March Into Hell

by M. P. McDonald

  Jessie set the pad on the top of her desk and shot a look at Dan. “As a matter of fact, I did. Is that a problem?”

  Sighing, Dan rubbed his eyes. “No. It’s fine.” He made a 'give me' motion with his hand. “Let me see what you have.”

  Jessie tapped her pencil on her desk as he read over her notes. She knew this should have been a case like any other, but she was sure she was only kidding herself. In her mind, she could picture going to tell Mark that they had caught the bastard.

  He chuckled and shook his head. "I won't be able to keep you off this short of changing partners, will I?"

  "Probably not." She scooted closer to the desk and pointed to some of her notes on the pad. "I may have traced a bank account to Kern."

  "Really?"

  "Yes. Medea put some information on her job application for the job that Mark had offered her. Not much, just an address that didn't show up in her school or driver's license records, but it matched the address on a check used to pay her last semester of school and one for her hospital bill. I thought it might have been the place the cult lived before moving to the current one--which now appears abandoned, by the way."

  "What makes you say that?"

  "I checked the patrol officer's notes. Nobody in or out for three days."

  "They could have just gone to ground for a little while."

  She shook her head. "I don't think so. Medea was spotted in a neighborhood that's not far from the bank I found and that's miles from that house. There are only three branches in the city, and one is right on West Jackson. The address on the check is for a home in Oak Park."

  "And they aren't at that address? "

  She shook her head. "I wish, but no, they aren't. The tenants of the house have been there six months and they all checked out. However, I found out the landlord owns properties all over the city. One is the abandoned house, and he has more buildings in the area of the 5000 block of West Jackson. There's more, but with your tip that Medea was spotted in that area, I'd be willing to bet Kern stuck to his pattern of using this landlord. Less red tape."

  "That makes sense." Dan flipped the pencil in his fingers, letting the eraser end repeatedly hit the desk top, his expression distant. He was processing the information. Jessie wanted to sigh with relief. He was allowing her to share. She'd been afraid he wouldn't listen since she wasn't supposed to be investigating.

  "In addition, the account had a major withdrawal two days ago."

  “How much?”

  Jessie sank back into her seat. “Enough to live like royalty south of the border.”

  Dan nodded. “Good work, Jess. If we can get a confirmed sighting of him in Mexico, we can start the paperwork for extradition. I’ll rest easier when this guy’s locked up for a very long time.” His phone rang and he grabbed it, tucking it against his shoulder and ear. “Detective Dan Miller.”

  “Thanks.” Jessie felt some satisfaction, but until the guy was safely behind bars, she wouldn’t be completely happy. She thought of how Mark had reacted to her hospital visit and how traumatized he had been. She could hardly contain her anger at Kern.

  Nobody should have to go through what Mark had gone through. Especially not after all he'd already endured. But he was incredibly strong, she reminded herself. He'd already proven that. He would work this out on his own.

  The thought of Mark going back to the loft alone sent a shiver through her. The last thing Mark would want is pity, especially from her.

  She pushed the thought from her mind and tried to focus on her paperwork. Now was not the time to be wondering about Mark Taylor.

  “Damn.”

  Jessie looked up at Dan’s sharp tone. She had a feeling that something was up from the set of his mouth and the anger in his eyes. He looked at her and she just knew it had something to do with Mark.

  “I’ll be right there. In the meantime, call in all your off-duty security guards if you haven’t already.” He hung up and cursed again, then rose and grabbed his coat, shooting a look at Jessie as he shrugged into it. “You want to help me do some crowd control?”

  * * *

  Mark finished buttoning his shirt, fumbling with the top button. With one arm in a sling and the other with only a partially working hand made routine tasks frustrating. Still, wearing something other than a hospital gown felt wonderful. He had read somewhere that patients only absorbed about twenty percent of what a doctor told them. Mark shook his head ruefully. Now he believed it. It was hard to focus on what a fully-dressed doctor was saying while he, the patient, sat in a silly looking gown that left his backside bare.

