Improper Influence

by Melissa F. Miller

  Wally grinned and tightened his grip on Saul’s neck. “I thought you’d see the light. Down there. In the grove.” He nodded toward the covered picnic area at the bottom of the hill.

  He eased the scalpel off Saul’s ear and pushed him toward the hill. Bodhi followed, craning his neck in a futile search for a small, dark-haired woman making her way around the reservoir. He saw no one but a pair of middle-aged matrons walking their dogs, lost in conversation.

  He trudged behind Saul and Wally, his despair mounting with every step.

  Wally hurried Saul across the lawn and on to the covered wood pavilion. He pushed Saul backward onto a picnic table bench and gestured for Bodhi to sit next to him. Bodhi stepped up onto the concrete pad and joined Saul on the bench.

  He was encouraged that although the pavilion was tucked away behind a copse of trees, it was still public. He judged the likelihood that Wally would harm them here, where anyone could wander across them, as remote. Given the sickly grimace pasted on Saul’s face, his friend didn’t share his optimism.

  He gave Saul an encouraging pat on the shoulder.

  “Don’t do that,” Wally ordered, pointing the scalpel at Bodhi for emphasis.

  He let his hand drop to his thigh, and his hopeful outlook leaked away.

  “Sorry.”

  “Quiet.” Another jab at the air with the scalpel. Wally took a step closer to the picnic table and then paused as if gathering his thoughts.

  Saul and Bodhi watched him in silence.

  “So,” he finally said, “we appear to have a problem.”

  Bodhi cocked his head. “Saul and I have a problem, that’s for sure,” he agreed.

  “Aren’t you clever? But, then that cleverness is what landed us all here, isn’t it?”

  “Wally, I really don’t understand what’s going on. Why don’t you just tell us.”

  Wally exhaled through his nose. It was something short of a snort, but just barely. “You always have to be the big man, don’t you? You’ve stirred a hornet’s nest with your media debut, Bodhi. The office was taking appropriate measures to handle the myocarditis issue in a reasoned, calm manner. Now, we have to quell a panic. And it’s going to cost the city a lot of money. But, you’re such a glory hound, you don’t care. Anything for attention.”

  Bodhi stared at the man, searching for the humanity he assumed must be buried somewhere within. “Wally, people are dying. We’re charged with protecting the public health and welfare. We can’t assist in—or even turn a blind eye to—a political cover up.”

  “It’s not your decision to make, hotshot. Just because those first cases fell in your lap, you think someone appointed you to make that call and hog the limelight? You really think you’re special, don’t you?”

  Bodhi watched him silently. Saul’s face was twisted in an ugly sneer.

  “Let’s talk about you, not me. You’ve always wanted advancement, adulation. This is your chance to get it. Help us. It’s over, Wally. I did go public with my concerns. There’s going to be an investigation and it’ll show a link between Champion Fuel and the death cluster. You can’t stop it, but you can get on the right side of it.”

  “You really are that naive. You thought airing your suspicions would protect you? Mackenzie needs someone to do damage control. Saul here proved himself to be incompetent—probably impotent, too, I’m guessing. She’s going to be grateful to the person who minimizes the fallout. And you know who won’t be giving a lot of follow-up interviews? A dead coroner, that’s who.”

  The giant gaps in his logic were lost on Wally. His face was twisted with passion and triumph. Somehow he genuinely believed he’d be rewarded for murdering two of his coworkers.

  It was pointless to try to reason with him in the face of his unhinged conviction. Bodhi changed tacks.

  “If that’s true, then so be it.” He paused and let his words penetrate Wally’s fervor.

  Wally looked at him, unsure if this was a ruse.

  Bodhi raised both hands. “Kill me. If you think it helps your cause, go ahead. But, let Saul go.”

  Wally smiled coldly. “Oh, of course, the self-sacrificing Bodhi King wants to die a hero.” The smile vanished. “No.”

