by E B Corbin
“Personally, I understand that pain and suffering can become too great to bear. But mercy killing? I struggle with questions. If we eliminate suffering by ending a life, does that not make all suffering meaningless? Does that make the suffering of Our Lord Jesus Christ useless?”
The priest shook his head. “I do not believe that life is valuable only when it is healthy. I also do not believe we are the ones to decide when we die. At the same time, I shudder to think of someone in agony. It is a concept I struggle with whenever I come across it.
“As for how this relates to Mary Margaret, I do not understand. She made no such decision to end her life. Someone else did it for her, whether it was her husband or not, it was morally wrong.” He ushered them to the door. “I hope I was able to be of some help to you.”
Henry muttered their thanks and herded Sam through the reception area. Vera sat at her desk waiting for the printer to spit out another page. She did not look up at them.
Sam climbed into the passenger seat and whooshed out a breath. “Well, that was fairly useless.”
“You never know when something will click.” Henry backed out, scanning the area for oncoming cars.
“Yeah, but Mrs. Bledsoe could have been dead while he was praying over her.”
“We’ll see what her brother has to say. He might be able to confirm whether she was breathing or not.”
“If she was already dead, that makes the housekeeper a suspect.” Sam yawned. The giggles seemed to be gone, but now she felt exhausted.
“Don’t forget Helen, the receptionist from the real estate office. Norman said she stopped by that day too.”
“This is making my head hurt,” Sam said.
“You want to quit for today? We can start again early tomorrow.”
“Let’s see what Mary Margaret’s brother has to say. Then we’ll knock off.” She pulled out her phone and entered Burt Hannopin’s address into the GPS. According to the voice on the dash, they were ten minutes away.
Henry managed to find the address even though dusk had arrived and a sleepy drizzle began to fall from the darkening sky, giving the impression that it was much later than the actual early evening.
Through streaks on the windshield, Sam made out a small house with peeling paint on the porch overhang and a weed patch for a lawn. A yellow glow peeked out from slits in the closed curtains. “Doesn’t look very inviting.”
“At least he’s home.” Henry turned off the SUV and twisted to face her. “You still want to talk to him?”
Sam shrugged. “Might as well since we’re here.”
They hurried through the mist to the relatively dry small porch and Henry rang the bell. Sam shuffled from foot to foot as they waited.
An overweight man with faded brown hair interlaced with gray, opened the door. He stared at them through dusty gray eyes, sunken into his puffy features. Bags as big as golf balls rested against bloated cheeks. “Can I help you?”
“Are you Burt Hannopin?” Sam asked.
“Who wants to know?” His voice crackled in the moist air.
“I’m Sam Turner and this is my associate Henry Samuels. We’d like to ask you a few questions about your sister.”
Burt Hannopin showed no emotion. “Only got the one sister and she’s dead.”
He began to shut the door, but Henry stuck his foot in the opening. “We know. That’s what we’d like to talk to you about.”
The man glanced down, ready to kick Henry’s foot out of the way. “Ain’t got nothing to say.”
“We just have a few questions,” Sam said. “It will only take a minute.”
The man ran a hand over the stubble on his face but made no move to open the door any further. “Whaddya want to know?”
Sam glanced at Henry before she spoke. “You visited your sister the day she died.”
“Yeah, didn’t talk to her, though. She was asleep.”
“Are you sure she was sleeping?”
Furrows appeared through the layers of fat on his forehead. “Course she was. Some priest was there before me and told me when he came out of her room.”
“So you didn’t go in to check on her?”
“What for? If you can’t believe a man of God, who can you believe?” His grin showed four yellow teeth in the front of his mouth.
“So you just left?”
“Well, I did step into the room—just to check on her, ya know. Mebbe she woke up.”
“Did she?’
“Nah. I backed out so’s not to make any noise and left.”
“Did you see anyone else in the house at the time?”
“Just that crazy daughter of hers, Stacy.”
“Did you talk to her?”
“Nah. Stacy and I don’t get along. I’m her uncle, for Christ’s sake, you’d think she’d show a little respect. But no, she followed me to the door and made damned sure it was locked behind me.”
“When you stepped into the room, could you tell if your sister was breathing?”
He reared back, holding onto the door. “Course she was breathing. That priest would’ve told me if she was dead. ’Sides, that no-account Norman wasn’t home yet. He killed her after I left.”
Sam took a step back to escape the man’s whiskey breath. “And you’re certain Mary Margaret was alive when you looked in on her?”
