Find Me When I'm Lost

by Cheryl A Head

  “We have an ambulance en route, Ms. Mack,” the dispatcher said. “We also have units responding to an officer down at the same address.”

  Charlie leaned over the officer. “An ambulance is on the way. Will you be all right if I leave you here?”

  “I’ll be okay,” the cop said, speaking more clearly now. “I still got this,” she said, yanking her shotgun from behind the boxes.

  “Okay, but get yourself behind those boxes too, in case they come back this way.”

  Chapter 24

  Charlie slammed through the exterior service door and onto the landing at a run. She jumped to the ground and kept running. At the front of the building she saw gun flashes and ducked back. She darted toward the parking booth, crouching low. Rivers’ body was sprawled face down, blood pooling near his head. Charlie ducked into the booth.

  From the window she saw Don and the lobby guard pinned down behind cement planters at the left side of the hospital entrance. The two men firing handguns used the late-arriving red SUV as cover.

  Charlie’s mind raced. If she shot at the men from her position, she could draw fire from one or both, giving Don and the guard a chance to tag them, or at least move to a safer position. That idea fell apart immediately when one of the men sprinted to the next row of cars for a better line of fire.

  Charlie had another idea, and leaped over the shrubs at the perimeter of the booth and ran along the fence line for Don’s car. With the volley of gunfire, nobody heard the Buick’s engine turn over. With the headlights off, she steered parallel to the back gate, then turned up the row where the SUV was parked. She was a right-handed shooter, but her left hand would have to do for tonight. She rolled down the driver-side window, turned on the high beams, and slammed the accelerator to the floor. The gunmen turned toward the headlights and Charlie fired. Four times. She saw one man go down, and the other run toward the parking booth as she passed the SUV at forty miles per hour. Charlie braced as the Buick plowed into a concrete planter.

  She hadn’t bothered with the seat belt, but the airbag caught most of the force of the impact. Her chest felt heavy as air escaped her lungs. She flung open the door, then dropped to a squat near the front of the Buick. Don, who was crouching behind one of the planters, stood and fired two shots in the direction of the running man. As he did, the garbage vehicle reappeared, moving in reverse. Don ran toward it, and Charlie followed as two squad cars careened into the access road blocking the truck’s exit.

  When the truck stopped short, a man jumped down and joined the escaping parking lot shooter heading up the service road to the back of the hospital. Charlie was a few yards behind when Don cornered the building at full speed. She heard two shots and hugged the wall for a peek. Don was on the ground.

  “You hit?” Charlie shouted.

  “No. They were firing so I hit the deck.”

  Don rose to his feet and Charlie joined him.

  “Where are they?”

  “They took off. Somewhere in those trees.” Don pointed beyond the trash bins. “There’s an eight-foot iron fence on that side, so they aren’t going anywhere.”

  “Yeah, but they’re still armed.”

  “I think they might be out of ammo.”

  # # #

  Renee Young had been a Detroit police officer for six years. During her time in uniform, she’d dodged bullets, broken a collarbone while tussling with a suspect, and received two commendations. She had her heart set on a detective slot in a year or two.

  Her eyes were still stinging, and her face was swollen, particularly her mouth, which felt the size of a tennis ball. But worse than her discomfort was the embarrassment she felt at being caught off guard and ambushed by the thugs who breached the hospital.

  She’d crouched low when she heard the voices of two panicked men running along the service hallway. When they passed her position, she ducked behind the pile of cardboard boxes. Her eyes were still closed and swollen, but she heard the slamming door as they fled the building. She could make out only a sliver of light as she scrambled to her feet, wiped the back of her hand against her protruding lips, and cradled her Remington pump-action shotgun in the crook of her arm. She leaned against the cold wall, her shoulder brushing the surface, and used the toe of her boot to serve as a blind man’s cane to inch toward the double doors. In what felt like five minutes she reached the doors and pushed through to the hall that led to the outdoors. Here she couldn’t use the walls because wood platforms, boxes, and dollies lined the perimeter. With the shotgun balanced in her right arm and her left outstretched and sweeping from side to side, she moved slowly to the heavy metal door. When she leaned on the push bar, cold air slammed her body, stopping her for only a moment. Once on the loading dock, the fresh air eased her breathing and cleared her head.