  “Wally—”

  “I said no.” He stepped closer, slashing the air with the scalpel. “Poor, hapless Saul. Always the innocent victim. No. He made his bed, rather literally, when he started banging Mackenzie. Besides, do you really think I’m going to leave a witness, Bodhi? Don’t be stupid. I’ll have to do you first, I think. Then him. Cleanup will be a challenge, but if I drag you into the woods, it’ll take a while for anyone to find you. By then, Mackenzie will have appointed me Chief Medical Examiner. I will, of course, issue a heartfelt public statement and vow not to rest until your killer is apprehended.”

  Saul blanched and pitched forward as if he were going to vomit.

  Wally cut his fevered eyes away from Bodhi and watched to make sure Saul wasn’t about to charge him. Once he was satisfied, he looked back at Bodhi. “That’s about enough chitchat.” His voice was unnaturally flat.

  Where the devil was Sasha already?

  Saul walked toward him and stopped just a foot or so away. “Stand up.”

  Bodhi hesitated. “Did you kill Stone Fredericks?”

  “Shut up and stand up, Bodhi.”

  Bodhi inhaled slowly, deeply, focusing only on the breath entering his body. Then he exhaled through his nose, letting go of his attachment to life. He didn’t fear death. He would accept it as the natural progression.

  He stood and locked eyes with Wally.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Sasha parked her Passat behind a dusty Prius and jogged across the entry gardens. As she passed by the fountain, out of the corner of her eye, she registered Bodhi’s bicycle chained to a bike rack. She raced up the stairs to the walkway that ringed the reservoir, hurrying, but not frantic.

  Saul probably did just want to talk to Bodhi, she reminded herself, as she slowed her pace to a fast walk. Probably.

  But she couldn’t deny that Bodhi’s exposure made her uneasy. He was a soft target under the best of circumstances. And a clandestine meeting in the park was sub-optimal. She scanned the benches that lined the walk as she strode by. One older gentleman sat reading a paperback. Several yards away, a teenage couple occupied another bench, making out, wrapped around each other in an oblivious windmill of arms and legs.

  She raised a hand to shield her eyes against the late afternoon sun and searched the concourse for a pair of men. Her pulse thrummed as she realized they weren’t there.

  She broke into a trot and fumbled with her cell phone. As she neared the stone structure that housed the bathroom, she slowed to avoid crashing into two dog-walking women in coordinated track suits. Sisters, if she had to guess. As she pulled up Bodhi’s number, she watched the women with one eye.

  One was crouched next to her dog, a long-eared hound, trying to wrest a small piece of plastic from its mouth.

  “Bliss, give!” she tugged on the plastic.

  The dog, shook its head and tugged back, amused at the game.

  “Dirty. Drop it!”

  The dog continued to tug.

  “Oh, for Pete’s sake. Here,” the woman’s sister said, reaching into her pocket and removing two small treats.

  She tossed one treat at Bliss’s nose, and the dog dropped the plastic. She fed the other to her own dog, complimenting it on its good behavior.

  “What is it, anyway?” she asked.

  Her sister straightened, holding the mangled plastic between two fingers. “Who knows.”

  She started toward the trash barrel that sat alongside the bathroom and then froze.

  “Tessie? What’s wrong.”

  She pointed down the hill. “Look at that, Betts.”

  Her sister followed her finger and so did Sasha. She squinted to make out three figures under a pavilion. Men. One was advancing toward a bench where the other two sat. His posture screamed menace.
One of the seated men rose to his feet slowly, with a finality that worried her. Sasha noted his lanky figure and unruly curls. Bodhi.

  The phone in her hand connected her call.

  In the pavilion, Bodhi looked down at his pocket, at his own ringing phone.

  The standing man raised an arm and shouted at him. Sunlight glinted off something metal that he brandished in his hand.

  Sasha disconnected the call and pressed her phone into the closer woman’s hand.

  “Call 911. Hurry!” she shouted over her shoulder as she sprinted down the hill toward the grove.

  She filled her lungs with air and exploded across the grass. A cold wave of adrenaline rushed through her body.

  Her mind frantically worked to analyze the scene before it as she drew near.

  Three men. A white-faced man, seated, a look of horror pasted across his face. Saul.

