As we got closer to the city limits, I swore that if Colonel Richards was involved in this cowardly act, I’d kill him myself. I’d strangle the life out of that miserable viper. My head was spinning in a sea of mixed and turbulent emotion. Finally, we drove up to the entrance to the hospital. I saw many police cars and flashing lights at the door of the emergency room. Robert dropped us off and we rushed inside. I was in no mood for more bad news. I didn’t want him to die like this. The Captain was a good and decent man with a wonderful and loving family. I looked into the room where he lay motionless on the bed. He was connected to all sorts of tubes and monitoring devices. He’d been out of surgery for hours. I saw his two daughters and his wife Marilyn crying at his bed. I grabbed the attending physician and asked for any news on his condition. The man, draped in white, was silent and moving quickly down the hall.
I spotted Dave Neilson in a corner of the large waiting area conferring with several police officers. I approached. “Dave, is he going to live?”
“Just a minute,” he said. Dave finished talking to the officers, then we walked to a quiet and secluded area of the room.
“Well?”
“It’s bad. As I told you on the phone, he was shot many times. Thank God he was wearing his vest. He told me that was your idea. The doctor in charge says he’s stable, for the time being. As you know he’s lost a lot of blood. The next several hours will be critical. His wife and kids are right there by his side. They’re just lovely people.”
“Yes, I know. Any leads on the shooter?”
“All I know is what I’ve been told. The Captain was shot by a fellow police officer. If that turns out to be true, it will certainly be bad for the department. We’ve been through hell with the Shadow Stalker killings.”
“I want to see those surveillance videotapes. Brandon always parked his car in the direct line of the video cameras in back of the police station. I’m sure those tapes will have a tale to tell. I want you to think about saying nothing more to the press, at least until we can confirm that Brandon was indeed shot by a fellow officer. The Captain is a dear and close friend. I can’t bear the thought of him dying in there for nothing. I’ll probably spend the next several hours here at the hospital. This cowardly act will not go unanswered. I swear that I’ll find the man who shot my friend.” We shook hands, then Captain Neilson returned to his men in the hospital.
I returned to Angie. She was standing just outside the Captain’s hospital room. He remained motionless on the bed, connected to many intrusive and life-supporting tubes. I silently watched while his wife held his hand. His teary-eyed daughters looked on. After a while, his wife saw Angie and me and came out of the room. Marilyn walked up to me with tears in her eyes. “Oh, Jimmy,” she cried. I held Marilyn in my arms and tried to comfort her. Her body was trembling.
“Angie, will you please take care of Marilyn? I want to go in there.” I went over to the officer standing guard at the door and asked if I could go into the room.
The guard signaled the attending physician. The doctor walked over and spoke to the guard. “Only for a minute or two, Mr. Watson,” the doctor said.
I walked into the room and approached the bed where my friend lay motionless. I looked at his two daughters by his side. I smiled at each of them. “I’m going to find the person who did this to your father; you can be sure of that.” His daughters looked up at me with sad and silent long faces. I looked at my friend fighting for his life. Everything that could be done to save him had been completed. Now it was up to him. He had a great team of doctors in the surgical care unit, and Bellevue Hospital was one of the best in the city. I don’t think I ever met a man who had more zest for living than Brandon. I remembered all the raucous celebrations we shared at Flanagan’s Bar. I bent over his bed and held his hand firmly, then I said goodbye to his two daughters and left the room. I hugged his wife again and stayed by Angie’s side. We stayed at the hospital for several more hours receiving constant updates on his condition, which was still critical.
I felt my friend was going to make it. He was a fighter. I knew the next few hours would be decisive in his battle for life. Fortunately, his medical condition didn’t worsen. I knew, at the end of the day, Brandon would be triumphant. He’d come out a winner. I asked my wife to stay with him and his family at the hospital. I needed to go to police headquarters and find Brandon’s shooter. I told Angie to call me the minute there were any significant medical changes in his condition.
