This history class at Pitt was the one that both she and Sebastian Maddox had attended. As Liz Cortland suggested, it was probably one of the Humanities classes that science undergrads like Maddox were required to take.
As I went back to the beginning pages and read more carefully, I was able to witness in truncated form the progress of Barbara’s connection to Maddox. She must have noticed him during the second class, having written “that Sebastian guy is hot” in one of the margins. Then, a few pages later during that same class, “hunk keeps staring at me.”
To say my feelings were mixed as I scanned these pages would be an understatement. Though, to my surprise, I wasn’t as jealous or angry as I’d expected. Mostly, in the knowledge of what Maddox would ultimately do, I felt a growing anxiety as I read her offhand remarks.
By the third class, she’d written, “if he asks me out, I’m going.” But it wasn’t two weeks later before she wrote “he still stares at me, though I ended it. Weird.”
Week six: “He took a seat closer to me. Had a fight with him yesterday on street. He follows me places.”
Week seven: “Guy creeps me out. I called him ‘Mad Maddox’ in cafeteria. Everybody laughed. Now I’m one of those mean girls.”
Week ten: “He’s not in class, but left me gross note. I keep looking over at his empty chair. Scared. Silly bitch!”
Week eleven: “Really scared. He watches through my window. Can’t sleep. Need better locks for door.”
On the last page of week twelve, there was just a phone number scribbled in the margin and repeatedly circled with her pen. Beside it was one word: “Cops!!”
There were two more classes, but she only records her notes from the instructor’s lectures. There were no more asides.
I returned the notebook to the box and closed it up again. Based on the timeline suggested by her comments, and then the lack of any notations in the final two classes, that circled phone number must indicate that she was finally going to report Maddox to the police. To request and then be granted a restraining order against him. After which, he soon left Pitt.
I put the box back where I’d found it, shoved my workout equipment into its usual position, and climbed up the stairs. I found Lyle Barnes and Gloria Reese, still seated at the kitchen table.
Good. A plan had begun formulating in my mind, and I wanted to run it by them. Especially Gloria.
Because it wouldn’t work without her.
Chapter Thirty-seven
Dr. Hilvers lowered his wire rims to meet my gaze.
“There’s no predictable arc of progression, in either a positive or negative direction.”
“I’m not asking you to consult a crystal ball,” I said. “Just give me your best professional guess.”
What I was really asking for was his gut feeling, but I’d come to suspect he rarely had one. Or if he did, he probably wouldn’t trust it.
The young physician and I were standing in a corner at the rear of Mercy General’s ICU ward. I’d hoped to get a sense of Angie’s prognosis before visiting her in her room.
It was nearing noon, the day outside the ward’s windows as gray and cloudy as the one before. Perhaps a bit cooler.
After I’d explained my plan to Barnes and Gloria, I’d driven them back to the motel to retrieve whatever they needed from their respective rooms. Then we each drove in our own cars to three separate motels—one on the South Side, one near PNC Park, and one in Oakland. Given the announcement by Maddox that he was stepping up his timetable, we decided it was safer to split up and stay in contact via our throwaway cells.
I spent the morning in my room in the Oakland motel doing the preliminary work on the plan I’d outlined to them. Then, after showering and changing into jeans, Polo shirt, and jacket, I headed over to McKees Rocks and Mercy General.
Now, in view of Hilvers’ reluctance to advance an opinion, I had to settle for a description of Angie’s current symptoms.
He folded his arms. “At present, she displays significant paralysis on her left side. Her cognitive status is unclear, though she’s awake and knows she’s in a hospital.”
“What about her speech?”
“She can manage the occasional word, with effort. In terms of the permanence of this condition, as I just explained—”
“Yeah. No predictable arc.”
I’d gotten as much from him as I was likely to get, so I thanked him and strode down the corridor to Angie’s room.
As before, I found Harry Polk standing by her bedside. Only this time, he was accompanied by Jerry Banks.
Polk’s eyebrows lifted at my approach.
“I’ll be damned, Rinaldi. Once again, ya got perfect timin’. Ya just missed Sonny and the kids. They’re downstairs gettin’ lunch.”
Banks, leaning against the far wall, spoke up then.
“Speaking of lunch, Sarge…”
Everything about his body language proclaimed his discomfort with being in a hospital sick room. Hands in his pockets, shoe tapping the linoleum floor. Eyes averted.
“Sure, Jerry.” Polk indicated the door. “Go on and grab somethin’ to eat. But make it fast.”
The younger detective nodded gratefully, gave me a wary glance, and hustled out of the room.
I smiled at Polk. “I don’t think he gets me.”
“Who the fuck does?”
I kept my smile intact and went to stand on the other side of Angie’s bed. She was still hooked up to monitors, and the IV tube was still gurgling. But her eyes, while filmy, were open.
Leaning over the bedrails, I took her hand. Squeezed.
“Angie, it’s me. Danny.”
She didn’t squeeze back, though I watched as her slackened lips slowly formed a word.
“Danny…”
Polk spoke in a hoarse whisper. “Hilvers says she can’t move her whole left side. Can’t feel nothin’ there.”
