He almost laughed. Protection. Whoever had shot him in the DMZ wasn’t likely to come after him in the department hospital.
He returned his thoughts to the shooting and the circumstances surrounding it. It was possible, he supposed, that the real target of the shooting had been Mouse, and he just got in the way. Or that no one in particular was the target, that it was just a random shooting—someone who saw two people in an alley in the DMZ and decided to shoot them. It wasn’t an outrageous notion, though he had a hard time giving it much credence. It went against his training and experience—whenever a cop was shot, the assumption was always that the officer was either the intended target or got in the way of the commission of another crime.
He closed his eyes, having a difficult time focusing on the problem. His instinct was to assume that he had himself been the target, but did that really make sense? Could someone really have followed him, waiting for the opportunity, and taken it when he’d gone into the alley after Mouse? Or had he been set up by Mouse? That didn’t make any sense either, since Mouse ended up with his head blown off. Besides, no one knew he was going to be in the DMZ, no one knew he was looking for Mouse.
Carlucci sighed heavily. He was going nowhere with this, just like the rest of the Naomi Katsuda case. In his gut, with no hard evidence to back it up, he believed there was a connection between the case and this shooting. But he couldn’t at all make out what that connection was, and he had to admit that the whole idea seemed absurd on the surface. He closed his eyes and drifted quickly into sleep.
And the third time he woke, the room was full of light. Morning, he thought. A quiet, steady click-click…click-click…click-click came from the right. When he turned that way, he saw that the futon had been folded up into a small sofa, and Andrea was sitting in it, knitting. Knitting was something she did to relax, to keep her hands occupied; she’d taken it up when the two of them had quit smoking years earlier.
“Knitting booties for someone’s new baby?” he said.
She looked up at him, gave him a huge smile. “Just a sec,” she said. She made a note on her pattern, set the needles and sweater beside her, then got up and came over to him. She gripped his hand, squeezed, then leaned forward and kissed him. When she pulled back from him, he could see the tears welling in her eyes. “Hey, stranger,” she said. She squeezed his hand again. “How are you feeling?”
He smiled. “Like somebody shot me.” Then he shook his head. “I feel okay, I guess. Thirsty.”
She poured a cup of water, held it for him while he drank through a straw. He drank all of it, she refilled the cup, and he drank a little more. Then he let his head fall back on the pillow, feeling a bit woozy, the cold water settling hard in his gut. “Thanks,” he said.
She found an open spot on the bed and scooted up onto it beside him, taking his hand in hers again. “Jesus, you had me worried for a while, Francesco.”
“How close was it?”
She slowly shook her head from side to side. “Too damn close. You’d lost so much blood by the time they got to you…” She brushed a couple of tears from her cheek. “The first ten or fifteen years you were a policeman I used to worry, I used to think about it a lot. But after a while I stopped worrying, because nothing ever seemed to happen to you.”
“Just as well,” he said. “Worrying wouldn’t have prevented this from happening.”
“But it might have eased the shock. I was just stunned when I heard. It was so unexpected, Frank. I…I was paralyzed.” Tears were starting up again.
A uniformed cop appeared in the doorway, a young, beefy guy, hardly more than a kid. He looked nervous, hesitant about actually entering the room.
“Lieutenant?” the cop said.
“Yes?”
“Are you feeling up to talking? I’m supposed to let the investigating officers know when you come around, so they can talk to you.”
“Who are they?”
“Uh, Younger and Oko—Okokr—”
Carlucci smiled at the young man’s struggle. “Okoronkwo,” he said.
The cop nodded. “Yes. Sorry, sir.”
“That’s all right. Go ahead and put the call in, but ask them to give me a couple of hours. But before you do that, I want you to put a call through to Detectives Santos and Weathers, tell them I need to talk to them. I want to talk to them first.”
“You got it, sir.” He backed away and walked down the hall.
“Toni and Ruben came in a couple of times to see how you were doing,” Andrea said. “You’re working on a case with them that has something to do with you being shot?”
