by Steven James
I did my best.
“See?” Margaret said.
I was so glad she was enjoying this.
Danny didn’t seem to buy it, but the girls laughed and Lizzie said, “They were in a hurry.”
The paramedics arrived, and the man, whose name tag read Neil Blane, said, “Sir, we need to have a look at that arm.”
I rose awkwardly, and the female paramedic, who introduced herself as Parvaneh Bihmardi and looked like she hadn’t gotten enough sleep last night, saw me wobble. “Wait. Sit back down.”
“No.” I shook my head, spoke softly, “Away from the children.”
Neil Blane gestured toward the gurney, but I declined. He reluctantly offered his arm to me; I declined that as well. They followed me toward a short concrete-barrier wall surrounding a treed-off area. The wall looked about a meter high, acceptable for me to sit on, and it appeared to be out of the sight-line of the Rainey family.
On the way there I heard Margaret ask, “So how many people were there? How many did you see?”
I glanced back and saw Lizzie holding up two fingers.
“A man and a woman?”
The girl nodded.
“Were they carrying anything?”
“The woman had a computer,” Danny offered. “The man had a big black bag.”
I paused.
Margaret asked, “What color was the computer?”
“White.”
If that was Mollie’s missing laptop, we could back trace its location as soon as they went online and, depending on the model, remotely turn on its video chat camera to catch a glimpse of the killers…
I phoned Doehring; he told me he would get on it, then I eased myself onto the concrete wall that encircled the trees, and Parvaneh pulled out large fabric shears. “All right, let’s get that shirt off and see what we’ve got here.”
36
Astrid waited impatiently as Brad finished breaking into the Honda Accord parked on Eisenhower Drive, across the highway from the Pentagon.
She hated that things had spun off in this direction, but they had, and now she would just have to deal with it.
“You were supposed to hack in, loop the video in the alley,” she said.
“I did.”
“Then how did they-”
“I don’t know.”
“Why did you shoot that agent?”
“I was afraid.”
The lock popped open. She was better at hot-wiring cars than he was, so after he got the doors open, she started the engine, then slid to the passenger seat to fix her hair.
“We need to get back to the house,” he said.
“No, I need to get back to work or it won’t look right. You know that.”
Silence.
“Drop me off, switch cars, then meet me later.”
Brad didn’t look happy to hear that, but she didn’t care.
He guided the car onto the street. “What about Wellington?” he said. “She’ll be at the scene.”
“Tomorrow. We’ll do that tomorrow, unless…” Astrid said. “Unless…”
“Unless?”
“Let’s just see how things play out.”
With gloved hands, she set the computer in the backseat. The FBI would find it later. And the plan would work. The timing would work.
Everything would sort itself out, as long as Brad didn’t screw things up any worse.
Neil and Parvaneh worked fast.
It took them only a couple minutes to clean the wound, pour on some QuickClot, and wrap my arm with a pressure bandage. While they tended to the gunshot wound, I tried to regroup, to think through all that I’d been through over the last two hours… the emotionally draining meeting with Missy Schuel… the revelation that the victim at the primate center was not Mollie Fischer… the confrontation with the congressman… the press conference… the chase through the hotel… getting shot.
Nothing had gone right, and to top things off, the suspects had apparently slipped away.
Taking a deep breath, I felt myself beginning to relax, but Parvaneh’s words put an end to that: “This might prick a little.”
I opened my eyes just in time to see her swab my right forearm with an alcohol wipe and position a ridiculously long IV needle against my skin.
Oh bad.
I hate needles.
She pressed.
And it went in, leaving a small ridge of raised flesh in its wake as it descended through my muscle and punctured my vein. The sight was more unsettling to me than the gunshot wound had been.
I had to look away.
“For your blood loss,” she explained.
“I see,” I managed to say. I could feel a tug of skin as she removed the needle, leaving the catheter behind.
Neil pulled out his radio and told someone that we were on our way in, then ended the transmission and wheeled the gurney closer to me. “We need to get you to a hospital.”
I didn’t want to miss anything here at the scene. I shook my head. “I’m staying here.”
“That’s not going to happen.”
“I’ll get my arm taken care of after things settle down. I just need a few minutes to brief the officers here-”
Parvaneh and Neil glanced at each other, and then she said, “We’re taking you to Mercy Medical.”
“No,” a gruff voice called, and I saw Ralph quickly approaching us. Behind him, more squads, news vans, and ambulances were pulling up to the hotel-Metro police, FBI, Capitol Hill police.
Spaghetti.
“I’ll take him in.” Ralph strode toward us. “Come on, Pat. We need to talk.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” Neil said. “This man has been shot, he’s losing blood, he has an IV in his arm. We can’t let you-”
Ralph reached down, grabbed the IV’s tube “Um, Ralph-”
Jerked it out of my arm.
Oh yeah.
That didn’t feel so good.
“There we are,” Ralph said. “Fast and clean.” The sheath of the plastic catheter glistened, wet with my blood, as he set it onto the gurney and said to Parvaneh, “I’ll let you take care of that.” He pressed the plastic tape that had been holding the IV in place over the needle hole.