  She froze in place when she heard running footsteps beyond the trash dumpsters.

  “Over there,” an out-of-breath man shouted. “Maybe we can get out there.”

  “Okay,” another answered.

  The sound of shoes running on pavement turned to the snapping of twigs and pinecones when the men broke through the tree line. Gripping the banister, Officer Young descended the steps as quickly as possible and followed the noises. She counted twenty-six steps, nearly stumbling on a curb, before she reached the mulch-covered ground near the rear fencing.

  It was impossible for anyone to squeeze through the eight-foot wrought-iron fence or scale its barbed top, but the pepper-spray thug and his buddy didn’t know that. They thrashed and grunted and cursed and whimpered. Young couldn’t see much, but at night, in these dark trees, the men she pursued couldn’t see very well either. She could make out the two figures groping at the fence­—their backs to her. She was only a few feet away when she raised the shotgun in their direction. She was taking a risk, but if she was lucky, she could get off a round or two before one of them killed her with her own service weapon.

  “Put your hands in the air,” she ordered. “Do it now and move slowly.”

  The thrashing stopped. Young took a shooting stance, knees bent, prepared to fire at any sound of sudden movement.

  “Shit,” one of the men said. “She has a shotgun.”

  “Drop your weapons,” Young shouted.

  She held her breath so she could hear the guns hit the ground. She heard one thud. She jiggled the gun up and down once. “Where’s the other one?”

  “I don’t have a gun, lady. I dropped mine by the truck.”

  “Okay. You guys get moving back to the parking lot. No sudden moves. This is pump action and I’m in no mood to play.”

  Young took two steps back and gestured with the gun. She kept it aimed in the direction of their movements. She saw a bit of light from the streetlamp as they approached the edge of the trees. When they were about to enter the parking lot, one of the men stopped.

  “You keep moving,” Young said. “Or I swear I’ll put a load of buckshot in your back.”

  # # #

  “Freeze,” a voice ordered behind them. “Drop those guns.”

  Charlie and Don released their revolvers and turned around, hands raised. Four uniformed officers faced them, guns drawn. Wallace and the security guard quickly joined them.

  “Stand down. They’re not the ones,” Wallace shouted. “They’re with me. I said stand down!”

  Charlie and Don waited a few beats before lowering their hands.

  “You’ve got two bad guys somewhere in those trees.” Don pointed behind him.

  “Where’s my downed officer?” Wallace asked.

  “I left her inside,” Charlie said. “She was okay. Not shot. But they sprayed something in her eyes and hit her on the head. Can we pick up our guns?”

  Don leaned over to retrieve his Glock. “It’s okay, Mack. Get your damn gun,” Don growled.

  From the trash area came a ruckus and everyone looked. “Don’t shoot, don’t shoot,” a man was pleading.

  The group of officers moved forward cautiously, weap
ons ready. The outdoor lights didn’t quite pick up the tree line, but they could make out three people emerging from the shadows.

  “Halt right there,” one of the officers shouted.

  “Don’t shoot,” Officer Young shouted. “I’m on duty. I have two of the men you’re looking for. Come and get them.”

  “There’s your officer right there, Wallace,” Charlie said with a smile.

  # # #

  Charlie figured the morning news shows would already be blaring the events of the night, so she gave Mandy a quick call.

  “I’m just seeing it on TV,” Mandy said. “Thank God you called. Are you all right?”

  “I’m okay. No, not really. But I’m not hurt.”

  “Is Franklin okay? The newscast didn’t say.”

  “Yes. He’s safe. Look, I’m going into a debriefing with the police, but I didn’t want you to worry. I’ll call you back with the details. I love you.”

  “More than Franklin?” Mandy said, clearly kidding this time.

  “Absolutely. I’ll call you again as soon as I can.”

  # # #

  Wallace sat in the office of one of the hospital administrators, leading the debrief on the hospital attack. A dozen uniformed cops, two hospital security guards, and Charlie and Don tried to make sense of the hospital breach by at least five bad guys.

  In addition to the fatal shooting of the parking guard, an officer was dead. Charlie had killed one of the van shooters, and another gunman had been killed inside the hospital. Two officers—including the female cop—were severely injured, and one of the attackers had suffered injuries. The two men captured by the female officer were already in central lockup.

  It had been a horrible night. Despite the losses Franklin was still safe, moved to a new location in the hospital and with even more security. Now all they had to figure out was how this mess happened—although they suspected they knew who the mastermind was.

  Nathanson, the officer on watch, spoke up. “I was right outside Rogers’s door when I heard the service elevator. It was quiet; the only people on the fourth floor were the nurses at their station. I sent the rookie down the hall to investigate.” The distraught duty cop shook his head and cleared his throat before continuing. “I heard Conrad shout ‘stop right there,’ but then they just opened up on him. It happened so fast. I couldn’t get to him.”

  “It wasn’t your fault. You got one of them,” Wallace said to comfort the man.

  There were only grim faces in the room. Charlie felt the collective pain of the blue line, especially the anger and distress from Officer Nathanson, who’d been unable to save his partner.

  He’d made the first call of trouble when he heard the shots fired and rushed into the melee. Fifteen shots had been fired before he took down one of the gunmen and the other fled back into the service elevator.

  “I think the plan was to try to take Rogers out through the emergency room,” another officer said. “When the ‘shots fired’ call came through my radio, a guy who had been in the waiting room for more than an hour looked at me and bolted toward the door. I tackled and cuffed him, but he was shouting for somebody.”

  “Probably the two guys at the SUV,” Don said. “I grabbed Akens here in the lobby when Charlie, uh, Ms. Mack, radioed about the parking guard. As soon as the front door opened, they started shooting at us. We were just lucky they didn’t have assault weapons.”

  “They had a lot of guys, but not a lot of sophistication,” Wallace said. “The two in lockup have Canadian driver’s licenses. So did the dead man in the parking lot. By the way, Ms. Mack, that was a good shot. That took some guts.”

  “She’s got plenty of that,” Don said proudly.

  Charlie had been quiet in the meeting, letting this band of brothers deal with their stress and anger. She smiled now as they gave her nods of respect.

  “Is your female officer going to be all right?” Charlie asked.

  “Officer Young has first-degree chemical burns on her face. She was sprayed with a military-grade pepper spray. She’s also being treated for a concussion and needed four stitches in her scalp. But she’s expected to recover from her injuries.”

  “She was ambushed in her car, but she still went in after them,” Charlie said.

  “Yes, her bravery is noted.”

  Wallace talked about the movements of the gunmen, their weapons, and vehicles. He also talked about the report he’d give to Travers and what information should be shared with the media, whose news trucks still lined the front of the hospital. He concluded the debriefing with an announcement about the arrangements being made to notify the fallen officer’s family.

  # # #

  The room emptied slowly, officers filing out in singles and pairs, all with slumped shoulders. Wallace stayed back to speak with Charlie and Don.

  “I got a call from headquarters. The chief is taking the accusations against Fairchild seriously. He doesn’t have a choice now that a cop is dead. Also, one of the captured punks is already talking. Says he was hired by some big shot in Windsor.”

  “We think we know who that might be,” Charlie said.

  “Oh yeah?”

  “A guy with ties to Scanlon, Peter, and maybe Fairchild.”

  “There are too many dotted lines to Canada for this guy’s involvement to be a coincidence,” Don said. “Also, I may be recognized one of the guys in the parking lot as the dude who shot at me in Toronto.”

