Avenged

by Janice Cantore

  A couple of units answered, and Carly prepared to wait until someone was with her. The hole was in a good spot, she thought. Especially at night, people could come and go without attracting any attention. But still, marina patrol or private security should have seen this in the daytime. Oceans First could try to occupy the place. Maybe Oceans First protestors had made the hole. But then why not pour in through the hole? Why try swimming from the ocean side?

  She tested the spot, and the fence came open easily in her hand.

  Just then a light flashed over the water by the old marina. Carly stepped through the hole and squinted, wondering if she was imagining things or if something had flashed on one of the live-aboard boats. But the light hadn’t come from the boats; it had come from a boarded-up restaurant in the old marina. Walt’s had closed and would have been demolished, but—in what would be Oceans First’s only victory—they’d gotten an injunction stopping the demolition of the old marina until an environmental study could be completed.

  Suddenly the light flashed again. This time she heard a voice in the distance, getting closer. Someone was walking her way. She saw the silhouette of a man hugging the darkness of the fence line, his hand to his ear. She guessed he was talking on a cell phone.

  Thinking commercial burglary at worst and trespassing at best, Carly drew her gun and held it down at her side. She raised the beam of her light. “Police. Stand where you are.”

  The man stopped, squinting in the light. Dean Barton.

  Their eyes locked as Carly raised her gun. “Stop right there.”

  “Cops!” Barton yelled into the phone before jamming it into his pocket.

  Then he turned and ran. Not the way he came. He ran toward the bulk of the new marina construction and into the light, zigzagging around construction equipment.

  “Stop!” Carly spit out in frustration as she started after him.

  In the back of her mind, she knew she should wait for backup. But a surge of anger toward the fleeing man pushed her forward, and she disregarded common sense.

  Barton disappeared around some equipment.

  Gun in one hand, radio in the other, Carly charged after him, telling dispatch in a rush what was happening.

  By the time she’d reached where she’d last seen him, Barton’s feet were disappearing around the front of an almost-finished Mexican restaurant. She jammed the radio back into its holder and barreled after him.

  Seeing the door to the restaurant closing, she pushed it open and stepped into the dining room as Barton bounded up the stairs to the second level. Carly followed, intent on seeing Barton in handcuffs.

  At the top of the stairs, she paused, gun hand pointed ahead of her, arms forming an X, with the flashlight beam cutting through the murky darkness.

  It appeared as though this would be the bar area of the restaurant. The room was large and open, and she could see a finished bar ahead of her and stacks of tables and chairs. She’d lost sight of Barton and strained to hear anything that would give his location away.

  Off to her left, she saw movement and shone the light that way.

  “There’s nowhere to go, Barton. More cops are on the way.” Carly followed the noise of footsteps with caution, knowing her help should be arriving any second.

  Along the perimeter of the mezzanine were piles of drywall, cans of paint, an assortment of tools, and stacks of wood. There was no wall behind her, only a partially finished railing so the view of the downstairs would be unobstructed.

  “No way I’m going back to jail.” The voice was more to her left, but he wasn’t far ahead of her.

  Carly’s anger had been doused by the fear of an ambush. She moved slowly, cautiously. Time was on her side; there was no need to rush.

  “We have a lot of questions for you.” She wanted to keep him talking, pinpoint his location. He could see her light coming, so Carly wanted a level playing field.

  She stepped around a scaffold in time to see Barton double back to her right. Frustrated at the game of cat and mouse, Carly wanted to call in her backup but hesitated to put down either her gun or flashlight.

  Suddenly Barton jumped from behind a stack of drywall.

  Carly stepped back, startled. She hit the half-finished railing and felt it give way. Dropping the flashlight, she tried to grab something, but there was only air.

  The last thing she saw before she hit the ground was Barton’s grinning face.

  23

  CARLY CAME TO SLOWLY, hearing sounds but not processing what she heard. She started to move, and pain snapped through her body in a spiderweb of unpleasant sensations.

  “Whoa, take it easy. Stay still until medics get here.”

  Carly’s eyes focused on Kyle Corley’s face looking down at her. It was harder to focus her mind. She could hear the cackle of a police radio and the sounds of voices and people walking around. The area was bright with artificial light.

  “What happened? Where—?”

  It came back in a rush—Dean Barton, the fall. She tried to sit up, but Kyle’s hand stopped her before the pain did.

  “Dean Barton. Where is he?”

  “Stay still. He’s been taken care of. You fell quite a distance and were out cold when I got here. Don’t move; you might hurt something.”

  “I—” Carly’s gaze traveled up to the gaping hole in the railing above her. It seemed a mile away. She realized she must be in the restaurant’s entryway. “I fell that far?”

  Kyle nodded. “Looks like you hit flat on your back, then your head. Vest probably saved you, but you still hit hard enough to get knocked out. Though I don’t see any blood.”

  He looked away as new sounds entered the area. Carly could tell the paramedics had arrived. Her mind felt full of cotton.

  She did her best to relax as the medics replaced Kyle and went to work assessing her. They removed her gun belt, and Kyle said he’d hang on to it for her. They began to do what she’d seen them do to countless accident victims—check her for injuries, apply a neck brace, and then roll her carefully onto a backboard—while they asked questions to assess her level of consciousness.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Do you know what day it is?”

