Wrath (The Lieutenant Harrington Series Book 1)

by E. H. Reinhard

  She nodded but just barely. I didn’t know if it was due to the wound on her neck or if she didn’t believe me.

  The guys had been calling me every couple of hours on Thursday, then maybe only three or four times on Friday. Then only once yesterday. I hadn’t heard anything so far that Sunday morning. The trail had cooled. Steve had found a few local relatives, none of whom seemed to be in regular contact with Mercer. There’d been no activity on any of his credit cards or banking—personal or business. There’d been no sightings of him at any of his sandwich shops. The car of the woman who lived a few blocks away from my house had been found in the parking lot of a truck stop north of the city. Back at the station, the thought was that he’d fled the area via a long-haul trucker, and he must have had some cash at his home. The news was still including him in just about every broadcast, but aside from random sightings that didn’t pan out, we didn’t have a lead on his whereabouts.

  The door of the room opened, and the morning shift nurse popped her head in.

  “I’m awake,” Amy said.

  The nurse came inside and walked to the computer on a stand next to a bank of machines. She clicked away at the keyboard and scanned a couple of bar codes on the bags of IV medicine feeding into Amy.

  “I’m going to give your bandages one last check,” the nurse said. “Then we’re going to get some paperwork taken care of, and then we’re going to get you off these last couple machines and up and out of here.”

  “Yay,” Amy said.

  “You’re going to go over everything for at-home care with us?” I asked.

  “Oh yeah,” she said. “We’ll have plenty to go over.”

  “All right,” I said. “I’m going to run downstairs and let your parents know. That and grab a coffee. Did you need anything?”

  “I’m okay,” she said.

  “I’ll be back in a bit.” I left the room and allowed the nurse to work in peace. I kind of figured them to be like workers in any other kind of trade. While she hadn’t asked me to leave the room, nobody liked people looking over their shoulder while they worked.

  I left the wing and made my way down to the cafeteria, where I found Amy’s parents and Kelly seated and eating. I walked over and let them know that the nurse was getting Amy set to leave. I imagined that Keith, Mary, and Kelly would come back to the house with us when Amy was discharged, but how long they planned to stay wasn’t discussed. At her father’s suggestion, I tried the breakfast buffet, which he described as “pretty damn edible” before heading back upstairs. The paperwork for Amy’s discharge was already in progress by the time I got back to her room, but it was still a good three hours before we had her in a wheelchair and being pushed to the exit.

  We got home a few minutes after one in the afternoon. I was sure the lack of the couch in the living room was a constant reminder to Amy of what had happened, though she didn’t mention it. Amy’s parents stuck around for a couple of hours, as did her sister. They’d all been to my house once or twice before Amy moved in but not since she had lived there. Kelly hovered over Amy, making sure she was comfortable. She and Mary wouldn’t let Amy leave the recliner in the living room for a single thing. Doctor’s orders were for Amy to remain sitting up, even overnight, for the next week or two. Keith and I moved the futon in the office out to the living room. It would serve fine as a couch until a permanent solution could be purchased and delivered. After a few hours, her parents left, and that took Amy basically telling them to leave. I thought that maybe she wanted to rest up and relax in peace. The constant can we get you somethings were probably starting to wear on her. Kelly stuck around for maybe an hour after her parents left then made her trip back to Boca Raton.

  I walked into the living room and fell back into the futon. Lucky was curled up in the corner closest to the chair Amy sat in. Amy had her right hand hanging over the chair’s arm and was scratching Lucky’s head.

  “Silence. Finally,” Amy said.

  “I’d ask how you’re feeling, but I think your sister did about thirty times in the last hour.”

  Amy smiled. “I’m okay. Just sore. And no, I don’t need anything.”

  “Are you sure?” I asked.

  “You’re funny,” Amy said. Her sister, and mother before that, had used the line repeatedly after asking whether Amy was okay.

  “You never asked me what happened,” Amy said.

