by Blair Howard
I nodded, and the three of us left the house. Mike closed and relocked the door behind him.
“I’ll have this place sealed until we can get to it. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, Kate. See you, John.” And then he walked off through the long grass, back toward the barn.
I sighed, shook my head, frustrated. I never did have a whole lot of patience; being shut out and told to wait for, hell, who knew how long, didn’t help at all. I felt totally useless, and there was nothing I could do about it, not until I had some facts.
Damn it!
I shook off my frustration, glanced at my watch—it was almost six.
Wow! It’s that late? Sheesh.
And suddenly I realized I was hungry. I’d eaten nothing but a bagel for breakfast and a salad for lunch. Damn, a bowl of lettuce ain’t gonna get it. I need some meat and taters.
“Take me back to my car, John. I’m going to have an early night.” Well, that was my intention. But, as the saying goes, the road to hell…
Chapter 15
John Tracy dropped me at my car. I hit the starter and called Harry.
“Hey,” I said when he picked up. “I’m hungry. Would you like to take me to dinner?”
“Sure. Where would you like to go?”
“You name it. Anything will do so long as they serve meat… and wine.”
“We can do that. You coming here or what?”
“No. I need to go home. Pick me up in an hour, say seven-thirty?”
“You got it.”
Any other night I would have gone to Harry’s, but that night, I needed to be at home, to think.
True to his word, an hour later almost to the minute, my doorbell rang. Then I heard Harry’s key in the lock. And, wouldn’t you know it. I wasn’t ready.
Not that I was getting dressed for a ball, just jeans and a blouse, but the minute I’d gotten home I had poured myself a large glass of red, and dumped myself down on the sofa. And then poured myself another one. And then I glanced at the clock and almost flipped out: it was already ten after seven and I hadn’t even showered. I knew that Harry would be on time; the OCD SOB always was. There were times when his punctuality was almost more than I could handle, that and his catting… Oh no. We won’t go there.
“Hey,” he said, sliding onto a stool at the breakfast bar. “You’re a little out of whack. What’s up?”
“It’s been a long day. That’s all,” I replied, not wanting to go into details.
Hah, fat chance of that.
But he nodded and didn’t push it. “I’ve booked a table at Ruth’s Chris. That work for you?”
Hell yes, it worked for me.
“Great. Just let me clean up and we’ll go.”
We ordered crab cakes for the appetizer. I ordered a twelve-ounce fillet with a blue cheese crust and a “one pounder” baked potato, loaded. Harry had the fresh lobster with fries. He ordered a bottle of Pinot Noir for me and a glass of Chardonnay for himself.
By the time the entrée was served, it was almost nine o’clock. But who was counting? I certainly wasn’t. I was totally relaxed. I’d just poured my second glass of Pinot and taken a second bite of one of the best steaks I’d ever eaten when—you guessed it—my cell phone buzzed on the table beside my plate. I picked it up and checked the number. I didn’t recognize it, and I almost didn’t answer the call, but then… something told me I should. So I did.
“Sergeant Gazzara?”
“Uh, yes?”
“Ah, good, Sergeant. I’m glad I was able to get you. This is Nurse Gains at Erlanger Emergency. I have a Mr. Russell Hawkins here. He was brought in with gunshot wounds just over an hour ago. He’s been quite agitated, and asking for you. He says he needs to talk to you.”
Holy crap!
I looked at Harry, not knowing what to say to the nurse. He gazed back at me, quizzically.
“His wounds; are they life-threatening?” I asked.
“No, not at the moment, but he was shot in both knees and he’s lost a lot of blood. He’s heavily sedated and rambling: he’s about to go into surgery. He’ll be in there for a while, I’m sure.”
“Okay, thank you, Nurse. Listen, I need to send someone over to keep an eye on things until I get there. D’you have any idea what time he’ll get out of surgery?”
“No, ma’am, I don’t. His wounds are severe, and he’s going need extensive surgery. My best guess would be at least five hours.”
