, Cat has all the fingerprints and palm prints in the system.
Dying Declaration Page 13