Nerves of Steel

by CJ Lyons

  A shower did little to revive her. She jogged up the steps to the ICU at half her usual pace, muscles complaining every step of the way. Adeena was waiting at the nurses' station.

  "I need to apologize about those angry messages I left," the social worker told her when Cassie took the seat beside her. "I was worried."

  "You were right. I shouldn't have gone on my own." Cassie shuddered. "The way those kids are living out there."

  "The news said a drug dealer tried to kill you."

  "Guy named Trautman, he's an orderly on Orthopedics."

  "Did he kill Fran?"

  "No. But I think he's getting Richard drugs that aren't showing up on his urine tests."

  "Richard? You'd think he learned his lesson already."

  "If Sarah wakes up, maybe she knows who Trautman is working with. Can help the police find Fran's killer." Cassie flipped to the neurologist's note, pleased with the optimistic tone. She leaned back. "One of the kids said she was from Indiana or Ohio. And another," she frowned, trying to remember Sherry's incoherent ramblings, "said something about a horse and buggy when I showed her Sarah's picture. She was high on something, so who knows what that means."

  "I'll add the information to the database."

  She walked over to bedspace four. Sarah looked like any skinny teenager sleeping, as if you could rouse her with a simple prod and a reminder that school was waiting. But her slumber went much deeper. Her brain had been oxygen deprived. It would be a miracle if she woke completely intact. The neurologists, although now hopeful that someday she would wake, weren't making any bets on that.

  Cassie stroked Sarah's hair, tucked it behind the girl's ears. Adeena joined her. "Guess there's nothing more we can do but wait."

  "There has to be something," Cassie said. "She's so alone."

  She wished Rosa was here, she'd find someway to help the girl, even if it was just to spoon homemade soup into her, fatten her up. Thinking of Rosa led to Drake and their conversation the night before when he laughed at the idea of gypsy curses, and she told him about Rosa and Padraic. How much Rosa sacrificed for Padraic, how she'd been shunned by her own people.

  Cassie froze, her gaze riveted on the irregular earring holes in Sarah's earlobes. "These were all home made, weren't they?"

  Adeena leaned forward, looked. "Probably. So, she didn't have money to go to Station Square and get them done professionally."

  "Most girls her age have their ears pierced--"

  "Maybe her parents were cheap. What are you doing?" Cassie had opened the girl's mouth and was looking at her teeth.

  "They didn't believe in orthodontists either." She closed Sarah's mouth, hiding the crooked teeth and overbite once more. "There are a lot of Amish in Ohio and Indiana, aren't there?"

  Adeena looked at her and smiled in comprehension. "Horse and buggy. I'll get a list of county sheriffs and start calling." She left for her office.

  Cassie held the girl's hand, wishing Sarah would squeeze hers back. The street-worn drug addict might be a runaway farm girl. Who would have guessed? So many things were not what they seemed. Sometimes you had to keep probing to discover what was hidden beneath the surface.

  Fran's last message ran through her mind. The FX was just the tip of the iceberg, she'd said. Cassie released Sarah's hand and straightened. She looked at the clock. Five minutes before noon. Perfect timing. If Fran meant what she thought she meant, she might just have found a clue to her killer.

  Cassie planted a quick kiss on Sarah's forehead and rushed from the ICU.

  CHAPTER 47

  The task force meeting finally broke up, and Kwon walked upstairs to the Major Crimes Squad with Drake.

  "My money's on the doctor. Your friend, Hart. I'll bet she set up that meet on the bridge."

  "No, it wasn't that way," he said, not making eye contact. "She went to the Barn trying to help her patient find her family." It sounded feeble even to him.

  Kwon made a small clicking noise with her tongue. Usually that sound indicated that some badguy was about to have his story shred to pieces and fed to him with an accompaniment of sarcasm.

  Only this time they weren't talking about some skel from the streets. They were talking about Hart.

  "Look at it, DJ," she said, walking him through the evidence as if he were a rookie. "You said yourself you had doubts that Trautman was the only actor involved in the FX thefts. What if the good doctor is in it with him, the brains behind the brawn, so to speak? We know her ex is a user, why not her as well?"

