The Preditorial Page

by Lee, Amanda M.

  “Someone was following me in there,” I gasped.

  Eliot didn’t look convinced. “It was probably just a worker.”

  “Would a worker follow me and then hide behind hay bales?”

  Eliot’s face was drawn and serious. “Which way?”

  “You are not leaving me here,” I said.

  Eliot looked as though he was about to argue, but turned his head toward the parking lot when the sound of a car engine firing up broke the afternoon silence. We both watched as a dark sport utility vehicle shot out of the parking lot, almost causing an accident as it gained entry onto the highway.

  Eliot moved to my side, wrapping his arms around me in an attempt to calm me down. “Did you see who it was?”

  “No.”

  “Are you sure they were following you?”

  In the claustrophobic confines of the maze, I had been absolutely sure. Now, here under the bright sun, I was a little less certain. “That’s what it felt like.”

  “Were you thinking of Children of the Corn the whole time you were in there?”

  Yes. “No.”

  “Well, it’s too late to know now,” he sighed. “It was probably just a random guest.”

  That would be a nice change of pace.

  “Let’s get out of here,” he said.

  “I told you nature and I don’t mix,” I grumbled.

  “We’ll talk about it more when you’re giving me my massage later,” Eliot said.

  “Don’t press your luck.”

  Twenty-Five

  The next morning I was feeling pretty stupid. My mom always told me that watching too many horror movies was going to rot my brain. I always thought she was being dramatic -- as usual -- but now I was starting to see her point.

  Don’t tell her that. I’ll never hear the end of it.

  When I got to the office, Fish told me there had been no further updates from the sheriff’s department -- which didn’t exactly surprise me -- and then sent me to Romeo to cover an accident.

  Since Romeo was in the northern suburbs -- and I still wasn’t quite over my maze maladies from the day before -- I put up a token effort to push the assignment off on someone else. Fish wasn’t biting, though.

  When I got to Romeo, I found that the sheriff’s department had already taped off the accident site. That meant it was a fatal or that the injuries suffered by the vehicle occupants were significant enough to warrant a full investigation.

  I parked at a convenience store and walked the two blocks down to the scene. I wasn’t surprised to find Derrick running the investigation. When he saw me, he looked anything but happy.

  “What are you doing out here?”

  “I’m lost,” I replied dryly.

  “Lost in the head.”

  “Whatever. What have you got?”

  “We’ll send out a release later this afternoon,” Derrick replied, his voice cold.

  “Oh, just tell me. You know you want to.”

  “The things I want to tell you aren’t appropriate for a work situation,” Derrick countered.

  He’s a barrelful full of laughs today. I tried a different tactic. “It looks like it was just two cars.”

  “Wow, you can add.”

  After looking at Derrick more closely, I realized he was hiding something. His usually olive skin was ashen, and his mouth was drawn into a tight line.

  “Did someone die?”

  “There are no fatalities at this point.”

  “Then why are you so worked up?”

  “I’m not worked up,” Derrick charged. “This is a crime scene, and I’m doing my job.”

  I glanced over his shoulder. It looked like a small, four-door sedan was stuck in the ditch and a bigger Ford Escalade had flown far enough off the road to collide with a small clump of trees. The front end of the Escalade was mangled, and the door had been pried off of the vehicle to remove the driver. That couldn’t be good.

  I moved around the police tape to get a better look at the Escalade and hopefully find a license plate number to run through the DMV. I stopped short when I caught sight of the license plate.

  “Avery, don’t!” Derrick saw what I was doing, but it was too late.

  The Escalade boasted a vanity plate, one I didn’t have to look up to recognize. Unfortunately, I knew who 1WINNR1 was.

  “Omigod!”

  “Don’t,” Derrick warned.

  “Tad Ludington? Are you kidding me? Is he dead?”

  “I told you there were no fatalities,” Derrick sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose wearily. “Yet.”

  “Was he … was he conscious?”

  “No.”

  “What about the other car?”

  “Only minor injuries.”

  “What happened?”

  “I think you should have someone else cover this,” Derrick said.

  “Why?”

  “Because you used to sleep with the dude,” Derrick yelled. He glanced over at two deputies, who had obviously overheard his outburst and ceased what they were doing to watch the soap opera unfolding before them. “Get back to work.”

  He moved toward me, slipping under the police tape before settling about a foot away from me. “It’s a conflict of interest for you to be here.”

  “Because a guy I dated in college ran into a tree?”

  “I figured it might upset you,” Derrick offered lamely.

  “Why? I can’t stand the guy.”

  “That’s exactly why,” Derrick said. “If he dies, you’re going to feel guilty. And, yes, it’s sad that he got in an accident. He’s still an ass, though.”

  “I don’t feel guilty,” I said.

  “You don’t?”

  “Nope.”

  “Maybe you are a sociopath,” Derrick mused.

  “Who said that?”

  “Tad Ludington has tweeted it a few times,” Derrick said. “I didn’t believe him, but you do show a few telltale characteristics from time to time.”

  Figures. “Just tell me what happened,” I sighed. “This is going to be a big story because of who he is.”

  “A jerk?” Derrick looked momentarily confused.

