Devil's Pasture

by Richard Bannister

  Jake Kennedy turns his head my way and gives me his trademark stupid grin as we walk in slow motion toward the bank. Kidd Hildegard comes through the door, his shotgun pointing our way, but Jake doesn't look, no matter how much I scream and beat on his chest. The blast from the gun erases his midsection leaving his torso suspended in the air above the bloody stump of his lower body. His blood coats me from head to toe, but he's still smiling at me as I turn away and shoot down the robber. When I next look at Jake, he's lying on the ground, still grinning, as his body slowly melts into the sidewalk leaving nothing but a patch of blood and gore. I crouch over what's left of Jake, and pound the ground, screaming at him to come back to me.

  My bawling as I experienced these flashbacks was usually loud and could draw unwanted attention, but this time the only sound was the chirping of my phone. Seeing the caller was Chief Kane, I composed myself and tapped the answer icon.

  "Sheriff Williams called me regarding the threat you received in the mail." Kane's voice was measured. "He assured me Hildegard is still incarcerated."

  "Yeah. We don't know who sent it." I tried to keep my voice even.

  "The crazy bastard could have had a visitor mail it. I'll have the Sheriff look into that possibility. Run it for prints and see if anyone comes up. Okay, Detective?"

  "Yes, sir." I tried to sound confident. I was anything but.

  After he'd disconnected, I slipped the note into a plastic bag. Despite Chief Kane's implied assurances, whoever sent it was out for revenge for Kidd Hildegard's death. I would need to investigate whether it was a relative or a girlfriend. Why warn me, and why had they waited this long? If anyone wanted to harm me, I was far more vulnerable in the weeks after the shooting, when I wasn't wearing a pistol on my hip. Was this really about Hildegard or something else entirely?

  Fifteen minutes later, I was in the shower, my Sig Sauer resting within reach on my towel. My mind was stubbornly focused on what might have been had Jake lived.

  I first met him in the bar at Wright's Grill. He was tall and slim but muscular with steel-blue eyes under a head of dark curly hair, and a palpable sexiness. Jake had served in Afghanistan at the same time as me, though we'd never met. I used to tease that I probably would have arrested him on sight, had our paths crossed. Jake refused to tell me what he did for a living; although, unusually for me, I admitted I was in the police force. I didn't care how he earned a living, and we spent a romantic night together at my cottage. Jake told me he was new in town and was still unpacking. When we both arrived at the station in the morning, I discovered he was the new detective we were expecting.

  At first, we weren't partners on the job, which made it easier to date. We were careful to keep our relationship a secret from the likes of Lieutenant Townsend and Chief Kane, though everyone else knew. Townsend couldn't even have suspected, because he made us partners six months before the bank shooting.

  In the days before his untimely death, we were talking about spending the rest of our lives together and were actively looking for an apartment or a small house. Then the unthinkable happened, and in an instant, I lost the love of my life.

  For the second time in my lifetime, my future looked hollow and empty. But I was trying to follow Doctor Kate's orders and focus on the happy times we shared. I remember Jake's integrity, vulnerability, and his sense of humor. Jake had them in spades. Just being in his presence would make my breath catch, and my skin tingle. No one could ever replace him.

  "TOWNSEND REASSIGNED ME," Detective Prentiss exclaimed, a bit too gleefully, as I hurried past him in the squad room.

  "Thirty minutes late and I miss everything," I replied. The threatening note and phone calls to the jail and from Chief Kane had severely disrupted my morning. "The coffee at the stand looks suspect today."

  "He put me on the abduction. You heard someone snatched Matt Baker off the street yesterday, right in front of the reporter chick, Kayla Ellis? Then uniforms found his apartment tossed, and not a computer in sight." Prentiss was all amped up and excited.

  "Someone is tying up loose ends." I'd speed-read my messages, earlier and seen news of the kidnapping.

  "Lieutenant Townsend doesn't believe it's linked to the murders." His voice was thick with conviction. "Are you still not convinced?"

