The Witness

by Dee Henderson

  Caroline didn’t know if anything in the envelope she carried would help, but it was full of photos Amy had marked and annotated with memories from New York. At least it was another set of faces to watch for in an otherwise wait-and-see game for who might be around. Amy, more than anyone else, needed to know if the two murders and the knife attack represented new trouble appearing or a wave of old business relating to herself now reaching out toward her sisters.

  Connor had been smart to get Marie back out in public, if not relaxing, then at least getting settled and okay with being in a crowd. Sykes had plastered Marie’s photo on the front page again, and Marie’s instinct would be to hide in the gallery flat and not venture out. Going shopping together, then stopping at a restaurant for lunch had been good first choices for Connor to make.

  Sykes had sources. Caroline didn’t particularly like what he wrote, but the facts were solid. The story of its being a robbery had shifted toward its being more a mugging. Not perfect with all the facts, but close enough someone had talked to Sykes before he wrote that piece. Someone inside. They were seeing crime-scene details and photos in the newspaper before the reports were being finished, now this breach—the chief was going to fire someone just as soon as he figured out the leak and probably do it in a spectacular fashion.

  Caroline ate her lunch and thought about her own Christmas shopping. She knew Amy had started hers on that last trip with Luke, and from the looks of the sacks around Marie and Tracey they had also begun theirs this morning. Maybe Amy could get talked into going a town over and spending a day at the mall—the excursion would do them both good. They couldn’t help solve these two murders, and sitting around and waiting for a face to appear in the crowd was not a good option.

  The group at the table rose, Marsh holding the chair for Tracey, Connor helping Marie with her packages. Making the quick decision that it was best to be ahead of them on this walk, Caroline tucked money for her lunch on the bill, left with her drink refill, and slipped on her coat. The group would be a minute or two just getting their things gathered together. The sisters would want to ask about Amy, and Caroline wasn’t comfortable doing that here. She caught Marsh’s eye and nodded to the door, then headed out ahead of them.

  Marsh paid at the counter to put all the meals on his charge card, and he smiled at the image Caroline made as she moved past the crowd at the exit: bold red hat, long black coat, gloves, a pretty little thing in the way guys appreciated such things. She disappeared into the crowd of pedestrian traffic on the sidewalk, heading north toward the gallery and where they had parked the squad car. She needed someone special in her life, and he wasn’t above trying to make an introduction, but for the life of him he couldn’t think of someone special enough to do. He knew the folder she brought was business, and he didn’t particularly want that part of his day to return yet. He pulled on his gloves.

  Tracey joined him. “They had exactly one left. It’s perfect.” She held up a baby mug with a colorful balloon bouquet formed into the ceramic sides she’d bought at the restaurant gift shop and then slid it back into the sack. “My extended list Christmas shopping is officially done.”

  He held her coat for her. “You’re absolutely sure? No second cousin of your hairdresser’s mother you’ve forgotten on your list?” he teased.

  She hit him for the teasing and then slipped into her coat. “Admit it, you enjoyed this morning.”

  He smiled at her. “I’ll admit shopping with you is an experience.”

  “And one you come back to enjoy every year.” She pulled on her gloves and beamed at him. “Let’s go find dessert.”

  “Tracey—”

  She laughed and picked up the sack with her final purchase, and he held the restaurant door open for her. “You’ve got ten minutes, don’t you? Time enough to slip into the candy shop for a piece of homemade fudge?”

  “I suppose Connor can take that long to say good-bye.” He was aware of Connor lingering behind them at the table with Marie and Bryce, and he purposely gave them privacy for a few more minutes. He steered Tracey around a group of teens on the sidewalk. “I need one more gift for the chief’s sister, Susan, so let’s also stop at the department store you like and see—”

  Shots rang out. One slapped into the fender of the car parked at the curb right behind them, and a second shattered a display window ahead of them.

  Before the glass could be pulled downward by gravity Marsh had Tracey covered and moving toward the only shelter reachable, a gray sedan parked at the curb ahead of them, shielding her head with his arms and blocking her body with his.