  “How many fingers do you see?”

  Carly did her best with the questions and could move her arms and legs, but her head hurt and she had been unconscious, so they would take precautions until a doctor saw her.

  “Kyle?” she asked as the medics raised the gurney from the floor.

  “Yeah?”

  “You call Nick?”

  “You bet. He’ll be waiting at the hospital.”

  •••

  Carly closed her eyes for the ride to the hospital. She struggled to remember what had happened. Did Barton lead me into a trap? But how could he have known I was going to be there? And where was he coming from?

  She had trouble thinking clearly and thought about how dazed boxers looked as they tried to get up off the canvas after a hard blow. Carly figured she must look like that because she certainly felt like she’d been dealt a knockout blow. The only consolation was that the arrest of Dean Barton was bound to clear things up.

  As promised, the first face she saw when she was taken out of the ambulance was Nick’s.

  “What happened, babe?” he asked, worry crinkling his brow as he took her hand in his.

  Carly felt tears threaten at the thought of causing him so much worry. “Guess I wasn’t looking where I was going” was all she managed.

  The medics began to wheel her into the emergency room.

  Nick walked alongside, holding her hand. “How bad does it hurt?”

  “I’ve got a killer headache, but other than that, I think I’m okay. Can’t wait to hear what Barton was doing in the construction yard.”

  Nick stayed close while Carly was examined. As soon as it was determined that nothing was broken, the neck brace and spine precautions were removed. But Carly’s head pounded, and the doctor pronounced that she had a
concussion. He repeated a lot of the questions the paramedics had asked, and Carly admitted to feeling a little fuzzy. He checked her grip, asking her to squeeze his fingers, and made no pronouncement but seemed satisfied. He wanted to do a CAT scan and keep her under observation for several hours.

  Carly found she didn’t have the strength to argue. Besides, the doctor said Nick could sit with her, and that made the stay bearable.

  Sergeant Barrett came in as Carly sipped water and tried to remember all that had happened at the construction yard.

  “I told them your head was too hard to be hurt by that little fall,” Barrett teased. “It was only about fifteen feet.”

  “Fifteen feet?” Nick stared at her.

  “Nothing broken,” Carly said, squeezing his hand. “Did Barton say why he was there?” she asked Barrett, wanting to change the subject.

  Barrett frowned. “Barton doesn’t have much to say. Didn’t you know?”

  “Know what?”

  He hitched up his gun belt. “Carly, Barton’s dead. Bullet wound to the head. We’ll have to wait for the coroner, but we assume it was your bullet. Homicide wants me to bag your hands for a GSR.”

  24

  “DEAD?” Carly felt as though she’d left reality. Maybe she was still out cold. She couldn’t recall shooting Barton, but patches of her memory were blank. “GSR?”

  Barrett nodded. “Homicide will be here to ask questions as soon as the scene is buttoned up and—” he cast a glance at the doctor—“and the doctor says it’s okay.”

  The doctor shrugged. “Her memory is likely to be patchy for a bit. I’ve ordered a CAT scan, so as long as they don’t interfere with that and as long as Carly feels up to answering questions . . .”

  Carly was conscious of all eyes on her. “My head hurts, but I can answer questions. I just don’t remember shooting him.”

  Barrett looked sympathetic. He opened the first of two paper bags and reached for her right hand. “This should have been done at the scene.”

  Nick stopped him. “You said her gun was fired. Why do you need the GSR?”

  “Harris wants it done.” Barrett shrugged. “My guess is something doesn’t add up, but you’ll have to ask him.”

  “It’s okay. Let him do it,” Carly told Nick.

  Barrett proceeded to bag both her hands to protect them until a gunshot residue test could be performed.

  Nick stood with a worried frown. “What’s the last thing you do remember?”

  “I was chasing him. He ran through the yard and into the restaurant and ignored my order to stop, but—” She closed her eyes and leaned back, trying to picture the scene again.

  “You have your gun drawn?” Barrett asked as he finished the taping.

  “Yeah, my gun and my flashlight were up, but it was for safety. I mean, the guy’s an ex-con; he’s wanted. I tried to stop him so I could take him into custody.” And he made me so mad I wasn’t thinking straight.

  “Why don’t we give this a rest for now?” Nick said to Barrett. “You have to fill out her injury paperwork. Let’s do that and let homicide ask the other questions. Maybe Carly will remember more when the shooting team gets here.”

  Barrett agreed and picked up his clipboard. Carly answered his questions about the fall as best she could. They’d just finished when a nurse came to take her for the CAT scan. She heard Nick ask the doctor if she could have caffeine when she was done. The doctor said yes.

  “Hear that, babe? I’ll be here with fresh coffee when you get back.”

  •••

  The scan took about twenty minutes. Carly actually felt better once it was over. She felt even better when she saw Nick’s smiling face and the steaming cup in his hand. But then she saw Harris and Romo. Beside them was the lab tech who would conduct the GSR test.

  “Hey, Carly, how are you feeling?” Harris asked in a tight voice.

