by Sharon Sala
It took all of her courage to open the door, and when she got into the hall and heard a man’s voice, too, she stopped. He was yelling at Mommy, but it didn’t sound like Uncle Tank.
Mommy screamed.
She stepped out of the shadows just in time to see her mother slap him.
“Get out! Get out now you, creep, and don’t come back. You don’t want us. Fine. We don’t need you.”
“Count on it! You’ll never see me again, but just to make sure I never see you…”
“No! Oh, my God! No, Frankie, no! Please don’t!”
The stranger had a gun and he was pointing it at Mommy!
Boom! Boom!
The dishes rattled in the cabinet as Mommy fell backward on the floor. Something red was on the wall. Something red was on her clothes. Something red was spilling on the floor underneath her.
The bad man kicked Mommy, then got down on his knees beside her. Mommy was grabbing at his shirt, leaving red spots all over it.
The man was laughing. Why was he laughing? Mommy was hurt.
“Too bad our little Mary isn’t here or I’d put her down, too. Tie her up in a sack and throw her into the Arkansas like a litter of unwanted pups.”
She clasped her hands to her mouth, afraid to move. Afraid to breathe. He wanted to put her in a sack and throw her in the river! He couldn’t do that. She didn’t know how to swim.
All of a sudden the stranger jumped up, kicked Mommy one more time and ran out the door. He was gone! They would be okay now—only Mommy wasn’t getting up.
“Mommy! Mommy! I had a bad dream.”
But Mommy didn’t move.
Something warm was running down her leg. She was horrified when she realized she’d wet her panties! Her eyes widened as she looked at Mommy, certain Mommy would be mad. She was a big girl. Big girls didn’t wet their panties anymore.
Then Mommy was looking at her, reaching toward her, and she was crying. Blood was coming out of Mommy’s mouth. Mommy needed her to come, but her feet refused to move.
No, Mommy, no.
Maria screamed.
Her eyes flew open, her gaze frantic as she looked around the room. Like the dream, except for a night-light, it was in darkness.
Within seconds, Bodie was at her bedside. Out in the hall, both Sam and the guard were on their feet, then inside the room before she could draw another breath.
The guard’s gun was drawn.
Sam’s fists were doubled.
Bodie held out a hand. “I’ve got it. Bad dream. Just a bad dream.”
They quietly withdrew as Bodie lowered the bed rail and then slipped onto the mattress beside her. She was sitting up and shaking, her hands covering her face.
“Easy, honey,” he said softly, as he unwound the IV tubing from around her elbow. “Don’t want to pull this thing out.”
Maria moaned and leaned into his chest as his arms surrounded her in a safe embrace. She was trembling so hard her teeth were chattering.
“Are you in pain?” he asked. “Want me to get the nurse?”
She shook her head, then dug her fingers into his forearms as she pulled away. The horror on her face was intense.
Bodie cupped her cheek. “Talk to me, sweetheart.”
She closed her eyes briefly as the dream began a fast-forward loop inside her head, and all she could hear was one name over and over. Frankie. Frankie. The name of the man who’d shot her mother was Frankie.
She opened her eyes.
“Frankie. The man who shot my mother was named Frankie.”
Bodie gasped. “You remembered?”
“I think I’ve been having flashes off and on ever since the blast, but I kept fighting it. Maybe it’s the pain meds. Maybe they dulled my defenses enough that I finally let go. In my dream, I was in bed when a sound woke me up. Mommy wasn’t in bed with me. The moonlight made scary shadows on the wall, and I went to find her. I could hear voices. She was mad. She was screaming for someone to get out. A man was yelling back. I hid, then realized Mommy needed help. I saw her slap him.”
“Did you know the man? Had you ever seen him before?”
“I don’t remember…. I don’t think so. But right after she slapped him, he pulled a gun. She begged.”
Tears spilled from Maria’s eyes and down her cheeks.
“Oh, God…she begged, she begged. ‘No, Frankie, no,’ but he shot her anyway. Twice. It was loud. So loud.” Maria put her hands over her ears, but the sounds wouldn’t go away.
