Trial by Fire

by Nancy Taylor Rosenberg

  “I thought he was meeting with your husband the other day,” Brenda said, pushing her plate away. “Isn’t that what you told me?”

  “Sam set up a time for them to meet, but when he got to Brad’s office, he wasn’t there. What a prick, huh? I’m sure he stood him up on purpose.

  “He’s pissed because I refused to sign over everything we owned the day he came to the jail.”

  Brenda insisted on picking up the check even though Stella protested. “I’ll charge it back to the city,” she lied, determined not to let Stella find out that she was working without pay. “You need to watch your nickels right now, Stella.”

  “Thanks,” she said. “If the city ever finds out about this, I’ll be in hock the rest of my life.”

  “Being in hock is better than being in prison,” Brenda told her.

  They drove back to Victor Pilgrim’s house, and Brenda went to the door again. After ringing the bell repeatedly and knocking, she finally gave up and returned to the car. “They’re in there. I can even hear the television set, but they won’t come to the door. I guess Pilgrim doesn’t want anyone to ask him any questions about his pension.”

  “Are you going to try again?” Stella asked, grasping her arm. “We have to crack him, Brenda. It’s the only way I’m ever going to clear myself. Can’t you come back another day?”

  “Probably not,” Brenda said. “If your uncle has warned him to keep quiet, he’ll never talk to me. But there are dozens of ways to discredit a witness. You, of all people, should know that. Don’t lose faith, Stella. It may take some time, but we’ll get the goods on Pilgrim.”

  “Damn,” Stella said. The strain of the day finally struck home and she leaned her head back against the headrest. They rode the remainder of the way in silence.

  It was after ten o’clock by the time they arrived at the Holiday Inn. The air-conditioning in the Fairlane had gone out as soon as they had left Galveston, and Stella was hot and sticky. “I get the first go at the shower,” she said, getting out and grabbing her suitcase from the backseat.

  “No problem,” Brenda said, waiting until Stella stepped aside and then reaching into the backseat for her computer case. The only other luggage she had brought was a small cosmetic case. Now she wished she had brought a change of clothing, as her blouse was damp with perspiration, and she didn’t have anything fresh to wear the following day. Catching sight of the hotel’s swimming pool, she yearned to submerge herself in the cool water. “If I’d brought a bathing suit, I’d jump in the pool. Think I could get away with skinny dipping?”

  “Hey,” Stella answered, “as far as I’m concerned, you can do anything you want. I won’t tell a soul.”

  “I’m kidding, Stella,” Brenda said, chuckling at her. “You’re an intelligent person, but for some reason, you never know when I’m teasing you.”

  “That’s because you’re always so serious,” Stella said, bumping shoulders with her as they walked across the courtyard to the main entrance. “I don’t think I ever heard you laugh before we started working together on my case. Why are you so quiet at the office?”

  “It’s hard to explain,” Brenda told her. “I guess I want people to see me as a professional, to know that I take my work seriously.”

  “Well, you’ve got that—”

  Brenda suddenly stopped and stared across the parking lot. Stella followed her line of sight, wondering why she stopped. “Get down,” Brenda screamed, pushing hard on the top of Stella’s head.

  “Why?” Stella said, fighting to keep her head up so she could see why Brenda was so excited. “What’s going on?”

  The investigator leaped in front of Stella just as a blast of gunfire rang out. Six shots came in rapid succession. In no time, the air reeked of cordite. Stella heard Brenda let out a scream and then felt her body fall on top of her, pinning her to the asphalt. “Help,” Stella shouted, “someone’s shooting at us. Are you all right, Brenda?”

  “Run, Stella,” the investigator said, struggling as she tried to work her gun out of her shoulder holster. When it was finally in her grip, she rolled off Stella onto her stomach. “I’ll cover you,” she said, panting. “Go to the lobby and call for help. Tell them it’s a sniper. He’s on the south side of the courtyard. It looks like the fifth room from the left.”

  “Oh, God, no,” Stella exclaimed, seeing a pool of blood spreading under the investigator’s waist, “you’ve been shot, Brenda. I can’t leave you here. You’re bleeding. We’ve got to get you to a hospital.”