Damn, there goes my beauty sleep.
“Okay, I understand. I’ll have Detective Tracy there as soon as I can. Can he ask for you?”
“He certainly can. He may not get me, however, so it’s best he goes to the front desk. I’ll let them know he’s coming.”
“Fine. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
The hell I will.
I thanked her and disconnected, sat for a moment staring at the screen, then I looked at Harry, “Excuse me, one more minute, okay?”
He nodded, that wicked little smirk on his lips. Yes, he knew. He’d been through it all himself, a thousand times; we both had.
I hit the speed dial, put the phone to my ear and waited, and waited, until finally I got Tracy’s voicemail…
Damn it all to hell.
“Tracy,” I growled. “By God you’d better call me back in the next ten minutes or your ass will be grass. Ten. Minutes. Got it?”
Not thirty seconds later, my phone buzzed.
“Hey,” Tracy said. “It’s me. What’s the panic?”
That did it. “Panic? There’s no damn panic. But when I call you, I expect you to answer, goddammit. You don’t get to screen your calls when you’re working with me. Now get your ass over to Erlanger. Hawkins has been shot. He’s in surgery. I have no idea what the hell happened. I want you to watch over him until I get there. Don’t take any crap from anyone. We don’t know who did it, or if they’ll try to finish the job. I’ll get there whenever I can. Got that?”
“Yeah, I got it. Where are you now?”
“That’s none of your damn business. Just get your ass over there. Now!” And I hung up on him. I stared down at my steak, and I swear it stared right back up at me.
Next, I called Mike Willis to ask if they were processing the Hawkins residence. I didn’t need to ask; I knew they were. The first responding officer would have taken care of that. But I had to make sure. Mike was already on site.
“Hey, I heard what happened to Hawkins. D’you need me?” I asked.
“Nah! There’s nothing you can do here, Kate. I have it in hand. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”
“Okay. See you then.” I disconnected, sat back in my chair, threw back my head, and stared, unseeing, up at the ceiling.
“I take it you have a problem,” Harry said, quietly.
“Yes, I have a problem, and it’s all your damn fault. If you hadn’t gone and quit…” I glared at him across the table, and then I softened.
“Oh, hell, Harry. Of course it’s not your fault. It’s not your fault that I’m stuck with an idiot for a partner. It’s not his fault either. That he’s an idiot, I mean.
“Anyway, as you probably heard, one of my suspects has been shot, both knees. I’ll need to get over there…” I looked at my watch, “but not until later, one o’clock, or two. The Idiot Tracy is on his way over there now, and Hawkins won’t be out of surgery for a while, and even if he was, I’m not passing on this steak. I’m going to eat it, enjoy it, then drink a gallon of coffee to sober up before I head on over there… You want to come with me?”
What a stupid question. Of course he doesn’t.
He just smiled at me and shook his head.
Oh well. It was worth a shot.
Harry dropped me off at my apartment around ten-thirty with instructions for me to call him whenever.
Me? I took a long, hot shower, set the alarm on my phone for one in the morning. Then I collapsed, naked, on top of the bed and was out like a light…
…only to start awake in what seemed like onl
y minutes to the sound of the alarm; I had thought the world was ending.
Jeez, that was a bad idea, sleeping, I thought groggily, as I all but fell off the bed.
I staggered to my closet, hopped around like an idiot trying to get into a clean pair of panties… hah, you think that’s funny, you should have seen the antics when it came time for the jeans.
I wonder if Harry meant it when he offered me a job… Nah, I can’t go there.
Chapter 16
It was after two in the morning when I walked through the doors of the Emergency Unit at Erlanger Hospital. I made myself known at the front desk and they told me where to go… No, not like that. They gave me Hawkins’ room number and told me how to get there. Tracy was seated outside the door with an iPad on his knees.
They’d just wheeled Hawkins in and were in the process of making him comfortable, if that was even possible, but he was still out of it. I was told it would be at least a couple of hours before he would be able to talk.