Bodie’s heart was racing. This was the break they’d been waiting for.
“You did good, baby. You did good. This will help us find the man who killed your mother.”
He needed to call the lieutenant, but Maria grabbed his hand, pulling him back. He could tell that she had to get it out. It had to be said to make it real.
“He kicked her…and kicked her. She was looking up at him while the blood bubbled out of her mouth and out of her wounds, and he still kept kicking her.”
“Jesus,” Bodie muttered.
“Then he got down on his knees beside her and said, ‘Too bad our little Mary isn’t here.’ He said he’d ‘tie her up in a sack and throw her into the Arkansas like a litter of unwanted pups.’ Then he got up, kicked her again and ran away.”
She was shivering now and gulping back sobs. “He said ‘our.’ He must have been my father, although I wouldn’t have understood that at the time. And I didn’t move, because I was scared he’d see me. I didn’t want him to throw me in the river. I couldn’t let that happen…because I didn’t know how to swim.”
Bodie pulled her head down to his shoulder and shut his eyes. No wonder she’d suppressed her memories.
“I kept calling Mommy’s name, but my feet felt heavy. She looked at me. I could see her lips moving, but I couldn’t hear what she was saying. Then I wet my panties, even though I was a big girl.”
By now Bodie was crying with her as her body shook. Twenty years of terror were finally turning her loose, coming up her throat in hard, ragged sobs.
There was nothing he could say or do but hold her and let her cry herself out. His job was to catch the evil son of a bitch who’d done this, and make sure he and his fellow cops did everything right, because the day the State of Oklahoma put this man to death, he would be in the gallery, watching him take his last breath.
Eighteen
A little while later a nurse arrived and injected another syringe of painkiller into Maria’s IV port. Within minutes she had fallen back asleep. Bodie waited until he was sure she was completely out, then he was out the door.
Both her guards—official and self-appointed—stood up.
Bodie pointed at Sam. “Inside with her.”
After three days, Sam had the routine down pat and pivoted quickly, then disappeared into the shadows.
Then Bodie pointed at the cop.
“Do not—under any circumstances—let anyone in there until I get back.”
“Not even the doctors?”
“Not even,” Bodie said. “I won’t be long.”
The cop moved in front of the door and folded his arms across his chest as Bodie headed for the waiting room. He was counting on it being empty at this time of night, because he needed a place where he could talk without fear of being overheard. In spite of the hour, he had to talk to his lieutenant. It wouldn’t be the first time one of the detectives had called the man at home, and it undoubtedly wouldn’t be the last.
He was scanning his cell phone as he walked, searching for Carver’s home number, then hitting Dial. It began to ring as he walked all the way to the back of the empty waiting room, where he dropped wearily into a chair.
Carver answered on the fourth ring, in a husky, grumpy voice.
“This better be good.”
“Sorry to call you so late, boss, but it’s Bodie. Maria Slade woke up screaming. Had some kind of emotional breakthrough. She remembered the name of the man who shot her mother. Said she saw the whole thing, includin
g the man. We only have a first name, but we’ve caught bigger fish with less.”
Carver threw back the covers and sat up on the side of the bed.
“Dammit, she couldn’t make it easy for us, could she?”
“No, sir. Not after twenty years. She said her mother was screaming at the man, and when he pulled a gun, her mother began screaming and saying, ‘No, Frankie, no.’ More info may come as time passes. As soon as she’s able to go home, we’ll see about getting a sketch artist. Maybe then we can come up with a face to go with the name.”
“When do you think she’ll be released?”
“Doctors aren’t committing themselves. Still not sure.”
“Will she be able to be on her own after she’s released?”
“It doesn’t matter, because she won’t have to make that decision.”
Carver shoved a hand through his hair and then leaned back against the headboard, thinking to himself as he did that late calls like this were only one of the reasons why he was no longer married.
