He and Satin had followed the ambulance from Ivy’s to the hospital. Clete and Stitch had both stayed behind with Goody to deal with the cops and the crime scene. It had been a nerve wracking wait for the EMT’s, and much shorter than it seemed. Ruby had not regained consciousness after her collapse, becoming more congested each moment that Crockett sat on the floor beside her, watching her color fade and her breathing slow to nearly nothing, as the blood pool slowly grew beneath her body.
Clete and Stitch, realizing Crockett’s extreme distress, had taken over, protecting him from the cops, making sure he had both transportation and a driver to get him to the hospital. Satin had assumed responsibility as soon as they left the house, giving her needs up for his, caring for him and about him. Now he sat numbly in an uncomfortable plastic chair as time crawled by, sick to his stomach, running on adrenalin, nervous energy, and caffeine.
Twisting his head to get a kink out of his neck, Crockett noticed a rather short man in surgical garb, his face and hair free of mask and cap, step into the room. Crockett caught his eye.
“I’m Doctor Shehan,” the man said, approaching where Crockett sat. His voice was thin and stressed. “You’re here for Ms. LaCost?”
“Yeah. Call me Crockett,” Crockett said, getting to his feet. Satin stood beside him, holding his hand.
“I’m awfully sorry. She, uh, she didn’t make it, I’m afraid.”
Crockett’s knees went, and he fell back into the chair. Shehan gave him a moment to focus, before he went on. “The, ah, bullet went completely through her body and, on its way, among other things, it perforated the upper lobe of her liver. The damage was more than just considerable.”
The doctor paused for a moment to let Crockett absorb his words. Crockett hung on to Satin’s hand and stared numbly at the floor.
“She rallied there for a while,” Shehan said, his voice trembling a bit. “It actually looked like we were getting ahead of it. She even sort of regained consciousness for moment. I don’t know if she knew where she was, but her eyes opened briefly, she looked directly at me and, very distinctly, quietly, only in a whisper, but very clearly, she said one word. ‘No.’ And then her blood pressure began to drop, and that was it. Nothing we did made any difference. Mister Crockett, I told you about all this because I hope it makes some sense to you. Ms. LaCost was gravely injured, you need to understand that. I seems to me that her ‘no’ was an acceptance of the inevitable, as opposed to a loss of will.”
Shehan paused again, this time to collect himself. Crockett looked up from where he sat and smiled. “With Ruby LaCost,” he said, “loss of will would not have been a factor.”
“I, uh, shouldn’t even be talking to you about this, actually,” Shehan went on, “but I thought you needed to know. I hoped you’d understand.”
“I do,” Crockett said. “Ruby always made her own choices.”
“So it would appear,” Shehan said, looking down the hall. He cleared this throat. “Well, I saw the police at the staff station when I came in here. They’ll want to speak with you, and they’ll advise you of protocol concerning Ms. LaCost. I am quite sorry for your loss.”
Crockett stood up and extended his hand. “You’re very kind, Doctor. Thank you for being both perceptive and honest,” he said, taking the smaller man’s hand.
“I’m glad you understand,” Shehan said, and turned away down the hall.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Montero
Crockett looked at Satin after Doctor Shehan left and shook his head. “Oh, hell,” he said. “I don’t wanna talk to any cops right now.”
“Okay,” Satin said, pulling him toward the hall. “Take my arm and support me. Play along. We’ll walk right by ‘em.”
In the hallway and in sight of the deputies, Satin leaned on Crockett heavily, her head down, her steps faltering and hesitant.
“Oh, God,” she moaned, “I told Daddy he shouldn’t drive at night. I knew something like this would happen. Why didn’t he listen? Why?”
“You did your best,” Crockett said. “You tried, sweetheart.”
“Maybe I didn’t try hard enough. He shouldn’t have been in that old truck of his after dark!”
“You know how Art was,” Crockett went on, slipping his arm around her back to better support her in her grief. “He was stuck in his ways. Nobody could change him.”
“And what about Mom? What’s Mom gonna do now?” Satin went on, releasing a wail as they passed the deputies by the nurses’ counter. The two men nervously averted their eyes, avoiding emotional distress in strangers as most of us do.
“We’ll take care of your mother,” Crockett soothed.
“Take care of her? You don’t even like my mother! You’ve never liked my mother!”
“Don’t say that, Ilene. We’re family.”
“Not without Daddy we’re not!” Satin bleated.
“Try to settle down, Sweetheart. You’re going to make yourself sick again.”
Crockett guided her around a corner and they passed through double glass doors into the early morning, headed for the parking area. As they got into Clete’s Lexus, Crockett smiled.
“Nice work,” kiddo,” he said. “Great performance.”
Satin grinned. “Thanks. That was fun. Aw, geeze. Excuse me Crockett, I didn’t mean it was, like, fun, ya know?”
“Sure you did,” Crockett said. “It was.”
“Yeah, but…”
“Just because Ruby died,” Crockett said, “doesn’t mean there are no emotions left but sorrow and despair.”