  “Well, they were sure as hell shooting at you tonight, Rutkowski,” Wallace said. “I’m glad you two were here, and I’ll need written reports from both of you.”

  “How did these men know you were moving Franklin this morning?” Charlie asked.

  “What? You think they knew?”

  “They must have known about the six o’clock transport,” Charlie said. “They were putting their people into place. Two on the fourth-floor wing. One near the emergency room exit. Two in the getaway vehicle. You’ve got a leak in the department, Wallace.”

  “You’re right. Has to be someone in my unit,” Wallace said, rubbing his hands through his hair.

  “What are you doing about Franklin?”

  “Well, he’s staying put for now. They’d have to be bat-shit crazy to make another attempt on him here.”

  “You should let Scanlon know what went down tonight, Wallace. I bet that’ll make her talk about Fairchild,” Don said.

  “Yeah. I’ll need to find someplace safe for her, too.”

  “What’s next, detective?” Charlie asked.

  “You mean besides finding the leak, getting signed confessions from our two gunmen, moving Rogers, and keeping Karen Scanlon safe?”

  Wallace looked ready to drop. He was juggling procedures, protocols, politics, and people he didn’t usually have to deal with.

  “Sorry to pile on,” Charlie said. “What can we do to help?”

  “Send me the information on the Windsor businessman.”

  “I’ll have Judy send you what she’s got.”

  “And get your written statements about tonight to me. I’ll drive to Scanlon’s house and tell her what’s happened here. Offer her protection. It shouldn’t be difficult to convince her she’s on Fairchild’s hit list.”

  “Do you have enough yet to arrest the asshole?” Don asked.

  “I will with the deposition from Sturdivant’s attorney, the confessions from tonight’s attackers, and, hopefully, a statement from Scanlon. I’ll take what I have to a prosecutor this afternoon. You know, the mayor and the chief and all the others will probably want to give Fairchild the opportunity to turn himself in. So don’t expect to see a perp walk on the news. Even with the killing of a cop, Peter’s murder, and the conspiracy charges, Fairchild will use all his white-collar power to fight us. Ultimately, we may see more men in pinstripes than in prison stripes.”

  # # #

  Don’s car had already been towed to his dealership where it now had more than a shattered window to repair. Rita was on her way to
pick him up. Charlie wanted to see Franklin before she left the hospital, and Wallace had given his permission.

  “Sorry about your car, Don. You shouldn’t have left me with the keys,” Charlie offered contritely. “Kidding aside. Whatever the insurance company doesn’t pay for, we’ll make you whole.”

  “This work can be hard on cars, Mack. Maybe we can file it under expenses. You call Carruthers?”

  “Already did.”

  “Okay. See you tomorrow.”

  # # #

  Upstairs, in an out-of-the-way hospital wing, Charlie visited Franklin, who’d been sedated. He opened one eye and slowly smiled when he saw her at the door.

  “They tried to take me out again, Charlie.”

  “Yeah. But we stopped them.”

  “You’re my hero. Always were,” he said before drifting back to sleep.

  # # #

  Charlie leaned into the Corvette seat, and hit redial.

  “Hey,” Mandy answered. “Is the police briefing over?”

  “Look, honey, I need to talk to you about something else.” Charlie paused a minute, but knew she needed to share. “Several people were killed this morning. A nice old man who was just biding his time until retirement, a rookie cop, and another guy—a murderer, maybe. But I killed him.”

  “Oh no, Charlie. I’m so sorry.”

  “It was just like last time. I had no choice.” Charlie’s voice wavered. “The guy was firing on Don and a security guard.” Charlie fought back tears and tried to collect herself. “I know it couldn’t be helped, but it feels awful.”

  “I know. When can you come home?”

  “I’m waiting for Serena. I need to fill her in.”

  “You’ve been up all night. You really need to get some rest and take some time to put this into perspective.”

  “I guess I could suggest to Serena that she speak directly with Detective Wallace.”