  Lily had dropped off his clothes last night and had stayed to chat a few minutes. Mark just wished the conversation hadn’t been so stilted. Lily had called this morning and told him that more reporters than ever were gathered outside the studio, and that she was going to stay there to keep things under control. She said that the police wanted to know when he was discharged so they could escort him home. Mark wasn't thrilled with the thought of a police escort, but it beat trying to fight past the crowds. After making sure he had what he needed, Lily said she'd call the police and alert them that Mark had been released. He made a mental note to do something special for her when this was all over. She handled all the details and had gone beyond what a mere business partner would do.

  Mark figured Dan would be the one to pick him up, since he was handling the case. He just hoped their conversation would be back to the normal stuff. To that end, he flipped on the television, intending to watch the sports scores. Baseball season was just about to begin and he wanted to arm himself with some of the latest opinions on how the Chicago teams stacked up this year. Dan was a huge baseball fan and even though he was a Sox fan, Mark tried not to hold that against him--at least, not too much.

  The morning news was on, but it was all the national stories. While waiting for the local news, he slipped his shoes on. The light bandages around his feet felt constricting within the shoes. Tying the sneakers was out of the question, so he put his call light on and asked for some help when someone got a chance. It was embarrassing to have to ask, but it was just one more indignity and relatively minor so he just smiled and thanked the aide when she quickly tied the shoes for him.

  Mark couldn’t wait to get out of the hospital. He was tired of being cooped up in the same room for days on end with nothing to do but sleep. Sighing, he sat back in the chair and looked at the television. Still national stuff. He reached over and clicked it off. He would just have to wing it with Dan. In fact, that would give him something to ask the detective to help get the conversation off to a safe topic.

  There came a soft knock on the open door. “Mark?”

  Mark glanced over in surprise. He knew that voice and it definitely wasn’t Dan's. “Jessie?” His heart thumped against his ribs. He hadn’t seen her since he’d had his little breakdown. He felt his cheeks grow warm. “Wh--what are you doing here?”

  “I guess you’re getting sprung?” She approached Mark, her eyes roving the room. “I see you must have sent some of the stuff home already?” She nodded towards the empty windowsill.

  Mark nodded. “Yeah. Lily took some of it last night. The other stuff I gave to the nurses to do with what they wanted.” He scratched his head. “How’d you know I was going home? The doc only left about thirty minutes ago.”

  "News travels fast."

  "Did Lily tell you? She's the only one I told so far."

  "Sounds like Lily has been helping you quite a bit. I didn't realize you two were so close."

  She hadn't looked at him while she spoke and he had to direct his reply to her back as she focused on something outside.

  "She's been there for me. I owe her big time."

  "I guess that's what friends are for." She faced him, a big smile plastered on her face.

  Mark wondered at the emphasis on the word 'friend'. Was she implying that there was more between him and Lily? What difference would it make to her?

  Jim strode t
hrough the doorway. “This is not going to be easy.” He passed right by Mark and parted the blinds, peering through.

  “Hi, Jim.” Mark was a bit confused by his abrupt appearance and his declaration. He stood, noticing that his feet felt a little better with the shoes on. Maybe it was the extra support. He took a couple of steps towards Jim. “What’re you looking at?” Sticking his fingers between two slats, he took a quick peek and his stomach churned. The crowd, only a few dozen before, had swelled to close to a hundred, and more people milled around on the sidewalk opposite the hospital.

  “I’m just wondering how we’re going to get you out of here past the crowd and the press.” He grimaced and glanced at Mark. “Some idiot leaked that you're being discharged today and now it’s a madhouse out there.”

  Mark stepped back and sank down onto the chair. Acid burned the back of his throat and he thought he might vomit.

  * * *

  “Make some room, people!” Jim shouldered his way through the throng and brought his radio to his mouth, thumbing the talk button. “We need some more security out here!”

