by Kieran York
Together, with Chance, the women drove to the Crystal General Hospital. When they arrived, Terry took Chance to a nearby field to let her run. Royce went to Nick’s room. Bev was in talking to Nick. His eyes were opening, and shutting. When opened, he acted as if he might be trying to focus them on Bev’s face. Although he was semiconscious, he would never be able to clearly select a perp from the photos. Royce had brought them with her in hopes Nick might be ready. But it was early days, she consoled herself.
“He does look better,” Royce encouraged. Bandaged head, and in a shoulder brace, he’d definitely been battered. He would move slightly, and when he saw her, his blinks were rapid. “Bev, I’m going to chat with his doctor. I want to try and find out what we can do for him. I’m pretty sure there will be rehab time, and we’ll get him the best treatment available. We all love him, and we want him back. You especially.”
Bev glanced quickly over at Royce, “I can’t tell you how badly the kids and I miss him. I went home yesterday evening for a while. When I drove up to the house, I stopped to look at the clumps of columbines that we have along the border of the house. We planted them together right after we married. I just wanted to inspect them and make certain they were getting enough water.”
“Nick is really proud of those flowers,” Royce commented. She recalled when she visited, and he took her outside to show her their columbine crop, as he referred to it.
“He wanted to keep putting more in, and I said no.” Bev looked away. “I should have let him plant as many as he wanted. Plant the entire front yard with them. But I didn’t.” Tears seeped down her cheek. “Royce, we planted columbines because they are his favorite. Once he gave me the greatest compliment ever. He said that he loved columbines because they were fragile, beautiful, and had the strength to weather Colorado’s storms. And they are renewable.” Her head lowered. “And then he said they reminded him of me.”
“He was right, Bev. You’re weathering a Colorado storm now. You’re bringing him back to us. I believe that.” Royce touched Nick’s face.
***
Royce was immediately admitted into the doctor’s consulting office. Doctor James Glenn was perusing his files on the computer. “Sheriff,” he stood and greeted her, “have a seat. To make certain you’re apprised of Nick’s condition, I’ve pulled up some of my projections.”
“I appreciate your time, Doctor.”
“First, I’ve discussed some of this with you on the phone, but I have a couple diagrams on the wall. The brain. We’re fairly convinced that there won’t be any severe brain damage. Luckily. He was given such early trauma treatment, and there wasn’t much brain swelling. We began with a coma unconsciousness, but the coma wasn’t of prolonged state of unconsciousness. He then slipped into a semi-comatose state, and he could be roused by stimuli. The state where he drifts in and out. Now, there is recognition, and as time goes by, we’re aiming for a less altered unconsciousness.”
“He certainly does seem to be improving. Bev probably doesn’t notice it as much as I have, because she with him nearly all the time. I’ve been trying to get here every day…”
“I guess you’re chasing not only an attempted murderer, but now it’s a murderer. I heard about the Dillard kid.”
Royce felt her jaw tighten. “I want to arrest the one that is responsible for hurting Nick, and killing an innocent young man. Back to Nick, anything more you can tell me about what to expect?”
“We use what’s called a GCS, Glasgow Coma Scale, to help determine neurological condition. The severity of his responses. It appears that his improvement is recovering speedily, and he’s young. In good contention, so I expect if all goes well, a good recovery.”
“Why are you frowning?” Royce questioned Dr. Glenn’s troubled expression.
“His shoulder wound is good and bad. Good that the bullet missed his subclavian artery. Bad that there has been a slight amount of cartilage damage. Most of the damage was to soft tissue. There was operative intervention for the debridement. There was a vessel clip, very slight that did rupture, and again we operated. No bullet fragments remain. I expect most of the usage of his arm to come back. Recovery does depend on the severity of nerve damage. We’ll be able to tell a little later on.” He paused. “I know you’re trying to solve a crime, and your best witness is, sadly, not waking as we would like. But I can’t honestly give you much of a timetable on it.”
Royce stood, “I appreciate your talking with me, and all you’ve done for him. He’s like a brother to me.”