  I sat up and looked at her. The hows and whys weren’t going to get us further ahead in the case, so I’d never asked. I figured she’d tell me when the time was right. If there was something that was going to immediately help us catch Mercer, she would have said it. Besides that, I didn’t want to hammer my girlfriend, who’d been attacked and damn near killed, with questions about the assault. “I was waiting until you were ready to talk about it.”

  “I can tell you what I remember.”

  “All right.”

  “I was lying on the couch, playing on my phone. Lucky had gone out back. I set my phone down and kind of closed my eyes for a second. I wanted to relax for a minute before I got everything packed up and left. Anyway, I open my eyes to get started and there is Chris leaning over the back of the couch and staring down at me. I screamed and tried rolling off the couch just as he tried stabbing me in the neck. I think because I was moving, he kind of missed. Well, then he grabbed me by the hair and yanked me back onto the couch. I saw the knife swing and felt it hit me in the chest. It was like I got punched, and then I felt the pain. My screams must have gotten Lucky’s attention. Out of nowhere, I saw her attack him. After that, it gets kind of fuzzy. I remember hitting the floor. I remember hearing Lucky snarling and barking. I remember hearing a man shouting and gunshots.”

  “Do you remember Bill? Him being with you until the EMTs arrived?”

  “I think so. And Lucky licking me. Then I just remember a lot of noise. That’s about it.”

  “The noise was probably the helicopter.”

  “My mom told me that they took me by helicopter.”

  “They were worried about your chest wound. They didn’t think they’d be able to get you to the hospital and into surgery in time had they taken you in a regular ambulance.”

  Amy said nothing. She adjusted herself in her chair and stared at the TV. A minute or two passed.

  “There haven’t been any signs of him?” she asked.

  I looked over at her and regretfully shook my head.

  CHAPTER 36

  Chris had gotten inside the hospital and up to the second floor, where he found a secured door to the wing that Amy was in. He’d peered through the windows at countless nurses, doctors, family members of patients, and security milling about. The sign on the wall beside the locked doors gave the procedure for entry. Chris read that he’d need to pick up the phone on the wall and call the nurses’ station with a registered visitor pass number to be allowed through.

  He’d left the doorway in search of another way inside. Down the hall, he heard the doors open behind him. Chris glanced back, and the cop, Amy’s boyfriend, was coming from the secured wing.

  Quickly, Chris looked away and continued walking, doing his best to hide his limp. The cop walked in the opposite direction down the hall. Chris made a left into some restrooms. He stayed put in a stall for the better part of an hour before coming out. He immediately nixed the idea of doing anything at the hospital. He’d had visions of walking in, strolling the hall to Amy’s room, sticking a knife in her throat to finish the job, and walking off. What he’d imagined was far from reality. He’d have to be allowed in through a secured door past everyone, including security and the cop boyfriend, to get to Amy.

  Chris left the hospital and drove to the nearest truck stop. His plan was to pay a driver to take him as far from the area as possible. Chris found the truckers less than accommodating and got turned down by driver after driver. He panicked and left when he saw his face on one of the truck stop diner’s televisions. The news coverage had mentioned that he might be in the old wo
man’s car, and they gave the make, model, and plate number. Chris left the car at the truck stop and limped away.

  As he hobbled along the side of the road, Chris thought through his options, which were basically none. He was wanted, and his face was getting splashed across every television and channel in the area. Since he’d seen his own face on the TV twice that day, Chris was fairly certain that pretty much everyone living in the area had seen him as many times or more. He didn’t have the means or money to get very far. He had only what was on his person—a knife, a revolver with no bullets, and a hundred and thirty-eight dollars. A mile away from the truck stop, Chris found a couple of teenagers hanging around and smoking outside a convenience store. He sold them his revolver for the cash they had on them combined—forty-some dollars—which he used to secure a ride across town after he did a little shopping. Chris got dropped off at the only place where he knew he’d be able to get to Amy again—the house where she and the cop lived. He knew neither was there, and if he entered through the garage, he wouldn’t have to deal with the hellhound.

