.38 Caliber Cover-Up

by Angi Morgan

  Erren put on a show of working on Michael’s chest. He forced his breathing into short pants as if he were exhausted.

  “Anything?” he said. “Come on, man. You can do it. Fight!”

  He’d raised his voice, and she caught the cops leaning toward them out of the corner of her eye.

  “Nothing,” she said.

  Erren wiped his brow and shook his head. He sighed, placing his hands over hers, looking directly into her eyes, maintaining contact, letting her know he didn’t mean the words. “No reason to continue, Nurse. He’s gone. Time of death…6:17 a.m.”

  She dropped her chin to her chest, pulling the sheet loosely over Michael’s head.

  “He’s really dead?” Rios asked.

  “My God, man, I’m a doctor, not a miracle worker.”

  “Cut it out,” she whispered. He was pushing their luck by enjoying his role a little too much.

  Let’s get out of here, she shouted mentally to him.

  “I insist that you escort us to the morgue to get this body transported to the medical examiner as soon as possible,” Erren said firmly.

  “We can’t move the body. We have to report and wait for instructions,” Waggoner said, planting his feet more forcefully onto the tile floor, becoming just a bit wider in the doorway.

  “I’m not taking the blame for this. I have a record of how late I was called onto this case.” Erren over-exaggerated his movements, but still managed to seem three inches shorter. “If he was killed by an injection of some type it will be your heads that roll when we don’t get blood samples soon enough.”

  “I wouldn’t throw those allegations around lightly, Doctor.” The other officer’s feathers ruffled as Waggoner looped his thumbs in his belt, very close to his weapon. “Nothing happened while we were here.”

  “The tests are time sensitive, Officer. There might be a chance for the ME to discover what drug was used if we move now.”

  “You’re certain drugs killed the guy?”

  “It’s the best theory I have.” Erren shook his head. “If you’d rather wait, we’ll wait. I’ll just call the DA’s office and tell them what happened.”

  Erren scooped the cell phone up and headed to the corner of the room.

  “Wait. It might be hours ’til Transport can get him over to County.” Officer Rios turned to his partner. “Remember what happened last time?”

  Officer Waggoner became visibly uncomfortable. Darby could only imagine what the “last time” had been like. She’d been on cases where the body was lost, or the morgue was over capacity. The county hospital only had places for six bodies. It was nothing like on TV shows.

  All “in custody” cases were contracted by an outside agency to be transported across a parking lot to the county medical examiner’s offices, morgue and forensics. Since Michael wasn’t dead, it was important that happen quickly.

  Darby watched the questions play across the cop’s face. It was clear there’d been a previous problem and he couldn’t afford to make another mistake.

  “It’s your call, Officer Waggoner.” Erren managed to cross his arms, keep his stooped posture and seem like he was standing tall. His name and words might be Dr. McCoy, but his posture and actions were Val Kilmer’s portrayal of the Saint.

  The man truly was a chameleon. Very convincing. And must watch a lot of television.

  “Call for transport, Doc.” Waggoner turned to his partner. “You should stay here, inform the precinct what’s happened. I’ll take the body to the morgue.”

  Darby tucked the sheet a bit closer around her brother’s arm. They’d killed Michael for the cops…at least for a while. Now the hard part began…keeping him from dying for real.

  Erren noticed Darby’s nervous fingers, tucking and retucking the sheet, hiding the wet spot where she’d dispensed the drugs. He watched Waggoner stiffen, waiting. Rios shifted from foot to foot, waiting to call the events to someone in authority. Seconds passed, dragging the scene out in his head.

  Erren hadn’t discussed details with Thrumburt. The plan was to get O’Malley to the morgue as close to 6:30 a.m. as possible. Shift change at the hospital occurred between six-thirty and seven so things gone wrong took longer to discover. At least that’s what Darby had told him. Her paper-pushing experience was a definite asset to rescuing her brother.