He shrugged, and winced with the pain. “I don’t know. It’s possible.”
“The Naomi Katsuda case?”
“Yes.”
Andrea shook her head. “Then leave it to Ruben and Toni. Stay out of it. It’s nearly gotten you killed.”
He cocked his head, tried to look puzzled. “I’m sorry, did you say something?”
Andrea just shook her head again. She gave his hand another squeeze. “I better go call Christina. She’s spent a lot of time here, but she’s home right now. I promised I’d call her as soon as you came around.”
“Yeah, I’d like to see her. What about Caroline?”
“I don’t know,” she said, frowning. She hesitated. “I haven’t been able to get hold of her. No answer at her place. I’ve left messages, but haven’t heard back from her.”
“How long has it been?”
“A couple of days.”
Carlucci didn’t know what to say. He could feel the fear and panic rising in his gut. He closed his eyes and tried to breathe slowly and deeply. Caroline. For years he had worried about her because of the Gould’s. Every time anything out of the ordinary happened, he worried. He’d never been able to control it. It was something that drove everyone in the family crazy, especially Caroline. So maybe he was overreacting again now. But when he opened his eyes and looked into Andrea’s face, he knew he wasn’t.
“Call Bernie,” he told her. Bernie Guilder was a captain in the department, and Carlucci had known him his entire career.
“I already did,” Andrea said. “He’s started working on it. I’d hoped something would have come up by the time you came around.”
“All right, all right. I’m sure…” But he stopped, realizing how stupid it was. “Go call Christina.”
She nodded, slid off the bed, and gave his hand one more squeeze. “I’ll be right back.”
Then she left, and Carlucci was alone with his fear.
20
CAGE HATED HOSPITALS. Strange thing for a doctor, but there it was. When he was actually working it wasn’t so bad; he had too much to think about. But when he wasn’t acting as a doctor, when he was visiting a friend or relative who was a patient, his skin itched all over, and he broke out in a sweat.
He felt that way now, standing at the top of the stairs and looking down the long, bright hallway toward Carlucci’s room. What didn’t help was not knowing why Carlucci had called him. There was also the desire to go down to the second floor immediately, where Nikki was—he desperately wanted to see her, talk to her doctor again, but he wanted to get this visit to the lieutenant out of the way first.
He took a deep breath and started walking. A third of the way along the hall a cop sat outside a door, and Cage headed directly for her, figuring that was Carlucci’s room. Of course with all the security checks people had to go through every time they entered the hospital, that cop was probably unnecessary.
The cop stood as he approached. She was a tall, stunningly beautiful woman who looked like she could tear him apart without breaking a sweat, and he resisted the urge to salute. But he did check the room number on the wall beside her. Yes, it was Carlucci’s room. The door was open a few inches, but he couldn’t really see inside.
“I’m here to see Lieutenant Carlucci,” he said.
“And you are?”
“Dr. Cage.”
The cop smiled. “Am
I supposed to believe that?”
“Believe it, Tretorn.” It was Carlucci’s voice from inside the room. “Has he got a stupid-looking tattoo of a snake on his neck?”
“Yes, sir.” She continued smiling, not at all flustered by Carlucci’s response.
“That’s him, then. Let him in.”
The cop raised an eyebrow, still amused, and gestured with her head toward the door. “You heard the lieutenant. Go right in.”
“You aren’t going to escort me into the room?” Cage asked.
She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
She settled back in the chair, watching him and still smiling. He walked past her, then pushed open the door and entered the room. Carlucci was sitting up in the bed, his left arm in a sling, his shoulder heavily bandaged. Sitting in a chair was a woman about fifty, whom Cage assumed was Carlucci’s wife, and standing on the other side of the bed was a young woman, probably about twenty, who looked a lot like a younger version of Caroline. Another daughter.
“Cage. This is my wife, Andrea, and my daughter Christina. And this is Cage. Dr. Cage.”
He shook Andrea’s hand and nodded to Christina. “How are you doing?” he asked Carlucci.
