by Chris Stout
It was easier to inspect it in the mirror, and it did not look good. Miranda noticed first of all that she was terribly pale. She made a note to drink a lot of juice. But first the wound itself needed tending to. The wound was a gaping gash, right under her shoulder and above her bicep. She dumped peroxide on it and swabbed it with a fistful of cotton balls. It still bled. She was going to need stitches, but a trip to any doctor would ensure that she was caught. Miranda fought back tears of pain and frustration. No, she was not going to go out that way. There had to be something she could do. She looked through her cabinets, wondering if dental floss and a needle would be enough to hold it together. Then she saw her curling iron.
She rarely curled her hair; she only had the instrument for the few times that she turned the ends under or something like that. But that iron got pretty damn hot. She remembered having burned herself the first time she used it. She wondered if it would be enough to cauterize the wound. The idea nearly made her sick, because she knew it was going to hurt like hell. But she couldn’t think of anything better to do. She plugged in the iron and walked out to her kitchen, where she pulled a bottle of vodka out of her freezer. She had it uncapped and was already taking a long belt of it before she even made it out of the kitchen. One way or another, that fucking wound was getting fixed.
#
An hour later her phone rang. Miranda ignored it. She lay in lukewarm water in her bathtub, trying to ignore the stench of burned flesh and vomit. The curling iron, with blood and skin cooked to it, was in the trashcan. Her toilet was up, still stained after the pain made her sick. She reached for the half-empty bottle of vodka and took a long pull. The room spun madly. Alcohol, blood loss and a now-empty stomach were not a good mix.
Miranda had her arm wrapped in gauze and held a bag of ice over the wound. At least it wasn’t bleeding anymore. The dressing on her leg would need changing now that it was wet, but she didn’t give a shit at the moment. She sighed, took another swig of vodka, and let her hair dangle in the tub. The next day, she woke up in her bed, but didn’t remember moving there.
Chapter 25
It was early afternoon by the time Sam got to interview Jesse McClintock. His nose wrinkled at the smell of alcohol and body odor that permeated the interrogation room.
“I wanna talk to my lawyer!” were the first words out of Jesse’s mouth.
Sam slid a box of mints across the table to the prisoner. “Better eat one of these first so you don’t kill the guy,” he said.
Jesse stared at the mints but did not reach for them. He repeated his demand.
“Fine,” Sam said. “We’ll have a public defender here in a few minutes, if you want. But I don’t really give a shit about what you may or may not have done last night. I’m more interested as to why you called and what it was you wanted to tell me before you went on your drunken rampage.”
Jesse looked up at him sullenly. “I ain’t sayin’ nothin’ ‘til my lawyer gets here.”
Sam spread his hands in resignation. “That’s fine with me. Maybe Eldon Marshall and Tim Butcher will be more accommodating. After all, they’re not looking at five to ten in the federal pen.”
“What?”
“Oh yeah. You were gunning for a black guy. Makes this a hate crime. Throw in the firearm you were carrying illegally, and that adds up to a minimum five year sentence in some happy place like Leavenworth.”
Jesse looked skeptical. “That’s a crock of shit.”
“You don’t want to believe me, that’s fine. Ask your lawyer.” Sam rose from his chair and turned to leave the room. He stopped at the door. “By the way, your place was broken into last night.”
“You catch him?” Jesse stared at the table.
“Nope. They shot their way out. Shot your neighbor, his dog… Pretty ruthless. You know, you really should get that lock on your back door fixed. I’m half inclined to let you loose and give this person another crack at you.”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh yeah, it was definitely a hit. They were waiting for you with a silenced automatic. Lucky for you we got you first.”
Jesse shifted in his chair.
“And when we let you go,” Sam continued, “you won’t have any guns to protect yourself. They’ve been confiscated for evidence, in case this intruder handled any of them.”
“I’ve got friends I can stay with.” The waver in his voice betrayed Jesse’s confidence.
Sam gave a short laugh. “Yeah, I bet. I think our assassin would love to have you all grouped up nice and tight. Just like Wainwright and your other buddies were. This shooter’s good. But if you don’t want to help me find them, then I’m afraid there isn’t anything I can do to keep them from coming for you. And Jesse, I doubt they’ll miss again.” Sam left the interrogation room and walked off to his office. “Let him sit for a bit,” he said to the guard outside. “If he wants to talk, wait a few minutes and then come get me.”
“Whatever you say, Detective.”
In his office, Sam sat at his desk and drummed his fingers for a few minutes. Then he picked up the phone and called Miranda again.
#
Miranda picked up with a groggy “Hello?”
“Morning sunshine.”
“Sam!” she exclaimed, coming fully awake. “Jesus, what time is it?”
Sam laughed. “You sound awful, kid.”
“Yeah. I had a rough night. Crammed out a paper and then got drunk to celebrate. How was yours?”
“Got shot at a few times. Nothing too bad.”
Miranda winced. She really would have felt bad if she had hurt him. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah. Listen, we were right about our friend going after the rest of this militia gang. And there’s something else.”
“What’s that?”
“Remember at the nursing home, Aunt Fran and the receptionist told us about that blonde lady?”