  It had taken some heavy convincing, but he had finally talked Taylor into holding a short press conference. Sometimes the easiest way to end a story was to simply talk with the reporters and take the mystery out of what had happened.

  Jim just hoped Mark would make it through the conference without passing out. When the guy had seen the horde, he had turned white as a sheet.

  Due to lack of space, a makeshift press area had been set up in the circle drive in front of the hospital. Traffic had been blocked off and a podium pulled from a meeting room and set up just in front of the doors facing the reporters.

  He hated that Taylor would be a sitting duck, and he knew Jessica wouldn't be happy with the plan, but this was Jim's show. The money laundering and crossing state lines, not to mention fleeing the country and then returning, had turned this into an FBI case.

  He ordered uniformed officers to check the identification of every member of the press, but there wasn’t much he could do about the crowd gathering behind the reporters. It was a hospital, after all, and some people had legitimate reasons for being there. Kern was at large and although Jim didn’t think the bastard would be able to do anything on such short notice; it still made him nervous.

  He took a final look around, making sure everything was in place. Some technicians were testing the microphones and some suits from the hospital stood several feet behind the podium. Jim rolled his eyes. He hated that they were using this to get publicity for the hospital.

  He checked that everyone was in place. Getting an affirmative from the officers, he took a deep breath. It was show time.

  * * *

  Mark stood just inside the doors and eyed the crowd with dread. He tilted his head and gulped water from the bottle someone had handed him. His mouth was still dry and he licked his lips. Why had he agreed to this? He just hoped that Jim had emphasized the ‘short’ part in the term ‘short press conference.’

  First some hospital administration were going to speak, then Jim, and then he would be last. Mark had no idea what to say to them, but Jim had told him to just answer only those questions that he wanted and to keep the replies brief. That wouldn’t be a problem.

  He felt jumpy and nervous and wished he could expend some pent up energy. Pacing was his normal outlet, but his feet were too sore and there wasn’t much room in here anyway. His knee twitched as his usual impulses were denied. Glancing around, he was relieved to see Jim speaking to some hospital security just a few feet away. The lobby was crowded, and he spotted a couple of nurses who had cared for him. They waved and smiled. He wasn’t sure if the grimace he returned would pass for a smile, but it was the best he could offer.

  There was a squeal of feedback from the microphone as the hospital president took the podium. Mark winced and returned his focus to the crowd. Behind the reporters, onlookers spread out in an arc and overflowed into the street. He could hear some calling his name randomly, as though he would be able to pick them out of the crowd.

  Taking a closer look, he wondered what would make all these people come out to see him. Every age and race seemed to be represented. He did a double take when he saw more than one wheelchair in the throng. His eyes roamed the sea of people, picking out a small child perched on sturdy shoulders, a young couple holding hands, and a woman with a dog on a leash.

  Mark squinted. Was that the same dog he saw from his window a few days ago? It could be. He smiled. The dog tangled the leash around the woman’s legs and then wandered over to a man nearby. The man wore black sweatshirt and held a large poster board. His attire sent a shiver through Mark, and he glanced at the sign and staggered backwards, almost tripping in his haste.

  The sign depicted a human figure on a cross. The figure’s coloring matched Mark’s. Even from here, he could make out red streaks on the hands and feet. The water bottle fell from his fingers. His vision narrowed and he heard a dull roar in his ears.

  “Mark!”

  Voices swirled around him and an arm went around his waist and several hands pushed down on his right shoulder.

  “Sit down, Mark. There’s a chair right behind you.”

  Mark complied and blinked a few times as his vision cleared. He looked around to find himself the center of a small group made up of the nurses, his doctor, Jim and Jessie. Everyone focused on him and he squirmed, not comfortable being the center of attention. Looking down, he realized he was sitting in a wheelchair. Embarrassment seized him and he dropped his gaze and rubbed his forehead with his thumb and fingers. Dr. Jenkins knelt in front of the chair, looking up into Mark’s face, his expression full of concern.