  Pedestrians screamed, scattered.

  The back car window above them exploded as two bullets slapped into it. Something hit brick. Something hit people. He could see people falling. Tires squealed as the shooter tore away from the scene.

  He could feel adrenaline stretching his nerves to the point his heart wanted to explode. “Tracey, stay—”

  He realized his gloves were covered in blood.

  “Tracey—”

  Her eyes were open and blank, and that was her blood washing over his coat sleeves. His hands searched frantically. Back of the neck, into her brain, already gone … his mind put together the realization she was dead, but the word didn’t have a meaning with it.

  “She okay, buddy?”

  A hand rested on his shoulder, and the light blocked as a guy leaned over him to see. “Oh, man. That’s three he hit.”

  Three.

  The shakes made it hard for him to release her to lay her back on the sidewalk; he rapidly shoved together his scarf and gloves to provide a cushion for her head. Not even a final breath or a whispered word, just gone. “Tracey—” He choked on tears as he tried to untangle the way they’d fallen and moved to sit up beside her.

  Her mug had spilled from the sack and cracked into three pieces. The new silk scarf she’d bought that morning tied loosely at her neck had knotted to one side and gotten dirty. A hard fist in his chest made breathing labored, and his hand kept shaking as he touched under that scarf. No pulse at all. She was still pretty; he closed her eyes so she wouldn’t keep looking at him.

  “Don’t move me.”

  The cried words behind him registered, and he realized the commotion around him now was crying and pleas, and while he didn’t want to care, he turned his head to look and saw a sidewalk deserted but for injured and those who had braved coming back to help. Cuts, broken arm, twisted knee, the perils of the stampede to move away … and shooting victims.

  He struggled to his feet and walked north down the path of the gunfire and saw the man who had stopped by him working to help a young man shot in the leg.

  Red hat. He saw the color resting against the bookstore building brick wall and angled that direction. Caroline sat against the building, one leg bent, her arms lax at her sides.

  “Hey, lady,” he offered softly.

  Awake, eyes focusing on him, but not moving on her own.

  He struggled to kneel without falling. He shifted her coat to see. Her blouse was covered with blood. Struck in the chest up toward her left shoulder, a few inches over and the bullet would have hit her heart. “Hold on, Caroline.” He tried using her scarf to make a pressure bandage, but the material was too thick and not solid enough. He pulled over one of the shopping bags littering the sidewalk and tugged out a yellow silk blouse. She groaned as he pressed it tight against the bleeding. “I know it hurts.”

  Her head rolled toward him, her eyes clear as they looked into his. “Bloody Irishman, he shot right into the crowd not bothering to aim beyond shoving the gun out the window and yanking the trigger while he drove with the other hand.”

  “You saw him?”

  “Tall guy, Irish, the curly side of red hair; had this crazy four-leaf clover hanging from his rearview mirror. Driving a cab. Looked right at me.” Her eyes began to drift from focusing on him. She tried to smile. “Funny the things you remember when a guy points a gun in your direction.”


  She coughed and her eyes closed against the pain. He saw the alarming sign of blood at the corner of her mouth. Her breathing began to shallow out.

  “Stay with me.” He tried to ease her down to lay on her side, knowing at least one lung was filling up with blood.

  In an instant she’d drifted away from him.

  “Paramedics are coming.” His Good Samaritan knelt beside them and shoved around a coat he had brought over to give her some protection from laying on the concrete.

  “I need them here first; she’s hit in the lung.”

  “The kid that got hit in the leg will make it. The lady with you, your wife?”

  “Fiancée,” he choked out.

  “I just wanted you to know there’s a nun with her.”

  He nodded because there weren’t words to say.

  Cabdriver. Irish. Tracey was dead. Caroline was dying. He heard the sound of sirens finally approaching. Cabdriver, Irish, curly red hair—he was going to regret the fact he’d missed him.

  “Marsh, hold still. Are you hit?”

