by Nancy Mehl
“I think our turn is coming up soon,” he said to Doug.
“Okay.”
“We’re looking for a town called Port Clinton?”
“Yeah. I guess it’s on Lake Erie.”
“Who does the house belong to?” Casey asked.
“Believe it or not, it’s Batterson’s,” Doug said. “His second or third wife . . . can’t remember, lived there after the divorce. All he said was that they stayed friends, and when she died, she left it to him. You know the chief. For him, that was a lot of information. I got the feeling he hadn’t been here since she passed away.”
“Was she sick?” Casey asked.
Doug nodded. “Cancer, I think.”
“That’s sad,” Casey said. “He never shares personal things.”
“You’re right about that,” Doug said. After a brief pause, he added, “You know, I can’t believe the chief was in such bad shape when we talked. He sounded just like himself. The way he always does. A little worried, but fine.”
“That’s just the way he is,” Casey said. “There was no way you could have known. It’s just a good thing Tony found him before it was too late.”
E.J. was surprised when Casey told him Batterson had been badly injured. It seemed almost impossible he could have sustained such serious trauma and talked to Doug on the phone not long after it happened. “It’s just so hard to believe,” E.J. had said. “I don’t know anyone who can simply power through a severe head injury.”
Although Casey had dismissed his concerns, citing Batterson’s tough constitution, she’d had to admit it seemed unusual. Since there wasn’t any way for them to know what was going on in St. Louis, they’d let it drop.
“I wonder if one of the reasons Batterson tends to stay away from women has to do with the ex-wife who died,” Casey said. “Maybe it messed him up.”
“Yeah, maybe,” Doug said. “I guess something like that could make you gun-shy.”
“Except he’s not,” Casey said. “Not now, anyway.”
E.J. saw Doug glance into the rearview mirror, obviously looking at Casey. He wished Doug would keep his eyes on the road. “Our turn’s coming up,” he said sharply.
“Don’t worry, I won’t miss it.” Doug checked the road and then once again sought Casey in the mirror. “What do you mean? Is he dating someone?”
“Dr. Abbot.”
Doug’s eyebrows shot up. “The therapist? Are you serious?”
“Yep. I guess it’s pretty serious. I hope she knows he’s in the hospital.”
“I wouldn’t worry about that,” Doug said. “All of St. Louis is aware of the bombing. I’m sure she’s been notified.”
Casey was quiet, staring out the window. E.J. could tell she was worried about her boss. A sign on the road brought his attention back to the matter at hand. “Hey, our turnoff is up here. On your right.” Sure enough, about half a mile later they found the sign that would finally lead them to their destination. “Once we find this place, how do we get inside?” E.J. asked Doug.
“There’s a key hidden in a fake rock in the front garden.”
“Are you kidding?” E.J. couldn’t help but laugh. “Someone whose husband is in law enforcement all these years hides a key in a fake rock? Wow. I assumed she’d have some real high-tech alarm system.”
Doug shrugged. “I know. Weird, right?”
“So we’re not going to walk in on anyone?” Casey asked.
“No. The chief said no one has lived here for years. He has a lady who cleans occasionally, but she’s not scheduled to show up for another two weeks.”
“Wonder why he kept the house,” Casey mused. “And why his ex-wife would leave it to him.”
Doug grunted. “You’re asking me questions like I have some kind of answers. The chief told me next to nothing. Just that they were still friends when she died.”
“Batterson’s number one concern has always been for the job,” Casey said. “And for his deputies. Not much room for a personal life.”
Doug nodded but didn’t say anything.
E.J. really hoped Richard Batterson recovered fully from his injuries. If he didn’t, the people he worked with would obviously be devastated. For just a brief moment, he felt jealous of the relationship they had with their boss. It wasn’t like that in D.C. The Marshals respected their leader, but they didn’t socialize together. And E.J. would never call him unless it was for official business. That was okay with him. He didn’t need to admire the people he worked for. He just needed them to help him get the job done. Whatever it was.