  "She's the one who came to us," Drake reminded her. "Without her, we'd never have tripped to Trautman."

  Kwon nodded, her eyes gleaming as she pieced everything together. "Of course. She reads about the task force. Knows it's just a matter of time, figures she'll cut her losses. She gives you Trautman, but she's afraid he'll spill the beans, so she decides to kill him. Something goes wrong. He fights back, throws her off the bridge in time for you to play hero and rescue her."

  Drake clenched his fists and shook his head. He knew he should tell Kwon about the scene this morning between King and Hart, but it'd only give her more ammunition.

  "What about Weaver? You can't hang that one on Hart."

  "You've only her word it wasn't Trautman who offed Weaver," Kwon said. "The guard didn't see squat. Maybe Weaver found out about Hart and Trautman. What better way to deflect suspicion and know everything the police are thinking than to sleep with the lead detective?" Kwon didn't pull any punches. "I'm telling you DJ, she's a slick piece of work."

  Drake hung his head, her words a gale force wind, battering him.

  "You know I have to check it out."

  Drake nodded. He knew. Just as the cop in him knew Kwon could be right about Hart. But the man in him prayed she was wrong.

  He grimaced and shook his head, moving to take a seat at his regular desk. A pile of case files and memos had stacked up in his in-box during the weeks he'd been assigned to the task force. He busied himself by sorting them as Kwon continued.

  "Think she'd be dumb enough to keep any evidence where we could find it? The drugs stolen from the pharmacy or a gun with her prints on it would be a nice start."

  He turned his face away, scrutinizing the latest directive on firearms re-qualification. Great, just what he didn't need. He dreaded the annual re-certification. The results were always the same: Kwon and Jimmy Dolan vying for top honors while Drake would be near the bottom. Who cared anyway? His father had lived through thirty years on the job without shooting anyone. Drake wadded the memo and spun it through the air. It hit the miniature backboard hanging over the wastebasket and ricocheted off onto the floor.

  Could Hart have fooled him so completely? The annual memo delineating the Bureau's sexual harassment policy flew through the air and joined the first. He didn't think so, it was too easy to read her every emotion on her face, she didn't seem capable of such subterfuge. He was certain that she had feelings for him--or was that just pride talking? Then what was she hiding from him? Why couldn't she tell him the truth?

  "What do you think? Try for a warrant for her house, locker at work?" Kwon scooped up Drake's two erstwhile basketballs and crossed the room with them. Nothing but net, times two. "Think we have probable cause?"

  Drake looked up as Jimmy Dolan, his regular partner, entered the squad room. The burly ex-marine was fresh from court, dressed in a navy wool suit, dark purple tie.

  Jimmy nodded to him. "You done clearing the streets of vermin and scum, rescuing damsels in distress, and ready to come back to the real job?" He joined them, unbuttoning his overcoat and removing his fedora. "What's the matter? The Post-Gazette get your name spelled wrong or something?" Jimmy looked over at Kwon, a question in his eyes.

  Kwon shrugged and rolled her eyes. "I'll leave you two love birds alone," she told them. "I want to get my ducks in order before I tackle Hart's interview."

  CHAPTER 48

  Jimmy Dolan watched Drake's face close down and gave an inward groan. "Blo
ody hell, not again," he muttered, his meaty hand grabbing Drake's coat from the chair and shoving it at his partner. "C'mon, DJ, it's time for lunch."

  To his surprise, Drake didn't argue. Oh boy, this was bad. He led his younger partner down the steps and out into the brisk February air. Jimmy looked up at the thickening clouds. Snow or rain soon depending on how cold it got. He glanced back at DJ, considered driving, but decided the walk would do them both good.

  "So what's the story, kid?" he asked as they walked down Penn toward the Blarney Stone.

  Drake shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his peacoat in response. Jimmy ignored the silence. DJ was a good partner, one of the best damned investigators he'd worked with. That included Mickey Drake Sr., which was saying a lot.

  "Damn. You sure are high maintenance. Like a goddamn thoroughbred or something. Haven't see you this low since last summer." Denise, his wife, still blamed that on him. As if somehow Jimmy was responsible for who his partner took to his bed. That was women for you. One look at DJ, and they all wanted nothing more than to either mother him or screw him. Or both.