  His turn to move things forward. What would the cops do if they didn’t? He hadn’t gone over any options with Darby. He rolled his fingers over the locked phone, looking as if he searched for a number, watching the men in the room who were watching him, waiting.

  They’d bought the routine. They’d wanted the kid to die. He was a cop killer.

  Hell, he’d wanted O’Malley to die before he’d determined there was more to Pike’s death than it appeared. He was willing to wait for the truth. Now that he’d found her brother who could tell it.

  “I need county transport for an ‘in-custody’ body to the ME.” Keep your voice firm and in command, Dr. McCoy. “That won’t do. Divert him to Parkland. We have a case that needs immediate attention.”

  Pretending to hang up the phone, he noticed the immediate relief on both officers’ faces. He hated to pull this stunt on two good men that Thrumburt trusted, but there was just no other way.

  “How soon?” Officer Rios asked.

  “We diverted him from a run to Children’s Medical.”

  Both men nodded. Another grim image stuck in everyone’s mind. A child being transported to the ME office usually meant they suspected foul play. Guilt rushed him again for having to play the officers, but he’d use any device to keep Darby safe.

  “Transport will be at the loading dock by the time we get downstairs,” he informed the room. Darby visibly relaxed and he hoped the officers didn’t notice.

  “Baby killers are the only thing worse than cop killers,” Rios said.

  Darby’s sharp intake of breath, caught in her throat, drew everyone’s attention to her coughing. He crossed the room and patted her on the back.

  Michael O’Malley’s body was covered as if he were dead. His sister had slowly drawn the sheet up like she was really saying goodbye. Thank God the sadness in her eyes had a genuine reason for being there.

  They were about to embark on the least predictable segment—getting past the nurses’ station with a “dead” body. Erren thought through his options again. Showing his face to a group of women a second time—they’d have a much clearer recollection for the sketch artist. How could he get around that? Or should he have Darby distract them? Would they see through her Nurse Chapel persona and alert the cops?

  “Just let me put the crash cart back and we’ll be on our way,” Darby said, pushing past him and leaving the room.

  “Now?” His question took him by surprise, just as her acceptance of his lack of a plan to get past the nurses’ station didn’t. The Sergeant Major had warned him about her taking orders. Why should now be any different?

  This was her home territory. She knew the hospital. She could do this. He’d heard her, semibelieved her.

  He hated not being in control.

  It wasn’t a part of the plan, but he took the opportunity to slide the phone into the pocket of his borrowed lab coat with the Medic still on speaker, listening.

  What was Darby thinking? They needed out of that room, out of the wing, out of the hospital. He couldn’t just take off without her now. Her taking the cart back to the closet though…that was risky. Now that she’d said it, they were stuck to continue in that direction.

  Erren moved aside and began unlocking the bed wheels. It was bulkier than a gurney, but it was their only choice.

  “Are you sure you want to take the bed?” Waggoner asked. “Rios could find one of the smaller ones.”

  “I’d rather not wait. If we don’t catch the transport downstairs, the body may not make it to the county ME for an autopsy today. You don’t want to wait until tomorrow.”

  “Been there. Done that, Doc.” Rios shifted his weight fro
m foot to foot, acting nervous. “A different high-profile case missed its ride across the parking lot. We were ordered not to leave. I’d rather not go through that again. I’m not saying the body was ripe or anything. But it wasn’t pleasant to be in the room.”

  “Happens too many times.” Officer Waggoner nodded his head, thumbs still in his belt.

  Erren wasn’t certain what to make of Waggoner. Most of his dialogue had been aimed at making the men uneasy. Maybe it had worked. Or maybe he was going soft.

  It was easier to walk through an operation not knowing the players and not caring about the outcome. Who cared if you busted someone for selling drugs to kids? He’d never wondered what happened after his part was successful.

  “I didn’t mean to accuse you fellows of foul play,” Erren told the officers, not understanding why he felt compelled to apologize. Dr. McCoy wouldn’t apologize. At least not until the end of the show.

  “Not a problem,” Rios said.