  “What happened, Mark?”

  Mark shook his head and let his hand fall to the armrest. “I…I don’t know. I was just looking at all…all the people and I saw a guy with a sign. I guess I got light-headed for a second.” A nurse slid in beside the chair and wrapped a blood pressure cuff around Mark’s arm.

  “Light-headed? You almost went out on us,” Jim said. “What sign are you talking about?”

  Mark didn’t want to look at it again and his arm was immobilized while the cuff squeezed it, so he just inclined his head towards the crowd in general. “Just a stupid sign. It’s nothing.” He evaded Jim’s steady look and instead watched the needle on the cuff bounce its way down.

  Jessie rested her hand lightly on his bad shoulder. “Mark, can you give us a description?”

  Mark found her regarding him with an expression he couldn’t read. He didn’t think it was pity, but it was close. “A guy in a black sweatshirt over towards the north end.”

  The nurse removed the cuff. “BP is 86 over 48. Pulse is 112, Dr. Jenkins.”

  Dr. Jenkins stood and sighed. “Well, the numbers are a little out of the normal range but not too bad. What do you want to do, Mark? You don’t have to do-”

  “I see it,” Jim broke in. “Bastard.” He raised his radio to his mouth and hurried away, motioning at some other officers to follow him as he left.

  Everyone but Mark turned to look at the sign. He didn’t need to.

  “Mark, I’ll just go out there and tell them that you aren’t up to this right now, okay?” Dr. Jenkins turned towards the front doors.

  Mark almost let him go, but then the anger that had been simmering for days boiled over. He was tired of being the victim. Tired of being the object of pity. “Wait, Doc.”

  * * *

  The doctor went first and gave a rundown of Mark’s medical status. They had discussed it when he agreed to the conference. Dr. Jenkins explained that it might make it easier if Mark didn’t have to answer too many medical questions, and Mark was only too glad to agree.

  A nurse handed Mark another bottle of water, and he downed several gulps, but his mouth still felt parched. He nudged the footrests out of the way and stood, waving off the hands extended in offers of help. “Thanks, but I can do it.”

  The podium looked a mile
away, and he felt the weight of hundreds of eyes hanging on his every move. He fumbled with the microphone, trying to adjust it to his height. As he raised his eyes to the crowd, dozens of cameras flashed, and he squinted against the dots in his vision. Was he shaking as badly on the outside as he was on the inside?

  He took a deep breath. “Uh…good morning. My name’s Mark Taylor and--”

  The crowd erupted in laughter and Mark had to smile. “Yeah, I guess you guys know that already.” He cleared his throat and continued, “I can answer a few questions if anyone has any.” Even though he knew it was beyond unlikely, there was just the tiniest flicker of hope that nobody would ask anything.

  Reporters began shouting and Mark shook his head in confusion. He wasn’t able to understand any of them. He spotted George Ortega near the front and felt a little better. He pointed at him. “Hey, George. Do you have a question?”

  The reporters quieted expectantly.

  George grinned and shot a triumphant look at the woman beside him. His face sobered before he said, “Hey, Taylor. How are you doin’?”

  Well, that was an easy enough question. “Pretty good and every day is better than the one before, so I’m…I’m doing okay. Thanks for asking.” He didn't know if that was George's only question, but his friend just smiled, so maybe this was going to be easier than he thought.

  Mark took another swallow of water, and before the questions could be shouted at him, he pointed at the woman beside George.

  “Thank you for taking my question. Can you tell us what was going through your mind when you were taken from your home?”

  “Nothing specific. I was just trying my hardest to get away.”

  After that, more questions were shouted and Mark did his best to understand them. “I had no idea what was happening at first.”

  “No, I’ve never had a relationship with Judy Medea.” He shook his head wondering how that rumor ever took hold.

  “Lily Martin had nothing to do with Medea and the missing keys. I’m sorry. I can’t discuss that aspect of the case.”