“Yeah, what about her?”
“I think it was her that was shooting at me last night.”
“Oh. Shit, that’s bad, isn’t it?”
“Yeah.” Sam cleared his throat. “Looks like Damon has someone helping him out. Might explain how he was able to take out those four guys at Wainwright’s lodge.”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“Listen,” he continued, “I’m worried. This lady’s pretty ruthless. She shot a civilian last night. I’m worried he might have her go after my aunt.”
“Why would he do that?”
“Don’t know. I guess to scare me off if I get too close. Anyway, I’ve told the folks at the home to keep an extra eye out, but I’d really feel more comfortable if someone I knew was watching over things. I’ve got Jesse McClintock in custody right now, and I think he might be able to give me some info on Damon, maybe this woman too. While I’m working on that, would you be willing to keep an eye on Aunt Fran?”
Miranda rubbed the sleep and remaining vestiges of last night from her eyes. “Of course, Sam. I’d be happy to. Hey, why’s Jesse in jail?”
“Tried to knock over a bar last night. We picked him up before he could do any damage.”
“Busy evening.”
“No kidding. Listen, I appreciate you doing this for me. It’ll probably be boring as hell, but it’s important. To me anyway.”
“Of course, Sam. I think Aunt Fran and I will be fine. She’s quite an interesting lady.”
“Yeah, I know. I’m sure having you act as my own personal security guard is bending the rules as far as they’ll go, but this lady’s good. And ruthless. I don’t want to take any chances.”
You don’t need to worry, Miranda thought. “I’ll be careful, Sam. And I’ll take good care of Fran. Listen, I need to shower and stuff, so give me a half-hour or so and I’ll be there.”
“No problem.”
She really wanted to tell him to grill Jesse about her brother. But that would have tipped her hand. So she made sure to keep her interest on the case at hand. “And keep me posted on what you
hear from Jesse. I want this guy too.”
“No sweat. You take it easy. I’ll be in touch.”
Miranda hung up her phone and went into her bathroom. It still reeked of vomit and burnt skin. She swore and inspected herself in the mirror. She looked awful. Her arm hurt like hell, but at least there wasn’t any fresh blood leeching through the burn-bandage she had wrapped around it. Her leg was bruised and a bit swollen, but looked okay otherwise. Nothing a shower, make-up, long sleeves and jeans wouldn’t be able to mask.
#
After sobering up a bit more and taking a much-needed shower, Jesse McClintock came to the conclusion that cooperating with Sam was the best way to keep himself alive. After all, what good was being released on bond going to do him if Damon simply showed up and shot him the same night?
“I don’t know a lot about the punk,” he said, seated in the interrogation room. He sipped on coffee and held a half-eaten doughnut in his hand. “He came in from West Virginia. Wainwright said to post him for a couple of months. Wainwright paid me in cash, so I didn’t ask too many questions.”
“So where did he stay?” Sam asked.
Jesse gave him an address, which Sam wrote down on an index card. “I never been inside though, not since he moved his stuff there.”
Sam nodded absently. This would explain why Damon didn’t have anything in the dorm room he supposedly used at the college. “Anything else you think I should know to help me find this guy?”
“No sir.”
“Alright. If you think of anything, don’t hesitate to get hold of me.” Sam put the index card in his shirt pocket and rose. “Your lawyer will be here in a few minutes to talk with you and the prosecutor. I can tell you right now we’ll have to charge you with carrying under disability. But that will probably be the extent of it. Fortunately, the bouncer at Night Owl is used to handling folks like you, and doesn’t hold any grudges. Still, you’re probably going to do time, and you won’t be able to buy or own a firearm ever again.”
“That ain’t right,” Jesse mumbled.
Sam shrugged. “Neither is pulling a piece on somebody when you’re drunk.” He left Jesse sulking in the interrogation room.
Officer Arnie Freed met him outside. “How’d things go?”
“I think we have a lead on where Damon’s been staying. Rental house that Jesse let him use. Apparently Chief Wainwright fronted the cash for it.”
Arnie raised his eyebrows and gave a low whistle. “Maybe it was a good thing Chief got waxed. This’d be a helluva scandal.”
“You got that right. I’m going to head over and check this house out. You want to come along, provide some back up?”
“Absolutely. We taking my cruiser or your car?”
“We’ll take mine, just in case anyone’s lurking about. No sense tipping our hand if we don’t have to.”
“By the way,” Arnie said, “we also got a match on those bullets we found in Hector’s car. They match the samples we fired from the gun found on Bill Bank’s body.”
“Good work. At least we can maybe close the book on that case.”
“Yup. And Miranda’s on her way out to look in on your aunt. You want me to send somebody over to back her up?”
“Yeah, have Hal Golding or Kevin stop by every few hours, just to look in on things. Maybe we can split up the night shift to relive her a bit, too. I’m going to gather a few things together, then let’s head on out.”
“Sure thing, boss. See you at your car.”
#
Miranda smiled at the receptionist as she walked in the Sparta Retirement Center. She gave her name. “I’m here to keep an eye on Fran Connor, per Detective Sam Connor’s wishes.”