Oh, hell. I thought. What a way to spend a night.
I hate hospitals with a passion. There are no good experiences to be had in any ward of any hospital, not even a maternity unit. And Erlanger… well, let me put it this way. If I’d been shot, there’s no place on Earth I’d rather be. As a visitor, any other place on Earth is where I’d rather be.
And there I was, faced with at least a couple of hours in a hospital waiting room, in the dead of night, with only the Idiot Tracy for company. Jeez!
But it was actually worse than that. Two hours, they’d said, but it was almost seven in the morning before they finally let me in to see him.
He looked like hell. There was a dressing on his forehead, above his left eye, and his face was pale, almost bloodless. But he was breathing evenly, and his vital signs were running smoothly across that hypnotic monitor all hospital rooms are equipped with. His pulse was steady; his blood pressure looked good to me, but what do I know.
“Hey,” I said, touching his shoulder.
His eyes opened immediately. “Hello, Sergeant Gazzara,” he said, weakly. “I hope you feel better than I do.”
It was a small attempt at humor, and that was something, but the fire had gone from his eyes. He was a shadow, a pathetic little man, hurting and hurt, in more ways than just the shots to his knees. I couldn’t help but feel sorry for him.
“Do you feel like talking?” I asked.
He nodded.
“Can you tell me what happened?”
Again, he nodded, “There’s not much to tell. It happened so quickly; two or three minutes is all. It was just after eight o’clock. I know because I’d just turned on Fox news, I like to watch Tucker Carlson…” For a moment, I thought he was back on form and about to launch into a diatribe about his viewing habits, but he didn’t.
“Anyway,” he continued, weakly. “I thought I heard someone at the back door. I went to see who was there, but there was no one. I was just closing the door when it slammed open, knocking me backward, and a man dressed all in black barged in…” He paused, took a breath; he was obviously in pain. I said nothing, waited for him to continue.
“He grabbed me by my shirt, pushed me all the way into the living room and down onto the sofa. Then he called me some really nasty names and accused me of killing Jasmine. I told him I didn’t, but either he didn’t care or didn’t hear. He took a pistol from his belt and waved it in my face. He said he was going to make me pay for it. The he hit me in the head with the gun and…”
“Did you recognize him?” I asked.
He shook his head, “No, he was wearing one of those ski mask things, a really scary one.”
“How about his voice? Did you recognize that?”
He thought about it for a minute, then shook his head, “No, it sounded like he had something in his mouth.”
“So there’s nothing you remember about him, nothing you can tell me that might help me find him?”
“No, I don’t think so. I don’t even remember him shooting me. I do remember seeing him crawling around on his knees, and I even hurting as much as I was I couldn’t help wondering why.”
I thought I knew why, but I didn’t mention it to Hawkins. Instead, I told him to get some rest, and that I would talk to him again soon. Then I left. I needed to talk to Mike Willis.
***
I found Mike in his office. He looked tired, and so he should. To my knowledge, the man had been going at it forty-eight hours straight.
He looked up when I knocked on his door. He gestured for me to enter, and I did. I dropped into the seat in front of his desk. I was just about done in myself.
“So,” I said. “Long night?”
He nodded and stretched. “Yep. You know it. How about you?”
“Weird. Totally weird.”
“I bet. How’s Harry?”
“He’s good. Enjoying life.”
“No change, then?” He grinned.
“No, no change. So,” I said, changing the subject. “What do you have for me?”
“I think I might have your man for you.”
“You do?” I straightened up in the chair. “Who? Who is it?”
He sat back in his chair, smiling. “We found a nine-millimeter casing at the Hawkins house. It was down among the cushions in the sofa.”
So, I was right. I figured he was looking for something.