  “Get out of my line of fire,” Brenda shouted, bringing her service revolver up and bracing it in both hands.

  Stella couldn’t move. Brenda’s hands were covered in blood, and the pool beneath her was rapidly expanding. “You’re going to bleed to death,” Stella cried. “Please, Brenda, let me get you to the hospital. We’ll go in the car. You’re bleeding too badly to wait for an ambulance.”

  “Get the fuck out of here before you get us both killed,” Brenda said, swiping at her mouth with the back of her hand and leaving a bloody streak. “Now, Stella! Do what I say. Take off! He’s probably reloading right this minute.”

  Stella took off, running in the direction of the lobby, expecting a bullet to tear into her flesh any second. But when she glanced toward the area where the shots had come from, all she saw was an open window, the curtains flapping back and forth in the breeze.

  “Call an ambulance and the cops,” she said, pounding the counter to get the clerk’s attention. “Hurry, a police officer has been shot. Keep everyone inside. Don’t let anyone go outside or they could get hurt. He’s shooting from across the courtyard … from one of the rooms.”

  As soon as Stella saw the clerk pick up the phone, she rushed back outside. With no concern for her own safety, she ran across the courtyard and dropped to her knees next to Brenda Anderson. The woman had tumbled over onto her back and a gaping, bloody hole was visible in her abdomen. Her eyes were closed, her skin ashen, and a trickle of blood oozed out of the corner of her mouth. Stella shook her shoulder. “Brenda, can you hear me? God, talk to me. Please, don’t die,” she pleaded, tears coursing down her face.

  With trembling fingers Stella felt for the pulse in Brenda’s neck, relieved when she felt the faint beat of her heart beneath her hand. Then she bent down and placed her cheek next to her mouth, relieved to feel the woman’s breath brush across her skin.

  Glancing toward the lobby, she saw people lined up in front of the glass, watching and waiting. Yanking off her blouse, she rolled it into a ball and pressed it against the open wound to stop the bleeding. “You’re going to be okay, Brenda,” she told her, leaning down close to her ear. “It’s not bad,” she lied. The blouse was quickly soaked with blood. She knew her friend might be only moments away from death. “You’re going to be just fine. Just hold on. Keep fighting. You’re strong. You can do it.”

  From a distance Stella heard the squeal of sirens. “Please, God, don’t let her die,” she whispered under her breath.

  A minute later a black-and-white police unit roared up and parked, an ambulance pulling up right behind it. By the time the first two officers had exited their units, four more police cars had pulled into the circular driveway. The cars formed a shield around Brenda and Stella.

  “What happened?” an officer said, bending down next to Stella. Behind them, paramedics were unloading medical supplies and a gurney from the back of the ambulance. Police officers were scattering across the courtyard, several of them with shotguns in their hands.

  “We were just walking to the lobby,” Stella said, “when someone started shooting at us. They were over there across the courtyard, in one of the rooms. They must have been shooting out the window.”

  “Is she a cop?” the officer asked as the paramedics appeared and started working over Anderson. “The dispatcher said this was an officer assist.”

  The paramedics motioned for the officer and Stella to move away to give them some space. Men were running in the
direction of the open window with their guns drawn, while another team of men entered the hotel to access the room from inside. “Just in case he’s still around,” the officer said, “why don’t we talk in the lobby?”

  Once they were inside, the officer told all the people gathered around the door to go back to their rooms. Stella wouldn’t leave the area by the glass doors because she wanted to see what was happening with Brenda. It dawned on her that she was wearing only her bra and slacks now, and she was grateful when the officer got a blanket and tossed it over her shoulders. “The sniper must have fled,” she said. “If he was still around, he would have shot me when I came back outside.”

  “Did you see him?”

  Stella shook her head, pulling the blanket tightly around her, then stopping to wipe her bloody hands on her slacks. “He was too far away. I don’t know what Brenda saw, though. She must have seen him, because she pulled me down. Thank goodness, you got here when you did. Another minute, and I’m certain she would have bled to death.”