“I didn’t know her much,” Satin said, “but she seemed pretty cool. This must be awful for you. I’m really sorry, Crockett.”
“Me, too,” he said. “Ruby was a big part of my life for a long time, and she always will be in a lot of ways, but I can’t get into that right now. I can’t go to pieces over this. I’ve got too much to do. I can indulge myself in anger, ‘cause I need it. Grief is gonna have to wait.”
“Wow,” Satin said. “You some kinda tough guy?”
Crockett smiled. “Right now,” he said, “I really wish I was.”
“I’m glad you’re not,” Satin said, and turned her attention to the road.
There were three or four marked sheriff’s cars parked in front of the main entrance to Ivy’s, as well as a county coroner’s van, a couple of unmarked vehicles, and two news vans with microwave antennas raised. A covey of civilians clustered beside each van, a knot of deputies stood near the walkway, and two suits talked by the edge of the drive.
Crockett and Satin drove to the far side of the east wing and used the utility entrance, passing by the staff’s rooms, Clete’s small apartment and office, and into the main house through the kitchen. The power was back on. They were immediately pounced on by two plainclothes representatives of law enforcement whose jobs were to separate and interrogate them.
“You Crockett?” asked a stocky man in his mid-forties. His complexion was olive, his hair dark and curly, his attitude civil, and his suit nicer than one might have expected.
“I’m Crockett.”
“Detective Montero,” the man said. “Where you been?”
“At the hospital.”
“Oh, yeah. Just heard that the victim, ah…”
“Ruby LaCost.”
“Ms. LaCost passed away, huh? You and she were close?”
“For twenty years,” Crockett said.
Montero shook his head. “That’s tough,” he said. “How ya holdin’ up?”
“I been better.”
“Yeah. No kiddin’. You okay to talk? You wanna take a few minutes?”
Crockett smiled.
“Montero,” he said, “let’s go into the kitchen. I’m gonna have a short scotch. You can have whatever you want. We’ll sit at the table while you do what you have to do, and I do what I have to do.”
“You been here before, huh?”
“Once or twice.”
Montero nodded. “Got any coffee? I
was in bed when the call came. I could really use a cup a coffee.”
Crockett poured himself the scotch as the coffeemaker gurgled, and took a seat across from the detective.
“That was a fuckin’ bloodbath in there. You in the habit of getting into gunfights?” Montero asked.
“Not if I have a choice.”
“Just a slow night, huh? Maybe bored?”
Crockett stared at the man for a moment.
“Keep that crap up,” he said, “and I’ll renege on the coffee.”
“That was some serious shit that went down.”
“I know,” Crockett said. “I was there.”
“You packin’ now?” Montero asked.
“No. One of your guys has my Smith. I didn’t get a receipt, and I’d like one.”
“Sure. Got a permit?”
“Don’t need a permit. I was on private property.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“This isn’t a courtroom, and you’re not a prosecuting attorney. Why don’t you ask me a question you don’t know the answer to,” Crockett said. “It’ll make things go faster.”
“Why would I want things to go faster?”
Crockett smiled. “Because,” he said, “unless I’m dead wrong, it’s not gonna be too long before a federal agency, probably the F,B, and I, shows up and walks all over your hairy Italian toes.”
“What the hell’s the Feebs got to do with this?”
“Oh, no,” Crockett said. “I’ll let them give you their official line. Wouldn’t wanna screw things up with the truth.”
“Okay,” Montero said. “Speaking of the truth, you got five shooters layin’ dead in that greenhouse thing, along with a stolen Envoy that somebody drove through a wall a glass. Any idea who those guys are? Were, I mean?”
“A rough guess would be mercenaries. Most likely ex-military. Desert Storm vets, or something like that. Probably not serious types like Snake Eaters or Special Forces.”
“Why not?”
“Because they lost.”
Montero smiled. Crockett got up and poured him a cup of Jamaican dark roast. “Cream or sugar?” he asked.
“No thanks. You and your buddies always walk around the place strapped?”
“No.”
“You guys had fully automatic weapons. Where the hell you get guns like that?”
“If you check with the elderly gentleman in the wheelchair, I think you’ll find he has all the credentials and permits necessary to have those firearms on site.”
“Why were you all armed last night? You know these guys were comin’?”
“If we had known they were coming, Detective,” Crockett said, “they would have never gotten in.”
“But they did get in.”
“Yes, they did.”
“And they killed your friend.”
“Yes, they did.”
“You figure on doin’ somethin’ about that?”
“Yes, I am.”
The detective took a sip of coffee and thought for a moment.
“Why were they after your friend?”
“They weren’t.”
“Who, or what, were they after?”
Crockett shook his head. “Sorry,” he said. “No disrespect intended, but I’m not at liberty to say.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yes.”
“What if I get all pissed off at your lack of cooperation, and slap your ass with an impeding the course of a lawful police investigation charge?”
“It won’t make any difference. The Feebies are gonna show up and take the investigation away from you anyway.”
Montero bristled. “Okay, wiseass. What if they hit you with a federal withholding information charge?”
“They won’t.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Off the record?” Crockett asked.