“She’s pretty damned lucky to be alive,” he said. “Oh. Finally got a report from the bomb squad. It was some kind of homemade job rigged to go off when she hit the remote. I don’t think the bomber took distance into consideration when he rigged it, or maybe he was just a screw-up. Luckily, she was far enough away to escape the worst of what could have happened. If it had been made of the new high-tech explosives, it wouldn’t have mattered where she was. She would be gone, along with a couple of houses around her.”
Bodie’s eyes narrowed. “Which tells me that whoever’s behind this seems to be using some less than stellar local talent instead of calling in pros.”
“I thought the same thing,” Carver said.
“Did you hear back from the Rogers County sheriff about Tom Jack Bailey yet?” Bodie asked.
“Yes. They’ve made one sweep by there already, but no one was home. They’ll go by the place again in the next day or so. Now, unless you have something else, I’m going back to bed. I have a meeting with the chief in a very few hours to brief him on this case. He’s pretty uptight about it being one of Frank McCall’s old ones. The sooner we close it, the better. Your info should make him happier.”
“Yes, sir. Uh…are you all right with me focusing on just this case for now?”
Carver frowned. “As in…guarding a material witness, I presume? But don’t we have a guard outside the room, as well?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Are you on the verge of getting too involved?” Carver’s voice had deepened, a sure sign he was getting perturbed.
“No, sir. Not at all. I’m way past the verge.”
Carver cursed. “Dammit, Bodie. This is unprofessional conduct, at best.”
Bodie was all set to plead his case. “It doesn’t contaminate the case in any way. She’s not a suspect. She’s simply a family member who’s seeking justice for a loved one.”
“Don’t feed me a line of bullshit. I am not the fucking media.”
“Fine. No bullshit. When this is over, you’re invited to the wedding.”
“Holy shit! Maybe I really do need to replace you as lead investigator.”
“No, sir. Please don’t do that. I like my job. I would hate to quit it, which is the choice I’d make before I’d walk away and leave someone else in charge of her care.”
“Double shit. How much vacation time do you have built up?”
“I don’t know…maybe a month.”
“Then use some of it. As of now, you are officially on vacation. If this ever goes to trial, we do not want to have to explain away Frank McCall’s involvement and yours. Do you savvy?”
“Yes, sir. I’ll send in the paperwork tomorrow.”
“Fine. Enjoy your vacation,” Carver snapped.
Bodie grinned. “Thank you, sir.”
Carver hung up.
Bodie dropped his cell phone back in his pocket, then made a detour at the bathroom. After he stopped to wash up, he took off his hat, stared at himself in the mirror as he combed his fingers through his hair, then swept them across his whisker-rough chin. Dave had been bringing him clean clothes, and he’d been showering in the bathroom in Maria’s room, but he couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept in a bed.
He looked like hell and felt worse, but it was a good kind of tired. Maria was alive, and she’d had the breakthrough they needed. Now all he had to do was keep her breathing and let the Tulsa P.D. do the job.
When he got back to her room, the cop was still standing in front of her door.
“At ease, man,” Bodie said. “Take a seat. When’s your replacement due?”
“O-seven hundred, Detective.”
“Have you had anything to eat or drink?”
“No, sir. I’m fine.”
“Go take a bathroom break and get yourself some snacks from the vending machine. I’m here until you get back.”
The cop strode away, then returned in record time, carrying a can of Coke and a cellophane-wrapped sweet roll. He nodded at Bodie, then resumed his position.
Bodie went back into the room.
Sam stood up. The expression on his face was questioning, but he didn’t ask.
Bodie had to admire a man with restraint.
“Maria remembered what happened.”
Sam’s face seemed to melt. His lips parted, and even from where Bodie was standing, he heard the old man exhale as he turned and laid a hand on the covers over Maria’s leg.
“Bless her little heart,” he muttered. When he turned around, his cheeks were wet with tears. “Who killed my Sally?”
Bodie hesitated. Ordinarily, this kind of information would not be shared until the perp was in custody, but in this case, Sam Vincent was probably the only person who might be able to help.
“Did you ever know the names of Sally’s tricks?”
Sam’s attitude shifted again, this time to defensive. “At one time, I knew the name of every man she turned. Had it all down in a little black book, which I gave to that detective, McCall. It should be with the rest of the evidence. Why?”
Shit. The McCall connection the chief was afraid of had just reared its ugly head again. One more thing he had to pass on to the lieutenant.
“What about the name ‘Frankie’? Ring any bells?”
“Is that what Maria said? That someone named Frankie killed Sally?”
“She said she heard her mother scream, ‘No, Frankie, no.’ Then he shot her—twice. It was a brutal attack, but I’m not going into details. I think part of the reason Maria buried it so deep was because she also heard him threaten her own life.”
“Son of a bitch. Do we know why he did it?”
“No, but he called her ‘our’ Mary. And threatened to put her in a sack and throw her in the river.” Bodie’s hands curled into fists; his voice was shaking as he went on. “She said she was afraid to cry out, because she didn’t know how to swim.”
A look passed between the two men.
“I will kill him,” Sam said softly.
“Let the law deal with him,” Bodie said.
“Then you better find him before I do. I’d gladly spend what life I have left behind bars to be able to watch him die.”
A chill ran up Bodie’s back. Except for a few details, that was the same emotional reaction he’d had when he found out someone had tried to kill Maria. If he’d needed proof that Sam had really loved Sally, he guessed it had just been offered.
“If you really want to help,” Bodie said, “then sit down and make me a list of all the men you can remember who went by the name of Frank or Frankie.”
Sam nodded, gave Maria one last glance, and then headed out the door.
Bodie leaned over the bed and kissed the side of Maria’s cheek.
She flinched, then moaned as she shifted restlessly.
Bodie pulled the chair back up beside her bed. “Sleep, baby, sleep. I’m here. I won’t let anything happen to you again.”
Sunrise was breathtakingl
y beautiful. A burst of hot pink and soft yellow on a horizon that went on forever, and yet Franklin did not appreciate the heavenly display, because he hadn’t been to bed.
He stepped back from the window and went into the bathroom, then stopped and stared at himself. Once upon a time he’d been considered handsome, with the world at his feet, and he’d taken advantage of it and all it brought.
It wasn’t like his conscience was bothering him, because Franklin didn’t have one. His theory was, you only lived once, and when you died, that was it. No afterlife. No God. No Devil. No one to answer to.
It had made his life choices too damn easy. But he’d never been backed into a corner before. The more he tried to cover his tracks, the worse his prolems became.
He’d paced the floor of his manor house throughout the night, reliving the life and the mistakes that had gotten him to this place, and, in the interim, emptying a bottle of good scotch.
He should be drunk.
Normally, he would have been.
He wondered if modern science knew that sheer terror could completely offset the effects of alcohol. At least it had helped him to a decision.
The bottom line was, nothing had changed. Maria Slade’s return had been the impetus for the Tulsa P.D. to reopen the investigation into Sally Blake’s murder. According to his source, she’d witnessed it and then suppressed it.
The people he’d hired to clean up behind him had been ineffective. Now he either sat down and waited for the cops to come knocking on his door, or he cleaned up himself, just like he’d done twenty years earlier. It was sometime after that last swallow of scotch that he’d come to a final decision.
He knew she was in the hospital, under guard. He also knew she would soon be released. That was when he would make his move. No sneaking in at night. No bombs. Face-to-fucking-face—and a bullet between the eyes…to her and whoever else got in his way.
End of problem.
End of story.
Maria was lying in her bed, a couple of pillows beneath her head. From the angle at which she was lying, she could see Bodie shaving. For her, it was the highlight of her day.
He was in her bathroom, minus his shirt and with his face covered in shaving cream, wielding a disposable razor as adeptly as she was sure he handled a gun on the firing range. What was making her smile was that he was softly humming beneath his breath. She wondered if he was even aware of it. As she watched, she flashed on what it would be like to live out her life with this man, watching him perform this morning ritual for the rest of their lives.