  "Whoever is currently running circles around us has figured out the connection between Beth Gervais and Matt Baker. Come on, both homes were ransacked, and the computers taken. Plus, they socialized with each other. You don't have to be Einstein to see the connection." It frustrated me how much faith he always placed in the lieutenant.

  "If you say so, Riley." Prentiss' chair squeaked as he shifted his weight and stood.

  "The real question is which of the three victims first discovered the information our perp is trying to hide."

  "I'm going to meet the techs at Baker's apartment," Prentiss pushed his chair under his desk and walked out of the squad room.

  I parked myself at my desk and booted my computer, eager to find who might have sent me the threatening letter. A quick search revealed Hildegard's father had died in a gun battle some four years earlier, and his mother was in a hospice facility. The two brothers had no known siblings, and all the associates we knew of were doing time. Did a girlfriend mail it to me? I decided it would take some time to research and opted for checking the envelope for prints.

  Whenever I visited the Crime Scene Investigative Support Section, it felt like I had landed on another planet, and not just another floor of the station. Modern workstations and ergonomic chairs replaced the broken equipment and furniture I had to contend with. Kramer and other white-coated techs were bent over expensive-looking microscopes and analyzers. Chief tech Chris Andrews was in his windowed corner office, studying a printed report. When I asked him to check the threatening letter for prints, he looked troubled:

  "You've received a credible threat and shouldn't be going into the field alone. Townsend should have given you backup, not taken it away."

  "I'll vote for you next time there's an election to fill the lieutenant's position, but in the meantime, I'll stay away from dark alleys and strange people," I jabbed.

  Andrews shot me a look of annoyance. "I was about to come and find you. Are you ready for some good news?"

  "Always. Lay it on me."

  "The state lab got back to us on deceased reporter Beth Gervais' damaged phone. Whatever cracked the screen, also fried much of the internal memory, but they were able to make a partial recovery. A calendar item shows she had an appointment with a Dr. Paul Walker at Abbey Mount Hospital at 10 a.m. on the morning she died. In the previous week, she had several conversations with the following people: Buddy Olsen—the councilman and developer; Joey Sands—the landlord and construction company owner; Max Dixon—her editor, and Ananda Willis, whoever she is. Plus, she made several calls to her partner, Ashley Logan and to the Mayor's office. Here's the full list of calls." Andrews handed me a sheet. "The state lab may be able to recover more, but don't get your hopes up. My contact there tells me they are running on a shoestring and are swamped with requests.

  "Did the phone provider get back to you with her call history?"

  "That's a strange thing. I had to keep calling them, and they finally said her history had been accidentally wiped. I've never heard of it before."

  "It speaks to the clout of the people we're up against. The names give us something to work with, and maybe the lab will get back with more." With Prentiss missing in action on his own case, I was torn between interviewing Beth's phone contacts and checking on Hildegard's friends and relatives. Truth be told, even without Townsend's intervention, I would have sent Prentiss to check out the Baker crime scene. The department was hopelessly understaffed.

  "I found a pediatrician at Abbey Mount Hospital named Dr. P. Walker," Andrews said.

  "Give me the contact information, and I'll see what he has to say. I wouldn't put money on a knife-wielding doctor, but you never can tell. And he may be involved in anoth
er way."

  Back in the squad room, a call to Abbey Mount Hospital revealed Walker's shift ended in a half hour, but he usually worked much later.

  "I'm looking at his appointments. He'll have some time in a couple of weeks," his assistant said.

  "The police don't make appointments, and if you didn't hear me the first time, he's a witness in a murder investigation. If you obstruct me, I'll suspect you have a motive to do that, and haul you in for questioning today."

  "One moment, please."

  My impatience increased as I listened to music for several minutes before she returned.

  "If you can get here soon, he'll give you five minutes between patients. Come to room 247, on the second floor of the pediatric building, and ask for Anna."