“Certain as I can be. I didn’t touch her or anything.” The man scratched his arm. “Why’re you two asking about this, anyway? If you’re some of them reporters, make sure you spell my name right.”
“We’re not reporters.”
The furrows reappeared on his forehead. “Then why you askin’?”
“We want to make sure we have the facts straight,” Sam said.
“You with the cops, or something?”
“No, we’re just looking into Mary Margaret’s death.” Sam took another step back and jerked her head for Henry to follow. “Sorry to disturb you.”
They heard the door slam when they were halfway down the short walk. That sound plus the increased buzzing in Henry’s head made him flinch. Henry didn’t know if the danger emanated from the man in the house or something waiting on the street. His eyes scanned the neighborhood, searching for the black van, but most of the streetlights were busted and the darkness made it impossible to see more than two houses in either direction.
Unaware of Henry’s trepidation, Sam hopped in the SUV. “This was a waste of time.”
“You don’t think he did it?”
“I didn’t say that. He could easily have done it. I don’t think he was visiting out of brotherly love.”
“What’s his motive?”
Sam sighed. “That’s what I can’t figure out.”
Henry closed Sam’s door and started around the front of the car. As he reached the driver’s side, he heard an engine start up and the sound of several horsepower barreling in his direction.
He looked up in time to see a black van materialize out of the darkness, aimed at the spot where he stood. Not one to panic, he searched for refuge. Somewhere, anywhere.
Chapter Seventeen
The buzzing in Henry’s head became a screech and he knew he didn’t have time to jump in the car or to pull his gun from its holster, so he followed his instincts and hopped on the hood of the SUV. He felt a gust of wind as the van flew past, knocking his left foot at an odd angle before he had time to swing it out of the way.
In his peripheral vision, he saw the passenger door of the SUV flung open and heard Sam cry, “Henry! Oh, my God!”
Henry pulled his Beretta and twisted on his elbow to face the sidewalk. He expected to find Sam in the clutches of the Incredible Hulk, but instead saw the ex-FBI agent crouched behind the door, her .44 aimed at the rapidly moving van.
She followed the vehicle with laser eyes, but before she could lock on the target, the van skidded around the corner, disappearing into the night.
Although pain radiated from his foot with every move, Henry managed to sit up and sli
de to the street. When he attempted to put weight on it, his left foot gave out. Holding in a cry of agony, he crumpled to the street and used his right foot to push himself close to the wheel well, fighting off spasms of nausea from the throbbing in his ankle.
As Sam rushed to his side, Henry noted she held the .44 pointed at the ground. He thought that she was wise to choose the firepower of that revolver over his snub-nose backup but the thought that it might be responsible for leading that damned van to their location flitted through his mind. Could he have missed a tracking device on the gun?
He didn’t think so, but a fresh twinge from his ankle drove that concern from his head.
“Are you all right? What did they hit?” Sam’s fingers poked and prodded at him until he slapped them away.
He sucked in a breath and tried to remain calm. “Just my foot. It feels like my ankle may be broken.”
Sam’s head swiveled from Henry to the street. “We need to move you. We’re sitting ducks out here.”
Overwhelmed by the increasing ache, he ignored the buzzing in his head as it slowly built to a crescendo. When it turned into a high-pitched whine he pushed Sam away. “Get behind the car on the sidewalk. They’re coming back.”
As he spoke, Sam heard the revving motor as the van spun around the corner behind them. They must have circled the block. She ignored Henry’s words, instead moving to the front of the SUV. Bracing her elbows on the hood, she kept her Smith & Wesson steady with both hands and watched the van pick up speed when the occupants spotted Henry lying in the street.
She hoped her .44-caliber bullets would penetrate the tires through the tread. She had to try to stop the van when it reached three or four car lengths. Any closer, it might swerve into Henry by accident. She couldn’t wait any longer for a better angle and fired off two shots at the right front tire.
The van swerved but kept coming. Now an arm with a gun poked out the passenger-side window. She knew she could hit that. One more pull on the trigger and the gun went flying through the air, the arm jerked back inside the cab of the vehicle.
Just as she was about to focus on the windshield in a last-ditch effort, the van roared past, missing Henry by inches. Despite excruciating pain, he’d managed to pull himself close to the SUV fender and keep his 9 mm trained on the van. If they wanted to hit him again, he wasn’t going down easy, but he also didn’t want to risk the driver losing control and swerving into their car, so he held his fire.