  Bodhi, standing bolt upright and somehow defiant, staring at a red-haired man who was wielding a scalpel.

  Red-hair. Cruel, thin face. Holding a surgical instrument.

  The tumblers in her brain clicked into place. Wally.

  She ran flat out until she reached the grove. Bodhi and Saul turned their heads to look at her. Wally kept his eyes pinned on Bodhi.

  “I wondered if you were ever going to get here,” Bodhi said with a gentle smile.

  Saul gaped, open-mouthed.

  Wally let one eye travel toward her and then returned his attention to Bodhi. “Ah, it’s your little lawyer friend. Well, the more, the merrier, I guess. Now, of course, the question becomes who goes first. You or her? Saul, you’re still last in line, buddy.”

  Saul snapped his mouth closed but didn’t respond.

  “It’s not too late to rethink this,” Bodhi said.

  “Shut up.” Wally jabbed the scalpel into Bodhi’s cheek.

  A thin line of blood immediately bloomed. Bodhi didn’t react.

  Wally turned toward Sasha, his mouth set in an angry slash. “Ladies first, I think.”

  He strode toward her.

  Daniel’s voice echoed in her ears. Evade. Strike. Attack. Disarm.

  As he closed the gap between them, she eyed the scalpel and calculated her options. She didn’t like them.

  She’d rather face a gun than a bladed weapon any day. An attacker with a firearm generally followed a fairly straightforward process to use it. He was unlikely to get too close. He’d aim and fire. An unpleasant prospect, but predictable.

  But an assailant with a knife was unpredictable. He might charge her, fast and clean, and drive the blade into a vulnerable area. He might take a more circuitous route.

  If he plunged straight toward her, committed to cutting her, her defense would be relatively straightforward.

  Burst toward him. Plow into his right arm, ideally, with enough force to cause him to drop the scalpel, while at the same time punching him in the neck or throat. The goal would be to overwhelm, immobilize, and then disarm him.

  If, instead, he danced around from side to side, waving the scalpel as he advanced, it would be a trickier, and more dangerous, prospect to attempt to charge him and take the scalpel.

  Come and get me, Wally, she thought. She stood stock still, willing him to come right for her.

  He didn’t.

  He weaved from side to side, swinging the scalpel in wild loops as he moved.

  Great.

  She bobbed and dodged, staying in constant motion, as he neared her.

  He swiped at her chest with the scalpel. She pulled back and he caught nothing but air.

  He came at her again and sliced the air closer to her head. She ducked. Bounced back up and danced to the side.

  She indulged in a quick scan of the pavilion, hoping to spot something she could use a weapon. A brick to throw. A nice, thick stick to use as a baton. Nothing.

  Bodhi and Saul were frozen in place, identical looks of horror on their faces.

  That was good, at least. The last thing she needed was well-intentioned help from an amateur.

  She snapped her attention back to Wally as he circled toward her. His nostrils flared with anger and effort. He was losing control now, slashing randomly.

  She gritted her teeth. Less than ideal, but likely to be the best shot she’d get at taking him down.

  She watched as he wheeled toward her. She pulled her torso to the left as he grazed her side.

  Now.

  As he was pulling his arm back, she lunged forward and drove her fist into his nose. Small bones crackled and popped as they shattered. Blood gushed down over her hand.

  Instinctively, he brought both hands up to his face to staunch the flow.

  She assumed he’d drop the scalpel first.

  He didn’t.

  As his right hand flew up and she twisted toward him to lock his arms, the scalpel slashed down through her left triceps.

  A hot, searing pain took her breath away. Her arm burned and sticky blood spurted, mixing with the blood already flowing from his nose.

  She clamped her right hand around his wrist and squeezed. His left hand was busy pinching his nose. As he brought it down to try to pull her off, she threw her right elbow up and smashed it into his already crushed nasal passage.

  Wally gasped. She forced the scalpel out of his hand and heard it clatter to the ground. It was the sweetest sound she’d ever heard. Like a harp. Or a child singing.

  Wally looked like he was shimmering.