“I know. His wife told me that. He considers you a sister. Soon, I hope to have the opportunity to meet him. He sounds like an amazing guy.”
Royce smiled, and walked slowly to door. “He is. Again, thanks.”
***
It was nearly eight in the evening when Royce left the office. She’d mentioned someone from the nightshift would watch as she went across the street to her home behind the High Country Animal Hospital. She had heard Vannie and Antero in the back yard, exercising the recruits, as they called the visiting group of dogs.
Royce smiled when they ran to her. The troop of dogs followed after them. “Royce, Mom said you saw Nick and he’s better,” Vannie said.
“I did. And I talked with the doctor. He seemed optimistic. Let’s kennel the crew and then go in. We can talk about it while I’m eating.”
As the dogs were being kenneled and given nightly cuddles by Vannie and Antero. Royce went into the cat patio and enticed them to follow her inside. She loved to watch the cats clown around. Beautiful animals, she considered. What elegance. Chance got along with all the cats. Inside the house, the German shepherd slept near Hertha’s cat, Cleo.
Royce watched as the kids cleaned up the yard after they’d kenneled the dogs. They were attentive to their tasks. She went into the kitchen. Hertha greeted Royce with a kiss on her lover’s cheek. “You’re looking perkier, Sheriff. Must be because Bev says Nick is really improving.”
Royce gave Hertha the report while the children began their homework assignments. Hertha asked, “Do you thing soon he may be able to identify the killer?”
“That’s what they seem to think. What time did you talk with Bev?”
“She called around five. Said he is asking about things, but he most gets confused.”
“I was there earlier, so if he’s improving that much in just a couple hours, that’s great.” Royce plotted, “I’m going to see him first thing in the morning. We’ve been searching mugshots, and I’ve got several to show him. Wishful thinking, but maybe he could point out one.”
“Molly brought over some pie for dessert. I brought her up to speed on what was happening. She understood that after finding the truck and the murdered man, you didn’t have time to stop by. She said she’d also got some of the information for Gwen and Nadine. Gran gets most of her information from what Debra’s grandson, Mike, has to say. Maybe you better drop by Gran’s cabin when you get a few minutes. It sounds as if Debra and Gran have a little information war going.”
Laughing Royce spoke, “Tomorrow maybe I’ll stop by the cabin.”
“Royce, everyone’s very worried about you. Mike told Debra that you were definitely the hitman’s first selection.”
“Hertha, I’ve had a target on my back for all these years. And I suspect I’ll always have that target. It’s what we’re up against. I see the pain that it’s brought Nick, and my heart breaks. Of course, there are a few bent cops. But most are just wanting to keep people safe. Protect the people.”
Hertha shivered. “Royce, you saw how my brother was treated. How he was judged when he didn’t do anything. Because of race. He was a full Native American, and was fair game. That may have been a long time ago, and you worked to save him. But he went through that every day. I believe it’s why he drank. He was sensitive, and couldn’t take it. Even after he had children. Vannie and Antero could not be any finer. But by that time, he was unable to stop drinking.”
“I know. I worry a
bout our kids. They’ve even had to endure prejudice. It’s better here, now. But what about when they’re teenagers, and maybe go off to college. What then?” Royce inhaled. “Kirk Dillard was murdered. His parents fought, and had problems. When I told them that their son was deceased, they yelled at one another. They screamed obscenities and they blamed each other. I want our kids to be accepted and loved. All children deserve that.”
“It’s heartbreaking about that young man. Homicide is so sad,” Hertha said as she embraced Royce.
“From my father’s murder, every needless death I’ve tried to solve has had so much sorrow. The victim, the people that loved that victim. A long line of grieving people follows after violence. No matter how much savageness, ferocity, hatred is visited on a victim, there is the criminal explaining why his or her evil seemed like a good idea at the time. And the excuse is never the truth.”
Chapter 13
Gran answered the knocking on the door. When she opened it, she spoke angrily, “Just what you doing without an accompanying deputy?”
Royce grinned, “Gran it was early, I just snuck out. I’ve been overlooking you.”