  “When you call in an officer assist,” the man told her, we run like hell.” His eyes scanned the parking lot. “Almost every unit within fifty miles responded. Even the S.O. sent deputies. Is this woman really an officer?”

  “D.A.‘s investigator,” Stella told him. “And she’s the best there is.”

  “Have any idea who did this?”

  “Yes, I do,” she said, immediately clamming up. They were lifting Brenda into the ambulance now and Stella opened the door to go outside. I’m going with her.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” the officer said, grabbing an edge of the blanket. “We need to get your statement, find out what happened out here. If you know who the sniper is, you better tell us right now.”

  “No,” Stella snapped, jerking away from him. “If you want to know who did this, call Jack Fitzgerald at the D.A.‘s office and have him meet me at the hospital. I won’t talk to anyone but him.”

  While the officer stood there with a baffled look on his face, Stella rushed over to the ambulance and climbed in the back with the paramedics. “How is she?”

  “Touch and go,” the female paramedic said, busy adjusting the IV over Anderson’s head. Then she looked over at Stella. “Who are you? You can’t come in here like this.”

  “I’m a D.A.,” Stella said, taking on an authoritative demeanor. “This woman works for me and I’m not going to leave her. She’s my responsibility.”

  “Well,” the woman said, “she’s lost a lot of blood. She’s in shock right now and her pulse is extremely weak.”

  Stella’s voice quavered as she asked, “Will she make it?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine,” the woman said, shrugging. The rear doors slammed shut, and the paramedic seemed to measure Stella for a second before she explained, “It depends on where the bullet went once it entered her abdomen. If it lodged in her lungs, her heart, her kidneys, it could have done an enormous amount of damage. We’re not going to know much until we get her to the hospital and take some X-rays.”

  As the ambulance raced down the highway, Stella edged over next to Brenda and picked up her hand. “She’s going to be okay,” she said, yelling over the shrill of the siren. “I’m not going to let you go, Brenda,” she shouted at the unconscious woman. “Do you hear me? You’re going to be just fine.”

  chapter

  FIFTEEN

  The clock in the waiting room at Methodist Hospital read 3:08. Stella was exhausted and sick with worry. A member of the hospital staff had given her a green surgical shirt to wear, but she was still dressed in the same bloodstained slacks.

  Seated on a small, orange vinyl sofa, she was sipping a cup of lukewarm coffee.

  Brenda Anderson’s parents were seated in two chairs across from her. As soon as they were notified, they had caught the first flight to Houston. By the time they arrived, however, their daughter was already in surgery.

  The X-rays had indicated the bullet was lodged dangerously close to Brenda’s aorta, and no one could say for certain if she would survive the operation. All they could do now was wait and pray.

  Before Anderson’s parents had arrived, Stella had spent the better part of an hour on the phone. She called both Growman and Sam. Then she reached Mario, wanting him to know that they were all in imminent danger. Sam wanted to fly to Houston immediately, but Stella told him there was nothing he could do. In Growman’s case, however, Stella agreed that it was wise that he come as soon as possible. Anderson was a county employee, and people would want to know what she was doing in Houston.

  Milton Anderson was a tall, distinguished-looking man, with a spattering of gray in his neatly trimmed hair. Stella decided Brenda took her height and regal bearing from him, but her eyes and mouth resembled her mother’s. Dressed in a full skirt and a colorful print blouse, Eleanor Anderson was reserved and dignified. She wasn’t crying or wringing her hands. She sat quietly without speaking, a lightweight cotton sweater tossed over her shoulders. In her hands she held a pocket-sized Bible.

  “She should be out of surgery by now,” her father said, standing and pacing. “They said three o’clock, didn’t they? It’s after three.”

  “Should I go check?” Stella asked.

  “No, no,” he said, his voice resonant. “They’ll come in when they know something. Let them do their job. No use bothering them.”

  “Brenda is a wonderful person,” Stella said, looking down at her hands. “This wouldn’t have happened if she hadn’t been trying to save my life. I’m certain they were after me. She shoved me aside, took the bullet for me. I’ve never known anyone that brave.”