  Jimmy shot a glance over at his silent partner. What the hell had the kid gotten mixed up in this time?

  They turned the corner onto Aiken and came to the Blarney Stone. Jimmy opened the brass-handled door, gestured for Drake to precede him. His partner went inside, eyes downcast, like a teenager headed toward a strapping.

  Which was how he acted sometimes. Jimmy nodded to Andy Greally behind the bar and slid into an empty booth.

  Andy began to pull a Guinness. He added two coffees and joined them, forcing Drake into the corner seat by the window. Andy set the Guinness in front of Jimmy and placed the coffees before himself and Drake.

  "How was court?" he asked Jimmy while appraising Drake. The younger man seemed fascinated by the view of the alley beyond.

  "Think we nailed the bastard." Jimmy took a large drink of stout and sighed in contentment. "Course, you never know with juries."

  "Ain't that the truth." Andy jerked his head toward Drake. "What's with the kid?"

  Jimmy shrugged. "Found him like this when I got back to the House. He ain't saying."

  Andy pursed his lips. Drake Sr. had been his partner before Mickey won his sergeant's stripes. Andy had taken on his son as a rookie, training him. After Mickey died, seemed like Jimmy and Andy became surrogate fathers to DJ--but the kid sure didn't make it easy.

  "I think," Jimmy went on when Drake remained silent, "it has something to do with that girl he pulled off the bridge last night."

  "She's not a girl, and it's none of your business," Drake snapped.

  Andy and Jimmy exchanged glances. Bingo. Then Jimmy frowned. "Is she the same Hart that Kwon was talking about?" he asked, putting the pieces together. Drake's look of misery was answer enough.

  "You mean the pretty doctor you brought in the other day? The one that showed Spanos his place?" Andy asked. Drake nodded. "I thought she was a witness--"

  "Murder," Drake said. "Janet thinks Hart is involved in Weaver's murder."

  Jimmy raised an eyebrow at that. This was getting interesting. "How'd she do it?"

  Drake set his cup down with a bang. "She didn't!"

  "Whoa, looked who joined the ACLU all the sudden. All right then, how did our innocent until proven guilty suspect allegedly kill Weaver?"

  "Kwon and Dimeo want to nail Hart's ex, Richard King, so they're building this big conspiracy theory that Hart set up Weaver, that Hart is working with Trautman and her ex."

  "Why does Janet think it was Hart?" Jimmy asked, knowing Kwon didn't usually jump to conclusions without a good reason. "Why not just the ex?"

  "Trautman implicated her. And Hart was there when Weaver died." Drake looked up at them. "She tried to save her, she didn't have anything to do with it."

  "So why are you yelling at us and moping around like a teenager who's been grounded?" Jimmy threw back at him. Then comprehension dawned. "Christ, DJ, you didn't go and sleep with her, did you? Even you can't be that stupid!"

  Drake whipped his head around. "Keep it down, will ya?"

  "He is that stupid," Andy put in. "Sleeping with a witness and now she's a suspect in a homicide? What were you thinking?"

  Both of the older men glared at Drake like he was a kid caught playing hookey.

  "Didn't you learn anything from last summer?" Jimmy muttered, his voice low.

  "It's not like that. Hart is--"

  "Going to ruin your career if Miller gets wind of it," Andy finished for him. "You'd better pray your girlfriend is innocent or there'll be hell to pay."

  Andy treated them to lunch while Drake poured out a carefully edited account of his relationship with Hart. Afterward both of the older men shook their heads over his foolishness.

  "You actually went over to her house this morning?" Andy asked.

  Drake nodded. "To return her cell phone."

  "And you found her there with her ex? This King?"

  "You sure they're not in it together, setting you up for a fall?"

  "Or maybe King is setting up the missus?" Jimmy suggested, having the more devious mind. "It's an impossible case to prove any way you look at it. No witnesses worth anything. And no one would be fool enough to keep the evidence."

  Andy shrugged. "So who cares about evidence? Go talk to this King guy, rattle his cage. Maybe he'll do something stupid."