  Waggoner nodded and helped turn the bed. They had aimed the frame toward the door when Darby returned.

  With a gurney.

  Well, well, well… Nurse Chapel had resources. Respect for Darby and her growing capabilities was getting to him. He shouldn’t be thinking about her at all…just this operation.

  “This should make things a little easier,” she said.

  To keep up the pretense, Darby handed the officers latex gloves from the box on the wall. The foursome worked without saying a word. The beds were set together, the body hoisted, saline bags transferred and they were ready to leave.

  And everything could fall apart if one nurse stopped them before leaving the wing. Just one glimpse out of the corner of an eye and they were screwed.

  Rounding the first corner, they came to the point in the hallway where the staff could see them. No nurses were at the station. Erren just kept pushing the gurney straight to the staff elevators, which were around another corner.

  In front, Darby pushed the button. He couldn’t wait to ask her how she pulled that off. Somehow she’d diverted the nurses. Maybe she was the O’Malley Pike had spoken to him about?

  The doors opened. More luck—the elevator had room for the bed and not much else. The police officer stepped in last and faced the doors.

  “Could you press the ground level, Officer?” Erren concentrated on keeping his voice low and soft. Concentrate on a low-key McCoy. Low-key, boring. If he didn’t, the adrenaline rush of excitement he received at their success would cause their failure.

  Waggoner pushed the button and nothing else. He looped his thumbs back in his belt.

  It would have been easy to mouth words to Darby, but it was hard enough to keep himself in character. So he did his best to scowl. He read the notices about the Plano Balloon Festival and how the hospital personnel were involved with booths. Two floors and he realized how nervous he was. He hadn’t been nervous about being undercover in years.

  “Just curious, Doc, but what happened to your ah…your…?” Waggoner pointed to his own cheekbone.

  “Good old-fashioned clumsiness, I’m afraid. I was following a staffer who tripped over the sidewalk at the train crosswalk. She fell…. I fell…. Planted face-first in the dirt and gravel. Nothing I could do.”

  “Great way to start your day. I’ve seen one or two near misses in that area. The hospital should take care of that.”

  “Or DART Rail. Like that will ever happen,” Darby added.

  Her natural reaction added to the believability of his lie. If he’d been listening to the conversation, he would have believed the “falling” story.

  Erren had seen a near miss by one of the patients on his way into the hospital. The event gave him a believable cover for a bruised and scraped face. Of course, the nick on his neck was from an old razor at the cabin. A rough shave on a face that hadn’t been completely “clean” in several years.

  The doors opened on the third floor and hospital visitors stepped forward. Waggoner lifted his hand and shook his head. If it had been Erren, he wouldn’t have tried to enter an elevator with a corpse. The dead body would have kept him from walking inside.

  He’d tried to explain the difference to Pike once. Maybe it was the memory of burying his parents. They had looked…okay. Pale, cold, unnaturally posed but okay.

  Blood, guts, gore…he could handle all of it. But actual dead bodies…not so much.

  Ground floor.

  “Bingo,” he said loud enough to be heard through the phone. Now the Medic would move into position.

  Waggoner faced him with a questioning look, but kept walking. Darby was silent. Her grip was so tight it looked as if she would bend the bed rail. He loosened her fingers and watched them pinken up.

  Phase three. It was 6:30 a.m. The plan was moving like clockwork. He just needed a lot of dumb luck.

  Darby had drawn him maps of the hospital, but Officer Waggoner seemed to be familiar with the route and led the way. Following was easier. The halls looked as if they hadn’t been renovated since President Kennedy had been wheeled through the emergency room doors after he’d been assassinated.

  They passed the sign to the loading docks. Next hallway was the morgue entrance. And Pike’s Medic was just outside the security door.

  “Great timing. We don’t even have to maneuver the tight squeeze to the icebox.” He looked at Erren as if they’d never met, then gave Waggoner a nod. “Dallas ME Transport Team. We can shoot him straight to the bus from here.”