“This is good coffee,” Montero said. “Yeah, okay. Off the fuckin’ record.”
“Because I have something they want.”
“And that’s what these assholes that crashed in here was after.”
Crockett smiled.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Detective,” he said.
“You know who these guys were workin’ for?”
“Have you seen a weather report?” Crockett asked. “Is it supposed to rain today?”
“You’re gonna piss me off in a minute,” Montero growled.
“I’d rather not,” Crockett said. “Why can’t we all just get along?”
Montero stared at him for a moment, then reached into a jacket pocket and brought out a pack of Pall Malls. “Can I smoke in here?” he asked.
“I thought you’d never ask,” Crockett said, producing a Sherman as he retrieved an ashtray from a cabinet.
They both lit up and settled in before Montero tried again. “So,” he said, “you got somethin’ that the bad guys and the good guys both want.”
“There are no good guys after what I have, Montero. If those hitters would have succeeded last night, everybody, and I mean everybody would have felt a lot better.”
Montero sipped his coffee and thought for a moment. “This gonna happen again?” he asked.
“Precautions are being taken. If there is a next time, they’ll never get within two hundred yards of the house.”
“You’re not gonna tell me anything else, are ya?”
“Life’s full of little mysteries.”
“Not even off the record?”
“Sorry.”
“Why not?”
“Because you don’t want to know,” Crockett said.
“I’ll bite. Why don’t I want to know?”
“Let me put it in your native tongue,” Crockett said. “Ba-da-bing!”
“No shit?”
“No shit.”
“I got a wife and three kids. Ba-da-bing would not be a good thing.”
“That’s what I figured. There are some heavy hitters here on both sides of the badge. And everybody’s got something to hide.”
Montero settled back in his chair and rolled the tip of his cigarette in the ashtray a few times before he spoke again.
“So lemme see if I got all the facts, M’am,” he said, rising to pour himself another cup of coffee. “You and your friends are mindin’ your own business when these bad guys drive through that big-assed glass wall. For no particular reason, you and your pals just happened to be carrying automatic weapons and com-sets, and that old guy just happened to have a fuckin’ flash grenade on hand, for chrissakes, somethin’ he always carries in that wheelchair in case, for whatever reason, the power goes out. In a effort to see where he’s rollin’, he sets off the grenade, which, coincidentally, happens to have a very negative effect on the intruders because of the fact they’re wearing night vision gear, something they picked up at the neighborhood convenience store along with a bag a Cheetos, a six pack a Yoohoos, and some M-16’s. How am I doin’ so far?”
Crockett grinned. “Pretty well,” he said.
“Due to the negative effect of the flash grenade, you and your friends manage to shoot and kill all five of the intruders, none a who, oddly enough, are carryin’ any kinda ID. During the gunfight, and unfortunately I might add, your friend, one Ruby LaCost, is shot by what I assume will be proven to be hostile fire, only to later succumb to her injuries while undergoing treatment at Good Shepherd Hospital.”
“That’s true,” Crockett said. “She was beside Mister Henley-Wahls where he sat in his wheelchair, well behind any of our lines of fire.”
“And all this transpired because the bad guys want something you have, and so do what are supposed to be the good guys. The same good guys that you believe will soon throw us out of the investigation and take over in an effort to obtain whatever it is that you have that everybody wants, while concealing the fact that they, the alleged good guys, ain’t so fuckin’ good after all. That about right?”
“That’s about right.”
Montero shook his head. “I seen
it a thousand times,” he said.
Crockett smiled. “It’s an old story.”
“And one of the reasons you won’t tell me more is because you believe if I was to know more, it could result in undesirable consequences toward me, and therefore, my family.”
“Ba-da-bing,” Crockett said.
“Okay, that’s clear as mud,” Montero went on. “For right now, I only got two more questions, hotshot, and they’re just for my private information.”
“Shoot,” Crockett said.
“You a good guy?”
“Yeah.”
Montero nodded. “You doin’ a good thing?” he asked.
“Yes, I am.”
The detective stuck out his hand. Crockett took it.
“Then go with God, my friend,” Montero said. “Anything I can do, you let me know. Your partner’s got my number. To avoid any confusion and red tape, if you need me, just use that number. Don’t come through the county switchboard. And thanks for the coffee.”
Crockett watched him walk out of the room and looked down at his scotch. He hadn’t even taken a sip.
Crockett sat alone for about ten minutes before Clete walked in and went to the coffee pot.
“You talk to Montero?” he asked, getting a cup out of the cabinet.
“Yeah,” Crockett said.
“Pretty bright guy,” Clete went on. “Just to clear up some of the mundane stuff, four or five days and they release our weapons from forensics. Ruby’s body should be available in a couple of days. Violent death means an autopsy and stuff. Ivy knows more about what Ruby wanted than I do. She’ll be back tomorrow and talk to you about it. I’ve got calls in to get the atrium closed up until it can be fixed. By this afternoon I’ll have what we need to surround this place with motion, laser, and infra-red detection equipment, and Goody will have some other weaponry ready. I don’t think they’ll come after us again, but if they do…”
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