  “Like I didn’t see the truck.” She scooted up to drink the coffee Nick held out for her.

  “We need to do the GSR.” He gestured to the lab guy, who stepped forward and started with the left hand. “There are some strange things at the scene. I’m not going to taint your recollection by telling you what we found, but this test may clear up some stuff.”

  “Fine. I don’t have a problem.”

  Carly forced herself to relax as the lab tech used small circular swabs, pressing them over her hands and also her face. He was efficient and finished quickly.

  As the tech packed up the test in his kit, Harris pulled out a mini recorder. “If you feel up to it, I need to know exactly what happened, and I want to tape it.”

  With the bags from her hands gone, Nick handed Carly her coffee and she took a sip before answering. She told Harris how she had gone to the Bluestone to walk around. But he stopped her almost immediately.

  “You left the gate open?”

  “Yeah, I wasn’t going to lock myself in. That would be shoddy officer safety. Why do you ask?”

  “Because the gate was locked when assisting units got there,” Harris said. “They would have reached you a lot faster if they hadn’t had to stop and unlock the gate.”

  “But that was why I left it open.” Carly felt the blood rush to her face. Her head started to pound again. Only a green rookie would have locked a gate behind them like that.

  “Calm down, babe,” Nick soothed. “Someone else must have shut it.”

  “But who? And why?” She stared at him, doubt invading her cloudy mind. Carly pushed the doubt away; she knew she’d left the gate open.

  “Let’s move on,” Harris prompted. “Tell us what happened next.”

  Carly continued with the narrative. Details were clearer now—until she got to the confrontation with Barton.

  “Was he armed?” Romo asked.

  “I didn’t see a weapon. I drew mine when I thought I had a burglary in progress. I’m not sure where he came from. Did you find out what he was doing in the construction yard?”

  Romo shook his head. “There was no sign that anything was tampered with. But the yard is a mess of equipment. We asked the foreman to check everything out thoroughly and get back to us if anything is amiss.”

  “There certainly isn’t anything worth stealing down there, unless you have the ability to remove heavy construction equipment.” Harris rubbed his chin. “It’s curious he led you to that restaurant.”

  “Why? What was special about that place?” Nick asked.

  “That’s anyone’s guess,” Romo said. “But he must have known the railing was only partially finished. There had been a rope with caution signs around it. We found it tossed to the side.”

  Carly looked away from Romo. “Barton set me up?”

  “Looks that way. He intended to do you harm. We can prove it if this becomes an issue.”

  Carly’s voice fled. She’d let her anger at Dean Barton lead her into a trap that could have cost Carly her life. The thought froze Carly’s blood, and she closed her eyes, struggling for memories that wouldn’t come.

  “You okay? Your face went pale,” Nick said as he grasped her hand.

  “I don’t know.” Carly opened her eyes again. “It’s unnerving thinking about what might have happened.”

  “Be thankful it was nothing more serious than a bump on the head,” Nick said, enfolding her hand in both of his.

  “I agree,” Harris said. “The shooting sure smells like a setup.”

  “But if Barton set me up, why did he end up dead?”

  “I don’t know.” Harris checked a text, then put the phone back on his belt. “Bottom line—assisting officers heard two shots fired with about one, maybe one and a half minutes between shots. Barton was shot once in the forehead, and two rounds were fired from your weapon.” He held Carly’s gaze. “You carry your weapon with a full clip and one round chambered, correct?”

  Carly nodded.

  “You don’t remember firing and shooting him?”

  “No, Pete. He startled me. That’s why I stepped
back into the railing. And he was grinning at me. That’s the last thing I remember.”

  •••

  Andrea arrived with Carly’s mother after Harris and Romo left. Carly was glad Barrett was gone too. She didn’t need any drama from an encounter with Andrea. But she hated being fussed over, and that was something her mother excelled at.

  “You have a nasty bump on your head,” Kay observed, frowning. “And you don’t look good. Are they certain it’s just a concussion?”

  “That’s what the doctor said, Mom.”

  “They did a CAT scan, Kay.” Nick put himself between Carly and Kay. Carly could have hugged him. “The doctor said it looked fine. He told me what to watch for, and I haven’t seen any warning signs. Her thinking is clearing up. The doctor will be back in about an hour to tell us if we can leave.”

  “I’m just getting tired from sitting on my butt.” Carly yawned. “And I’m a little sore, but my head isn’t pounding anymore.” Actually, her lower back and neck hurt a lot. Carly figured it was from how she’d landed. She knew she’d ache later on.

  “You haven’t had any dizziness or nausea, right?” Andrea asked.

  “No. And I don’t feel so confused anymore. But I still can’t remember everything.”

  “That’s normal.” Andi gave a wave of her hand. “The details will probably come to you when you’re thinking of something else.”

  “One thing is bothering me. I’m not sure if it’s anything to be concerned about, but has anyone heard from Ginny Masters? She was incommunicado yesterday. I may not like the woman, but I’d hate to think of Barton doing anything to her.”

  “I can check with Alex.” Andrea pulled out her cell phone. “He’ll be able to ask the newsroom.”