“How much farther?” Doug asked.
“Not much.”
Doug slowed down. “Look, there’s a burger place. Let’s grab some food. We can’t assume there’s anything to eat in the house.”
E.J. checked the rearview again. No cars behind them at all. “Okay. I think we’re good.”
Doug swung into the parking lot of the small carryout. It was a throwback from the 1950s. The paint job needed an update, and the neon sign out front had several letters out. “We’ll go inside,” E.J. told Casey and Valerie. “You stay here. What do you want?”
The women both ordered cheeseburgers, fries, and Cokes. When E.J. opened the door to the restaurant, the aroma of cooked beef and fried onions filled his nostrils. If the burgers tasted as good as the smells wafting from the kitchen, they were going to enjoy this meal.
“Whatcha need, honey?” An older woman sidled up to the old-fashioned yellow linoleum counter. She gave E.J. the once-over, a sly smile on her face.
Doug made a snorting sound, but E.J. ignored him. He smiled at the woman and gave her their order.
“Have a seat, sweetie,” she said, pointing to the red plastic-covered stools in front of the counter. E.J. slid onto one as she winked at him and left for the kitchen.
“I’m gonna check out the jukebox,” Doug said. “This place is cool.”
E.J. nodded and perused the menu written on a nearby chalkboard. Too bad they weren’t staying a while. He loved really good cheeseburgers, something his parents couldn’t stand. “Why grind up good beef, fry it, and throw it between two pieces of bread?” his mother had told him more than once. “Steak is much better for you. More sophisticated.” He loved his mother to pieces, but he’d rather have a well-done burger than a steak any day.
Once the FBI arrived, he’d be on his way to D.C. with Valerie. Maybe if the Feds took their sweet time, the deputies could stay the night and head back tomorrow. Might be able to work in one more trip to this place. He smiled at the thought.
Bobby Darin’s voice filled the small diner: “Oh, the shark, babe, has such teeth, dear, and it shows them pearly white. . . .” E.J.’s grandmother had loved Bobby Darin and played his music for her grandson whenever they were alone together. “Mack the Knife” was his favorite Darin song. When he lived with his parents, E.J. was only allowed to listen to classical music and opera. He grinned at Doug and gave him a thumbs-up. He was getting ready to suggest another song by Darin when a black SUV pulled into the parking lot, blocking their view of Casey’s car. E.J.’s hand immediately went for his gun as he ran toward the front door, Doug right behind him.
CHAPTER
ELEVEN
Tony downed another cup of awful coffee from a nearby vending machine. The cafeteria downstairs was closed, and the thick, dark liquid was the only thing available. He couldn’t really call it coffee, but at least it was hot.
Karen had taken Marlon back to the chief’s place, and he’d sent Kate home. She’d wanted to stay, but she had class in the morning. She was on the fast track to get her diploma. Kate would soon be a teacher. When she was through with school, they planned to get married. He could hardly wait. Every moment without her felt like an eternity. He’d met her through the Witness Protection Program. Now he couldn’t imagine his life without her.
He was the only person still here. Tom had decided to keep someone posted outside Batterson’s room until further notice. With the bomb going
off close to his office, and the dead paramedic, they weren’t willing to take any chances. While more than one deputy had offered to relieve Tony, he couldn’t leave just yet. Richard Batterson was one of the toughest men he knew, and when he woke up, Tony wanted to be there. He felt he had a little closer relationship with Batterson than most of the other deputies. He also wanted to make sure Batterson was safe. He didn’t think the chief was in danger in a hospital, but who could tell for sure? For now, better to be cautious.
The doctor had visited earlier. The news wasn’t good. The surgery on the hematoma was successful, though Batterson still wasn’t responding. Although it could take a while for him to regain consciousness after that kind of surgery, Tony could tell the doctor was concerned about permanent brain damage.
“We’ll keep trying to rouse him,” he’d said. “If he doesn’t respond in the next twenty-four hours, we may have a problem.”