Robert, who had been on standby for hours, drove me to police headquarters. I met with Dave Neilson in his private office. He handed me the surveillance tapes of the Captain’s shooting. I went into the police lab to observe them. The Captain was clearly seen walking out of the building and heading in the direction of his car. Then a shadowy figure emerged from the darkness and quickly walked right up to the Captain. The man stopped and opened fire. The Captain seemed shocked, standing by his car, and immediately fell to the ground. The shooter then fled into the night, out of camera range. The details on the shooter were sketchy at best. The existing light in the parking lot wasn’t very good. Those details were hard to make out using the equipment in the police lab. After reviewing the tapes, I was feeling frustrated.
I returned to Dave’s office and asked if I could take the tapes home to view in my workshop. He said no. I told him that I needed greater resolution of those images to ascertain the identity of the shooter. I told him that I had recently installed custom magnifiers in my workshop that had greater resolution than the equipment in the police lab. “Listen, Jim, our lab isn’t as good as the lab at the Bureau, but that doesn’t matter. I have an obligation to follow police department protocol. I hope you’ll understand.”
I thought about the situation I was in. I remembered the powerful image of seeing the Captain in that hospital bed fighting for his life. “Dave, Brandon is a friend of mine. As we speak, he’s lying in a hospital bed trying to hang on because some coward repeatedly shot him from the shadows. The shooter was dressed like a cop, but I don’t think he is. If Brandon were sitting in your chair now, he’d allow me to take those tapes home, especially if one of his friends was lying in that hospital bed. He’d do it because he knows that there are limitations to all things, both good and bad. And yet sometimes in life it becomes necessary to step outside those imposed limits to find the truth. For the Captain, the importance in discovering that truth would take precedence in finding the man who tried to kill his friend.”
“All right, Mr. Watson, you shall have those tapes, but I must go with you to your apartment. It’s been a long day, so I hope this won’t take all night.”
I thanked Dave for his understanding. I went back into the police lab and grabbed the box of surveillance tapes. We immediately left for Highgate. I called Angie from the car and told her of my plan. She told me that Brandon’s condition was still unchanged, and she’d remain at the hospital to be with Marilyn and the girls.
Soon we arrived at my home. “Help yourself to anything in the kitchen,” I said. He munched on some food he found there and made himself comfortable on the long sleep sofa in the living room. I immediately began the critical work of evaluating those tapes under high power magnification. The tedious work took several hours to complete. When I finished, it was morning. I went into the living room and found him all stretched out and asleep on the sofa. “Dave, wake up!” I shouted. After a few seconds, he muttered some unflattering words, then finally opened his tired eyes. “I know who the shooter is.”
“You do?” he spoke with a hoarse morning voice and an astonished look.
“It’s Colonel Richards.”
“The Colonel? You can’t be serious. I didn’t think that he was still in the city.”
“Listen, I need to return now to the hospital. My wife called earlier this morning and told me there have been several significant developments overnight with the Captain’s condition. I’ll tell you on the way.”
We stepped into the waiting lim
o. My driver sped off in the direction of Bellevue. “You know, Dave, last night was really tough on all of us. I apologize for the way I acted. I guess I was just caught up in the emotion of the moment. I realize I was being pushy with those tapes, but I had my reasons.”
“Forget it. I think we were all upset last night. What can you tell me about the Colonel? I thought by now he had slipped out of the city.”
“First, I want to bring you up to speed on the condition of the Captain. My wife told me that the doctor said there was a slight improvement in his condition overnight. The good news is I think he’s going to make it.”
“I’m glad for the Captain and his family.”
“Now to those surveillance tapes and Colonel Richards. I must say that the sheer arrogance of this man never ceases to amaze me. In all the time I knew him at the Bureau, he never exhibited any tendency toward superiority. I liked the guy and trusted him for a long time. I feel only hatred now for what he did to this city and the good people in it.”
“I know. The Colonel turned out to be a major disappointment. How did you discover that he was the shooter?”