  CHAPTER 24

  PATRICK WHITEHEAD HAD SPENT an hour pumping iron at Core Fitness, trying to rid his mind of getting fired from his position as head of support services at the hospital. His blue sleeveless T-shirt with the gym's logo on the front was wet with sweat from his neck down to his black shorts. He caught sight of a portly man on a treadmill, wearing a red bandana, and shuddered with distaste. Nothing annoyed him more than having to watch middle-aged guys with grossly oversized bellies struggling to perform the easiest of exercises. They put their plump bacteria-ridden butts on the seats and their greasy hands all over the equipment, requiring extra squirts from his disinfectant bottle. Fortunately, he used an industrial strength. The masses didn't understand how easily bacteria spread. Another case of an infection which couldn't be cured by antibiotics had been on the news the evening of the home invasion. The thought prompted him to take an extra dose of zinc. Just to be sure.

  His breathing had been off when he hefted the weights, and he found it difficult to get into the flow. No doubt due to the gag used by the animal who invaded his home.

  Ordinarily, he would do some stretches next, but he felt as if he had overextended himself after being captive in his bedroom closet for a day. He had taken to hitting the doors with his shoulder, praying someone would hear.

  Thinking Whitehead was out of town, his neighbor had finally let himself in to feed the fish and heard the ruckus. The fool had freed his girlfriend Sophia from the hallway, and called the cops, before rescuing him. The officers had made him go from room to room to see what was missing. It seemed to raise their suspicions when he said only an old laptop had been taken. Patrick overheard them say it was likely some drug-related retribution. They'd asked Sophia about her parents, her age, and if Patrick was keeping her against her will.

  Just the kind of headache he needed.

  When the police were gone, he'd finally been able to calm Sophia down. That was when he'd dropped his phone onto the tiled entryway floor, and it had turned on. One of his covert photographs of Ashley at the gym had displayed. A picture he'd never intended for Sophia to see. But it was at her feet, and she was staring at it.

  "What the fuck," she had said, and all he could do was stand there feeling stupid. Sophia picked up the phone for a better look. She swiped sideways and saw a closeup of Ashley's boobs. Next, one of Beth's tight little ass. Sophia had tears in her eyes and began beating his chest with her fists and calling him a pervert and a loser. She'd gathered her things into the Gear-Up backpack and slammed the door as she left.

  Rather than chase after Sophia, Whitehead had decided to go to his office at the hospital, to catch up on paperwork he might have missed. He was totally unprepared for what had happened when he'd tried to enter through the main doors. A uniformed guard had blocked his path and explained to him that he no longer worked there. Whitehead remembered trying to stand his ground, but the guard propelled him into the parking lot and radioed for the Head of Security.

  Whitehead glared at the guard until Brickman came through the doors. "Please tell this rent a cop moron that I work here."

  "You don't anymore. Didn't he tell you?" Brickman sneered. "You've been fired, and you must leave the hospital's grounds at once.

  "Fired? That's all the thanks I get for thirteen years of service?"

  "You deceived senior management about the hacking. What did you expect would happen? For all we know, your incompetence allowed the hack to take place. You could even be in league with Matt Baker for a share of the ransom money."

  That's when Whitehead took a swing at Brickman, but the man dodged, and he found himself sprawled on the ground looking up at the two men. They'd picked him up like a sack of potatoes and carried him to his little car, where they threw him at the driver's door. Brickman pulled out a pistol and pointed it at him. "If I see your miserable face here at the hospital again, I'll shoot you like vermin. Capisce?" He snickered at his joke.

  Whitehead came out of his reverie and looked around the gym. Bandana man was walking on the treadmill more slowly now and reading The Examiner. A jolt went through Whitehead when he caught sight of the front-page headline:

  LOCAL MAN MATT BAKER ABDUCTED IN BROAD DAYLIGHT

  He strode over to the man and snatched the newspaper.

  "Hey, what's your game?" the man shouted, but Whitehead was halfway to the front seating area, oblivious of everyone as he read Kayla Ellis' account of Matt's abduction.