“I’m getting the hell out of here tomorrow,” he said. “My doctor would like me to stay put for another two or three days, but I’m going crazy in this place.”
“That’s good. Better to get out and moving around as soon as you can.”
“You going to see Nikki?”
Cage nodded. “Yeah. As soon as I’m done here.”
“How is she?”
“The same, I guess. Not so good.”
Carlucci looked back and forth at his wife and daughter. “Christina, Andrea, could you both go out in the hall for a few minutes? I need to talk to Cage privately.”
They gave Carlucci kisses and good-byes, saying they’d be right back, then left. Andrea was careful to completely close the door behind her.
Carlucci adjusted his position on the bed, scooting himself up straighter. “I’m worried about my other daughter,” he finally said.
“Sorry?”
“Caroline. The one who was Tito Moraleja’s friend.”
“Oh, right.”
“She’s missing.”
“Missing?” Cage felt a terrible twinge of guilt.
Carlucci nodded. “For several days now. We haven’t been able to get in touch with her at all. We’ve left messages she’s never answered. Andrea’s been by her apartment, and there’s no sign of her being there recently. I’ve got some people in the department checking things out, but nothing’s turned up.”
“So why am I here?”
“I’m worried, Cage. I want you to keep your ear to the ground. She was pretty upset by Tito’s death, and an old friend of mine who used to be a cop told me that Caroline had recently asked him about a way into the Tenderloin. I’m afraid she may have gone in there with the crazy idea of trying to figure out what happened to Tito.”
He dug through a pile of stuff on the little table beside him, found a photograph, and held it out to Cage. Cage stepped forward and took it from him. It was a picture of Caroline sitting in the sun, smiling, eyes squinting against the light.
“That’s her,” Carlucci said. “You’re on the streets inside. Keep a look out for her. I know it’s a lot, but maybe ask around some.” He paused. “You said you owed me, remember?”
Cage nodded, the guilt ratcheting up a bit. But he couldn’t say anything to Carlucci. He had promised.
“I’ll do what I can,” Cage said.
“Thanks, I really appreciate it.” He paused. “Let me ask again. Just the two of us. How is Nikki?”
“I don’t know. In bad shape, I guess.” Cage really didn’t want to talk about it. “Her chances aren’t good.”
“I’m sorry,” Carlucci said.
Ten minutes later Cage stood outside Nikki’s room, waiting for Dr. Verinder Sodhi to show, panic rising in his chest again. He could see her through the rectangular window cut into the large wooden door. Nothing had changed. She still appeared to be asleep, her eyes closed, bits of hair damp and slicked to her face.
“Doctor Cage?”
Cage stepped back from the door and turned toward the voice. A short, dark-skinned, dark-haired man approached him, hand out. Cage shook Dr. Sodhi’s hand.
“How’s she doing?”
Dr. Sodhi shrugged, then shook his head. “The same, I’m afraid. No improvement.”
“And you still don’t know what it is she’s got?”
“No, I’m sorry, I am afraid not. We’ve been doing the testing right here in our labs, and so far we have not made a positive hit. I have taken the liberty of sending some blood samples to the CDC, with a rush notice, but I would not put much hope in that. We will be lucky if they do any testing within a month.”
“She’ll be dead by then.”
Dr. Sodhi pursed his lips and tilted his head. “Or she will have survived. That, too, is a possibility. Besides, we are continuing our own testing. We may yet have some luck.”
“Sure. Of course, even if you identify the disease or condition, you still may not be able to do a damn thing.”
“That is true, Dr. Cage. But it may tell us exactly what to do. And even if not, it may help us focus the treatment.”
Dr. Sodhi seemed so calm about the whole thing. But then it wasn’t someone he loved dying in that room. Cage blew out a deep breath and shook his head to himself. He knew he wasn’t being fair. “What is the current treatment?” he asked.
“We have been dosing her heavily with broad-spectrum antibiotics, but they do not seem to have had any benefit as of yet. If we had time, of course, we could try a number of courses of more specific antibiotics.”