“When I first started to observe the surveillance tapes in my workshop, I felt a bit of recognition and familiarity with the shadowy assailant I was watching. The assassin had his back to the camera when he emerged from the shadows to shoot the Captain. He then quickly walked up to the Captain and was in the light for only a few seconds. Fortunately, I got a good look at his walk.”
“His walk!” the stunned detective shouted. “What in God’s name has his walk got to do with revealing the shooter’s identity?”
“The Colonel has certain peculiarities in his walking that resemble the distinct characteristics of, say, a fingerprint. Ordinarily, if these walking characteristics were observed in a vacuum, devoid of comparative sampling, they’d have no special meaning. But in this case, however, I compared them with the surveillance videotapes of the Colonel’s escape from jail. I clearly saw the similarity. Both of these individuals had the same characteristic walk. When the Colonel escaped, he was clearly seen on surveillance video cameras casually walking away from the jail. He was dressed to appear like a laundry worker going home for the night. The collar of his uniform was clearly visible in the light as he walked away.”
“I see what you mean.”
“At first, I thought nothing of it. But as I continued to observe the tapes under high power magnification, I detected certain physical movements, especially in slow motion. These movements of the assassin walking towards the Captain correlated nicely with the Colonel’s walking away from the jail in his successful escape attempt. The obvious conclusion was inescapable. The individual in both cases was the same person.
“Next, I observed the random shooting movements of the Colonel as he tried to kill the Captain. I observed the way in which the Colonel fired his gun. I mentally compared these exact movements with the memories I had at the Colonel’s home when he tried to shoot me. As you know, that kind of thing isn’t easily forgotten, even though there were only blanks in his gun at the time. The similarity in both cases was amazing. The Colonel has certain physical movements when discharging his weapon in anger. His posture and the way that he positions his feet and body while standing are idiomatic of his body language. These details were clearly visible when the Colonel moved in and discharged his weapon on the Captain.
“Finally, I got a close and detailed look at the shooter’s so-called police uniform. The shooter was wearing a police cap, apparently to fool the observer into thinking he was a fellow officer and give the police department a black eye. But herein lies the mystery. The cap, upon closer inspection, turned out to be a mongrel. It wasn’t an official cap at all. I got a really good look at the cap when the shooter emerged from the shadows and stepped into the light, seconds before he shot the Captain. The cap was a poor imitation. The cross-stitching on the braided top was all wrong. The cap was probably bought in an army-navy goods store. The shooter was also wearing a long overcoat. The police would’ve naturally assumed that the coat was covering a police uniform to go with the police cap, a logical deduction to be sure. But in the few seconds the Colonel stepped into the light to shoot the Captain, I saw what he was really wearing underneath his long coat. With his back to the camera, the shooter made a quick and violent move as he approached the lighted parking area where Captain Goloft was just getting into his car. In that split-second, when the Colonel positioned himself to shoot, I could read the label of his ‘uniform.’ It wasn’t a police uniform at all. The label on the collar read: Laundry Personnel Garment, Department 414. I don’t know why, but the Colonel was still wearing the same laundry uniform he stole from the jail when he made his escape. I checked the labels of both uniforms on surveillance videotape. The results were conclusive. Colonel Richards was the shooter.”
Dave was mostly silent, listening to my long-winded explanation. He just stared at me in disbelief. “Well, I never,” he finally said.
We both sat silent in the remaining few minutes until we arrived at the hospital. I immediately exited the car and went to the second floor. I was greeted by Angie in the waiting area. We embraced. Angie looked tired, and I was exhausted from my long night in the workshop. The doctors were now optimistic, given the slight improvement and overnight change in the Captain’s condition. I spoke to Marilyn. Her daughters had already left the hospital. They’d been there most of the night. I reassured Marilyn and told her that I expected her husband would make a quick and complete recovery. Thankfully there was no brain damage. Marilyn looked completely exhausted. I suggested that she go home and get some rest, but she wanted to stay with her husband. I really couldn’t blame her for wanting to stay. She was a truly devoted wife. I stayed for a while longer, then brought Angie home. Before leaving, I instructed the hospital personnel to call me if there were any changes. I strongly felt that the Captain would soon regain consciousness. When we arrived home, we immediately fell asleep.
