by Ana Leigh
"What in hell are you talking about? Are you still thinking Jess could be a suspect?"
"I haven't ruled out anyone, partner, and neither should you."
"Dammit, Vic, I told you Jess was with me when Bellemy was murdered. And she wasn't the presiding judge, either, at Sands's trial. So get off my back."
"Are you forgetting what that snitch Paulie told us? The word on the street was that someone was putting out a contract for a hit. Maybe the hit didn't stop with Gilbert."
"And you think Jess might be picking up the tab. Sands's killing rules out that theory, partner. What's her motive?"
"So maybe Sands's death was a copycat. After all, he ended up in the lake, not the river."
"Now you're grasping at straws."
"Could be, but at least my brain's not between my legs."
Doug's hands tightened on the wheel as his anger turned to fury. "Then check out her bank account, Sam Spade."
"I already did."
That blow was below the belt. They'd been partners for ten years, and he couldn't believe Vic would go behind his back with a stunt like that.
The conversation was over as far as Doug was concerned. He didn't ask what Vic had found out; Vic didn't offer the answer.
They rode in silence the rest of the way.
Harry Rhodes lived in a small apartment building near a West side mall. He was waiting for them and opened the door before they even knocked.
"He's out there right now. I saw him through the window," Rhodes declared in a quivering voice.
"Can you describe him?" Vic asked.
"He's about my height. Dark hair, and he's wearing gray sweats. I saw him just a couple minutes ago. He's still out there, detectives. You gotta find him. He's gonna try and kill me again."
"Okay, we'll look around outside," Vic said. "Keep the door locked. We'll be back."
"If there was anyone out here, he would have taken off by now," Doug said when they went outside.
Vic nodded. "It's too dark to see anything. There's a flashlight in the car. I'll go get it."
Doug drew his weapon and began to circle the building, checking out the shrubbery where the stalker could conceal himself.
Meanwhile, reaching the car, Vic paused when he noticed a gray Toyota parked a couple houses down on the opposite side of the street. He didn't remember seeing the car parked there before, and decided to check it out as soon as he got the flashlight. He opened the car door, leaned over and began to rummage through the glove compartment.
A figure stepped out of the concealment of the nearby bushes and approached stealthily, a hypodermic needle poised like a weapon in his hand.
Vic didn't see or hear the assailant, but felt the sudden stab of the needle. He groped helplessly to remove it, but his arms and hands had become numb. He tried to shout for help, but his throat muscles were constricted, so he slammed his arm down on the horn, and then slumped over onto the steering wheel.
Doug had just reached the rear of the building when the sound of chirping crickets was silenced by a steady blast of a car horn. As he raced around to the front he heard the squeal of tires and reached the street in time to see the brake lights of a car disappear around the next corner.
The door of the Crown Victoria was open, the overhead light revealing a slumped figure over the steering wheel. His heart pounded in his chest as he ran to the car. With sickening dread he saw the needle protruding from Vic's arm. He yanked it out, and then straightened Vic out on the car seat. Vic's eyes were open, but were glazed over; his body was as stiff as a board. He could tell Vic was trying to speak, but he couldn't move his lips.
Doug reached for the radio. "10-17. 10-17. Officer down. I need an ambulance here fast. A half block east of 76th on Cherry Blossom Lane
. Repeat. 10-17. Officer down. Send ambulance. Half block east of 76th on Cherry Blossom Lane
." He dropped the radio and it dangled out the open door.
Doug managed to get Vic out of the car and stretched out on the grass. Then he sat down and cradled Vic's head in his lap.
"Hang in there, partner. Help's on the way."
Vic's eyeballs rolled to the top of the sockets and he lost consciousness. Doug pressed his head to Vic's chest. He could feel a faint heartbeat. Vic was still breathing, but he was losing him. In desperation, he grabbed the dangling phone.
"Repeat. 10-17. Officer down. For God's sake, where's that ambulance?"
