Acoustic Shadows

by Patrick Kendrick

  ‘Hey there, Alton,’ said a voice from behind Thiery. ‘Sorry we didn’t get a chance to talk earlier.’

  ‘Understood, Governor Croll,’ said Conroy, smiling for the first time, though it looked painful for him to do so.

  ‘You’ve met Agent Thiery, then?’

  ‘Uh, yeah. More or less. I was just tellin’ him, we wish we’d handled more of this, but it was, unfortunately, over by the time we got here and sent in our SWAT.’

  ‘Understood,’ said Croll. ‘Well, sooner or later we’ll get the county consolidated. It only makes sense, right? Need to have everyone under one umbrella with one strong leader, right? It’s a waste of resources to keep all these ma and pa departments separate. Taxpayers won’t stand for it anymore.’ He stopped and looked around as if to see if anyone was listening to him. ‘Can’t believe it’s happened here. I would’ve thought if one of these events happened in Florida, it would’ve been in Miami. How are Janine and the girls?’

  ‘They’re fine, thanks,’ said Conroy. ‘Oldest is married, now, and the youngest is a junior up at UF. I’m glad they’re not around here for this. Both of them used to go here when this town used to be a nice, quiet place. Now, we can barely keep up with the ghetto people moving in, people making meth in their garages.’

  ‘Yes, it’s a shame,’ Croll added dolefully. ‘You let Agent Thiery know if you or your men need anything. He has direct access to me. Now, where is my car? I’ve got to get gone.’

  Croll and Conroy shook hands and Conroy drifted off, back through the masses that drew away from him, like Moses parting the Red Sea.

  ‘You did well, Agent Thiery,’ said Croll, when the two men were away from the crowd. ‘That’s what I was talking about when we discussed earning rewards earlier today. Outstanding. You show great confidence.’

  ‘Thank you, sir, but we still have a lot of work to do.’

  ‘Oh, of course,’ said Croll. ‘But, you’ll get it done. Get with these other departments. Alton’s a good guy, and the other fella, Chief Dormer, or whatever his name is, seems all right. Put together a report and let’s move on. There’ll be gun control fanatics and hordes of media people trying to wring every story out of every poor soul that lives within ten miles of here. The quicker something like this is put behind us, the sooner the town will heal. So, give it a few days, and get back to Tallahassee.’ He grasped Thiery’s arm like a father making a point to his teenage son. ‘You know, Jim, er, uh, the Commissioner is going to retire in less than a month, and I’d like to have his successor in place before he leaves, so he can mentor him. How’d you like Jim to give you his best on the way out the door?’

  Thiery shook his head. ‘I can’t even think about that right now, Governor.’

  Croll gave him the gecko look, again, and said, ‘Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, Mister Thiery.’

  ‘I’m not trying to be disrespectful, sir, but I see this investigation lasting weeks, maybe months, as we put together a prosecutable case.’

  Croll scrunched up his face. ‘Investigation? What’s to investigate? We know who the shooters are. Not much in the grey area there, would you say, Agent Thiery?’

  They walked in silence for a moment as they made their way toward the governor’s limousine, Thiery’s blood pressure rising with each step. Then Croll broke the uncomfortable void.

  ‘Do you know Brian Ahearn, the Fire Chief, up in Tallahassee?’ he asked.

  Thiery shook his head. ‘No, sir. Can’t say we’ve met.’

  ‘You should meet him some time. Smart guy. We go golfing every Thursday afternoon; he has a great swing. He’s a man looking to move up, maybe take an appointment somewhere. I bet you’d hate to have a former firefighter take over that commissioner job.’

  Thiery listened to the threat but he did not respond.

  ‘Anyway, you know what he told me? He told me about when he used to be out in the streets, when he went to a multi-car accident, a ten-car pile-up say, on the interstate, or wherever. He said the worst thing he and his men could do was stay on the scene too long. The best thing to do was to clear the scene as quickly as possible. He told me the longer they were there, the more dangerous the scene could get with traffic backing up and such, and once the initial patient care was taken care of, if they didn’t get off scene quickly, more and more motorists would come up and say they were hurt. It was as if these people would convince themselves that they must be hurt, too, if they were just near such an accident. Most of them were opportunists looking to get their name on an accident report so they could sue somebody. People want to blame somebody for something, then lawyer up and make money off it.’