After several hours of sleep, I got up and had a small bite to eat. Angie was still sleeping. The notion that the Colonel would try to kill the Captain infuriated me. Brandon and his dedicated police department symbolized the best in law enforcement. His police force did an exemplary job in protecting the citizens of this city. His decades of loyal service in capturing the criminals and murderers who terrorized the city was something to be admired. Why the Colonel would try to kill him was beyond reason, yet I could see how the Colonel’s twisted intellect might seek revenge on the Captain for his involvement in the Colonel’s capture. Still, this brutal act of violence hit me with such visceral force. I wanted to kill Colonel Richards for all the misery he brought to my city.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
I was relaxing in my study when the phone rang. It was one of my friends at the hospital. The Captain had regained consciousness and was speaking with his wife. Brandon had specifically requested to speak with me. I left Angie sleeping in bed and got dressed in a hurry. I wrote a note as to my whereabouts, then turned on the security system. Soon I arrived at the hospital. Brandon was sitting up in bed, still connected with tubes and monitoring devices, but able to talk. “It’s really good to see you again,” I said. I looked into his sad and tired eyes.
“Jimmy,” he whispered, “it was the Colonel.”
“I figured as much. It was touch-and-go there for a while. Right now, you must get some sleep. The police department needs you back on the job. Marilyn and the girls will be fine. I’ll watch over them. Promise me that you’ll rest now. After you recover, I look forward to socializing at our favorite haunt.” The tired Captain raised his hand a little in acknowledgement of Flanagan’s Bar. “That’s the old trooper I remember,” I said with a laugh. The Captain tried to crack a smile, but he was heavily sedated and soon fell asleep. I hugged his wife standing by his bed. I thanked the doctors and the nursing staff for the wonderful job they did in saving the Captain’s life. Moments later, my driver arrived, and we left the hospital
.
When I arrived home, Angie was up and about. She was eating breakfast, and I joined her at the dining table. “Terrible thing about Brandon,” she said.
“I just wanted to tell you that I’d recently spoken with him at the hospital. He seems to be slowly inching his way to a full recovery. I’m pleased about that. The doctors and nursing staff at Bellevue did a remarkable job in saving his life. By the time he was found in the parking lot at the jail, he’d lost so much blood that he was near death. Medical technology has come a long way since drilling holes in people’s skulls to let out evil spirits. The Captain is a tough old bird with a tremendous will to live. I’m sure he’ll make a complete and speedy recovery.”
“I hope you’re right,” Angie said.
I took the morning newspaper and retired to my study. This whole affair with the Colonel was far from over. When I identified the Colonel as the Captain’s shooter, I swore I’d kill him. I wasn’t a killer, but I would, however, bring this man to justice again. Colonel Richards had been a thorn in my side ever since I discovered that he was the Shadow Stalker. I was feeling less certain now that he was still in the city. In trying to kill the Captain, the Colonel reenergized the entire police force to redouble their efforts to find him. Was he foolish enough to remain here to kill me?
I read the morning news. I was appalled by all the stories that persisted about how the Captain was shot by a fellow police officer. I couldn’t fathom why these stories were still being published. I immediately called Dave at police headquarters and asked him about the press coverage of the shooting. “Why is the press still printing these stories?” I asked.
“Don’t worry about the press,” he said. “I’ll clear up that misunderstanding soon enough. You know there’s a fine line of diplomacy and a delicate balancing act that needs to be negotiated here. Since the Colonel made his escape from jail, this whole thing has become politically sensitive and potentially explosive. The officials in charge want to avoid a public panic. We’ve been down this road before. The politicians in this city are sticking their noses where they don’t belong, especially Mayor Cannel. The arrogance of that man is unbelievable. He runs city government and all of the people connected to it with an iron fist. Fortunately, the Colonel has been stripped of his ability to obtain dangerous plastic explosives from the Bureau.”
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