“Oh, yes. He said you’d be coming. We’ve got one of our own security guards posted outside of her room. I’m sure he’ll be happy to be relieved.”
Miranda went down the hall to Aunt Fran’s room. A tall, skinny man rose from a chair to stop her. He must be at least seventy, Miranda thought. She was glad there wasn’t any real threat to guard against here; Aunt Fran wouldn’t have stood a chance with this kind of protection. “I’m sorry, miss,” the guard said in a crackling voice. “I’ll have to see some identification before I can let you go any further.”
Right. Miranda pulled out her wallet and showed her identification card from the police station. “I’m here to keep an eye on Mrs. Connor.”
“Oh, right. Well, everything’s under control here. Haven’t had any visitors all morning.”
“What about the rooms next to hers?”
“Well, they’ve had family in, but…”
Miranda cut him off. “Is there access to Mrs. Connor’s room from either of her neighbors?”
“Well no, of course not, all our rooms are private.”
“Good. What about her doctors? Do you recognize all of them?”
“Of course. I’ve known these people for twenty years, almost.”
“Good. You can stick around for a bit then, and point them out to me until I get to know them for myself.”
The guard protested. “I’ve got a lunch break coming up, and…”
Miranda cut him off. “Look, there’s been a threat made against this woman’s life. I’m not taking any chances, because the people who’ve made it sure aren’t fucking around.” The guard winced at her profanity. “So you can eat your lunch here, and leave when another guard comes out or I dismiss you.” There wasn’t any reason for her to give the guy a hard time, but he had been given a job to do, and she hated it when people didn’t take their work seriously. “Now, where’s your sidearm?”
“We don’t carry weapons here, miss.”
She rolled her eyes. “Well, I guess you’ll just have to be my shield, then, if anything goes down.” The old man paled. “If you’re not armed,” Miranda said, “I guess you aren’t going to be much use here. Just give me a list of the people scheduled to see Mrs. Connor. I’ll have to wing this one.”
The guard complied, frowning the whole time. When he was finished with the list, he said, “Look miss, we don’t allow weapons here. If you’re carrying one…”
“Don’t ask, don’t tell. Got it?”
He wisely decided not to argue the point and left, muttering under his breath. Miranda looked into Fran Connor’s room then. The old woman was napping, snoring softly. Miranda went inside and shut the door. The next nurse wasn’t scheduled to arrive for half-an-hour. Plenty of time for Miranda to look for fresh bandages and antibiotic ointment. If she was lucky, maybe later in the day she could look around the center for penicillin or other such medicines, in order to further stave off the risk of infection. Her arm was scabbing and seeping puss, and she was a bit worried about it.
Chapter 26
Damon’s rental house was in a neighborhood of student off-campus housing. Real estate companies maintained most of the homes, but some of them – in varying degrees of repair – were still owned by individuals who lent them out to college kids at more reasonable rates. Jesse’s property wasn’t in the best of shape, but it looked livable enough. Sam noted that he wasn’t too many blocks away from Miranda’s place, and the thought of her reminded him of the kiss from the night before. So much had happened in the meantime that he hadn’t even had a chance to dwell on the significance of it. He would have to wait a little bit longer to do that.
After finding Damon’s rented house, Sam and Arnie parked their car a few doors down. They approached the dwelling on foot and split up as they neared it. Arnie headed for the back yard, while Sam strode up the front steps.
The house had a small front porch with a rotting wooden swing. Several crumpled beer cans littered the bushes. Most of them, however, were rusted and fading, which indicated that there hadn’t been much drinking on the porch recently. Sam supposed that could be due to the weather, but it was getting warmer each day, and most kids had been outside partying since the mercury went above forty-five.
Sam wore a small radio with an earpiece and a mike attached
to the lapel of his blazer. He keyed the radio twice, signaling Arnie that he was ready at the front door. Arnie keyed back, indicating that he was in position at the back door. A block away, Officers Hal Golding and Kevin Jones waited in a cruiser, ready to provide additional support in case of trouble. Sam drew his pistol, held his badge up to the peephole and pounded on the front door with the bottom of his fist.
There was no answer. Sam knocked again, announcing his presence verbally this time. Still nothing. The windows of the house were dark, with shades drawn down: no way to see if anyone was waiting inside. Sam radioed to Arnie, “Stand by, I’m going to try the door.”
“Roger that.”
Sam tested the handle. It was locked, but the door felt very loose in the frame. Sam gave a swift kick with his heel, near the knob, and the flimsy handle lock broke. The door swung inwards. A crash at the back of the house indicated that Arnie had made good his entrance. Sam checked in with his partner over the radio, the called out a “Clear!” indicating that no one was in the front room. Arnie replied in similar fashion. “I’m coming in through the dining room!” he called out. The two officers met without firing at each other.
“Nothing up here,” Sam said. “Let’s try down this hall.”
There were three small rooms and a bathroom, all attached by a narrow hallway. The officers didn’t find occupants in any of them. Sam radioed back to Golding and Jones. “This place looks pretty empty. Arnie and I are going to do a preliminary search, then call in the sheriff for forensics.”