“He must have picked up the other one. Anyway,” he said, as he handed the paper evidence baggie across the desk. “I’ll need you to sign for that. There’s an absolutely beautiful thumb print on it. He must have made it when he loaded the mag. There’s another partial print on the chain we cut off the barn doors. It belongs to the same person. The chain to the quarry gate, the old one? We never found it. The killer must have taken it away with him.”
I took the bag and held it up so I could see the casing through the transparent window. Then I nodded, grabbed a pen from his desktop, and added my name to the list on the baggie.
“And we ran Jasmine Thomas’ phone records,” he continued. “She received several calls the night she was abducted… from the same guy. The stains on the bedding are semen. One of the hairs has its follicle attached. The urine in the barn is human. So DNA? I think so, but it’s going to take a while, maybe three or four weeks.”
He stared at me, smiling.
He’s frigging teasing me.
“Oh, come on, Mike. Out with it. Who the hell is it?”
He leaned forward, still smiling; without saying a word, he pushed a ten card across the desk. I picked it up, looked at the name, then looked at Mike, my eyes wide in question.
“No shit?” I wasn’t all that surprised.
“No shit.”
“Thank you, my friend. I owe you one.” I stood and handed the card to him.
“Go get him, Kate.”
I nodded, and left him sitting there, smiling.
Chapter 17
When I left Mike’s office, I wasn’t quite sure what to do next. Sure, I had my man. But I’d never been in this situation before. It had always been Harry, with me as backup. So, I decided to take a minute to think. My man wasn’t going anywhere and I wanted to savor the moment. This was, after all, my first. There never would be another one.
I looked around the room, knowing that no one knew what I knew, and it felt good. Very good.
I called Harry.
“Guess what?” I asked when he answered.
“You know who done it,” he answered promptly.
“How the hell did you know that?” I asked, more than a little pissed off.
“Why else would you call me?”
“Maybe I wanted to tell you how much I love you, you frigging ass.”
“I already know that, and I love you too, sweetheart. Now go get him, and enjoy the moment. You’re going to love it. You have no idea how much. Don’t call me; you can tell me all about it tonight, over a very expensive bottle of champagne.” And he hung up, leaving me staring at the phone.
&n
bsp; You frigging ass, Harry Starke.
I called Chief Johnston.
“Hello, Kate,” he said, before I could say anything. “You have good news for me, I hope? The media, and the mayor, are all over my ass about this ‘Girl in the Pipe’ thing. Do you have a solution yet?”
“I do—”
“When will you make the arrest?”
“Today, if—”
“See that you do. Is there anything else? I’m extremely busy.”
“Well, since you ask—”
“Good, good. Let me know how it goes. We’ll talk to the press together. That is, I’ll talk, you’ll listen, capisce?” And he hung up on me.
Damn! No wonder Harry hates the man. Yes, I frigging capisce. You’ll take the credit while I stand there and look stupid.
Sarah Foote had the day off. Something to do with her mother, she’d said, but I hadn’t paid much attention. That wasn’t like me, but what the hell, I had a lot on my mind.
The Idiot Tracy, however, was at his desk.
“Hey, John. I need you.”
He came over sat down, “Yeah? What d’ya need?”
Inwardly, I rolled my eyes. “We have a call to make—”
“So make it,” he said, picking up my phone and handing it to me.
“No, John. Not a phone call. We have to go visiting, but first I need you to go and pick up a warrant from Judge Strange. When you get back, call me and I’ll meet you in the parking lot. We’ll go together.”
I called Henry Strange and told him what I needed. Again, the man asked for probable cause—which I now had, aplenty—and he agreed to issue the warrant. Which was good, because Tracy was already on his way to his office.
***
We arrived at the house on Wickman Lane at just after five that afternoon. We could see that Joe’s Silverado was parked at the side of the house next to the Thomas’ Cadillac. The truck had one of those crossover toolboxes mounted behind the cab.
I parked out front, walked the few feet to the front door, and thumbed the doorbell. The door opened almost immediately.
“Hello, Mr. Thomas. We need to talk to Joe. Is he in?”