  He’d spent most of the last three days cooped up in Amy and the cop’s attic. The attic over the garage was the same one that extended over the entire home. Chris had moved pieces of plywood that had been over the studs in the garage area, shoving them farther back into the house. One piece was set over the master bedroom, and another was set over the kitchen. Chris had pulled away the HVAC ducting that attached to the vents over both locations. Peering through the vent grates from the two positions, he could see almost everything happening in the house. The cop had come and gone a number of times but had apparently been sleeping at the hospital. The only time he’d spent at the place was when the crew came to clean up the blood and remove the couch. From the cop’s phone calls the few times he’d been in the house, Chris had learned that Amy was awake, recovering, and expected home any day.

  During the time he’d been hiding out, he’d come down and entered the house just once. The second the door leading into the home was cracked open, Chris was greeted by the dog that had ripped him to shreds earlier. Yet Chris had a plan. At the convenience store, he’d loaded up on junk food and water. Some of that junk food was a big bag of beef jerky. Chris filled his pockets with it. He reached his right hand into his pants and pulled out a handful, which he threw at the dog through the cracked door. He waited and watched as the dog ate the pieces. Chris tossed in another few pieces, and the dog again ate. He slowly entered the house and continued the process of keeping the dog at bay with pieces of jerky.

  He threw piece after piece, continuing to the patio door, where he tossed a few outside. As soon as the dog went out, Chris closed the door so he could move about freely. Having had his fill of junk food, Chris fixed himself a pastrami and Havarti sandwich with mayo and horseradish sauce. He grabbed a beer from the refrigerator and ate and drank. When he finished, he put the empty beer can in the recycling bin under the sink and continued on to the master bedroom. In the bedroom was the reason he came down in the first place—to get into the cop’s gun safe. Chris had seen the cop enter the push-button combination a couple of times and had committed it to memory. Chris pulled the handle and opened the door. He eyed a shotgun tucked into the corner of the safe. He took it, verified it was loaded, and rested it on his shoulder as he swung the door closed. Chris walked back to the patio doors. The dog sat outside the closed door, staring at him. Chris fished the remaining pieces of beef jerky from his pocket, cracked the door open, and tossed the pieces into the yard as far as he could. The dog turned and ran for them. Chris left the patio door open and moved as quickly as he could back to the door leading to the garage. He took the shotgun up into the attic.

  The noise of everyone entering the house had awakened Chris. He’d been sleeping, which was what he’d spent most of his time doing—that and picking at his wounds while he daydreamed about spilling Amy’s blood once again. He’d seen Amy through the kitchen vent. He saw her parents. He saw another woman, Amy’s sister judging by them both calling the old couple Mom and Dad. Chris saw the cop and the dog. He remained patient. Chris watched Amy’s parents leave. Later, the sister left as well. Chris couldn’t tell what time it was but knew it was after eleven. The television aired a late-night talk show that he and Grace used to watch in bed. As quietly as he could, Chris moved from his spot above the kitchen and back to the one above the garage.

  Chris pushed the attic door down. He leaned through the opening and extended the ladder so he could descend. He’d practiced the movement countless times. Chris had even oiled the ladder’s joints to make it as silent as possible. While he might have entered the house only once, Chris had come in and out of the attic into the garage multiple times when nature called. Chris climbed down, shotgun in hand. He rounded the nose of Amy’s maroon sedan and walked to the door leading into the house.

  CHAPTER 37

  Lucky barked. I tried to tune her out and shushed her. When she growled, I cracked my eyes open and saw the ceiling of my living room. I’d been asleep on the futon. Lucky was at my feet, closer to Amy. I could feel her stand up. She continued to growl.

  “What’s the matter, girl?” I asked.

  “Nash,” I heard. The voice was Amy’s—just above a whisper.

  I sat up to see what exactly was going on. I immediately scrambled backward and off the futon to a standing position.

  “Stay where you are,” he said.

  It took a second for me to wrap my mind around what I was looking at.