  How could that be a coincidence, he wondered as he read the article. Someone had bound and gagged him right after Petrov discovered the hacker's identity. No doubt to prevent him from confronting Baker. Whoever it was had abducted the kid while he was trapped in the closet.

  Brickman must have orchestrated the whole thing! Was the CEO involved too? Whitehead punched the wall in anger.

  Did they think he would keep quiet about the hacking? He thought of himself as a fair person, but nothing about the past two weeks had been fair to him. He'd tried to limit the damage the hack would do to the hospital. He did a bang-up job of finding the hacker, and this was how they repay him? By firing him as soon as he returned to work. Patrick threw repeated punches at the wall, showering plaster over the floor.

  And how did Brickman find out about Matt? He'd heard ex-employees say Brickman seemed to know things from private conversations they'd held in their homes.

  "Damn Brickman and damn Lewis," he cursed out loud. He'd take his revenge, against the whole hospital and its management, by releasing details of the hacking to the press. It was time to see what the community thought when people found their medical information wasn't private. He knew the fancy estate where Lewis lived. The ornamental trees around his house would be easy to cut down. Brickman lived in a more modest home in town. Time for a massive water leak there, Kent ma boy.

  "What are you staring at?" Whitehead approached the man on the treadmill. He plucked the bandana from his head, and his hairpiece came away with it. The now-bald man fell onto the moving belt. Despite its slow speed, he shot backward off the equipment, colliding with the spiky-haired blond from reception. She screamed as they tumbled into a heap on the floor.

  Whitehead didn't notice the manager of Core Fitness, Wilkes standing behind him, or the two uniformed officers watching him from the reception area. His memory was hazy after that until he was seated in the back of their patrol car, his wrists handcuffed behind him. He didn't know how long he'd been there, or what the radio traffic about the "fifty-one fifty person" meant.

  One of the officers leaned through the open rear window across from Whitehead. "You went a little wild in there, pal. What's your name?"

  "Patrick Whitehead."

  "And where do you work?"

  "I used to work at Abbey Mount Hospital. I was Head of the Hospital Services Department for thirteen years, until they fired me today."

  "I see." The officer seemed to understand. He listened to his partner say something Whitehead couldn't hear. "Hey, weren't you the guy in the recent home invasion?"

  "Some brute came in and tied up my girlfriend and me for a whole day. Then she left me this morning."

  "Okay, hang tight while we check something out." The officer gave Whitehead a sympathetic look.

 
Twenty minutes later, they dropped Whitehead at his home.

  "We're not going to charge you if you promise to stay home. We understand you're having a rough time. But, if you cause any more trouble, we'll add disturbing the peace, assaulting three people, and malicious damage to the charges. Are we clear?" The officer fixed on Whitehead's eyes."

  "Perfectly officer."

  "You should apologize to the gym members and staff. And make restitution for the damage you caused, though I doubt they'll ever let you back in the place."

  "Absolutely, I will."

  Whitehead sat on his porch for a long while, wondering what the hell had gotten into him.

  CHAPTER 25

  THE INFORMATION RECOVERED from Beth's phone had brought me to Abbey Mount Hospital's pediatric building—a three-story concrete monolith sandwiched between the outpatient diagnostic center and the Emergency Room. I needed to know more about Beth's intended appointment with Dr. Walker on the morning of her death.

  My most recent memories of the hospital were from the aftermath of the bank shooting, four months previously, and still fresh enough to trigger mild feelings of panic. Despite Jake's grave chest wounds, paramedics had insisted on transporting him to the ER. I was in shock, and they offered no resistance when I asked to ride with him in the ambulance. They worked on my partner, but neither medic sounded at all hopeful. By the time we reached the hospital entrance, the female paramedic was pleading with her partner to let Jake go. A doctor confirmed his passing fifteen minutes after our arrival and left me to grieve over his body. I pulled the covers off his face to gaze into his sightless eyes one last time, and my tears showered down on him. Eventually, a male nurse had to physically drag me away from Jake's gurney and into another room. There, a doctor removed the pellets from my arm and medicated me for shock.