  They were at the limo now, the governor’s driver holding the back door open for him. Thiery didn’t know quite what to make of the governor’s soliloquy, but he refused to play into his hands. He pulled back his jacket sleeve and looked at his watch. Almost ten o’clock. He felt his neck stiffen from fatigue and not a little bit of anger. This governor is an asshole, he reminded himself. Just let it be.

  ‘By the way, Agent Thiery, I talked to the President today. He’s going to come down here, talk to the families of the deceased. He’s fascinated with this woman; the teacher who shot the intruders. He’s going to want to talk to her, in particular. Better get to her quickly, before she lawyers up, too.’

  ‘I’m doing my job, sir,’ said Thiery, dryly.

  ‘Good,’ said Croll, regaining his shit-eating grin. ‘Keep it moving. Let’s clear the scene, capiche?’

  Thiery was looking around for his innocuous sedan when he saw Sara Logan standing among the parked cars, watching him, tapping her lower lip with her cell phone. He hadn’t seen her in three years. She looked the same. Blonde, short-cropped, spiky hair, green eyes that slanted up at the corners, a nose that looked fragile, mocha skin. She had a scar on her chin from running through a glass door when she was a teenager. She’d been banging the neighbour’s son when her father came looking for her. She ran through the glass like Bruce Willis in an action film. Still, the scar didn’t detract from her exotic looks. Gorgeous, but the word carnivorous came to Thiery’s mind. His stomach filled with crawling things and he drew in a breath.

  He’d weaned himself off her after she’d dumped him, let her come back to his bed from time to time, until it was more painful to see her than get laid, then swore off her. She took it with a shrug of her shoulders. She’d made it clear she wasn’t looking for a relationship. She was looking for a hard, sweaty lay, and that’s what she used Thiery for. She and her much older husband, a contractor who built bridges, had made the choice not to have children. He had grown-up kids from a previous marriage. He wanted to travel, eat out every night, and have an attractive young lady on his arm. She could fulfil that obligation and still maintain her career, which she loved because it validated her professionalism and allowed her certain freedoms.

  Thiery had just been a glorified dildo for her.

  ‘Hi, Sara,’ said Thiery, trying to find his voice.

  She used that smile that was warm, welcoming, and as disingenuous as a Coach purse sold on the streets of Bangladesh. She stepped closer, placing her hand on his shoulder and pushed herself against his chest. A light kiss on his cheek – very, very near his mouth – then she pulled away, leaving a cloud of musky scent that made him want to throw her in the back seat of the nearest car.

  He hated himself for that.

  ‘Hi, Justin,’ she said, completely aware of what she did to him, to most men. ‘Bad day, huh?’

  He cleared his throat, attempting to regain some semblance of professionalism. She was looking him over again, assessing him.

  ‘What’s your role here, exactly?’ he asked.

  She let her eyes roam over him without hurry, or embarrassment. Her pupils were dilated. ‘Whatever you need,’ she said, the double entendre dripping off her words. That smile again. ‘I’m here for federal presence in case there’s something beyond what it looks like.’

  ‘Well,’
said Thiery, ‘on the surface, it seems like most school shootings. One of the perps used to attend the school years ago. Not sure about the other one, yet. I don’t see anything that would lead me to believe this was a terrorist act, domestic or foreign. I heard the explosives they found were just pipe bombs and homemade crap.’

  ‘So were the pressure cooker bombs in Boston.’

  ‘Understood. I just don’t think you’ll find much that demands you or your department’s time.’

  Logan shrugged. ‘So, I hang out and assist as needed. Maybe liaison with ATF, take one monkey off your back. Okay? I’m not trying to interfere.’

  Thiery knew this to be true. She might be a horny woman with a questionable moral compass, but she was a damn good investigator, too. She was insightful, and she had helped him on several huge and legally tricky cases in the past.

  ‘One of the teachers reportedly shot the intruders,’ Thiery continued. ‘Her name is Erica Weisz. Maybe you could look into why she had a gun in a public school. Did she have a permit to carry and, if so, why? I’ll let you know if I need anything else,’ he ended, knowing full well how she would interpret those words.

