John was startled by the astute observation. “A very good point. Would you stay with her while I go down to the gift shop, talk someone into opening it so I can get her some flowers?”
Sharon smiled. “I’ll be glad to.”
John opted for the stairs rather than the elevator and went to see what he could arrange.
Sharon tapped lightly on the hospital room door before stepping inside. Martha lay with her eyes closed, the light over the bed on its lowest setting, the soft glow directed up toward the ceiling. Martha had the remote beside her to call for a nurse.
“It’s Lieutenant Sharon Noble again, Mrs. Graham.” She took the chair by the bed, leaned forward but didn’t try to take the woman’s hand. “John just went to get you some flowers. He might have to take a side trip to Florida to find a florist open at this hour of night, so if he ends up bringing you a ceramic mug with a painted rose, you might want to be amused with him.” The woman cracked the faintest of smiles, even though her eyes didn’t open.
“How about I have Heather Jome pack a bag for you. If there’s anything specific you’d like, just make a list and I’ll make sure she gets it. I’m leaving a pad and pen on the bedside table,” Sharon said, leaving the notepad where Martha could easily reach it.
“A nightgown would be nice,” Martha whispered.
“Aren’t hospital gowns the worst? When your son gets back from the gift shop, I’ll sneak down and see if there’s one there you might like for tonight.”
“Thanks.”
“I like being useful.” Sharon leaned over and checked that the water pitcher was filled. “There are options after the hospital, such as returning to your apartment if you wish, to a hotel, or I know a private home within a short drive that’s open for guests. If you would like a few days there for you and John—an anonymous place, not a hospital room, and better than a hotel—I could arrange that for you.”
There was little reaction, but Sharon wasn’t expecting one. Martha was listening and that was enough. Sharon had more experience than John might realize with the second part of working a missing-persons case, with what needed to be done in the days after a victim was found. “I like your son, Martha. He’s showing the stress of the last two days, just as you are. He needs twenty hours of sleep. He needs to hear you say good morning to him, have you nag him about needing a decent shave.”
Martha opened her eyes, blinked, tried to focus. Sharon smiled at her, moved to the edge of the bed. “He’s a good man, your son. A smart cop. And he’s worried that something from his past is what made this happen to you. He’s not going to rest easy until that is answered.” Sharon let Martha absorb that piece of information. “If there’s anything you think you should tell me but don’t want to mention to your son, write it down toward the back of that pad of paper, and I’ll keep it between us.”
“All right.”
Sharon smoothed the woman’s hair gently away from her face. “He thought he’d lost you, and he looked as broken as any man I’ve ever seen. He loves you, but I bet you already know that.”
“I love him too.”
Sharon smiled. “It’s going to be fine, for both of you. Let me do my job now and help you.”
“Tomorrow,” Martha whispered.
“Tomorrow,” Sharon agreed. She heard the door opening behind her and didn’t turn. “What do you think, Martha, a ceramic mug or actual flowers?”
She didn’t require an answer. Martha’s eyes filled with tears, and Sharon moved from the bedside as a massive vase of flowers was placed on the movable table. The professional arrangement was so fresh the baby roses still had moisture on the buds. John drew one of them out and put it in his mother’s hand. “The perfect welcome-home flowers for a pretty lady.”
“Promise me you didn’t steal them from somebody?”
John chuckled as he eased onto the side of the bed. “Fresh flowers are being delivered around the hospital at this hour. The hospital administrator let me have the display intended for his reception room.”
Martha chuckled briefly, and there was no sadness in the sound. “I shall enjoy them even more knowing their story.”
Sharon turned as an orderly brought in Martha’s dinner. “I’ll let you two get settled in. John, you have my number?”
He patted his shirt pocket. “I do.”
“Call me whenever you like. Good night, Martha. If I’m successful in the gift shop, you shall have a package forthwith.”
Martha smiled and nodded. “Thank you, Sharon.”
The stress was leaving Martha’s voice and demeanor, Sharon could see the change happening. The woman needed family now, not cops. Sharon nodded to them both and slipped out of the room.
Officer Dell had drawn the hospital security assignment for the night, and Sharon paused to speak with him after she left Martha. The press would be trying every trick in the book to gain access to Martha. Sharon knew John would forcefully evict anyone who managed to locate Martha’s room, but she wanted a buffer of her own in place so that John wouldn’t be faced with the problem.
She made a call while she walked down the stairs. “Bryon, I’m leaving the hospital. We’re settled here. She isn’t talking about matters yet.”
“That isn’t good.”
“I know. Where are you?”
“At the precinct scanning traffic footage. I’ve got thirteen license plates that look promising for the time and the street they were on. I’ve already cleared a third of them. Ask me in an hour about the others. I’ve got officers wrapping up our presence at the Village, boxing up what’s in the conference room and transferring it here. The police presence will be gone from the Village by sunrise.”
“You’re making this easy on me. Thanks, Bryon.”
“We both know what comes next is the hard part of the case. How’s John holding together?”
She thought back to the man she’d seen resting against the wall, weary beyond words, but also his expression as he sat on the library bench holding his mother’s hand.