  Connor wasn’t taking his shake of his head as an answer and tugged at the coat, searching for himself. There was so much blood on him now Marsh wasn’t even sure himself anymore that none of it was his own. Everything hurt.

  Marsh leaned against one of the parked cars, and he watched the nun sitting with Tracey, holding her hand, being more comfort than he’d been able to be to her. Tracey wasn’t Catholic, but if she’d been alive she would have liked the fact the lady cared enough to say a prayer for her. “Marie?”

  “Bryce has her. Shots took out the window of the restaurant, but we were still too far back inside.”

  “Tell me someone spotted the cab.” His voice sounded odd to him, old, hollow. He should be feeling anger, but he wasn’t feeling much of anything beyond the hurt.

  “Irish guy, four-leaf clover hanging from the rearview mirror; every cab in the area is being stopped. I wish she’d been able to tell you which cab company; there are a lot of cabs downtown today.”

  “He was shooting at me.”

  “I know; you said. I think it was broader, partner.” Connor pressed hard on a gash on Marsh’s arm. “Put your hand here and keep pressure on it. You’ve got some flying-glass cuts.”

  He obeyed but wondered why he should bother. “Caroline’s not going to make it.”

  Connor looked over his shoulder at the ambulance, where paramedics were rushing to lift the stretcher inside, lights already going. “Don’t bet against her. Come on, buddy; you’re going to the hospital where a doc is going to bless you with a look-see.”

  “No. I’m staying with Tracey.”

  Connor’s gloved hand turned his head so that Marsh was forced to look at him. “No, you’re going to the hospital. I’m going to make sure she gets the best of care with all the dignity a shooting victim can still get; that’s my word. But you’re not staying to see it. Go get checked out, get changed, and join me at the precinct in two hours.”

  “I have to stay and help.” Marsh knew he was in the way here, in the way of the manhunt, in the way of treating the injured, but leaving was something that would just make this situation worse, permanent. He was leaning against a car parked along the street, and he tried to stand.

  Connor caught his arm to steady him. “Way too much happened in the last few minutes for you to be trying to help me yet. Two hours, Marsh, then we’re working this together.”

  “We’re going to find the shooter today,” Marsh said, settling it in his mind.

  “We’re sure going to try,” his partner promised, his voice choking a bit as he said it. Connor nodded to the paramedic who had been standing a discreet distance back. “Get him to the hospital in one piece.”

  “He was shooting to take out both sisters, Chief. Two into the restaurant glass, he caught Marsh and Tracey in the open; Caroline got hit at the end of the exchange,” Connor explained, trying to not get caught by the glare of lights now reflecting off window glass as television trucks beamed lights from the end of the block. Too many spectators, too many people around.

  “Where’s Marie?”

  “Bryce took her out the back way and won’t stop until they make that safe house on the other side of town. She doesn’t know, Chief, about Tracey. Marie doesn’t know yet.” He struggled against tears. “I didn’t see it coming, not like this.”

  “Marsh?”

  “Too deep in shock to put it together yet; he thinks they were just shooting at him. I put him on the second ambulance heading to Mercy General.”

  The pressure of Luke’s hand on his shoulder tightened. “Okay. The deputy chief and I have got the scene. Where do you most want to be?”

  “Cab hunting. I promised Marsh we’d find that cab.”

  “You and Mayfield, pull in as many guys as you can use. Stop every single cab and then pull every logbook and hack license in the city if you have to. I’ll push through the warrants. Tall guy, Irish, the curly side of red hair—he’s not unique for a cabdriver in this town, but he’s close.”

  Connor nodded his thanks. “I told Marsh two hours, and I’d meet him at the station.”

  “Keep him moving today, okay? Whatever you have to do. Don’t give him a lot of time to think. You took his sidearm?”

  “When I was searching him over for bullet holes of his own. It’s locked in the gun box of the first arriving officer.”

  “I’ll handle it from there. And, Connor—I’ll tell Marie about Tracey personally.”