  Jimmy frowned at the retired cop's cavalier suggestion to stretch the rules. "Just don't you do something stupid," he warned Drake. "Like getting this guy so pissed he complains to Miller about you. After all, he saw you at Hart's house."

  "Yeah, but he didn't know why I was there." Drake brightened at the idea of questioning King. "I think I'll head over to Three Rivers right now."

  Andy watched through the window as Drake walked past the mouth of the alley, a spring in his step.

  "He's in big trouble and he don't even know it," he told Jimmy. "How'd a smart guy like him get to be so dumb about women?"

  Jimmy shrugged. "Dunno. You trained him."

  "Yeah, well, you're his partner. Supposed to keep him out of shit like this."

  "Now you sound like Denise." Jimmy finished the last golden drop of Guinness. "And," he said, easing out of the booth and grabbing his hat, "since it's my day off and the kids are at school, I think I'll just go on home and give her a nice surprise."

  "Nice for who?" Andy jeered as Jimmy slid into his coat.

  Cassie paused outside of the pharmacy and checked her watch. Twelve-nine. Gary Krakov always, always took his lunch exactly at noon. She took a deep breath and pushed open the door.

  The pharmacy workers barely glanced her way, too busy helping Neil Sinderson with a cartload of medications. She crossed through the front room, flinching as she passed Fran's empty workstation, and placed her hand on the door to Krakov's office.

  What if it was locked? Then what would she do?

  She turned the knob. It was open. Cassie slipped through the door and shut it behind her.

  "Can I help you?"

  She jumped. A young man sat at Krakov's computer and looked up at her with a smile.

  "Who are you?" Cassie asked.

  "Mike Romano. They sent me over from Information Management to help Mr. Krakov finish his inventory."

  She caught her breath and forced herself to smile. "Then you're just the person I want to see," she told him, daring to perch on Krakov's pristine desk. "I'm Dr. Hart from the ER--"

  "You're the one who tried to save Fran." Mike's eyes darted toward the door and Fran's abandoned desk beyond. His voice dropped. "Is this something to help catch the killer?" He leaned forward, eager to be part of the investigation.

  "Yes. So it has to be kept confidential, all right?" She felt a twinge of guilt, hoped she wasn't going to have this kid on her conscience too.

  "Sure. What do you need?" His fingers poised over the computer keyboard, ready for action.

  "I need some way of comparing the most expensive dr
ugs with patients who died. I thought maybe I could get a list of the drugs that cost the most from Mr. Krakov, take them to medical records and compare them with recent patient deaths."

  "You don't need to do that, I can do it all right here." He patted his computer.

  Cassie looked over her shoulder. "When is Mr. Krakov coming back?" If she was right about Krakov, then he couldn't find out what Mike was doing for her.

  "He isn't. One of the pharmacists upstairs in the ICU called in sick, so he's covering. Told me I could have his office to use since he won't be back today."

  One less thing to worry about. "All right. Could you bring the information to my office when you're done?"

  "Sure thing. I still have to finish the inventory for Mr. Krakov, so it'll probably be tomorrow."

  His fingers started dancing over the keys, reminding her of the last time she saw Fran alive. She gnawed at her lip. She hoped she wasn't making a big mistake, but there was no other way to get the information.

  If Fran's death had nothing to do with the missing FX but something else that she found, then Gary Krakov was the only logical suspect. The only man who knew Fran was working late, who could have known what Fran had uncovered, maybe even accessed her computer.

  "Mike, don't tell anyone about this."

  He didn't look up at that, merely nodded, already lost in the realms of cyberspace. "Whatever you say, doc."

  CHAPTER 49

  Drake caught up with King as the surgeon was leaving his office.

  "What can I do for you, Detective?" he asked Drake with a smirk on his face.

  King had changed from his operating scrubs back into the well-draped silk suit Drake had seen him in this morning. It probably cost more than Drake took home in a month.

  More priceless than the suit was the darkening swelling engulfing King's left eye. Hart's work. Drake couldn't help but smile.

  King bristled under Drake's gaze. He locked his office door behind him. "I really must be going, Detective."

  Drake leaned against the tiled corridor wall, hands jammed into the pockets of his jeans, taking his time. "Trautman worked with you."