Parvaneh was staring at us wide-eyed.
“All right.” He helped me to my feet. “Good to go.”
My phone rang. Tessa’s ring tone.
Unbelievable.
I needed a cup of coffee in a big way. A little caffeine to calm me down.
“Listen, Ralph.” I debated whether or not to answer the phone. “If this is about the press conference-”
Ringing.
“No.” Ignoring the continued objections of the two paramedics, he led me toward his car. “It’s about Richard Basque.”
“What? Basque?”
Still ringing.
Go on, Pat. Tessa needs you. She already left two messages.
“Hang on,” I said to Ralph. “It’s Tessa.”
As I answered the phone, I saw his car at the curb. Not far.
“It’s me,” I told her.
“Hey.”
“Are you all right? Your message from earlier, I was concerned.” Agents Tanner Cassidy and Natasha Farraday along with the other members of the FBI’s Evidence Response Team were entering the hotel.
“Sure, yeah,” Tessa said. “I’m okay.”
“What is it? What’s going on?”
“It’s just… when are you coming home? Are you in class?”
“Not quite. Something came up.”
“Oh.” Then, “You sound kind of… I don’t know. Out of breath.”
“I was exercising.” I tried to keep my voice even and measured. “Did I do something? Are you upset because of something I-”
“No-no-no-no.” She scrunched all the no’s into one word. “Nothing like that. But when do you think you’re gonna get home?”
“Tessa, I…” A glance at Ralph. “The truth is, I’m kind of in the middle of something here. But if you nee
d me, if it’s urgent, I could be home in about half an hour.”
Ralph shook his head, mouthed “No you can’t.”
I mouthed “Yes, I can.”
“No, that’s… it’s no big deal,” Tessa said. “Later’s okay.”
“Give me…” I checked the time.
3:36 p.m.
“I’ll try to be home by 7:00, okay?” That gave me just about three and a half hours to get to the hospital, get seen, get out, and get home, which would be a minor miracle, but maybe I could find a way to hurry the hospital staff up.
“Sure, yeah. I’m okay, so don’t worry or anything. It’s just… I need to tell you about something.”
“Tell me now.”
“It can wait.”
“It’s okay, you can-”
“It can wait,” she repeated.
I was growing increasingly impatient but also more concerned. “Tessa, listen to me. Are you safe? Are you all right?”
“Yeah.”
“If you’re in any kind of danger or trouble right now, ask me to stop bugging you with so many questions. I’ll get the police there in-”
“No, it’s not that. I’ll see you at 7:00? I’m fine. I’ll be fine.”
We ended the call.
But things didn’t feel right.
Ralph and I arrived at his car, and he put his news about Basque on the back burner for the moment. “She okay?”
“I don’t know.”
“Want me to have Brineesha go check on her?”
“When’s she off work?”
“4:30.”
From the bank, the drive to our house would take at least thirty-five minutes. I shook my head. “No good. That’s too late.”
“She could probably leave early.”
I had a thought.
“Hang on.”
Cheyenne.
She knows where you live… Tessa trusts her… If she decided not to go to the body farm… If she’s free…
“Give me one more sec.” We climbed into his car. Accidentally, I bumped my wounded arm, and a jolt of pain made me cringe. I had to close my eyes and take a deep breath to steady myself.
Easy, easy.
“You all right?” Ralph said.
“Yeah.”
I repositioned myself in the seat. It didn’t really help. Ralph pulled into the street while I called Cheyenne, found out she’d bypassed the body farm tour and spent her time reading through the case files and filling out the Joint Op paperwork.
“Listen,” I said, “there’s been a lot going on with this case and I’ll brief you on everything, I promise, but right now, I need to ask a favor.”
“What is it?”
“Something’s up with Tessa. I’m not sure what, I’m worried about her. She’s at home. I think she needs someone there with her right now, but I have to swing by the hospital. Can you go over there? Just for-”
“The hospital?”
“I hurt my arm a little. It’ll be all right. But if you can check on her, it would help. She knows you. She trusts you.”
“Pat, you wouldn’t go to the hospital if your arm was only hurt a little. What happened?”
“A through and through,” I said. “No arterial damage. No apparent fractures.”
Cheyenne knew guns like I know coffee, but she didn’t ask about the caliber, the proximity of the shooter, the angle of penetration, she just said instead, “Oh, Pat, I’m sorry.”
“I’ll be all right, just don’t tell Tessa. Okay? I don’t want her to worry.”
“I won’t tell her. I’ll get there as soon as I can.”
“Thanks.”
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yes.”
“Take care of that arm.”
“I will.”
I hung up.
“All right,” I said to Ralph. I took a small breath. “Tell me about Basque.”
“He’s missing,” he said. “And so is Dr. Renee Lebreau.”
37
“What?”
“Both of them.”
The news sent my thoughts back to Basque’s trial.