Clutching Vic in his arms, he began to rock him back and forth. "Hang in there, partner. Help's on the way," he murmured, over and over in a woeful litany to the sound of approaching sirens in the distance.
* * *
Two patrol cars raced up and squealed to a stop. With drawn weapons, the officers vaulted from the cars and rushed over to them. Doug didn't know any of them.
"I'm McGuire, from the First Precinct. This is my partner, Vic Peterson."
"Is he still alive?" one asked.
"Barely," Vic said.
With revolving light and siren blasting the ambulance arrived. "Please step aside, Detective," a serious young attendant said. Doug relinquished Vic to them.
By now, attracted by the sirens and flashing lights, the curious had come out of their houses and the patrolmen were engaged in stringing crime tape to restrain the crowd.
Unable to stand by uselessly, Doug retrieved the needle from the car, bagged it and locked the doors. "I'll ride along," he said to the ambulance attendants who were adjusting an oxygen mask on Vic. "Will he make it?"
The attendant shrugged. "Vital signs aren't good." As he waited for the gurney to be loaded into the ambulance, Doug's gaze swept the crowd. That's when he saw him – dark hair, gray sweats. Standing among the gawkers. He recognized him at once – Ron Tate, the father of the child Sam Bellemy had raped and murdered.
He exploded in rage and leaped over the tape. Grasping a fistful of Tate's shirt, he yanked him out of the crowd.
"You sonofabitch, I'm going to kill you."
He threw a punch and Tate hit the ground. Doug was on him at once, but before he could deliver another blow, two of the police officers wrestled him off.
"That's the bastard who did it," Doug shouted. "Don't let him get away."
Another of the officers yanked Tate to his feet and proceeded to cuff him. "I don't know what he's talking about. I didn't do anything," Tate denied.
"Listen, buddy," one of the attendants said to Doug, "it's up to you if you want to stay and wipe up the street with that guy, but we've got to get your partner to a hospital fast. Climb in if you're coming with us."
* * *
I didn't want to hurt Peterson, but I had no choice. He saw my car and I knew he would take down the license number. He and McGuire are always underfoot. All I'm trying to do is help. So why can't they leave me do what I have to? What you asked me to do, Jessica.
Too bad it wasn't McGuire who came back to their car…
* * *
Chapter 16
«^»
Jess woke and stretched, then sighed, lay back and thought of Doug. For the past two weeks every morning she woke, her first thought was of Doug. If it was an obsession, so be it. She was crazy mad in love with him – wanted to be with him all the time.
Oh she sensed there was something that he held back from her, but it would come out eventually. If he'd only tell her, it would help her to know how to approach whatever the problem might be; but she'd learned not to press issues with Doug. It just made him clam up.
Last night she finally admitted to him that she loved him – at least he didn't run. Now, if only he would do the same… One step at a time, Jessica.
She would love to discuss it with Liz, but she knew her friend would only say that Doug was in it for sex only. Liz would probably even accuse her of the same thing. And that wasn't true. Not anymore, anyway.
Jess got out of bed and switched on the radio. Since the Bellemy incident with Doug, she'd made a point of listening to the local morning news.
Jess hummed "As Time Goes By" as she made the bed, and then took a shower. When she came out of the bathroom, she picked up on the voice of the newscaster on the radio reporting some breaking news. She paused to listen.
"Mr. Tate was taken into custody early this morning and is suspected of being the man responsible for these three murders. One of the men he allegedly murdered had been a suspect in the brutal slaying of Tate's eight-year-old daughter Kellie a year ago, but had avoided prosecution on a technicality. It's believed this could be a revenge killing on the part of the suspect. The wounded detective was rushed to the hospital and is reported to be in critical condition. Stay tuned for any further updates."
For several seconds Jess was too stunned to move. Doug and Vic had to be the detectives involved. That must have been why Doug was called out last night. Her anxiety raced off in a dozen directions. What hospital do they take a wounded policeman to? Maybe Doug wasn't even involved. Maybe it had been some other detectives and he was just called into the precinct because of the incident? Who would know? Bev Peterson, of course.