  “A county commissioner.”

  “Oh, yeah, that. I didn’t think about that.”

  And he called himself a cop. “So, what happened?”

  “We’re still talking to witnesses,” Derrick said. “From what we can ascertain at this point, a large SUV was driving erratically on the highway. The driver of the Kia swerved to avoid the collision and ended up bouncing off Ludington’s front bumper before coming to a stop in the ditch. The driver of the SUV got away without anyone getting a license plate for identification.”

  “And Tad?”

  “He rammed into the trees.”

  Like I could have missed that. “Did he at least try to stop?”

  “There are skid marks on the road and the ground right before the trees that seem to suggest that,” Derrick said.

  “What kind of injuries are we talking about?”

  Derrick looked unsure, but he answered anyway. “He has some crush injuries from the dashboard and the emergency personnel believe he probably broke some ribs.”

  “And?”

  “And he sustained a head injury.”

  “How bad?”

  “I’m not a doctor,” Derrick said.

  “Off the record,” I said, lowering my voice. “How bad?”

  “The EMT’s were concerned,” Derrick admitted. “I honestly don’t know. There’s a possibility that he could have permanent brain damage, if he ever wakes up.”

  If this had been a normal day I would have made a crack about Tad already having brain damage. Even I’m not that cruel. What? I’m not.

  I wasn’t sure what emotion was roiling inside of me. It wasn’t guilt and it wasn’t grief. It was something else.

  “What hospital did they take him to?” I asked finally.

  “Mount Clemens Mercy.”

  Great. It looks like
I had another uncomfortable stop in my near future.

  Twenty-Six

  I tipped Fish off to what was going on and told him I would handle the hospital as soon as I got back to town. He told me Jared Jackson was only minutes away and would take photos of the accident scene and gather the names of any witnesses he ran across in case I wanted to call them later.

  “This is going to be the centerpiece,” Fish said.

  “I figured.”

  “I’m sending Bill to the county building to get quotes from his coworkers,” Fish added.

  “Sounds good.”

  The ensuing silence was interrupted when Fish cleared his throat uncomfortably. “I need to know now if you want out of this.”

  “Why would I?”

  “For two reasons,” Fish replied. “The first is that you have a past with this man.”

  “I have a past with Jake, too, and you don’t have a problem with me interviewing him,” I shot back.

  “That would probably be a different story if Jake was involved in an accident and emotions were high,” Fish said.

  “I’m fine,” I said, irritation starting to ripple through me.

  “There’s another reason,” Fish added.

  “And that is?”

  “You hate the man.”

  “I don’t hate him,” I protested. The words sounded hollow to my own ears. “Okay, I do hate him. That doesn’t mean I would wish harm on him.”

  “You once told me that you wanted to push him off the footbridge on Groesbeck and into rush-hour traffic,” Fish reminded me.

  “That was just venting.”

  “You once said that he should be eaten by a liger.”

  Ah, the liger. I wondered briefly what had ever happened to that thing. People had seen it hundreds of times over a two-week period and then it had just disappeared. That was a story for another week, though. “Okay, I’m not a very nice person,” I said. “I still don’t want him dead.”

  “If you go to the hospital to talk to his family,” Fish said carefully, “make sure you’re at your professional best.”

  “I’m always at my professional best.”

  “Be better than that,” Fish said. “This could be a real mess if he dies.”

  “I get it.”

  “Make sure you do.”

  I drove directly to the hospital. I parked in the three-story garage -- taking the time to text Eliot what was going on -- and then considered my options.

  The hospital has a public relations representative, but once I make my presence known I’m essentially screwed. Medical announcements have to be made through the family. Since Tad is an elected official, the hospital will steer his wife, Maria, into making a public statement, or at least letting them do it. If they don’t, they’ll have every media truck in four counties parked on their front lawn.

  On the flip side, this is a big hospital. It was going to be hard to track down one patient in the middle of thousands. I had to narrow it down. But how?

  I pulled my phone out my pocket and was about to hit Derrick’s number on speed dial when I caught a hint of movement to my left. When I turned, I saw Jake moving from his vehicle and heading toward the main building.

  Well, this was fortuitous. I slid my phone back in my pocket and followed Jake, making sure to keep a proper distance so he wouldn’t hear me. I was glad that I was wearing tennis shoes and not heels -- not that there was much of a chance of the reverse -- because heels would have echoed on the cement floor in the parking garage.

  When we got into the hospital, I drifted back to the front doors, where I conveniently dropped an invisible item on the floor so I could bend over and hide behind a potted plant. I watched through a hole in the foliage as Jake moved to the right elevator and stepped inside.

  Once the door slid shut, I moved from behind the plant and stood in front of the elevator to watch the numbers light up. When I saw that he stopped on the fourth floor, I couldn’t hide my smug smile. This was easier than it had any right to be.

  When the elevator returned to the lobby, I stepped in and hit the button for the fourth floor. Once the elevator doors slid open, I wasn’t surprised to see that I was in some sort of critical care unit.