Gran looked out the door, checking. “We’re fine.” She leaned down and tickled Chance’s ears. “Well, at least you got Deputy Chance with you.”
“No one could ask for better protection,” Royce said.
Debra Parker was coming down the stairs, tying the belt of her robe. “My, you’re up early, Sheriff. I talked your Gran into making us some pancakes. You better sit yourself down and join us.”
Royce sat at the table. “If I’ve got an invite, I’ll take two of those wonderful griddlecakes.”
“You always have yourself an invite,” Gran said. “Just make certain you bring your bodyguard next time.”
Debra backed Gran up, “Absolutely. When a criminal wants to kill you, you have to take precautions. Mike said that killer is a professional.”
Royce thought she’d question her grandmother. “Do you happen to know a miner named Chris Wyatt? He’s in his mid-forties, and he’s been in the area for years.”
“I know Wyatt. I’ve talked with him many times. Why I told him a story about your great, great grandfather. That Wyatt laughed ‘til he cried.”
“My great, great grandfather was funny?” Royce grinned.
“Yes, a story of him was funny. He was a miner named Joseph. So, I told Wyatt about it. I’m surprised you don’t have that story memorized. I used to tell you about it when you were a toddler and up.”
“And Wyatt thought it was funny?”
“Indeed. Now your great, great grandfather was a miner. And all the gold miners were gamblers. Your great, great grandma wasn’t partial to her husband gambling. Well now, one night, Joseph was gambling away, and he wins a house. Then he thinks he’s got dispensation for his gambling. And thinks your great, great grandma is goin’ let him gamble. Your great grandmother, Joseph’s first born, was born with a sort of heart-shaped red marking on her chest. Joseph’s wife really stomped down on his gamblin’ then. When he said, ‘But I won us a house!’’ She said, ‘But you won it with a hand of the red ‘heart’ cards.’ She tells Joseph, ‘Now the devil has imprinted our child with the marking!’ Back to mining, and no more gambling for Joseph.”
Debra and Royce burst out laughing. Debra sputtered, “That is priceless! No wonder Wyatt thought it was funny.”
“What do you think of Wyatt?” Royce asked.
“I think he probably stays away from the queen of hearts,” Gran said as she peered over her eyeglasses. “Actually, he told me he never gambles. Why are you askin’ about Wyatt?”
“Just getting a second character assessment,” Royce explained. “He had words with Nick, and I’m checking everyone.”
“Well, I sure like him,” Gran said with a grumble on the end of her sentence. “He smokes salmon. Brought me a slab of wonderful salmon last winter. Delicious! I got to see that dog of his. Gus is a dandy.” Gran frowned. “I almost forgot, ask him to check with his friend Chuck, the contractor, about droppin’ by to fix up a few things here.”
Royce shook her head, “Chuck probably doesn’t have time, but he’ll find time for you, Gran.” The contractor always had time for his elderly clients.
“He’s a good guy, and I’m sure Wyatt hasn’t anything to do with Nick’s shooting.”
“I concur,” her granddaughter said. “Gran, I’m just having my judgment call reinforced. I trust the guy. I just need to check everything, everywhere, and everyone.”
As Gran finished griddling pancakes, the women continued chatting. “Royce, Molly tells me that Nick’s doing better,” she said to her granddaughter. “I been praying for him. I get up to the hospital with some meals for the staff, and Bev and Terry every day. Poor Bev keeps her chin up, no matter. But that can’t be easy.”
Royce felt a tug as they talked. She felt a pull toward the hospital and Nick. She told herself it was silly to have Nick on her mind to such an extent, but she couldn’t stop thinking of him. She finished her griddlecakes, and stood. “I’m going to call the office to tell them I’m going straight to the hospital.”
After the call, she and Chance got into the SUV. As she was driving, there was a radio call. “Royce, if you’re heading to the hospital, you’re going to want to make it quick. Nick is talking. Bev said to call and tell you.”