  She was getting dizzy. Her arm was numb.

  Time to put this to bed.

  She drove a knee up and into his ribs, pushing him back over a picnic table and landed on top of him with a thud.

  Her left arm hung useless and weak, a fountain of blood pouring from it. She crawled to her knees and gripped his throat with her right forearm. She applied as much pressure as she could, hoping he’d choke out before she passed out. Sweat dripped into her eyes. She shook with effort. Her vision dimmed at the edges.

  This was it. This was how she was going to die. In a puddle of blood in a picnic pavilion.

  Arms were tugging at her waist, gently pulling her away from Wally.

  “No.”

  “Sasha, it’s okay. It’s over.” Bodhi’s voice, soft and concerned, in her ear.

  “No.” She struggled against him but she was so cold.

  “Sasha, listen to me. Saul has Wally. Let go. I have to get some pressure on your brachial artery or you’re going to bleed out.”

  Bodhi sounded like he was talking underwater.

  She released Wally’s throat and slumped back against Bodhi’s chest.

  The pain in her arm screamed as he pressed down on the wound. She was on fire.

  And then her world turned black and blessedly quiet.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  Leo hurried down the stairs from Sasha’s parents’ house to his SUV, cursing the time. He’d needed to stop to finalize plans with Valentina, but he hadn’t realized how much time he’d spent there.

  He blamed Julian. The cooing baby had fallen asleep in his arms and he hadn’t had the heart to disturb him. But now he needed to rush to the grocery store and get home. Sasha and Bodhi were probably starving—if they’d even waited for him.

  And, of course, he’d left his phone in the car.

  As soon as he was settled behind the wheel, he reached across the console and grabbed his phone to call and let them know he was on his way.

  A text message from Sasha scrolled across the screen. He checked the time of the message. She’d sent it more than an hour and a half earlier.

  He also had a missed call from Naya. He tapped in his voicemail password and listened to her message. The words chilled him.

  He froze. Go back in and tell Sasha’s parents their daughter had been stabbed or get to the hospital faster?

  He swallowed and jabbed the key into the ignition. The engine roared to life and he raced toward the city with a lump in his throat and a pit in his stomach.

  He connected the phone throu
gh his Bluetooth and listened to a series of frantic messages—from Bodhi, Maisy, Naya, and finally Detective Gilbert—-all the way to Shadyside Hospital. Not one of his callers bothered to sugarcoat the news: Sasha had lost a lot of blood. She was in surgery, and it was touch and go.

  He called and broke the news to Sasha’s father. He waited silently on the line while her dad relayed the message to her mother. Valentina’s wail of anguish tore through his chest.

  After what felt like hours, he pulled the SUV crookedly into a parking spot and ran through the emergency room entrance.

  An empty black and white squad car was parked at an angle in the turnaround, its lights still flashing. Behind it, near the ambulance bays, was an unmarked car with a light affixed to the dash. It was also unoccupied.

  He skidded to a stop in front of an information kiosk. A young couple leaned over the counter and followed the volunteer’s painted fingernail as she traced a path along a map. She patiently explained how to get to the man’s mother’s room in a slow cadence. Then she repeated the information.

  Leo forced himself to remain calm. He focused on slowing his breathing while he waited.

  At last, the couple thanked the woman and shuffled off with the map, clutching one another’s hands.

  “May I help you?” she asked as Leo stepped forward.

  “Sasha McCandless. I think she’s in surgery. She was stabbed.” He forced the words out against the rising tide of panic in his throat.

  She smiled impersonally and consulted an electronic database on her monitor.

  “She’s out, actually. She’s in recovery. You’ll want to take one of those elevators back there,” she said pointing to her right. “Fourth floor. East wing. Would you like a map?”

  He was already walking toward the elevator bank. His feet moved of their own volition.

  He pushed the button to call the elevator. He waited years. Finally, a car groaned to a stop and slowly, impossibly slowly, opened its doors.

  He almost barreled into a preteen on crutches as she made her way off the elevator.

  “Sorry,” he mumbled.