I didn’t lift my eyes off Angie.
“But that can change, Harry. It’s way too early to speculate about her motor functions. Or her speech, for that matter. Hilvers just confirmed that, too.”
“Meanin’ what, exactly? We just…wait…?”
“If she has to, I guess that’s the least we can do.” I stroked her forehead. “Has she said anything about what happened to her? Anything at all?”
He shook his head. “Nothin’ much. When Chief Logan was here, we tried tellin’ her what we knew. That she was taken by force by some unknown perp. And that she was tied up down in the river, and somehow got free before she drowned.”
“What was her reaction?”
“She just nodded. But real slow. Like maybe she could understand, but maybe she couldn’t. Like her mind was a million miles away.” He scowled. “Christ, I hate seein’ her this way.”
“Me, too.”
I turned my attention back to her pallid, unmoving face.
“Do you know who I am?” I said softly.
Again, her lips moving awkwardly to form the words.
“Yes…Un…for…un…for…”
I grinned. “‘Unfortunately?’”
Angie managed a slow nod, along with a crooked smile. Though that effort brought a bubble of spittle to the side of her mouth. I took a Kleenex from its box on the bedside table and gently wiped it off.
Polk placed his hands on the opposite bedrail.
“Goddammit, she’s still in there.” Grinning.
I squeezed her hand again. “She sure as hell is.”
This time, she squeezed back. And I saw that her eyes had sought out mine. She wanted to communicate something.
“Yes, Angie?” I bent lower, my face near hers. “You want to tell me something?”
Again, her rubbery lips struggled to wrap themselves around the words. Which came in barely a whisper.
“Thank…you
…”
Exhausted from the effort, her eyes closed with a flutter. And she quickly dozed off.
When I straightened, Polk gave me a quizzical look.
“What did she say?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. I couldn’t make it out…”
l l l l l
Out in the hospital parking lot, Polk leaned against the hood of his unmarked and lit a Camel. I stood next to him, peering up at the thickening clouds.
“Yep.” Polk blew a ribbon of smoke into the damp air. “It’s gonna rain some more, that’s for sure.”
He was waiting for Jerry Banks, who’d finished lunch and come up to Angie’s room just as Polk and I were leaving. Then Harry had sent the kid back down to the cafeteria with orders to get him a takeout coffee and bring it to the car.
I eyed him carefully. “I get the feeling you want to say something, Harry. Before Banks comes back. Is it about Biegler? What happened up in his office?”
Polk nodded. “He’s gonna try again to get your Department contract cancelled. Plus, he’s got an eyewitness who’ll confirm ya almost took a poke at him.”
“Young Jerry Banks, I assume?” His silence was my answer. “And whose side will you be on, if this thing goes forward?”
“Yours, I guess.” Looking pained. “Way I see it, I got no choice, now that Angie’s outta commission. She’s the one usually hauls your ass outta the fire when it comes to the brass.”
“That’s for damn sure.”
He angrily tossed the cigarette. “Christ, Rinaldi, why the fuck didja have to put me in this position? Eh? Like I need this shit in my life!”
Abruptly, he jerked open the driver’s side door and got behind the wheel. Face front, scowling at the windshield.
Meanwhile, Jerry Banks had strolled out of the hospital’s front entrance, a steaming Styrofoam cup of coffee in each hand. As he approached Polk’s vehicle, Banks gave me a quick, guarded look, which I didn’t return.
After watching them pull out of the lot, I got into my own car. I hadn’t driven a mile from the hospital when it hit me.
l l l l l
It was after four when I strode into Noah’s Ark, the bar just starting to fill with its regulars, a classic Sarah Vaughn ballad coming from the room’s speakers.
As before, I found Charlene working behind the bar. At the same time, I noticed a young woman who looked barely legal taking customer orders at the tables. She wore nose and lip studs, streaked hair, and an apron that was too big for her.
Charlene jerked a thumb in the girl’s direction as I slid up to the bar. Her oval face clouded with worry.
“That’s my niece Sally. Helps out around here sometimes. Like now, when Noah—” The words caught in her throat.
“That’s why I’m here, Charlene.”
I indicated the end of the bar, whose stools were as yet unoccupied. Where it was relatively private.
When she joined me there, the full weight of her concern brought tears to her eyes.
“I’m so glad you came, Danny. I’m really worried about Noah. He’s been more and more agitated today. Mumbling to himself. Snapping at me.”
“Where is he?”
“That’s just it, I don’t know.” It was rare to hear such panic in Charlene’s usually wry, knowing voice. “Given his behavior, I shouldn’t have let him take the truck, but—”
“He took the truck?”
“I tried to stop him…and usually he listens to me. But he just got more belligerent…”
“Charlene, wait. Remember when we talked the other day? About Noah’s meds?”
“He’s been taking them, Danny. I swear. He swallows them right in front of me…”
I gazed at her anxious, perplexed face and chastised myself for having taken so long to figure it out. Not until twenty minutes before, as I was leaving Mercy General’s parking lot.