  “She was just doing her job,” her father said. Walking over, he softly patted Stella on the back. “She wouldn’t want you to feel bad. Our Brenda isn’t like that.”

  Stella heard a commotion outside in the hall and leaped to her feet. She and Milton Anderson rushed out to the corridor to see what was going on. Jack Fitzgerald was standing in the hall yelling, a thick black cigar clamped between his teeth. “It’s not lit, okay,” he said. “Can’t you cut me some slack, Lois? You’ve been riding my ass for twenty years now.”

  “Fine,” an older nurse with a no-nonsense look said. “I’ll just hold it for you, then.” She reached over and snatched the cigar out of his mouth.

  “Damn you, woman,” he barked. “Give that back to me. That cigar cost me three bucks and change.”

  “Six times I’ve caught you smoking this filthy thing in my hospital,” she said, waving the cigar in his face. “No more, you hear me? I don’t care if you’re the president, Jack. You’re not smoking on my floor.”

  When the nurse had marched off, cigar in hand, Fitzgerald spotted Stella and walked over. “This is Milton Anderson,” she said. “He’s Brenda Anderson’s father, the woman who was shot tonight.”

  “Jack Fitzgerald,” he said, pumping Anderson’s hand. “Pleased to meet you. Sorry about your daughter. Nasty affair, huh?”

  Milton Anderson just stared at him. Then he returned to the waiting room to check on his wife.

  Once they were alone, Fitzgerald said, “What’s going on, Cataloni? Patrol said you refused to talk to anyone but me. I’m here, so let’s get on with it. You didn’t get a fellow out of bed for nothing, I hope.”

  “I don’t want to talk here,” Stella said. “Come with me. There’s another waiting room down the hall.”

  An hour had passed. At the thirty-minute mark, Stella had excused herself and checked to see if Brenda was out of surgery yet. She met the surgeon in the hall, just as he had finished speaking to Brenda’s parents. Things had gone well, he said, but the injury was serious, and Anderson’s condition would be listed as critical for the next twenty-four hours. If her condition was stable by then, he advised, the chances were good that she would make a full recovery. Feeling a measure of relief, Stella returned to Jack Fitzgerald to conclude their conversation.

  “This is some story,” Fitzgerald said, leaning back in h
is chair and stretching his legs out. “The strange part about it is someone else was concerned about this pension thing. I think it was a few years back, though, and I don’t recall the specifics. If I’m not mistaken, it was the city controller who brought it up.”

  “Don’t you see?” Stella said. “My uncle saw us at the police department when we went to transfer the evidence to the lab. He knew I was back in town. That alone might have been enough to force his hand.”

  “Then you went to see this Pilgrim fellow,” he said, rubbing the side of his face. “Pilgrim must have been the icing on the cake.”

  “Exactly,” Stella said. “When I talked to the officers here at the hospital, they told me they think the sniper used a high-powered assault rifle with a scope. I know my uncle has a gun like that because I saw it in his gun cabinet just the other day. I’m not certain if it was an assault rifle, but I know the gun I saw had a scope and a long barrel.”

  “That’s not enough to issue an arrest warrant, though,” Fitzgerald said.

  “Why not?” Stella asked. “You arrested me with practically no evidence. I don’t see why you can’t arrest my uncle. Brenda has been making all kinds of inquiries regarding the pension scam. It’s not like we’re asking you to go into this empty-handed. Once I get all her notes correlated, we should have the beginnings of a pretty solid case.”

  Fitzgerald pushed himself to his feet, reaching in his pocket for a fresh cigar. He started to put it in his mouth and then thought better of it, rolling it in his fingers instead. “Let me get my people on this. We want to see what the crime lab comes up with. Maybe they picked up some decent evidence from the hotel room.”

  “Doubtful,” Stella said, scowling. “My uncle was a police captain. If he did this, you won’t find a thing.” Seeing Fitzgerald was about to walk out the door, she called out to him. “Wait,” she said. “You have to do something for me. I need those metal pieces. I want you to release them to me.