Except for ex-wives, as far as Tony knew, Batterson had no one except Karen and Marlon. His mother, his greatest supporter, passed away a couple of months earlier. His father had been gone for almost twenty years. Since he was an only child, there wasn’t anyone else. To Batterson, his deputies were his family. Maybe that was why Tony couldn’t leave.
He was taking another sip of coffee when another doctor came into the room. “Are you Tony DeLuca?” she asked.
He nodded. “Is . . . is everything okay?”
“Nothing’s changed.” She sat down across from him. “I’m the doctor on shift tonight. I’m Dr. Silver. Leah Silver.”
Tony immediately liked the small, dark-haired physician. She had an intense expression, but there was kindness in her eyes. “Nice to meet you,” he said, wondering why she was here. Was it just to let him know who was on Batterson’s case while his other doctor was gone?
“I’d like to ask you a question,” she said hesitantly, “but I don’t want you to draw any conclusions from what I’m going to say.”
“I’m not sure what you mean. Just ask your question.”
Dr. Silver looked down at the clipboard she’d carried into the waiting room. “Does your friend—”
“He’s not my friend,” Tony interrupted. “He’s my boss.”
She looked surprised. He was too. Why had he said that?
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “Your boss. I was here earlier when some of your colleagues were sitting with you. It’s obvious you all respect him very much.”
That was it. The doctor had hit the nail on the head. Tony wanted her to know Batterson was his boss because it was important to him that she see how much Batterson was esteemed by the people who served under him. Tony blinked away tears. He didn’t cry in front of people. Ever. But at that moment, he was on the verge of losing his professional façade.
“You had a question?” he choked out.
She took a deep breath before saying, “I’d ask his girlfriend, but she’s gone home. If you can’t help me, I’ll call her.”
“What is it, Doc?”
“Can you think of any . . . drugs or medications that he might be taking? Something we might not know about?”
Tony blinked at her a couple of times. “Drugs? Are you asking me if he takes drugs?”
“No, not really. Not the way you think. We didn’t find evidence of anything in his toxicology report that overly concerned us. But has he ever talked about any kind of medical condition? Severe allergies? Anything like that?”
Tony shook his head. “Not that I know of. He’s not big on medicine of any kind. In fact, he gets stress headaches and won’t take aspirin. He’s very bullheaded. You could certainly ask Karen, his girlfriend, but we all know about his aversion to drugs. Medicine of almost any kind.”
The doctor seemed to study him for a moment, but she didn’t say anything.
“Can I ask the reason for your question?”
“Of course. Your . . . boss sustained quite a few injuries from flying glass and other debris that hit him during the explosion, but there’s a mark on his hip that, well, looks like an injection site to me. I’m trying to figure out exactly what it might be. I hoped you’d be able to tell me.” She frowned. “You say he has tension headaches? Are they frequent?”
Tony shrugged. “I guess. I mean, he mentions them once in a while, but frankly with his job, it’s not that unusual. I’ve never felt he had a problem. Why?”
“When he was brought in, his heart rate was through the roof. We got him stabilized, but I’m wondering if he might have an issue with high blood pressure.”
“I noticed how uneven his heartbeat was at the scene. But as far as his blood pressure . . . I don’t know. You should ask his doctor.”
Dr. Silver smiled. “I did. Your boss keeps canceling appointments. The last time he saw the doctor was over a year ago. No problem with blood pressure then, but things can change.”
Tony grunted. “That’s interesting. Especially since he insists we see the doctor regularly. For the sake of the job, he says.”
“I find this a lot with men. Especially men in law enforcement. You all seem to think you’re invincible.”
“We have to think that, Doc. If we didn’t, we wouldn’t walk into half of the things we do.”
She nodded. “I understand. I don’t approve, but I understand.” She wrote something on the papers on her clipboard. “So in your opinion he doesn’t handle stress very well?”
Tony was surprised by her question and had to think a minute. “Actually, he does. I mean, he can blow his top from time to time, but I think it actually helps him, you know? He seems to feel better afterward.”