Last autumn Professor Lebreau and her Michigan State University law students were the ones who’d found the discrepancies in the eyewitness testimony and DNA evidence from Basque’s trial thirteen years ago. Their findings had played a pivotal role in the Seventh District Court’s decision to give Richard Devin Basque a retrial and had also been influential in swaying the jury to acquit him.
“When was she last seen?”
“She failed to show up for her legal ethics class about twenty-nine hours ago. Her SUV’s still in the parking lot. She hasn’t been seen since.”
“And Basque?”
“We’re not sure, but he dropped off the radar screen a couple days ago. Chicago PD is looking for him, but as you know…”
“He’s a free man.”
“Not just free.” Ralph said the words with a dark tone that showed he didn’t agree with the verdict either. “Innocent.”
“According to the courts.”
“Yeah. And an innocent man doesn’t have to check in with the police when he goes on a road trip.” His words were grated with anger.
I thought again of Grant Sikora’s dying wish: “Promise me you won’t let him do it again.”
“I promise,” I’d said.
A stretch of silence, then I asked Ralph who was working Professor Lebreau’s disappearance.
“Director Rodale sent Kreger to head it up.”
“I don’t think I know him.”
“Good man. Smart. Cool under pressure. He’s working with the East Lansing Police.”
Basque was one of the most elusive killers I’d ever encountered, and if he was involved in Professor Lebreau’s disappearance, even with Kreger’s help, I wondered if a city the size of East Lansing had the resources to find him.
You promised Grant Sikora you wouldn’t let Basque kill again… you promised…
“Send me up there,” I said.
Ralph shook his head. “You know I can’t do that. You have your classes, this Fischer case, the whole custody thing with Tessa that you need to straighten out-not to mention that scratch on your arm.”
“My gunshot wound is a scratch?”
“No bones sticking out. Can’t be that serious.”
“Nice criterion. Listen, find a way for me to help search for Basque. I know more about him than anyone-”
“Except for…?”
At last I realized what this conversation was really about-the FBI agent who’d helped me track Basque thirteen years ago.
“You,” I said.
He nodded. “My flight leaves in an hour.”
We were on Massachusetts Avenue NW. The hospital was two blocks away.
“We need to be careful about this, though,” he said. “Not jump to conclusions. For all we know, the professor went on an unscheduled vacation and Basque went fishing for the week.”
But I could tell he didn’t buy any of that.
I knew Ralph would have already thought of this, but I felt like it needed to be said: “If it’s been twenty-nine hours, there’s a good chance-”
“Yeah, that she’s dead,” he said. “Or worse.”
A harsh stillness filled the air as we both thought of the things Basque had done to his victims before he killed them.
“Ralph,” I said slowly, “what do you think of preemptive justice?”
“I was an Army Ranger, man. Most of the missions we went on were preemptive. Identify a threat and eliminate it before it eliminates you.”
“Or someone else,” I said.
“Yes.”
And I had a feeling we were thinking the same thing.
We arrived at the hospital and parked in front of the emergency room doors.
“Both Basque and Lebreau go missing in the same week?” I said. “It’s too much of a coincidence. Basque is involved.”
“I know.”
We climbed out of
the car, and Ralph offered me one of his Herculean arms for support, but I turned him down. “Here’s the thing that just doesn’t fit,” I said. “Dr. Lebreau is the one who ended up providing information that helped exonerate Basque. Why would he go after her?”
“I’ve been wondering the same thing. I have no idea.” His voice grew dark. “But, trust me. I’m gonna find him. And if he hurt her.. . Let’s just say the justice would be fast.”
“And clean.”
“Yeah.”
We entered the lobby.
When a law enforcement officer is brought into a hospital with a gunshot wound, the doctors are primed and ready, so I wasn’t surprised to see a trauma team waiting for us: half a dozen surgeons and nurses in gowns, booties, gloves standing poised around a gurney.
But apparently they must have been expecting something a little more exciting, because the doctors looked at each other uncertainly, and one of them asked, “You’re the GSW?” He sounded disappointed.
“Sorry it’s not more life-threatening,” Ralph said. “Next time we’ll try to make sure he gets shot in the chest.”
“Hey, thanks, Ralph.”
They didn’t seem to appreciate our comments, and one by one they dispersed. Ralph excused himself so he could get to the airport, and a severe-looking nurse carrying a stack of paperwork appeared and gestured toward a nearby exam room.
38
Tessa needed to get her mind off the whole deal with Paul Lansing, but it was still gonna be more than three hours before Patrick was supposed to show up.
Great.
Not exactly in the mood for crossword puzzles or poetry. Not today.
Maybe do something to make up for keeping the emails from him, for going behind his back, that would be a major plus.
So? Clean?
Um… not.
Supper?
Ouch-that was painful just to think about. She’d tried cooking a few times, and those had not exactly been her best hours.
Okay, so what does he care about-besides you-what matters to him?
Well, that was obvious.
His work.
And right now that meant finding whoever killed the congressman’s daughter in that whole weird, totally disturbing, chimpanzee attack.
She tried to think like Patrick would: