Abrams jerked away, his face flushed. “Fuck you,” he said. “I can’t even have a conversation with you. I thought we were friends.”
Reed’s lips compressed as he stepped onto the mat for the automatic doors. “After you,” he said to Abrams once the doors swung open. When the younger officer stepped through. Reed gave him a swift kick in the ass and promptly broke out laughing. He was actually quite fond of the younger man.
“What the hell?” Abrams squawked, his hand on the seat of his pants. “Why’d you do that?”
Smirking, Reed said, “Just felt like it. Good way to let off tension.” He reached in his pocket for his shield, flipped it, and hung it over his belt.
“Great,” Abrams said sarcastically. “Maybe I need to let off a little tension too.” He made a move like he was going to kick the detective in return and then stopped. Not on his life. Reed was as tough and as predictable as they came. If Noah retaliated, Reed would knock him down. And it wouldn’t even break his stride.
The two detectives leaned against the wall, their toes an inch behind the line that delineated the sterile, restricted area of the surgical section of the hospital. They were staring down at the different-colored floor tiles and wondering if they should leave and come back later.
“What’s going to happen,” Abrams said, “if I step on the green tiles? Will an alarm go off and a gang of nurses jump me?” He chuckled. “That might be kind of fun.”
Reed looked over at Abrams and growled. Just then a surgeon in a green paper gown, the front of it stained with blood, burst through the swinging double doors.
Reed sprang off the wall and flashed his badge. “Sergeant Thomas Reed,” he said, then, nodding at his partner, “Detective Abrams. How is she?”
“She’s doing very well,” the young surgeon said. “The bullet struck a branch of her axillary artery or she would have been up and around already. It didn’t strike bone or any other vital organs. We repaired the artery and stopped the bleeding. She’ll be fine in a week or so, barring any complications.”
“Did she regain consciousness? Did she say anything?” Reed asked, concern etched on his face.
“Look,” the surgeon said, “she’s not going to be able to give you guys a statement for quite some time. Probably the best thing to do is come back in the morning.”
The doctor started to walk away, and Abrams stepped in front of him. “This woman is like family,” he said, arching his eyebrows and tilting his head toward Tommy Reed. “Her father was a captain, and she used to be a cop as well.”
“I see,” the doctor said, his eyes shifting from one man to the other. He hesitated before continuing, “I was told this might have been a sexual assault. The admitting physician followed protocol and collected specimens, but we couldn’t wait for one of your people to get here, and, of course, our primary concern was the hemorrhaging. She regained consciousness for a few minutes when we had her in the operating room, but was more or less incoherent. She mentioned a man’s name several times. Hank, I believe.”
“That’s her husband’s name,” Abrams offered warily. “Is he here? Maybe he’s your culprit.” Reed stepped closer to the doctor, a look of shock on his face. “She was raped?” Then he spun around to Abrams. “See,” he said, poking a finger in the other officer’s chest, completely irrational now, “this is just what I was talking about. Pricks like you who can’t keep their damn dicks in their pants. You want to know why I’m protective—”
Abrams knocked Reed’s hand away. “Hell, I didn’t rape her. What’s wrong with you? Get a grip, Sarge.”
The surgeon cleared his throat, and both men recollected where they were.
“Her husband’s dead,” Reed said flatly. “What made you think it was a rape?”
“There was sperm, but no vaginal trauma, I think.”
While Abrams shook his head in dismay, Reed went after the surgeon. “What do you mean, you think? Was there sperm or not?” He tossed his arms in the air in frustration, his voice booming in the tiled corridor. “How’re we going to take this to court? What about chain of evidence? Don’t you guys know the rules by now?”
The doctor remained calm, even smiling. “I’m just the surgeon, Officers. The man you should talk to is Richard Ogleby. I think he’s still down in the ER. He’s the physician who admitted her. We’re finishing all the swabbings and collecting other samples now before they move her to the recovery room.”
As soon as the young surgeon took off down the corridor, Abrams said, “What do you think? Some maniac raped her and then shot her?”
Reed started barking orders now as he walked, his stomach in an uproar. “Get a patrol unit dispatched over here to pick up the evidence.” He stopped and belched, stuffing his hands in his pockets, trying to find his Rolaids. The situation with Ann was far worse than he had thought. The entire investigation could be compromised now. “I want to see what they found at the scene.”
“What if she wakes up?” Abrams said, trying to keep his own anger in check. He pulled some antacids from his jacket pocket and slapped them in his sergeant’s hand. “She could give us a description. Without a description we’re dead in the water.”
Reed glanced at the mints and then at Abrams, a curious look on his face.
“Occupational hazard, I guess,” Abrams said.
“You heard what the doctor said,” Reed answered, popping a mint in his mouth. “She’s out cold right now.”
“Hey, you’re the sergeant,” Abrams said.
“You’re damn right I am,” Reed said emphatically. “And I’ll tell you something else, Abrams.”
“Yeah?”
“I’m going to catch the ape who did this and kill him with my bare hands,”
Abrams just nodded, the same steely look in his eyes as in Reed’s.
It was one o’clock in the morning and David Carlisle was leaning forward over his knees in the hospital waiting room when Glen Hopkins appeared in the doorway. A stocky young man, far too heavy for his height, David resembled his father: brown hair, olive complexion, squared-off jaw. Only his pale blue eyes were Ann’s, but his lashes were darker and more prominent, making his eyes his finest feature. He wore a blue cotton shirt and jeans. One comer of the shirt was sticking out, a few buttons were undone around his waist, and his dark hair was tousled. But it was the hostility shooting from his eyes that made Glen Hopkins pause before speaking. No tears, no emotion, just a cold, blank stare.
“Hey, David,” Hopkins said softly, sitting next to him on the green vinyl sofa. “Rough go, huh? I’m sorry about your mother. How are you holding up?”
David immediately stood and crossed the room, flipping on the television set. Instead of returning to his earlier position on the sofa, however, he took a seat on the opposite side of the room.
“They tell me your mother is doing fine, though,” Hopkins said. “She might have to spend some time in bed, but they assure me she’ll make a full recovery. Have you seen her yet?”
When David didn’t respond, Hopkins thought of the one thing that might get the little brat’s attention. Food. “Are you hungry? They’ve got a cafeteria downstairs. We could go get a piece of pie.”
“I’m not allowed to eat pie,” David said over his shoulder. “Don’t you know that by now?”
“Okay,” Hopkins said, glancing at the screen and seeing an old movie playing. Was the kid really watching this or just deliberately being rude? Having already played his ace. Glen was at a loss as to what to do next. When Tommy Reed strode through the door, Hopkins rushed over and pumped the detective’s hand.
Reed looked over the attorney’s shoulder to David. “Come on, guy, I’m going to sneak you in to see your mother. She’s still in recovery and they don’t allow visitors, but I want her to see your handsome mug the minute her eyes open.”
Springing to his feet, David grinned. Then he glanced at Hopkins, and the smile turned to a sneer. “He’s not going in, is he?”
“Ah, excuse us a minu
te, Hopkins,” Reed said politely. Had to set a good example for the kid, he thought, hitching up his pants. Taking the boy’s shoulder, he guided him out the door, and they started walking down the hall together to the recovery room. “You know, David, you shouldn’t be so hard on your mother’s friends. He’s not such a bad guy, is he? I mean, your mother wouldn’t like him if he was that big of a knucklehead.”
“He’s a creep. I hate him. And he’s not just my mom’s friend. You’re my mom’s friend.” Raising his eyebrows, the boy looked Reed in the eye. “I’m not stupid, you know. I know the difference.”
Okay, Reed thought, they were on the same wavelength on this one. David didn’t like Hopkins any more than he did. They continued walking, the boy trying to stay in step with the detective, having to almost jog to do so. Already short of breath because of his weight and aversion to exercise, David grabbed Reed’s arm.
“Will…Mom be okay. Tommy?” he said, his voice breaking with held-back emotion. “You’re not lying to me, are you? People always lie to me. Promise me she’s going to be okay.”
Reed knew just what he was referring to, the months after his father vanished. He’d been only eight years old then, and they had decided not to tell him about his father until they knew for certain what had occurred. Unfortunately, Ann had taken the deception to extremes, concocting one story after another to explain his father’s protracted absence. Only after four months had gone by and every possible lead was exhausted did Ann finally sit the boy down and tell him the truth. But the detective really didn’t lay the blame on Ann, even though he had advised her to tell the child the truth a few days after Hank disappeared. It was one of those tragic situations, there was no really good way to handle it. If they told the boy his father was dead and then he surfaced…
Weil, Reed thought, setting these thoughts aside, that was the past. At present, they had to get Ann back on her feet and find a way to help this poor kid handle another senseless act of violence—one directed at the only person he had left in the world. Reed coughed, his throat suddenly constricted, about to break down himself. David might try to hide his fear, but Reed knew the boy. He was terrified.
“I’m not lying,” Reed said, holding his shoulders and looking him in the eye. “Listen to me. Your mom will be up and about in no time. Sure, it’s terrible that crimes like this happen. No doubt about it. Awful. Just plain disgusting. But let’s not dwell on that. Let’s just be thankful now that she’s going to be okay.” He pulled David into his arms and held him tightly.
Once they reached the door to the recovery room, the detective shoved the boy behind him, opening the door and peering inside to make certain the head nurse was still busy with another patient. He knew Lucy Childers, and she was a stickler for rules. Cop or no cop, she owned the recovery room. Once she had banged Reed on the head with a bedpan when he refused to follow orders. Placing a finger over his mouth. Reed jerked David’s hand and pulled him inside the room, walking quickly to Ann’s hospital bed.
“Is she asleep?” David said, tears in his eyes. “She looks so white.”
Reed draped his arm over the boy’s shoulders and nudged him closer to the bed, reaching behind him to pull the white drapes closed. “Talk to her, guy. She’s supposed to wake up now. When she hears your voice, she’ll wake up for sure.”
David’s stubby fingers locked on the railing as he leaned close to his mother’s face. “Mom, can you hear me? It’s David. I love you. Mom. Be brave. Be a big girl.” He turned to Tommy. “That was stupid. I don’t know what to say. She used to tell me all the time to be a big boy. Uh, you know,” he said, self-consciously, “until I got fat.”
“David,” Ann mumbled, her eyes opening to glaring overhead lights and sharp medicinal odors. Even though seven hours had passed, in her mind she was still on the sidewalk. Her eyes darted frantically around the room as reality slowly took hold and she realized she was in a hospital. Before her eyes settled on David’s face, however, the drugs pushed her down and her head sank back into the pillow.
Like slides passing before her eyes, Ann could see the scene on the sidewalk, feel the bullet ripping into her flesh, smell the distinctive odor of blood. But it wasn’t the pain that terrified her, it was lying on that sidewalk screaming for help, fearing that no one would ever come to her rescue. She ran her tongue over her cracked lips, tried to swallow but found her mouth too dry. Then she heard someone else talking, but the voice seemed far away. She was safe, she told herself, her fingers closing on the edge of the blanket. She was in a hospital and she was alive. Nothing else mattered.
“Ann, it’s Tommy,” the detective said softly. “And David’s here with me. You’re in the hospital, honey, and you’re going to be fine. We’re all here for you.”
David eagerly took his cue. “Yeah, Mom, we’re all here. You’re going to be fine. Does it hurt? Where did the bullet go in? Did it come out the other side?”
Reed winced, shaking his head at David. Then he whispered in the boy’s ear, “Try to talk about something other than bullets.”
Ann heard her son’s voice but kept slipping back under. David was here. She had to be strong for him. Just thinking of the setback this could cause him chilled her to the bone. “David,” she called, her eyes still closed. “David—”
“I’m here. Mom.”
Her mind was spinning, dozens of images coming at her at once. She saw herself holding Hank’s picture in her hands, but she couldn’t remember where or when. Then she remembered thinking he was there, had actually come to rescue her. Things were so jumbled that she couldn’t sort through them. “Long hair,” she mumbled, remembering the man’s hair brushing across her face. “The man…where’s the man with the hair?”
Reed sprang to life, thinking Ann could be describing her attacker. “Ann, did you see the person who did this?”
She shook her head and ran her tongue across her lips again. “Didn’t see the suspect. The man…who stopped. Who was he?” She’d been so certain it was Hank. But she knew it was just a hallucination. Of course, she would think of Hank during a crisis. The man had been her husband, her protector.
“The man who stopped was Jimmy Sawyer, Ann,” Reed told her. “Says he’s one of your probationers. When he saw you stumbling on the sidewalk, he stopped. He was trained in first aid. Said his father’s a doctor.”
Why? she was asking herself. Her outrage at why someone would do this to her overrode any gratitude she might have felt. Why would anyone shoot her?
What had she done? Was it someone just shooting randomly, or shooting specifically at her?
Someone suddenly jerked the curtain back so abruptly that Reed was startled. Lucy Childers, almost as wide as she was tall, her permed gray hair like a Brillo pad, poked the detective in the back with a finger. “No kids, Reed. You know better than to bring a kid in here.”
Reed’s face softened in a mock plea. “It’s her kid, Lucy. Have a heart. I mean, you’d have to be as cold as—”
“That’s enough, Reed.” The nurse looked David up and down and then barked in a gravel voice, “Five minutes more. That’s it. I’m counting, Reed. Young people carry all kinds of infections.” She checked her watch to let the detective know she meant business.
Right behind the nurse, Ann saw Tommy Reed’s face, and then her heart swelled when she finally focused on David. “Oh, baby, come here,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. She tried to turn on her side and then grimaced in pain, but her hand moved to the railing as she reached out for her son.
“Mom,” he said, squeezing her hand in his own. Her other arm was strapped to an IV board. “I love you. Mom.”
“I love you too, honey. Don’t worry. Promise me you won’t worry. Everything’s going to be fine.” Ann’s eyelids would open, flutter, and then close. Fighting with all her strength against the pain, she knew she had to comfort her child. “The bullet didn’t even hurt,” she bed, managing a chuckle. “It was no worse than a bee sting. That’s all, David.
I bet I could go home right now if I wanted to.” Ann tried to sit up in the bed, to show him she was okay. “See,” she said, using her free hand to brace herself to a sitting position, a weak, lopsided smile on her face. Then her head drooped to one side, and Reed put his arm behind her neck, gently lowering her back to the bed.
Reed waved the boy out of the room and remained by Ann’s bedside. Where the hell was Abrams, anyway? He’d called Reed after he’d interviewed Sawyer, and the detective had expected him to be at the hospital by now. He wanted him to take David back to Claudette’s house.
As soon as the child shuffled out the door. Reed touched Ann’s cheek with a callused hand and brushed her hair off her forehead. “Ann, listen to me. Were you raped? Can you tell us anything about who did this to you?”
“I…don’t know who did it,” Ann stammered, her face as pale as the sheet, a solitary tear rolling down the left side of her face. “It hurts so bad. Tommy.”
“I know,” he said, choking up. “If I could take the pain for you, Ann, you know I would.”
She stared into his eyes before speaking, comforted by the sight of his strong face. “I didn’t see anyone. All I heard was the shots and the car engine.” Her eyes closed and then opened again a few moments later. “No rape,” she said. “I wasn’t raped, Tommy. I was shot.”
“Did you see a car, Ann?”
She shook her head and then mouthed, “Nothing.”
Suddenly Reed looked up and saw Glen Hopkins standing at the foot of the bed. How long had he been there? “She can’t have visitors yet,” Reed snapped. “If you want to be useful, Hopkins, take David back to Claudette Landers’s house.”
“But I…” the attorney started to protest, then just let it ride.
Ann turned her head toward the sound of the voice. “Glen,” she said, “is that you? Oh, God, Glen, I—”
“I asked you to take the kid home,” Reed said to Hopkins between clenched teeth. “Can you do that for us, huh? We’re trying to conduct an investigation here.”
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