  ‘Where are you staying?’ she asked, lowering her chin but raising those cat eyes back up at him.

  He hesitated before telling her but figured she probably knew already. She’d once told him that she’d looked up his credit rating, knew which Internet sites he visited most often, and what grades his kids made in school. She was a Fed, so what was alarming about that? It was creepy, but not surprising to him.

  ‘I’m at a little cheesy joint up the road, The Sun Beam Motel. There’s nothing else nearby unless you want to go up to Lake Wales or Orlando.’

  ‘I’m in Orlando, at the Gaylord Palms. You know I couldn’t stay somewhere I had to worry about my feet sticking to the carpet.’

  ‘Of course not,’ said Thiery.

  Her Blackberry rang, and she put up a finger as if asking him to wait, then put the phone to her ear and turned away. He watched her walk to her car and felt his heart sink. Her blue FBI windbreaker failed to cover the ass that filled out her tactical pants. It taunted him like a schoolyard bully.

  ‘Ah, shit,’ he said to no one.

  SIX

  Erica couldn’t sleep. They offered her pain medication, but she refused it. She wanted to be alert. The news covering the shooting was on; she tried not to watch it, but almost every channel had coverage of it. She was pleased none of the children had been killed, and terrified when they kept flashing a picture of her on the screen as they played up her role as a hero. They must’ve obtained it from the Calusa County School Board from her identification badge. It wasn’t a great picture, but it was good enough for someone looking for her to recognize.

  The photo popped up again, this time in response to one of the mothers of a student being interviewed. The reporter asked what she’d like to say to Erica Weisz, the hero of Travis Hanks Elementary. With a microphone in her face, her deep southern drawl making it difficult to understand, the woman said, ‘Yeah, I s’pose she is a hero.’ Her emphasis on HEE-row mortified Erica and she wished the reporters would just stop. ‘I mean, she saved the kids’ lives, right?’ the mother continued, ‘but, what would I like to say to her? I guess I should say thank you. But, to be truthful, I’d like to ask why she had a gun in a public school.’ The footage stopped with the woman’s face framed on screen mid-sentence, her mouth twisted, and her hair driven back by the wind making her look severe and angry.

  The reporter for a THN affiliate, a woman whose hair didn’t move when the wind blew, returned her attention to the camera and said, ‘there you have it, a thankful parent. But, as we’ve begun to hear, there are questions about where the gun came from that Erica Weisz used to slay the shooters. Initial reports came in saying she had wrestled the gun away from intruders, but police are now saying it at least appears she may have brought the gun onto school grounds, which, according to school officials, is strictly forbidden.’

  Erica turned off the television, her anxiety growing. She noted the nurses had left the syringe that inflated the bulb in her Foley catheter next to the bed. She used it to deflate the Foley and drew it painfully out of her urethra. When she looked at the collection bag, she saw she wasn’t producing much urine. An ominous sign.

  Keeping intact the electronic monitoring devices hooked up to her, so as not to alert the nurses, Erica pulled the IV out of her arm. They had used a large bore, 14-gauge catheter, and the hole it left behind started to bleed. She held a tissue on it and used the tape that held the IV in her arm to secure the tissue over the wound. Then, she slowly got out of the bed, her abdomen so sore it took several attempts to simply sit up. Finally, she made it into a semi-erect posture, crossed the room, and peeked outside the door. Thank God for long electrical cords and beds with wheels.

  Her legs were trembling from the loss of blood and the freezing air conditioning. A wave of nausea swept over her, but passed as she took a few deep, calming breaths. Icy sweat frosted over her forehead and lower back, but warmed slowly as her circulation began to flow again. An empty chair was outside her door, a walkie-talkie sitting atop a folded newspaper. The Calusa County Sheriff’s deputy assigned to stand guard at her room had moved to the nurses’ station and was flirting with the one of the women. She would have only a few minutes.