“He’s the most dangerous man I’ve seen,” Sharon replied, startled at her own realization. “The gloves are off. He’s got his mother back. Now he gets to track down who did this with no worry about her getting hurt in the cross fire. We’d better be prepared to manage some real fury.”
“Yeah. Thanks for saying what I’ve been thinking. I spoke with the friends he has running the search related to his past cases. The fact she shows up like this, dropped off in a public place—they think whoever had her got paid a visit or heard from someone who got paid a visit. They’re going back over the list of who’s been interviewed. Someone must have gotten his cage rattled, realized it wasn’t worth holding her.”
“An old grudge triggers it, but new blood from the present hierarchy shuts it down,” Sharon guessed.
“It could be that simple, boss. You’ve got to admit, it’s sudden, her abrupt reappearance.”
“I agree. The media coverage may have contributed to it. It’s too hot to hold her any longer, and too dangerous to cause her any harm. Cops put out word this is personal, being she’s the mother of a cop.”
“Exactly,” Bryon agreed. “His friends are going to fold us in on what they’ve been reviewing, send copies of the materials over.”
“Good. We’ll poke at that idea in the morning. Depending on how matters go, I’ll be at the hospital, then at the precinct. Come in after you’ve had enough sleep your wife thinks you’ll live another day.”
Bryon laughed. “Will do, Lieutenant, as long as you’ll take your own advice.”
“I’m heading home momentarily,” she promised, then ended the call. She was well known around the hospital. She headed to the night check-in desk. A janitor with keys was summoned, and she found a nightgown in the gift shop that Martha would like, clipped off the tags, chose a gift box covered with hearts, left full payment and a Post-it note on the manager’s desk and had an orderly deliver the package upstairs for John to give to his mom.
&nbs
p; Sharon went home satisfied. It wasn’t a full win—they didn’t have the persons responsible yet—but still a good day.
SIX
Sharon tapped lightly on the hospital door and eased it open, not wanting to disturb Martha if she was asleep. She wouldn’t be surprised to find John asleep in a chair as well. The television was on low, a movie playing. John turned his head her direction as she came in. He needed a shave, some serious sleep, but he looked more relaxed than she had ever seen him before. He looked good, a solid man, protecting his mother.
“She’s drifting in and out,” he said softly.
She took the chair beside him and slid a box from her sister’s bakery onto the movable table. “Has she said anything?”
“No, I would have called. How about you? Any success?”
“Traffic around the library didn’t lead anywhere, but the timeline for Monday has tightened. We found an ATM photo with your mom’s car in the background, parked on the street two blocks over from the grocery store, outside a florist at 5:53 p.m. Maybe she stopped to pick up flowers for the Tuesday Tea. The next ATM photo was at 7:52 p.m. and the car was gone. I’ve got officers on that block conducting interviews.”
“You found another step in her evening, maybe even where it all began.”
“It looks promising.” She studied his mom. The stress was leaving her face, her sleep looked peaceful. “You haven’t left this room. Why don’t you walk down to the cafeteria, have a real meal, make a few calls to your friends. I’ll sit with Martha and call if I need you back here.”
He hesitated.
“I won’t ask her about it in detail, if at all. Today your mom needs mostly to sleep, eat, and think about Christmas.”
John nodded. “Thanks. I won’t be gone long.” He slipped out of the room.
Sharon picked up the pad she’d left, saw three items listed for Heather to bring from the apartment—nothing was written at the back. She hadn’t expected it, but she had hoped. She settled in to watch the movie, wondering how long it would be before she nodded off herself. She was tired in a way that reached down to even how her heart beat. She needed rest, the kind that came with days off work, time with her sister, laughter.
It would be a week, she thought, before Martha trusted the process enough to face what had occurred and talk about it. John’s mom was a strong woman. This stage simply took time.
Martha was drifting to consciousness, as the elderly did at times, a drowsy awakening that slowly registered. “Hello, Martha,” she whispered, “its Sharon Noble again. John is downstairs at the cafeteria—probably eating a man-size quantity of food after being here through the night.”
Martha turned her head on the pillow, and Sharon offered a kind smile. “I thought we might talk for a minute while he’s out.”
“No.”
“It’s not so hard, the questions I’m curious about. What happened to the cookies?”
Martha blinked. Sharon leaned over and refilled the water glass, handed it to Martha with the straw bent. Martha drank thirstily, then nodded her thanks. “I ate them. The fruit too.”
“Were they good?”
Martha gave a glimmer of a smile. “Very good.”
“I nearly brought you a box of cookies, but my sister thought you’d enjoy her finger-food selections. She makes really good quiches and puff-ball pastries and miniature croissants.” Sharon nodded to the box. “You can share with John, then tell him to stop by the bakery and pick up another dozen of your favorites. My sister loves to bake all kinds of things. There are days I watch her humming as she works and wonder why I didn’t choose a career like that. Food makes people happy.”
“I like to bake too. Pies mostly, some candies.”
“Christmas is the time for it.” Sharon leaned back in the chair and relaxed. “I can help you if you let me. I want to help you. And I don’t need all that much information to accomplish a lot. Will you let me?”