  Amy was still on the recliner, seated. A man dressed in slacks and a button-up shirt stood a few feet from her with a shotgun—my shotgun, by the looks of it—aimed at her head. Lucky had her two front legs up on the pillow at the end of the futon. She snarled and snapped. She looked ready to leap on him. My eyes went back to the guy—Mercer.

  “Put that dog outside or I’m going to splatter it all over your living room. Don’t think for a damned second that I won’t. I owe it one,” Mercer said.

  “Put the gun down,” I said. “Let’s talk about this.”

  Mercer chuckled. “Nah, pig. I don’t feel like talking. But I’m going to put all of you down in two seconds if you don’t do what I tell you to.”

  “Nash,” Amy said.

  “You shut up.” Mercer jammed the barrel of the shotgun into Amy’s cheek.

  My eyes were focused on her—all I saw in Amy’s face was a look of terror.

  “Lucky, outside,” I said.

  She didn’t budge. The hair on her back stood on end. She growled steadily.

  “Outside,” I said again.

  She refused to go.

  “Get that mutt out of here,” Mercer said. He waved the barrel of the shotgun toward the patio door.

  I took Lucky by her collar and led her out. I glanced to my left, noticing that Bill’s backyard lights were on. Classic rock played from his place at a low volume. Smoke and sparks were rising in the air, and I heard the murmur of two people talking. He and his wife were sitting around a fire in their backyard. I flipped all of my backyard lights on, hoping he’d think I was in back and come over.

  “Close that patio door,” Mercer said. “And turn those damn lights off.”

  I did and turned back toward Mercer. I could hear Lucky barking her tail off just outside the patio door. I hoped Bill would come investigate.

  “Get your ass back over here,” he said. “Sit back down.”

  I did as he said and sat on the futon. Lucky was just on the other side of the patio door. Her barking continued. My mind raced. How Mercer had gotten my shotgun, I didn’t know. He would have had to get into my safe, which I doubted he did by force. The key for it had long been lost. He had to have had the combination. I’d been into the safe only once or twice since I put my service weapon away late Thursday night. Another thought bubbled up of how the hell he’d gotten into my house. He didn’t come in the patio door. It was closed and locked. I wondered if he’d been in the house the entire time. I’d stopp
ed in the house only for short visits, dealing with the dog mostly. Yet three days of him being inside without me knowing seemed like a stretch. Unless he’d been in the attic, but I hadn’t heard a sound.

  “Did you miss me?” I heard.

  I looked at Mercer, who was staring down at Amy. My eyes went to the back patio door. Lucky had her nose to the crack I’d left open. She barked, snarled, and bore her teeth.

  “Why did you kill Laurie?” Amy asked. “Why are you doing any of this?”

  “Amy, Amy, Amy. You cheating little bitch. I killed her, just like I’m going to kill you, because of what you did to me. But you really deserve it. See, as I sat in the attic for three days itching from the insulation and thinking in the dark, I came to the conclusion that everything shitty in my life, and I mean everything, stems back to you. You see, it all basically went to hell the second your little slut mouth touched that shithead’s at that party. Did you know that? I wouldn’t have dated Laurie. She wouldn’t have been able to whore around on me. I wouldn’t have had to rough her up. I wouldn’t have gone to jail. I would have had a completely different life. I’m certain that I would have never met Emily. What happened to Emily wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t screwed up my head. I doubt I would have ever met Grace, so she wouldn’t have been able to fool around on me, either. It all comes back to you, which is why, with one hundred percent certainty, you have to die.”

  I could see in Mercer’s face that he believed what he was saying. I watched his finger on the gun’s trigger. I needed to do something to get him to take the gun off her. What would happen if I did that, I didn’t know, but she was defenseless, and he definitely had it in him to kill her.

  “Mercer,” I said.

  He glanced over at me.

  “You knew your wife was screwing that guy, didn’t you?” I figured I’d try to get his mind on someone other than Amy.

  “What?” he asked.

  Amy was looking at me, but I wouldn’t look at her directly.