“Okay. I put a call into the paramedics who treated and transported Mr. Batterson. I want to see if they might have injected him with something. Maybe . . .”
At that moment, Tony heard a buzzing sound. Dr. Silver reached into her pocket and pulled out a pager. “This might be the call I’ve been waiting for. Thanks for your help.” She reached over and rested her hand on his arm. “Just keep praying for him. We’re doing everything we can to help him.”
Tony thanked her and watched as she walked away. He picked up his styrofoam coffee cup. His terrible coffee was cold now, making it even worse. He carried the cup to the bathroom, poured out the liquid, and dumped the cup in the trash. Then he walked back over to the coffee dispenser. He started to put his money into the machine when a nurse from the nearby station called his name. She was headed his way, carrying a ceramic cup. She smiled and handed it to him.
“We have our own pot of coffee in the break room. You let us know when you need more and we’ll get it. I think you’ll like it better than the sludge out of this machine.”
He looked at her nametag. Rachel. Tony was determined to remember her name. He wasn’t usually good with names, but the nurses in ICU were all so helpful and kind, the least he could do was keep them straight. Rachel was young, probably early twenties, with short red hair and a sweet smile. “Thank you, Rachel, from the bottom of my heart. The lining of my stomach thanks you too.”
She laughed and walked away.
He returned to the waiting room, only this time he sat down in a different chair. His backside needed a change. He was enjoying a really great cup of coffee when Dr. Silver came back into the room. The look on her face made Tony put his cup down and stand up. “What’s wrong?”
“I just talked to one of the paramedics who treated your boss. They noticed that an EpiPen was missing from their truck.”
“You mean the kind of thing people take for allergies?”
“Epinephrine is also used for someone having a heart attack. But that dose is much stronger than what’s used for allergies.”
“You think someone injected him with this stuff?”
“Yes, I do. It would explain the state his heart was in when he got to the hospital. He was close to death, Deputy DeLuca. We assumed it was because of the trauma his body sustained, but now I think—” she took a deep breath and looked him in the eye—“I believe someone tr
ied to kill your boss.”
CHAPTER
TWELVE
E.J. took the passenger-side door while Doug went around to check out the driver. It was difficult to see inside because the windows were tinted and the setting sun glared off the glass.
“Get out of the car with your hands up,” E.J. said loudly.
From the other side, he heard Doug give a similar command. The passenger-side door clicked and started to open slowly. Smoke drifted out as if the truck were on fire. E.J. grabbed the door and flung it the rest of the way, his gun trained on whoever was in the passenger seat. Staring at him with eyes as wide as saucers was a teenage boy in jeans and a T-shirt, holding a bong. E.J. looked past him and saw another skinny teenager with his hands up. E.J. noticed a bag of marijuana sticking out from under the driver’s seat. Obviously he’d tried to kick it out of sight. The door on his side was wide open, and Doug stood there with his gun pointed at the driver.
“Don’t shoot!” the kid in the passenger seat said. “Please, mister. Don’t kill us!”
E.J. sighed and holstered his gun. Doug shook his head and put his away too. E.J. took out his wallet and flashed his badge. “U.S. Marshals. That’s a controlled substance, son. I take it you don’t need it for medical reasons?”
Although for a moment the kid seemed to consider trying that as a way out, he backed away from it. “It’s not my fault. Really.” He jerked his head toward the boy in the other seat. “It’s Ronnie’s. I didn’t want anything to do with it.”
E.J. caught Doug’s eye and winked. “I want you two to get out of the car. Bring your drugs and paraphernalia with you.”
The boys climbed out. The one near E.J. held the bong, while the other boy had the bag of pot in his hand. Although possessing pot was a misdemeanor in Ohio, E.J. assumed the kids were more afraid of their parents than they were of the law. For whatever reason, they both looked terrified. Good. He and Doug couldn’t risk their assignment by messing with these kids, but at least they could scare them to within an inch of their lives. He pointed at a large dumpster next to the diner. “Dump it. All of it.”