Critical Condition

by Richard Mabry

  Megan’s eyes sparked. “You can’t give up on being the allknowing big sister, can you? For your information, Parker’s full name is Parker Elizabeth Carrington. She’s divorced from an abusive husband. She understands where I am—apparently better than you do, since she trusts me to make some decisions on my own.” She turned on her heel, grabbed up her suitcase, and opened the front door. “Don’t wait up for me.”

  The reverberation from the slamming door hadn’t died before the phone rang. Shannon moved toward the phone, her gut twisting as she wondered what fresh crisis loomed on the horizon.

  “Dr. Frasier, this is Steve Alston. I’m on my way to your house. I have some bad news.”

  TWENTY

  THE DOORBELL INTERRUPTED SHANNON AS SHE WAS RUNNING A brush through her hair. He told me half an hour. She grumbled her way to the front door and opened it, but instead of Steve Alston, she found Mark standing there.

  “How do you always know when I need you here?” She kissed him lightly. “Come on in.”

  “I’m just glad to find you home and doing okay. Frankly, I was a bit worried about you.”

  “Why?” She followed him into the living room.

  “I had some news to share, but I couldn’t get hold of you. You weren’t at the medical center. I tried to call your home phone, and it was busy. Then I called your cell, but you didn’t answer. So I decided to swing by.” He looked down at the hairbrush in her hand. “Were you getting ready to go out?”

  She looked at the hairbrush as though realizing for the first time that she held it. “No, someone’s coming by, and I was trying to repair the ravages of the day.” She pointed to the sofa. “Have a seat. I’ll only be a minute.”

  In a few moments, she was back and seated next to Mark on the couch. “You said you were expecting someone,” he said. “What’s going on?”

  Shannon decided that whatever development Steve Alston wanted to discuss, it quite likely involved Mark as well. It was probably good that he was here, so she might as well let him know what was coming. “Detective Alston called to say he’d be by shortly. He said he had some bad news he needed to share.”

  “Shall I stay?”

  “Yes, please.” Shannon started to look at her watch but stopped herself. Alston would get here when he got here. She held up one finger. “Hold on. A minute ago you said I didn’t answer my cell. Let me see why.”

  She hurried to where her purse lay on a chair by the front door. She pulled out her cell phone, flicked a switch, and stuffed the phone into her pocket. Back on the sofa, Shannon said, “For some reason, the ringer was on silent. I’m sorry for that.” She tried to smile. “But it brought you here.” She leaned toward him. “Now tell me your news. Why were you trying to reach me?”

  “To let you know what happened to your dad today.”

  Shannon snatched a breath. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

  “Easy there,” Mark said. “He got a little faint at the end of his chemotherapy session. You were in surgery, so your mother called me. He’s fine now.”

  Shannon let out the breath she’d been holding. “Tell me about it.” As Mark related the story of her father’s reaction to his chemotherapy, Shannon’s stomach twisted into knots. “I should have been there,” she said.

  “No, you shouldn’t have. Your mother was with him. The doctors and nurses over there deal with this every day. I think what happened to him was what any of us might experience if we had to hold still for an hour or two, watching poison flow into our veins.” He patted her shoulder. “He fainted—actually, a near-faint. Your folks just needed some reassurance. You were busy, I wasn’t. And I’m glad they called me.”

  Shannon shook her head. “I know it wouldn’t make any difference if I’d been there. It’s just this feeling—”

  “The same feeling you have about so much,” Mark said. “You feel as though you have to make things right, all the time, for everybody. But you can’t. All you can do is your best at whatever comes your way. You can’t fix everything.”

  “I know . . . at least, I know it in my head. But my heart—”

  “You have a tender heart,” Mark said. “But some things you just have to turn over to God.”

  “I wish I could do that. I wish I had the depth of your faith.”

  “It will come,” Mark said. “In the meantime, remember that you’re not in control of everything in the world.” He grinned. “That job is already filled . . . and God’s doing it pretty well, I’d say.”