She found her telephone book, and her hand shook as she ran a finger along the column until she located their number. Jess dialed it quickly and slammed up the phone in frustration when she got a recorded greeting. Her next hope was the precinct. That number was on her Rolodex in her chambers. Once again she reached for the telephone book. The 9-1-1 number was blazoned in big letters, but she needed the individual precinct number. More precious seconds was lost as she searched and finally dialed it.
"First Precinct, Sergeant O'Riley."
"I'd like to speak to Detective McGuire," Jessica said.
"Sorry, ma'am. Detective McGuire is not here at the moment. Would you care to speak to a different detective?"
"Is Detective Peterson there?" she asked.
"No, ma'am."
"Could you tell me if either of them was the detective wounded this morning in the Tate arrest?"
"Are you related to one of these officers, ma'am?" he asked.
"No, but I'm a close friend of Detective McGuire."
"I'm sorry, ma'am," the sergeant said, "but we are not permitted to give out any personal information over the telephone about anyone on the force."
"Will you at least tell me what hospital a wounded officer would be taken to in an emergency?"
"That would depend upon the severity and condition of the wounded officer. Most likely the closest one to where ever the incident would have occurred."
Jessica had reached the point where she wanted to scream. Her brain searched for a name. What was it? Knowles? Noll? Novacek? Novack? "Detective Novack! Is he there?"
"No, ma'am. Detective Novack and several of the other detectives are at the Milwaukee County General Hospital." He paused long enough for her to grasp the meaning. "I'm sorry I can't be of more help, ma'am."
"Thank you, Sergeant. You've been a big help." He had given her the name of the hospital without disobeying a rule. Now there was no doubt in her mind that the wounded detective was either Doug or Vic.
Jess hung up and immediately dialed Liz. She found out she had only one session scheduled for the afternoon, so she told Liz if the news was bad she'd have to cancel it, and promised to keep her informed.
Jess finished dressing and within minutes was en route to the hospital. When she arrived, this time, determined not to be turned away because she wasn't family, Jess walked boldly up to the reception desk.
"Where can I find Detective McGuire?"
The receptionist fell for it. "He's probably up on the 4th floor with the other detectives."
"Thank you." Jess turned and headed for the elevator. It had worked – and the good news was that obviously Doug wasn't the patient. As selfish as it might be, she was relieved to find out that the man she loved was not the injured detective. However, the bad news was that most likely it meant that Vic was.
There were several detectives from the First Precinct in the hallway and a few others in the waiting room, plus a captain, and the chief of police. A young girl was sitting on a couch cuddled against an older woman, and looking lost and desolate. Two young boys were squeezed in beside them. These had to be the Peterson children. There was no sign of Doug or Beverly Peterson.
Jess suddenly felt like an intruder. She just couldn't barge in. She didn't know whom to approach, or what to say. The fact that the Peterson children were there left no doubt that Vic was the injured detective, but what could she say to them without knowing his existing condition? Was this a death vigil? Dear God, she prayed not.
Fortunately, the chief of police recognized her and came over. "Judge Kirkland," he said solemnly.
"Good morning, Chief. What is Detective Peterson's condition?"
He put a hand on her elbow and guided her out of the room. "He's hanging in there. The doctor said that normally a single dose of insulin wouldn't be fatal, but he obviously received an excessive amount."
"Has he regained consciousness at all?"
The chief shook his head. "No, he's still comatose, and his vital signs are still at critical levels. At least they haven't worsened."
Jess didn't know what to read into that. Negative or positive? Was the glass half-full or half-empty?
"And how is Beverly holding up?"
"She's a cop's wife. Inflexible inner strength and infinite faith. An inspiration to all of us. Detective McGuire is at the bedside with her."