  She looked under her hospital bed and found a plastic bag with her name scribbled on it in block letters. Inside were her underwear, running shoes, and purse, sans the pistol. The dress had probably been taken by the police to examine the blast pattern. Her side felt as though it might rip open as she bent over and retrieved her belongings. She gritted her teeth and wondered if she would be able to maintain consciousness. After a few deep breaths, the pain subsided, and she looked around the room. On the back of the door was a long, white lab coat with a name tag. It would have to do.

  She brought her purse over to the sink in the disability-equipped bathroom adjoining her small room. She quickly washed her face, brushed her hair, and spruced up her sallow complexion with a little make-up. She wasn’t going to win any beauty pageants, but she might pass for something other than a bloodless zombie. She peeked out the door one more time and saw the deputy was still preoccupied. At the very last moment, she took a deep breath then pulled off the pulse oximeter cord, blood pressure cuff, and the EKG electrodes. It would take a moment for the lights to indicate a problem at the nurses’ station, another minute or so for one of the nurses to notice, and another moment for them to convince themselves the patient hadn’t accidentally pulled the monitors off rolling over in her sleep. In all, she could expect a minimum of three minutes before they would come in to check on her.

  Erica pushed open the door and turned quickly down the hall without looking back. She walked with purpose, sucking up the pain, not hurrying, but assuming the role of an efficient nurse looking for something for one of her patients. It had been a familiar role at one time.

  She found the room where nurses kept their personal belongings in lockers with names taped to the front. Only two or three were locked. Evidently, most of the nurses knew and trusted each other. Erica tried to remember when last she could trust anyone; it seemed a lifetime ago. Feeling guilty but having no choice, she found some women’s clothing: a pair of jeans and a Lady Antebellum concert T-shirt. She rolled them up and shoved them into her purse, then noticed the door to the supply closet adjoined the dressing room. She wanted to simply leave – ASAP – but it might be worth her while to take a quick glance.

  Erica stepped into the supply closet and looked around. She noted the narcotics were locked in a refrigerated glass case, as they should be, but most of the non-narcotic drugs were on the shelves. She threw a bag of normal saline into her purse, some bandaging and IV materials, and was just reaching for the Amoxicillin when the door opened behind her. She turned to find a young doctor standing there, fumbling with his keys, trying to find the one that opened the narcotics cabinet. H
e looked up at her.

  He frowned, obviously not recognizing her. She hoped that the hospital had enough part-time nurses that her being there wouldn’t draw curiosity. The doctor smiled and held the bunch of keys in his hand.

  ‘I can never find the right key to open this thing.’

  Erica smiled back and nodded, but her heart was racing now. She felt sweat forming on her upper lip and swallowed dryly. Then, she felt something move down her arm. She glanced down and saw blood beginning to seep through the lab coat where the IV had been.

  ‘Haven’t seen you around here before,’ he said, as he fumbled with the keys.

  Erica swallowed dryly. ‘I’m … I work per diem … you know, with a registry. I … uh, usually do private duty but the registry called me today and said the hospital needed more staff, so … ’

  The doctor stared at her for a moment, his eyes meeting hers, as if contemplating what she told him. He turned his attention back to the keys and finally found the right one that opened the cabinet. He withdrew a vial of morphine, jotted his initials on a form attached to a clipboard inside the cabinet and was about to close it when he turned back to her.

  ‘Need anything out of here before I close it?’

  ‘Uh, no,’ she managed, trying to keep her voice from breaking. ‘No, thank you. I was just getting some Amoxicillin.’

  ‘Oh,’ he said. ‘For the patient in 309?’ His eyes went to her sleeve and saw the spot of blood. She could see him staring at it.

  Erica’s mind began to race. She thought she might lose it, but managed to hold herself together.

  ‘The teacher with the gunshot wound?’ he added, his eyes now locking with hers. ‘Not too many other trauma patients here right now.’

  Erica stared at him for a moment thinking she’d been discovered, then nodded slowly.

  ‘She’s some lady, huh?’ the doctor continued. ‘Poor thing, they had to take some shotgun pellets out of her abdomen. A few nicked her spleen, but they managed to save it. She’s got some healing to do, but I heard she is going to be fine. Good thing that she had that gun. Probably saved every kid in that school. That’s a hero in my book. Take good care of her, eh?’ He turned to go out the door, then stopped and turned back to her. ‘Grab a coffee later on?’