  STEVE ALSTON NOTED THE DARK BLUE CHEVROLET MALIBU PARKED at the curb in front of Shannon Frasier’s house. What was Dr. Gilbert doing here? He always seemed to be around when Steve expected to be talking with Shannon alone.

  Steve left his own vehicle behind the Chevy, walked up the steps, and rang the doorbell. In a moment, Shannon opened the door. She extended her hand. “Detective Alston. You didn’t have to make a special trip for this.”

  “Actually, I thought it would be better if I shared this with you face-to-face.” He grasped her hand, and was still holding it when Dr. Mark Gilbert moved into view behind Shannon.

  Steve grudgingly turned loose of Shannon’s hand and reached for Gilbert’s. “Doctor, I didn’t expect to see you here.”

  “Shannon asked me to stay, and since I seem to be involved in all this through my association with Shannon and Megan, I thought it was probably appropriate.”

  “Please sit down,” Shannon said. “Would you like something to drink?”

  Steve hesitated but decided this wasn’t a social occasion. “No, thanks.”

  Shannon pointed him to a chair, then sat on the couch beside Gilbert. “Where’s your partner?”

  “On his way home, I’d imagine. We’re both off duty, but I thought I’d swing by here and talk with you.” He hoped he didn’t come down too hard on the last word. If Shannon wanted Gilbert here, there wasn’t much he could do about it.

  “I appreciate you coming by,” Shannon said. “What’s the bad news you said you had?”

  “There have been some new developments,” Steve said. “We’ve found a link between Walt Crosley and Darcy Green, a small-time crook who used his last prison stint to become pretty expert with computers.”

  “Have you talked with Green about where Crosley might be?” Shannon asked.

  “Unfortunately, no. He was on our list to be interviewed this week. When Green didn’t come in for work yesterday morning, his boss was concerned and tried to call him. No answer. Then Green still didn’t show up this morning, so his boss went to his apartment. When he didn’t get an answer to his knocks, he convinced the landlord to let him in. They found Green dead, slumped over his computer.”

  “Heart attack?” Gilbert said.

  “Not unless the heart attack made him fall forward onto his desk and break his neck. Medical examiner says Green had been dead since sometime this weekend. We think Crosley had Green work on the problem of the numbers. Afterward he decided to shut the man’s mouth—permanently.”

  “So Crosley knows . . .” Shannon let the words trail off.

  “We think either Crosley or Green figured out that the string of numbers represent GPS coordinates. Then when Green plugged them in, Crosley knew he’d been fed the wrong information. I’m thinking the last thing Green did was find the right numbers and give them to Crosley.”

  “Why do you say that?” Shannon asked.

  “Because someone—and of course we think it was Crosley—someone trashed a good deal of Greenwood Cemetery this past weekend. They overturned markers, opened mausoleums, dug up a few areas. And all of this was in the area indicated by your numbers . . . the correct ones.”

  Gilbert frowned at this new information. “So what you’re telling us is that either Crosley found what we failed to find or—”

  “Or he came up empty, leaving him thinking there’s more to the story. Since the people with Radick when he died were Dr. Frasier and the other doctor, Crosley will probably be coming after them next
.”

  “And since Crosley doesn’t know who the other doctor is, but he does know Shannon, she’s the one in danger,” Gilbert said.

  At this, Shannon clenched her jaw and her face became pale, but she remained silent.

  “I agree,” Steve said. He looked directly at Shannon. “We’ll warn the other doctor—Dr. Lee Kai, wasn’t it?—but I’m pretty sure you’re Crosley’s next target.”

  “And you don’t think I’ll be able to get away from him this time?” Shannon said, but it wasn’t really a question.

  Steve shook his head. “Crosley killed Green after he’d gotten all the information he needed from him. Green cooperated, but all it got him was a quick death.” He leaned forward in his chair. “I don’t like to think about what Crosley might do to get information from you.”

  Gilbert turned to Shannon. “I told you I’d feel better if you had a gun. Now will you listen to me?”

  Steve decided to join in. “I think you might want to listen to Dr. Gilbert. I can help you get a gun, arrange for a permit, take you through the instruction you need.”

  Shannon stood and turned first right then left, addressing both men. “I know you mean well. But, Detective, you have no idea the effect guns have had on my life. And, Mark, even though you know some of the details, I don’t think you recognize the absolute terror I have of those weapons.”

  “But—” Mark began.

  Shannon’s expression hardened. “No ‘but’ about it. You’re both asking me to do something I find impossible.”

  “Then what are you going to do?” Steve asked.

  “I’m going to do my job. That job is saving lives, not taking them,” Shannon said. She rose. “As I see it, your job is to catch Walt Crosley before he can harm me or anyone else.” She took a step toward the door. “I appreciate you coming by to give me this news in person. Now don’t let me keep you from doing your job.”

  MEGAN SHOOK THE DRESS A FEW TIMES BEFORE SHE PLACED IT ON a hanger and hung it in the closet.

  “Do you think that does any good? I mean, to get the wrinkles out?” Parker asked from her seat on the edge of the bed.

  “I don’t really know,” Megan replied, “but I’ve seen my mom do it a hundred times. And that’s how little girls learn . . . from watching their mothers.” Megan looked around at the bedroom, still getting used to the idea that this would be her new home. Soon she’d add a few personal touches, but right now she wanted to get her stuff moved.

  “What did your sister think about your moving out?”

  Megan paused with the last hanger halfway to the closet bar. “I thought she’d be happy. I really expected her to congratulate me on finding a job and getting a place to live so quickly.” She jammed the hanger into place. “Instead, she immediately jumped to the conclusion that I was moving in with another man—I believe another ‘loser’ is how she put it.”

  “Well, we’ve both been down that road and learned our lesson,” Parker said. “But don’t be too hard on your sister. Big sisters—and, for that matter, big brothers, parents—they’re all alike. They never stop caring about us. And that’s sort of a good thing, when you think about it.”

  Megan closed her suitcase and moved it off the bed to a spot beside the door where she’d be certain not to forget it. One more trip tomorrow evening, and she’d have all her things out of Shannon’s house. Then she’d be free of her interfering sister.

  “Want to get something to eat, or do you have to get back to Shannon’s place?” Parker asked.

  Megan had visions of coming in late, of Shannon sitting in the living room waiting for her to walk through the door. It would serve her sister right for being so nosy. Then again, Shannon had been the first one Megan called when she fled from Tony. And there was no hesitation, no “What’s going on?” or conditions—just an unequivocal invitation to come over, either right then, in the middle of the night, or the next day. Even when Megan had pulled a gun on her sister, there’d been no recriminations. Maybe she should . . . “I think I’d better get back to Shannon’s. I guess you’re right. I’m probably being too hard on her.” She picked up her empty suitcases. “I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

  ALSTON WAS HALFWAY HOME WHEN HIS CELL PHONE RANG. “Steve, this is Jesse.”

  “What’s up? Where are you?”

  “I’m back at the squad room. I want to talk over some things with you. Can you come back?”

  His encounter with Shannon—and, for that matter, Mark Gilbert—had left Steve anxious to get home. Shannon’s words had stung more than he was willing to admit. He wanted to put the day behind him, kick off his shoes, nuke a TV dinner, and watch a mindless sitcom on the tube.

  Jesse obviously knew his partner well. “Come on, man. I know there’s nobody waiting on you. I need to run this by you while it’s fresh in my mind.”

  “Okay. I’ll see you in twenty minutes.”

  Eighteen minutes later, the two detectives sat on either side of Callaway’s desk. “I don’t know about you, but I’m afraid I’ve gotten so caught up in looking for Walt Crosley that I’ve ignored Megan Frasier. I think it’s time we go to a judge and ask for a warrant to arrest her,” Jesse said.

  Steve took a deep breath and tried to sort out the conflicting emotions he felt. “Specifically, what charges do you think we could make stick?”

  “Start with her boyfriend’s murder. She lived with Tony Lester. They had a fight, and she was angry. Her gun was used to kill him. Her alibi for the time of his death is shaky. Motive, means, opportunity.”

  “Circumstantial at best,” Steve said. “What else you got?”

  “The bank robbery. She admits she knew Radick in rehab. We know that Crosley came to see Radick at First Step while Megan was there—who’s to say they weren’t planning the robbery then, and that she wasn’t the third member of the gang, the one driving the getaway car?”

  “So why did Radick show up at Megan’s sister’s house?”

  “Maybe he was looking for Megan, wanting to talk about the loot, but he was shot before he could get to the door.”

  “If that’s so, why hasn’t Crosley come after Megan?”

  Jesse shook his head. “Because Dr. Frasier was the one who heard Radick’s dying words. But maybe Megan’s next. Anyway, I think she’s knee-deep in all this. Do you agree that we ought to try for a warrant?”

  Steve stood and walked to the window, his back to his partner. “I don’t know.”

  “Listen,” Jesse said. “I’ll only say this once more. Are you sure you’re not letting your personal feelings affect your decision?”

  Steve stared out the window into the night. “Let me sleep on it.” But he knew he wasn’t going to get any sleep tonight.

  MEGAN CHECKED HER WATCH. SHE’D LINGERED LONGER THAN SHE intended at her new apartment, talking with Parker, making plans. Still, because it was summer, it wasn’t fully dark when she approached the street where Shannon lived.

  Usually, Megan drove with the unconscious confidence of one who’d lived all her adult life in a particular area. Once she knew her destination, she set her internal GPS with the address and let her thoughts range far and wide. But recently she’d driven with more attention to her surroundings. Specifically, she tried to remain aware of the people and cars around her. If Crosley could pull up next to her sister, hop into her car, and threaten her at gunpoint, Megan didn’t want to give him a chance to do that and worse to her.

  A glance into her rearview mirror made her frown. The late-model maroon sedan behind her had been there for quite a while. She couldn’t make out the driver’s features through the windshield, but she was able to tell that the vehicle had a single occupant. Should she drive on by, somehow try to lose him?

  Her answer came to her as she drew within sight of Shannon’s house. Mark’s blue Chevrolet was parked at the curb. Megan took her cell phone from the seat beside her and punched a speed-dial number. “Mark,” she said when he answered, “would you do me a favor? Come out to the cur
b. I think someone’s following me, but I don’t think they’ll do anything if you’re standing there waiting for me.”

  Before Megan could put down the phone, Shannon’s front door opened and Mark emerged from the house. He walked quickly to his car, opened the door and reached inside, then waited at the end of the sidewalk as Megan pulled in. She parked her white Ford Focus behind his car and watched as the maroon sedan drove past with the driver looking straight ahead.

  Megan climbed out from behind the wheel. “Thanks, Mark.”

  “No problem. I just wish I could convince Shannon to be this careful.” He turned toward her. “I have to make her believe that this is serious.”

  At that moment, Megan realized that Mark’s hand hung down by his right side so that his leg shielded what he held—a blued steel revolver. The hammer was back and his finger was inside the trigger guard, ready to shoot.

  TWENTY-ONE

  SHANNON AND MARK WERE SITTING ON THE SOFA TALKING WHEN his cell phone rang. He answered it, listened for a second, and headed for the front door, shoving his phone back into his pocket as he went. “Back in a second,” he called over his shoulder.

  Shannon sat for a moment until the slam of a car door and the murmur of voices outside made her curious. She rose and walked to the open front door where she saw Megan’s car at the curb. Her sister and Mark came up the front walk together, each of them carrying a suitcase. Shannon didn’t know what was going on, but, for whatever reason, Megan was back home, wearing a smile on her face that was in sharp contrast to her expression as she walked out a few hours ago.

  Megan dropped her suitcase and hurried toward Shannon, who ran forward to embrace her sister. “I’m sorry,” they said almost simultaneously.

  Mark stood by patiently until the two women separated. Then he picked up the suitcase Megan dropped and said, “Let’s take this inside, shall we? I feel too much like a target out here.”