Imperfect Escape

by Gregg E. Brickman

  Shim shifted to the right twice along the way to allow oncoming cars to pass. The narrow road couldn't accommodate two normal-sized vehicles going at decent speeds.

  "Lots of traffic today." Johnson laughed. "I've been down this road many times and never saw another living thing, except for deer or wild turkey, maybe."

  "Rural living at its finest," Ray said. "Shim, are you comfortable with living here? It's a big change from Ft. Lauderdale."

  "Sure. I grew up in the country outside of Memphis. The road I lived on looked like this—except all of the faces were black and there weren't any new, fine structures. Didn't move into the city until I started college—thank God for sports scholarships." Shim turned into an almost hidden driveway. Trees encroached on both sides, and he slowed to a crawl.

  The ride out of the city limits had lasted three minutes. Another five minutes at twenty-five miles per hour brought them to Flocker's place.

  "Flocker could have easily heard the explosion, jumped on his Harley, and made it to the scene while people were still moving around," Ray said. "He would have made it in half the time—knowing the road and speeding a bit."

  "I'd say so." Shim pulled to a stop in front of a small wood-frame house.

  The place had a fresh coat of paint and recent repairs stood out from the older wood, the finish looking smooth in those places.

  A thin, tiny woman, who wore a housedress and appeared to be pushing seventy, stood in front of a wooden porch bench. With shaking hands, she set aside a knitting basket and shuffled to the steps. "What can I do for you, officers?"

  "Mrs. Flocker," Shim said, "we'd like to have a look around inside, especially in your son's room. Then we'll be going to the explosion site."

  Ray watched the woman consider her response.

  "Come ahead. If I say no, you'll just get a damn warrant anyway."

  "True," Shim said.

  Mrs. Flocker stepped aside and motioned them inside the home. "Please don't tear things up like the other deputy did."

  "Who did that, ma'am?" Shim said

  "Deputy Krantz."

  A cloud of anger crossed Shim's face. "We'll be careful."

  The men entered the tidy home through the living room. The kitchen and dining areas were to the right. The spotless fireplace sported a new screen and shiny implements. Ray thought the place shared construction plans with the little house he and Sophia rented. The floor plan was identical.

  The master bedroom, obviously belonging to the woman, had a handmade quilt covering the bed. A sewing machine sat open in one corner. A cutting table blocked access to the single window.

  Bubba Flocker's room appeared tidy as well. There was nothing hidden in or below any of the drawers, in the closet, or under the mattress. A modest sum of cash filled a glass mason jar on the dresser. A note sitting against the jar read, Help Yourself, Ma.

  They returned to the porch.

  Shim addressed Mrs. Flocker. "We found nothing unusual, except the jar of money in his bedroom."

  "Charles—Bubba as you call him—is my sole support, has been ever since the cancer took my husband. I'm not well myself, so I can't work no more. My son's all I got."

  "Does he have a source of income beyond the meth lab?" Ray asked.

  Anger flashed in her tired-looking eyes. "He rented that building to his friend. Got a good rent, too, before the idiot blew it up."

  "Employment, ma'am?" Ray wanted to verify the statements Flocker made a day earlier.

  "He works part-time for Silken in the dry goods store in town."

  "What does he do there?"

  "Unloads trucks, hauls the trash. That sort of thing. Mr. Silken likes to talk to the customers, but doesn't like to get his hands dirty. No sir. And, my son's strong."

  "How long has he worked for Silken?" Ray said.

  Mrs. Flocker looked thoughtful. "Three, four years. He started there right before my man died. Now he does that to bring in consistent money, then he works the garden, sells the produce at the fresh market, and takes care of the cows and chickens."

  The men thanked Mrs. Flocker and walked away from the house.

  Shim pointed to a path curling behind a small barn and a chicken coop. A well-maintained garden, surrounded by high fencing, sat off to the right. "That way."

  The path led through the trees toward the rear of the property. They passed a granite rock formation dripping water between the layers.

  Johnson pointed. "Hence the name of the road. Dripping Springs Drive."

  Once they reached the site, there was little to see. The destroyed structure had been a camping trailer, which lent some credence to the mother's story that the site was a rental. Only a section of outside wall remained, along with the underlying metal structure of the trailer. The camper-sized plumbing and other less-flammable pieces sat at odd angles on the undercarriage.

  "Looks like it exploded and burned," Johnson said.

  "Nope." Shim scowled. "Burned, then exploded. Or so the arson investigator says."

  Shim's cell phone beeped, and he answered. After listening a full minute, he said, "I'm on my way."

  "I need to go to County Medical. There's a problem with Flocker."

  "What is it?" Ray asked.

  "Don't know for sure. I'll let you know when I do. The deputy calling it into the department didn't say. "

  Ten minutes later, Ray and Johnson stood on the curb in front of the Plateauville PD and watched Shim's taillights in the distance.

  Chapter 11

  Sophia

  On Wednesday morning, Sophia's manager assigned her to work with Ricky Tondo in the main ED. Sophia held her comments, wishing she'd been assigned to the trauma unit with Katina Cassia, but that wasn't to be. Sara Grudgeon, the ED director, explained that even though Sophia's official orientation period was complete, she wanted to rotate her through all of the services again before throwing her into the fray without support. Sophia decided it wasn't the assignment she didn't like but, rather, Ricky as her resource person.

  After listening to report on Ricky's two assigned patients, Sophia said, "Ricky, I guess it's you and me today." She swallowed her chagrin, stuck a big smile on her face, and stood tall. "Where do we start?"

  Ricky unleashed his lopsided sneer-smile. "Seems to me you should have been with me on Monday." He shook his head. "What can you do? Sara is the boss lady. Follow me."

  "Okay."

  She followed Ricky into each room. First, he checked each of the patients, introducing himself and Sophia. Ricky claimed the first patient for himself and gave the second one to Sophia. He continued through the next rooms checking supplies and making things precise. She noted his preferences and followed suit. "Where did you work in Miami?"

  "Jackson ED."

  "Busy place. This must seem calm to you."

  "Yes and no. There we had a lot more activity, however we had more staff, more resources, and more residents. Here we adapt to less."

  She nodded.

  "Why'd you move to Tennessee?"

  "I followed my partner. He's the manager of a bank downtown."

  "Do you like it here?"

  "Yes . . . and no. I miss . . ." He paused. "What we'll do today is alternate admissions. I'll keep up with yours, too, so I can answer any questions."

  "Sounds good." Sophia wondered what he missed and why he didn't finish his sentence. If she had to guess, she'd say he missed being accepted without regard to his lifestyle. With the conservative Christian culture, being gay had to be a tougher reality in Middle Tennessee.

  "You're aware we take a few minutes every shift to visit the patients we admitted to the hospital. Sara is hot about it. You do an ED satisfaction survey, then make sure everything is going well for them."

  "That's new to me."

  "Did you admit anyone on Monday?"

  "I did. Bubba Flocker. I assume he's still upstairs with his police guard."

  Ricky laughed. "Bubba. I've had him a time or two. Okay. I didn't know he was part of Mo
nday's admissions. You can visit Bubba, and I'll see the two I admitted yesterday."

  About half-way through the morning, Ricky tracked her down in the clean utility room where the medical and surgical supplies were stored. "Let's go upstairs now. Your rooms are empty, but they won't be for long. My patients are both in X-ray and will be there for a while."

  Sophia dropped off a handful of supplies in one of her rooms and followed Ricky to the elevator.

  When they got to Intermediate Care, he said, "Go in and see Bubba. I'll be in five-thirteen or fifteen." He stopped. "I forgot." He handed her a form with the required interview questions.

  Sophia nodded to the sheriff's deputy sitting outside room five-eleven. "Is it okay if I go in? I'm from the ED and have questions to ask Mr. Flocker."

  The deputy grinned, then looked at her ID badge.

  "I need to sign you in."

  Sophia watched as he added her name to his list. She saw Ray's name, then Krantz's. "Thanks." Sophia tapped on the door and entered when she heard him respond. "Hi, Bubba. I'm Sophia. Remember me from Monday?"

  He smiled. "I do."

  "I would have warned you on Monday, except I just found out that the ED nurses visit patients upstairs and see how things went."

  "Yeah, I know how it works. Just mark a five on all your questions. You treated me just fine."

  Sophia marked the questions, then took a moment to inspect the IV infusion pump, tubing, and medications. She noted an antibiotic was dripping from a small bag and the pump was set to automatically switch back to the large, main IV. It all looked good. She pulled over a chair. "So, how are you doing?"

  "Okay. I'm thinkin' you have more to ask me."

  "I do, if you don't mind." She decided to charge ahead. "I got the idea on Monday that you'd have told me more about the meth labs around Plateauville if the deputy hadn't been so close."

  "Might have. Why do you want to know about those doin's?"

  "I work in the ED, and I'm new to the area. I also live in Plateauville now. I need to know what goes on because of my job."

  Bubba looked thoughtful.

  "For example, you seemed to be happy the lab blew up and some guys were hurt."

  Bubba looked around the room, then his gaze rested on the door. "It's not that I want people to be hurt, it's just that Vast—it was his lab—be a problem. He uses product, acts like a crazy asshole, and draws attention. That's bad for everyone's business."

  "Couldn't someone just rat him out to the cops."

  "Hell no. We got to take care of stuff ourselves. Know what I mean?"

  "I thought you were your own boss, and you're just talking about a friend."

  "I am. It takes a lot of stuff to make good product." Bubba's speech slurred.

  Sophia shook her head, trying to act confused. "I heard in town that—"

  Bubba's eyes rolled back, he struggled for breath.

  Sophia grabbed the oxygen tubing and put it in place around his face. "Breathe, Bubba."

  Sophia picked up the phone, dialed the code number. "Code Assist, room five-eleven."

  He stopped breathing.

  She lowered the head of the bed, then pulled the bed out from the wall. When she did, she noticed a syringe on the floor. As she extended Bubba's neck to open his airway, she saw that the main IV was infusing. The timing of the breathing problem, coupled with the unlabeled syringe on the floor and the IV switching over, gave her a chill. She reached over and shut off the IV, then snatched an Ambu bag from the wall.

  As Sophia fitted the mask over Bubba's face, two nurses, one pushing the emergency cart, crashed into the room.

  Chapter 12

  Sophia

  Sophia handed Ray a beer and motioned to the deck behind the little house. She grabbed her glass of Pinot Grigio. "Come on Mischief. Let's go out and harass the geese."

  Ray followed Sophia outside.

  Mischief stared through the pickets at the gaggle of geese on the grass between the deck and the pond. She didn't bark, so the geese went about their business but seemed to keep watch on the humans and dog.

  "I feel sorry for broken wing. She just watches the others, but they ignore her." Sophia pointed to a lone goose standing ten feet away from the group.

  "I don't know a lot about geese society," Ray said, "but she didn't fly in with them and won't leave with them either. Chances are she won't survive the winter. When the pond freezes, she won't have anywhere to escape predators."

  "That's horrible." Sophia felt a wave of sympathy for the animal.

  "That's life." Ray raised his Sam Adams. "Thanks for buying the beer."

  "I aim to please." She swirled the wine in her glass, then sipped. "I talked to Bubba Flocker today."

  "Ah, I thought you were staying out of things?"

  Sophia sat in one of the four chairs surrounding the glass-topped table, then set her drink in front of her. "Ray Stone, we need to talk about that."

  "I thought it was settled. You're a nurse. You nurse. I'm a detective. I detect. Seems simple to me."

  "Well, I know I agreed, but it's not as simple as you make it." Even though his expression turned angry, she continued. "In the ED, I'm going to come into contact with people in your cases, and I'll learn things. Either I tell you what I find out or I don't, but I will find out things. I'm not stupid, you know."

  "Sophie, sweetie. It's not that I think you're not capable. You get into trouble."

  "I don't always get in trouble. I've helped you before. No one was the wiser."

  "Sophia, this is not what we agreed."

  When he called her Sophia, she knew he was pissed in a major way. "It's not working out for me. You said you wanted to discuss cases because it helps with your analysis. When you do, and I have a thought, I'd like to share it. You can ignore me. As you said, you're the freaking detective." She glared at him. "It's your choice. Either I tell you what I think and hear, or I don't."

  Ray let loose a loud, exasperated-sounding sigh. "Damn it, Sophia. I love you, and I worry about your safety. You didn't want to stay a cop. Why do you want to poke around?"

  "It's not that I didn't want to be a cop so much as I didn't want to be shot again. Nursing allows me to investigate things—albeit people's health, not crimes—but a lot of the thought process is the same. Please let me help when I can. I'll be careful."

  "Will you keep up your shooting skills and carry your Sig when I tell you to? No questions asked?"

  "Yes, sir. I will."

  "Okay. We'll give it a try again. You will, however, stay away from areas when I tell you to."

  She nodded.

  "Your Florida carry permit will cover you for six months, but we'll get you an application and start the process."

  Damn, she thought. She hated carrying a weapon.

  "Now, what is it you're itching to tell me?" He didn't smile, but the pure anger wasn't visible on his face.

  "After you saw Bubba this morning, I went to his room to do an ED satisfaction survey." She told Ray about the conversation with Flocker and his comments about Vast.

  He nodded. "Flocker denied knowing anything solid about Silken's connection to the meth issue or being a drug boss. He wouldn't even confirm there was a drug boss. Danced around the issue. I suspect his answers change like the Tennessee weather. Go on."

  "Anyway, he quit breathing while I was in the room. There was an unmarked syringe on the floor. And he had his problem right when the IV switched from the little bag of antibiotics to the main IV. I turned off the IV and called a code. I told the doctor about it.

  "First, what happened with Flocker?"

  "He started breathing on his own. They sent him to ICU for observation for a day or so." She paused. "The doctor said the patient acted like he was recovering from anesthesia. He speculated that maybe something had been added to the IV. Then we called in the deputy who was guarding the door. He called Detective Shim who works for the sheriff."

  "I know Shim. In fact, I might have been with Shim—we
were out at Flocker's place—at the time."

  "Anyway, Shim came in and took all the tubing and syringe with him. I heard him tell the deputy they'd find out if the IV was contaminated and what was in the syringe. He said he'd have it checked for prints, too."

  "Sounds like you turned off the murder weapon and saved Flocker's life."

  "That's what the doctor said, too," Sophia said.

  "Do you have any idea how the IV got contaminated?"

  "No. What I do know is that the staff nurse hung the antibiotic a little after nine. She wrote it on the drug label. The drug couldn't have been in the main IV before then. She set the bag of antibiotics to run for forty-five minutes. I was there when the pump changed back to the main line. The other thing is, when I went into the room, I saw on the deputy's log that Krantz went into the room after you did."

  "I was there when Krantz arrived. As usual, he was rude." Ray looked thoughtful. "He implied he was on a mission from Shim, but Shim denied sending him to interview Flocker. Besides, Shim seems to be the kind of man who gets into the cases himself, asks his own questions."

  "Well, I do know when Shim came into Bubba's room—I was still there writing up the notes from the event—he had a very take-charge attitude. Also, it seemed odd to me, but he was surprised to see Krantz's name was on the visitor's list."

  "I'll need to ask him about that."

  Sophia nodded, then took a sip of her wine.

  "The other thing not adding up for me is Flocker says he works his mother's farm—which she confirmed," Ray said. "She also said he works at the dry goods store for Silken—which Flocker mentioned in an off-hand, ah-shucks way."