  “I appreciate it.” He fought to keep his voice together. “Sorry, Chief. I just can’t do it.”

  “I’m sending my sister to step in with Marsh; she can nag him into listening to the doctors. The chaplain is on the way to meet Caroline. Just focus on the task in front of you, and let the thinking about it come later, okay?”

  “Yeah.” Connor found the guts to look down the sidewalk at where a white sheet covered Tracey. “They were getting married, Chief.”

  Luke squeezed his shoulder. “Go find Mayfield. He was over at the communications van a few minutes ago.”

  Connor nodded and took a deep breath as he turned that way. He wished like crazy it was one of the guys under that sheet instead of Tracey; anything would be an easier loss to absorb than losing Tracey.

  “Connor.” He followed the shout and found Mayfield waiting for him. “Sorry, man.”

  “Yeah. We’re going after that cab.”

  “An all points is already out; they’re stopping every cab in the city. You want to put emergency traffic stops on the outbound interstate lanes?”

  “There, and a couple patrol cars sitting on the airport entrance and anywhere else we can think of as exit points where he’s going to try and dump the vehicle.” Connor climbed into the van beside Mayfield and tried to focus on remembering the street names he normally knew without thinking about them.

  Who wanted him dead?

  The question rattled around the tired focus of his thoughts as Marsh accepted the scrip the emergency doc wrote him for pain pills and stuffed it in his shirt pocket.

  “Your personal doc can take those stitches out in about ten days. Any redness or extra heat in the injury, see him before then.”

  “Sure, Doc.”

  The ER still bustled with staff coming and going between curtained-off cubicles, and Marsh was left alone again. One of the guys in the squad had brought over the shirt and slacks from his work locker. Marsh buttoned the uniform shirt, relieved to have something clean.

  The curtain moved, and where the doctor had disappeared a lady reappeared. “They said you can go now?”

  Marsh offered the chief’s sister a partial smile. “Yeah. I don’t think they want to particularly keep me. This hospital and I go way back.” He’d been shot twice in his career, and both times had ended up here with him staring at the ceiling and getting asked inane questions by doctors about hands and toes and names of presidents.

  “I remember.” Susan was at his side to help when h
e shifted off the bedside to stand, but he wasn’t nearly as wobbly on his feet now after they shoved nearly three sports-drink bottles full of some awful sweet stuff into him.

  “Your headache is pounding?”

  “Like a full-blown parade drum section is camped out in there,” he agreed.

  “You would think they could do better than aspirin in a place like this.”

  “They could; I passed.” He slipped on his sunglasses to slash the light he had to deal with in half and cover the fact tears were too close to the surface for comfort. “That helps.”

  She offered what she had brought with her. “The coat is probably a size too big, but the gloves should be right.”

  He accepted the coat. “I appreciate your thinking of it.”

  “Connor did. He said—” She bit her lip.

  “It’s okay, Susan. I was wearing that other coat. I know what it ended up looking like.”

  “Yes, well, it’s not a memory you should have.” She gathered up the papers that had become his admission records and nodded toward the center aisle. “They’ll need you to sign out at the desk.”

  “Of course, one more signature on one more form.”

  She smiled and with one arm around his waist hugged him. “I’m buying you some good strong coffee before I take you to the station.”

  “Connor’s there now?”

  “Yes.”

  He didn’t ask about Tracey, and she didn’t offer. He knew what had already been done. The medical examiner’s staff had put her in a body bag and taken her to the morgue and started taking X rays so they could take the slug that killed her out of her and into evidence. Tracey was dead, and the evidence needed to convict her killer was still in her.

  He took a troubled breath and refused to let himself think about that reality. He needed to work; he needed to do something.

  The police-department desks were busy with guys—that was the odd realization Marsh had as he walked through the bull pen of desks toward Connor’s and found guys who were off duty now back on duty. Susan knew the building layout as well as he did, but he still kept a hand on her arm to escort her, not wanting to break that thin line of comfort yet in having her with him.