“But we don’t have that time.”
“Probably not. And of course, if it is a virus, which is my own inclination at this point, no antibiotic will be any good at all. We have also tried antifungals, but again without success.”
There was a sudden flurry of activity around them, several medical personnel hurrying past and into a room two doors down. Cage tried to ignore the commotion, which had not distracted Dr. Sodhi in the least.
“All right. Antibiotics aren’t doing any good, and if it’s a virus, well, the reality is most of the antivirals are shit, no matter what their makers claim. Do we agree on that?”
Dr. Sodhi nodded with a faint smile. “I would sooner trust in prayer.”
“So what is being done for Nikki? Anything?”
“Yes. We are constantly chasing her electrolytes. Her body cannot seem to maintain the proper balance. Every three hours we recheck her chems, and we change her drips accordingly.”
“So what’s the real problem?”
Dr. Sodhi pursed his lips again and frowned with his eyes. “Most of her major organ function is deteriorating. Kidneys, liver, also the pancreas. Her heart seems to be holding up, but not much else. We have even been forced to resort to a round of dialysis.”
“What the hell is going on?”
“We’ve done MRIs. Her organs are…disintegrating.”
“Christ.” He turned away from Dr. Sodhi and looked in through the window at Nikki. She didn’t look as if she was dying, but he knew she was. “What’s the prognosis?” he asked, still looking at her.
“She is hanging on, but I truly do not know how much longer she can go on this way.” There was a long pause, then Dr. Sodhi said, “She is not the only one dying like this.”
Cage froze for a moment, his heart suddenly banging away at the inside of his ribs. He kept his gaze on Nikki for a few moments longer, then slowly turned back to Dr. Sodhi.
“What do you mean?”
Dr. Sodhi looked distinctly unhappy. “It is difficult to know for sure, of course, since we do not know what this is, and so have no way to positively identify it. But I have been talking with some of my colleagues—sorry, our colleagues—and I have heard of several similar cases. Most have
some direct connection to the Tenderloin.”
“How the hell do you know that?”
“I asked. Ms. Hester got sick in the Tenderloin, and as far as we know contracted it there, yes? From a man who also lived there. So I just asked. But there are so few cases right now, and no one knows what it is. Still, the illness is bad enough that doctors are starting to ask questions.”
Cage shook his head. “But no one’s getting any answers.”
Dr. Sodhi smiled. “No, no one is getting answers.”
Cage turned back once more to the window. “I’d like to see her, if it would be all right. Talk to her, if I can.”
“It’s possible. Sometimes she is coherent, sometimes not. But please, wear a mask and gloves when you go in, and dispose of them properly when you leave. You must know how important that is.” The small man suddenly looked quite sad.
Cage nodded. “Thanks, Dr. Sodhi.”
He opened the door to Nikki’s room and stepped inside, wearing gown, gloves, and mask as Dr. Sodhi had insisted. The panicky feeling returned, and he breathed very slowly and deeply, fighting it down. When he felt he was back in control, he took the last couple of steps to the bed, his knees brushing against the metal frame.
Nikki appeared flushed, her skin and hair damp. The head of the bed was packed with monitors blinking in various colors, and Cage had to concentrate to avoid checking each of them individually, to avoid running his own diagnostic exam on her. She was not his patient, and he did not really want to treat her as one. He was sure he could do no better than Dr. Sodhi, and he wanted to be with Nikki as a friend, not as her doctor.
“Cage.” The voice was a whisper. Her eyelids fluttered, then opened slightly, and she managed a faint, barely discernible smile.
“Hey, Nikki.”
“I’m still alive.”
“Yes, you are.”
“I feel like shit.” She coughed, and the smile twisted into a grimace of pain. She closed her eyes; her entire face was tight with the pain.
He took her hand in his, and her fingers gave a weak squeeze. Several moments passed, then the pain seemed to ease, and her face muscles relaxed a bit. But she did not open her eyes.
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