But now it made sense. Something that had been bothering me since the night Maddox showed those photos of the people on his kill list. The people close to me, one of whom would die if I didn’t get to Bassmore Cemetery in time.
There was one person who should have been on that list, but wasn’t. Noah Frye. Because Maddox had already selected him as the victim who’d be the bait for his final trap. When, at long last, he’d get to exact his revenge on me.
But that still didn’t explain Noah’s recent behavior. Unless…
“Charlene, go get the bottle of meds. Noah said that Nancy Mendors had sent over the refills.”
“Yes, she did. Though I was surprised, because he still had some pills left from his former prescription. But I figured, since she was gonna be out of town, she just went ahead and—”
“Who brought the refills?”
“Someone from the pharmacy delivered the pills. A new guy.”
“What did this guy look like?” Though I already knew.
“Good-looking, maybe forty. Shaved head, lots of muscles. He had the pharmacy logo on his shirt.”
A tight ball formed in the center of my chest.
“Go and get the pills, Charlene. Hurry!”
Suddenly, two businessmen types at the other end of the bar shouted down to where we stood. Red-faced, ties undone.
“Hey, can we get a coupla more brewskis here?”
Charlene gave them a steely glare, but I grabbed her arm.
“Go take care of them. But tell me where the pills are.”
“Kitchen. Top shelf, above the fridge.”
As she went to attend to her unruly customers, I walked in the opposite direction and through the swinging doors to the small, cramped kitchen. As she’d described, there was a series of shelves built above the refrigerator. The top shelf was cluttered with both prescription bottles and over-the-counter meds. Still, it only took a few moments to find the bottle I was looking for.
The pharmacy label was legitimate, one I recognized from seeing other meds from the place. I’d have expected no less from Maddox. It wouldn’t have been difficult for him to steal one while distracting some intern pharmacist.
The medication and its dosage were also accurate. With access to my records, and the fact that Nancy Mendors always cc’d me about her outpatient treatment of our mutual friend Noah, Maddox knew exactly what meds were prescribed.
Already knowing what I’d find, I poured a couple of the capsules into my palm. Right look, right colors. Neither Charlene nor Noah would’ve suspected a thing.
Turning to the counter opposite the fridge, I cracked open one of the capsules and poured out its contents. Then I dipped a finger into the soft white mound and tasted it.
Sweet. Probably powdered sugar.
Then, cursing Maddox aloud, I angrily swept the useless stuff onto the floor.
Noah had been without his psychotropic meds for days, which explained his sudden mood change. But that wasn’t the problem. Soon he’d be in the grip of powerful, self-recriminating delusions. Vivid and excruciating. If he wasn’t already.
Pushing through the swinging doors, I hurried once more out to the bar, where a flustered, distracted Charlene was trying to keep up with her customers’ demands.
I leaned across the bar, got her attention.
“Where’s the truck parked? Out on the street?”
“Yeah. Around the corner. Usually. But—”
“Did you see Noah drive off in it? Did you hear anything?”
“No, but he said he was going to—”
I didn’t stay to hear the rest, and instead moved quickly through the thickening crowd to the front entrance. Then out to the street, under a darkening sky at war with the sinking sun.
I quickly looked up and down the street in front of the bar, then ran to the corner and made the turn. There, about two car-lengths down the block, was Noah’s truck.
Before I got close enough to
check, I already knew that it would be empty. But I still placed my palm on the hood. Cold. The engine had never been started.
I felt a stab of grief, of anger.
Poor Noah. He’d be terrified, in a near-psychotic state by now. Bewildered and totally vulnerable.
And he was in Maddox’s hands.
Chapter Thirty-eight
I went back into the bar and found Charlene standing behind the polished counter, head down, hands gripping the brass edges, her face hidden by the cascade of her flowing red curls. She looked on the verge of collapsing.
Meanwhile, those same two customers were berating her, demanding another refill. One louder than the other.
“You got people waiting, lady! Thirsty people! What the hell’s wrong with you?”
I’d had enough. Jostling my way next to them at the bar, I grabbed this boisterous clown by the forearm.
“Here’s the deal, pal.” I didn’t have to manufacture my anger. “You and your buddy pay your tab and get the hell outta here—now! Or I’ll throw you out…”
“Hey!” The guy squirmed against my grasp. “You can’t—”
“Yeah? Watch me…”
His friend had the good sense to toss some twenties on the bar and take hold of the guy’s other arm.
“C’mon, man, let’s go. C’mon, fuck this guy…”
It took a couple more tugs on the complaining guy’s sleeve, but the more practical of the two headed them out of the bar.
Then I indicated to Charlene that she should follow me into the kitchen. Luckily, the other patrons at the bar were either too confused or too alarmed to squawk as she walked away from her post.
In the kitchen, I took hold of both of her hands. And told her what I’d discovered about the refills. She turned pale.
“Then Noah hasn’t been taking his meds…”
“No. I’m so sorry. It was a trick.”
“But without his medication…” Her voice dropped.
“I know, Charlene. That’s why I have to find him. And I will. I promise.”
Head Wounds Page 29