Martha looked toward the door. “I won’t hurt my son any further. He looks very worn out.”
“You are the love of his life, Martha—until he has a wife and then has two loves of his life. This scared him, Martha, as it has to have scared you. Please help me end this for both of you. It can be over and finished before Christmas.”
Sharon saw expressions she couldn’t identify cross the woman’s face. “You stopped at the grocery store. You stopped for flowers next? Then something happened. Two days later you were able to call your son. I think one of the reasons you were free to call your son is that you were very convincing in whatever you said to the one who did this. You’ve been brave for two days, holding yourself together and getting back to your life. Be brave and tell me about who did this.”
“One person. A man,” Martha whispered.
Sharon waited. “Can you tell me his name? How old he is? Was he a stranger to you?”
Martha didn’t respond for a while. “A mother wants several things for her son,” she finally said. “John’s done dangerous things, working undercover, taking the public role of leading a police department. He doesn’t tell me about death threats and attempts on his life and the stalker he once had fixated on him—a mother has ways of learning these things. He’s a man of courage and conviction, and he handles whatever needs doing with fairness. For John, the job is personal. But now it’s a different kind of personal. What I tell you, John will act on. He can’t be my son and sit on his hands.”
Sharon tried to grasp the layers of what Martha was trying to tell her, and thread the needle with her reply. “He’s a civilian here, Martha. He can and will sit on his hands if I tell him to.” Her slight smile as she made the promise didn’t include that she’d possibly have to cuff those hands to keep John out of it. But the man would follow the law, and Sharon could trust him for that much.
“This is personal for me, Martha,” Sharon said, “because I like you, I like your son. You mattered to me the moment your photo went up on my board. But I can keep the emotional distance required to be sure the outcome is the correct one. Was it someone from John’s past? Is that what now worries you most, a vengeance reaction on the part of your son?”
Martha twisted a fold of the blanket around her fingers before she looked over. “Sharon, you want something from me I can’t provide. One person. A young man. He knew me, knew John. He let me go because he was ashamed . . . he had interrupted my evening.”
Sharon’s eyes narrowed. “Ashamed he had interrupted . . .”
Martha simply held her gaze.
“I’m confused,” Sharon responded, “which is what I think you want right now. True statements, as far as you’ve said, because a cop’s mom won’t lie to the cops, but you’re hoping I don’t resolve this.”
“For my son’s sake, no, I can’t help you find answers. I won’t hurt my son, Sharon.”
“How will the truth hurt your son?”
“This wasn’t from John’s work, didn’t happen because of something he’s done or not done. But the answer will hurt my son, and as his mother I will not let that happen.”
“You could give me info for a sketch, identify the man in a photo array?”
“I could, but in this circumstance, I won’t.”
“You’re protecting who did this.”
“I’m protecting my son,” she said with a firm shake of her head, “and accepting that means not helping you further find who did this.”
Sharon took a big step back mentally. This didn’t make sense, and the need to keep Martha talking was critical. “Were you in a house, an apartment, a basement, a warehouse?”
“I want to help you, Sharon. It doesn’t feel good pushing back against your questions, but I can’t answer that.”
Sharon searched for a way around the impasse. “Mrs. Graham, I promise, I will do everything in my power to protect your son as you want to do. But you know it’s my job to solve it. Please, don’t hold that against me.”
“You should keep calling me Martha. My son likes you, Sharon—I ca
n hear it in his voice when he mentions you, the respect he has for what you’ve done the last few days. All that tells me you’re a good cop. I can understand when it’s the job behind the questions.”
“Would you answer this question so I know how much protection is needed to keep you safe? Are you worried about any person from John’s past causing you trouble? Are you concerned about being in your home if this man knows you and your son?”
“There’s not a soul I am afraid of right now, not even the man who did this. Sharon, tell John this has nothing to do with him—not in any way. I will be fine at home. I’m looking forward to getting back there.”
“I don’t understand, Martha,” Sharon said, tilting her head, “and you’re being deliberate about that, but I’ve worked on puzzles before.”
“Now what?” Martha asked.
Sharon smiled and turned off any further cop questions, which was what Martha needed now. “Have you finished your Christmas shopping yet?”
“Mostly.”
“I haven’t even started. My sister is the main gift I need to find. She’s a baker, a lover of lace and color and music. She’s normally easy to buy for, but I have to see it, so my Christmas shopping means a lot of wandering around interesting stores. And I want to pick up some small things for the people who work with me. Have you found your gifts for your friends?”
“I’m always on the lookout for items they will enjoy. The pleasure of giving a gift never fades.”
“How about Christmas shopping with me, Martha? I’d like the company. And your help.”
“I’d enjoy that.”
A tap on the door and John entered with a small suitcase and another bouquet of flowers. He set them down, moved over to kiss his mom. “What are my favorite ladies talking about now?”
“Martha’s joining me for Christmas shopping,” Sharon answered. “I see Mrs. Jome found you to deliver Martha’s case.”
“Heather and Annabelle are both downstairs, hoping you might feel up to visitors today, Mom.”
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