“On my way there, Wanda.” The Interceptor’s engine raced. Although she felt relieved, and happy he was conscious, it was now he was most vulnerable. The killer would want to silence him. The SUV skidded to a stop in front of the hospital, and she rushed inside.
She met Bev on her way in. “He’s talking rationally today, Royce. At least he’s sounding more like our Nick.” They rapidly walked to his room. “Nick, it’s Royce.”
He seemed cloudy, not wholly clearheaded, but attempting to make sense of it. “Royce.” He held her hand. “Royce, I was shot yesterday…” He gulped at his words. “Be careful.”
Bev corrected, “Nick, it was a couple weeks ago. You’ve been unconscious. You were shot.”
“A couple weeks ago,” Nick repeated. “Royce are you okay? You weren’t shot, too.”
“No, I’m fine. I’m trying to find out who shot you. Nick, can you remember someone calling to meet you at Wounded Badge Vista?”
He looked perplexed. His eyes shifted to Bev. “Bev, did we go to Wounded Badge?”
“No, hon. Someone called you. They wanted to meet you there. That person shot you. Can you remember any of that day?”
Nick’s eyes closed. He seemed to be drifting. “I fell down. I hit my head.” His hesitation was long.
Royce didn’t want to feed him information, but to guide his remembrance. “Do you remember going to Wounded Badge. Meeting someone. He wanted to do a ride-along.”
Royce watch is eyes, searching. He became taut. “A guy shot me.” Horror filled his expression. “I tried to get back in my vehicle, and that’s when I fell to the ground.”
“Did you know the man?”
“A stranger.” Nick struggled for breath. When his vitals stabilized, he continued. “He shot me. I didn’t know him.” His semi-smile was through confusion, but he uttered, “I don’t know what I did to him to make him pissed off enough to shoot me. Whatever it was, I won’t piss him off again.” His eyes flickered with humor. Then flooded with pain. “Why did he shoot me?”
“That’s what we’re trying to find out. Nick,” Royce’s voice strained, “do you remember what he looked like. Do you remember anything about him or his vehicle?”
“A black pickup.” While Nick searched his patches of thought, Royce felt a relief. Nick knew the vehicle. Which translated to his ability to reclaim his memory. “Black truck. Black truck. It was going fast, almost sliding toward me as he parked beside me. Parallel beside me. Black truck.”
“Excellent, Nick.” Royce held his hand tightly. “You’re remembering. It was a black Ford truck. Do you remember anything about the driver? H
air, face, eyes? Or his build. Anything?”
“He was big. Muscular. Husky, but not overweight. Husky. Pasty face. Crazy light brown hair. He was laughing.” Nick broke away from his nightmare. Then he repeated, “Laughing.” Nick’s lips were contorted. He held back his tears. “Royce is my family okay?”
“Everyone’s fine. We all just want you to get better.” Royce smiled over at Bev.
Bev said, “You took a hit to the back of your head. And your shoulder.”
He looked down. “For a while, I thought they’d tied me down.” His eyes fluttered a moment, then closed. He was drifting.
Royce and Bev shared a smile. It wasn’t going to be easy, but he was going to be just fine. He would eventually be their star witness. He would be well enough to look at the photos of possible perpetrators. Mugshots. Now that it was established that he’d recalled the shooter, perhaps he could pick out a mugshot. Identify the man. The man that wanted them dead.
***
“I’m responsible for you, Sheriff,” Terry was stern. Her voice was angry. “Someone could have killed you.”
“Terry, he talked with me. He knew about the black truck. He remembered. A large guy, husky, but not overweight. Husky. With a pasty face. Unruly light brown hair. I think he’ll be able to identify someone. We’ve got to keep working. This shooter hasn’t been on our landscape. We don’t know him. He’s a hitman. It was a contract attempted killing. And it must have been a killing for the necessity of arranging the contract killing. Kirk Dillard. Our only chance is combing the files and finding the link. There is always a link. We know who hates me. Now we’ve just got to find out how and who is the hater’s hiring the gunman.”
“I’m guessing we’re on the right path. Someone in prison hired this guy. There’s a definite tie.”