  And that was it. Phase three complete.

  The morgue door cracked, unable to fully open with the gurney parked in front. A balding head with a comb-over poked through the gap. “You guys deliverin’ or pickin’ up?”

  Chapter Eleven

  Dammit! Not now.

  “We’re good,” Erren said, blocking the view of the Medic from whoever was about to gum up his operation. “Transport’s here.”

  “Yeah, thought he was here for the hit-and-run last night.”

  “We have an ‘in custody’ body that needs priority.”

  “Not a problem.” The man bobbed his head, trying to see around Erren. All attempts were unsuccessful. “About half an hour then? You’ll be back after the drop-off?”

  “Not me, I’m headed to Children’s,” the Medic answered.

  “Ah…sorry to hear that,” the bald man said. “Okay then, later.”

  No “later” for any of them. Not today. He was ready for their luck to hold and to get the hell out of there.

  The door closed and the Medic took over the gurney, walking toward the automatic doors with Darby. Dallas P.D. requirements were fulfilled, no paperwork, only a doctor’s signature on the chart. Waggoner looped his thumbs in his belt…yet again.

  “Thank you for your help, Doctor.”

  The officer was a nice guy. He should remember their names and ask Darby to make a note. If they ever found the package and got out of this mess, he’d lobby hard to get their records cleared.

  “Thank you for being so cooperative, Officer Waggoner. I’m certain you made the correct decision.” The doors swung closed behind the gurney. “I think I’ll give Nurse Chapel a hand.”

  The officer smiled an understanding smile. “See you around, Doc.”

  Finally, phase four could begin—stashing Michael.

  Their luck held. No one was behind them on the dock. But it was shift change and there were a ton of people crossing to and from the employee parking lot and DART Rail station. Almost home free, he caught up with the gurney before they transferred Michael.

  “Let’s get him inside the van and get the hell out of here.” The Medic had one side covered, pulling toward him. “I’m taking him over to—”

  “Don’t tell us. One. Two. Three.” Darby lifted with him and O’Malley’s body shifted toward the Medic. “I don’t want to know.”

  “What? The new boss man can’t keep a secret?”

  Darby arched a quizzical lift of her brow but left the Medic’s “boss man” comment
alone. She uncovered her brother’s face as soon as he was inside the van. The Medic had managed not only to obtain Transport credentials, but an actual vehicle. A plain white cargo van—beat up, old, and an exact match to three others sitting across the drive.

  Erren handed Darby the cell. “Time to call the Sergeant Major.”

  She slipped the phone into her left hand, tucking the sheet under her brother with her other. “He’s going to be okay. Right?”

  Her eyes pleaded with him and the Medic to make it happen. Like she wanted them to snap their fingers and force her brother to wake up.

  “Darby, your dad is waiting.”

  She kissed her brother’s cheek, pushed his hair off his forehead and stared at them. “From the look you’re both giving me, I’m assuming you’d like me to leave.” She punched in a number and lifted the phone to her stubborn little ear. “I’m staying with him as long as possible. You two talk outside.”

  Proof that she could take orders or even listen to suggestions. Yeah, right.

  “Standing around here is a huge risk to us.” The Medic backed out of Darby’s hearing. “It’s not only risking O’Malley. Our entire operation is in jeopardy, especially with Pike gone.”

  “Drop it. You know we don’t have a choice. That’s why you’re here.” He watched a soundless Darby hang up and then stroke her brother’s cheek, whispering something he couldn’t hear. He lowered his own voice. “The family doesn’t know why we rescued O’Malley and I want to keep it that way.”

  “It was too easy to get to the kid in that hospital. Anyone could have killed him. You proved he was vulnerable and at risk.”

  Erren’s level of “uncomfortable” was off any scale he’d used before. Darby’s brother was a necessity. He may be a major part of the problem or the only person holding the solution.

  No matter what, Erren had decided to keep Darby close to him. She seemed to be as much a part of the answer as her brother.