  I glanced to the right and then the left, but there was no sign of Jake. Narrowing it down to the fourth floor was a stroke of luck, but I still had to find the right room. I smiled at the nurse behind the front desk as I approached her. “Hi, can you tell me which room Sheriff Farrell went to?”

  The nurse -- her nametag said Cindy -- frowned as she met my gaze. “And you are?”

  “His secretary,” I lied. “Willow.”

  The nurse’s eyes crinkled as she looked me up and down. This was one of those times I wished I adhered to the dress code at work. I was having a hard time believing anyone would buy that the sheriff’s secretary would wear a “You Don’t Know Sith” shirt and Goonies screen-printed Converse shoes. It was just a hunch, though. Maybe she wouldn’t notice.

  “Is it casual Thursday?” Cindy asked dubiously.

  “I was on vacation,” I replied smoothly. “Because of the nature of this incident, the sheriff called me in immediately.”

  Cindy considered my answer. It must have made sense, because she directed me to Room 434 and then turned her attention to other issues. I followed the arrows on the cinder block walls until I found the right room, pulling up short when I realized the door was open and Jake was already inside.

  I took a step back, pressing my back against the wall, and listened as a male voice I didn’t recognize warned Jake about not tiring his patient. I guess that meant that not only was Tad alive, he was conscious. So much for being at death’s door.

  “How are you feeling?” Jake asked.

  “Like I was in a car accident and I hit my head against the steering wheel,” Tad sneered. “How do you think I feel?”

  “I’m glad you’re going to have a full recovery,” Jake said.

  “I bet.”

  Any sympathy I had worked up for Tad over the last hour was fleeing quickly. It seems a near-death experience hadn’t changed his outlook on life. He was still a tool.

  “What do you remember about the accident?”

  “Not much,” Tad admitted. “It happened really fast. One minute I was listening to Rush Limbaugh stick it to some liberal swine and the next thing I know there was a car swerving into my lane and I was just trying to avoid it. Then I woke up here.”

  “Witness reports state that another vehicle swerved into the car that forced you off the road. Do you remember that?”

  Silence for a second. “I don’t know. Let me think.”

  “Okay,” Jake said. “We’ll get back to that. Is there anyone that you can think of who has a personal vendetta against you?”

  “I’m a politician,” Tad scoffed. “There are hundreds of people with a vendetta against me.”

  And he was a total ass, which increased that number exponentially.

  “Okay,” Jake tried again. “Is there anyone specific you’re having problems with?”

  “How about Avery Shaw?” Tad’s voice was filled with loathing as he said my name.

  “Avery?” Jake asked. “Why would Avery run you off the road?”

  “She hates me,” Tad said. “She’s still bitter because I dumped her skanky ass in college.”

  Who is he calling skanky?

  “I’m fairly certain she’s over that,” Jake replied dryly. “She seems pretty happy with her current arrangement.”

  “Which rankles you, right? Because you’re still carrying a torch for her. It’s obvious.”

  I shifted my weight from my right hip to my left. This conversation was taking an uncomfortable turn.

  “I’m not here to talk about Avery and me,” Jake said. “I’m here to find out what happened to you.”

  “And I told you she’s at the top of the list of the people who want me dead,” Tad shot back.

  “Yeah, but we both know that’s a really long l
ist,” Jake said. “And as temperamental as Avery can be, running you off the road wouldn’t be her first choice of attack where you’re concerned. She’d rather ruin you politically and make you the laughingstock of the county.”

  “Which you’ve helped her with a time or two,” Tad countered.

  “I like it when a reporter shows initiative,” Jake said. “And you make yourself an easy target because you’re always coming after me and then purposely calling her out in public.”

  “Which is why I’m sure this case will never be solved,” Tad said.

  “I’m a professional, Mr. Ludington,” Jake said. “I will do my job.”

  “Even if you applaud the person who tried to kill me?”

  “I don’t want you dead, Tad,” Jake said. “I just want you out of Macomb County politics. There’s a difference.”

  “I’m sure.”

  “So, one more time,” Jake sighed. “Did you see the vehicle that actually caused the accident?”

  “Yeah,” Tad said. “I’m pretty sure I did. It was a dark SUV -- either blue or black.”

  “You remember the make or model?”

  “I think it was a Mitsubishi Outlander,” Tad said, although he didn’t sound completely sure.

  “How sure are you?”

  “Like fifty percent,” Tad admitted.

  “Okay,” Jake said. “At least it’s something to go on.”

  “I guess,” Tad grumbled. “I’m still not expecting much from you.”

  I heard Jake’s shoes squeak on the floor, which meant he was leaving the room, so I took a few quick steps and slipped around the corner to hide. Jake stopped at the door before leaving.

  “Stay away from Avery,” he warned. “She had nothing to do with this.”

  “Or what? You’ll beat me up?”

  “No,” Jake replied. “I won’t act as a buffer though, when she comes after you and rips you to shreds.”

  “I’m not afraid of her,” Tad laughed, his voice weak.

  “You should be,” Jake said. “We all should be.”

  Twenty-Seven

  “So you’re going home to file your story?”

  I had called Eliot the minute I had made my escape to the parking garage.

  “Yeah,” I said. “I’m not in the mood to deal with all those idiots at the office.”