"Was Detective McGuire harmed at all in the incident?"
"No. From what I understand he and Peterson were answering a distress call. McGuire was checking out the backyard and Peterson had gone to the car to get a flashlight. That's when he was attacked."
"The news report indicated the suspect was apprehended."
"Yes, by Detective McGuire."
"Well, I won't intrude. If you have an opportunity, please convey my sympathy to Beverly, and tell her I'll contact her later."
"I will, Judge Kirkland. I'm thinking of asking the other officers to leave, too. I understand how they feel, and they're here to support a fellow officer, but there's not anything any of us can do."
Jess went back into the room and offered a few words of reassurance to the two boys. When she attempted to do the same to Andrea, the young girl turned away and burrowed deeper into the older woman, who introduced herself as Beverly's mother.
Just as Jess was preparing to leave, Doug came into the waiting room.
"Vic's going to make it. He's coming out of it. His vitals are stabilizing and he's beginning to show some motor control."
There were murmurs of relief all around, and the chief and captain immediately started to shuffle the detectives and their wives out.
When Doug saw Jess, he came over to her. "Have you been here long?"
"No, I just arrived a few minutes ago. I'm glad to hear the good news. Will you give Bev my regards?"
"Yeah, I will. I'll call you when I leave here." For a long moment he gazed at her. "Thanks, Jess, for coming."
The strain of the ordeal showed on his face. His normal tan appeared paler, and dark circles had formed under his eyes. She wondered how many hours of sleep he'd actually had since these murders had begun.
She wanted so badly to put her arms around him to comfort him, but this was neither the time nor place with all the curious stares on them.
"Yes, call me, Doug. I'll be waiting."
And waiting is precisely what she did. By seven o'clock that evening she was pacing the floor of her apartment – still waiting for his call.
Where was he? What was he doing? Had Vic taken a turn for the worse? Had Doug had an accident?
He'd made no attempt to contact her. What could be responsible for his not calling?
For the sixth time that day she picked up the telephone intending to call him, and for the si
xth time she slammed it down before doing so. No, she wasn't going to track him down like a jealous wife. He'd said he would call, didn't he?
He didn't call, but showed up at her door a short time later.
The instant she saw him, she broke out in tears. It was ridiculous of her, but she couldn't control herself. From the time she'd first heard the news report that morning, she'd been on tenterhooks. Every little incident, whether at home, the hospital or court had only added to her anxiety.
"Doug, how could you do this to me?" she accused. "You promised to call. I've been a nervous wreck worrying about you."
"I'm sorry if I've upset you, Jess. I was tied up all day."
"No one is that busy that they don't have a few seconds to pick up a telephone. That's all it would have taken – a thirty-second phone call – to keep me from going nearly crazy worrying about you. Even this morning, until I walked into that waiting room, I didn't know if you were the wounded officer or if Vic was. I wasn't even sure if the two of you were even involved."
"Things were moving pretty fast."
"I realize that. But once you got to the hospital, I'm sure one of those other detectives would have made a call for you, if you'd have asked him."
"I suppose so. I guess it's better if I leave. You're upset, and I'm responsible, but I don't need this right now, Jess. I've got enough on my mind."
She realized she should have given him a chance to explain rather than attack him verbally the instant he stepped in the door. "Vic didn't have a relapse, did he?"
"No, he's doing fine. They're keeping him overnight just to make sure there are no complications. Captain's ordered him to take a three-day medical leave."
"I think that will do you both good. Ever since these murders, the few hours the two of you have had to sleep or relax is ludicrous. Your suspect's behind bars now, so you should relax, too."
"Tate was released a couple hours ago."
"I don't understand," Jess said. "Why?"
"He has an airtight alibi. He lives two blocks from the scene and he and his neighbor jog every night. We're got a sworn affidavit from the neighbor that he and Tate were jogging at the time Vic was attacked. And Harry Rhodes couldn't ID Tate as the guy who's been stalking him."