When the van never slowed but continued down the street, Sam rushed back to Henry. “We need to get out of here. Can you stand?”
Henry tested his foot by attempting to wiggle it. “I don’t think so. Help me up. I can hop around, but you’ll have to drive.”
“No problem.” Sam slung Henry’s arm around her shoulder as she guided him to the passenger door.
The noise in his head returned to a steady hum, but with the overwhelming pain, Henry no longer trusted his early-warning radar. He feared that as the throbbing in his foot grew, his instincts lessened. He hobbled into the passenger seat, using both hands to lift his leg and swing his injured foot into the SUV.
When Sam turned to circle the vehicle, she spotted the bulky frame of Burt Hannopin outlined in the open doorway to his house. “I don’t know what you people are up to, but I called the cops. Sounded like gunfire, to me. You better not cause any more problems.”
Sam lifted her arm behind her back to signify she’d heard him, but didn’t bother to answer. She jumped in behind the wheel and pushed the button to start the engine. Before she could pull away, a Portland police cruiser squealed to a halt in front of the SUV, blocking them at the curb.
Two patrol officers jumped out, unsnapping their holsters as they approached Sam and Henry. She thought they weren’t being very smart. If she were a bad guy, she could shoot them and drive off before they had time to pull their weapons. Then again, at least they weren’t trigger happy like so many cops lately.
From the spooked look on both their faces, she took them for rookies and wondered why they weren’t partnered with a more experienced officer. She dropped her revolver onto the floor and kicked it under the seat. Henry tucked his under his leg until he could holster it. No need to invite more trouble.
One of the policemen, a blond crew cut showing under his hat, pulled a foot-long Maglite from his utility belt as he strutted to Sam’s window. He bent low, the flashlight resting on his shoulder, the bright beam illuminating the interior of the SUV. “What seems to be the problem here?”
“Two men in a black van just tried to kill us.” Sam raised a hand to shade her eyes and made a motion as if to swat the annoying light away.
“Kill you?” His skepticism came through loud and clear.
“They ran into my friend as he was trying to get in the car and I think they broke his ankle.”
“Sounds like an accident to me, ma’am.” The officer signaled to his fellow patrolman. “What do you think, Tony?”
The policeman named Tony jerked at being addressed. He cleared his throat. “Hit and run, maybe, but I don’t think they were trying to kill you.”
Annoyed at being called ma’am and blinded by the beacon shining in the open window, Sam said, “Listen, you imbeciles, they circled the block and came at us a second time!”
The lawman narrowed his eyes as he stepped back, keeping the beam of the Maglite focused on Sam and Henry.
“And there’s a gun on the road about a hundred yards back,” Henry added through gritted teeth in an attempt to mitigate Sam’s outburst. He leaned forward so that his eyes met the young officer’s. “You might want to locate it before some teenager finds it in the morning.”
Blond crew cut signaled his partner to search for the gun while he pulled his Glock from his waist holster. “Would you step out of the car, please, ma’am?”
“No! Weren’t you listening? I’ve got to get Henry to a hospital. I don’t have time for this.”
The young officer waved the Glock. “Please don’t make me ask you again, ma’am. Step out of the car.”
“Just do it,” Henry whispered to her, mimicking a Nike commercial.
Sam blew out a disgusted-sounding breath. “Fine,” she called out the window before she opened the door and stepped onto the asphalt with her hands up. She glared at the officer in disgust.
Anger clouded the officer’s face as he returned her stare until his partner came running back. “I couldn’t find anything, but it’s dark up there.”
“Look harder,” Sam said. “I saw it fly out of the passenger’s hand.”
The patrolman looked to his partner for guidance. If blond crew cut was the voice of experience in this duo, then they were in trouble. “Are you sure it was a gun you saw. It could have been a can or piece of paper.”
“It was a gun,” Sam said. She debated whether or not to mention that she was former FBI and she knew a gun when she saw it. If they didn’t believe her, she could toss out Detective Munroe’s name. He could confirm her past profession.
But she wasn’t sure if the detective was friend or foe. If he knew they were poking around a different murder case, with his already existing doubts about them, he might arrest them and throw away the key. Better they try to get out of this situation without revealing too much.
The two police officers stood in the street, blue lights strobing behind them until Henry leaned over and called out the window. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to get to the hospital. My foot’s feeling worse every minute.”
Blond crew cut bent over to get a better view of Henry. He holstered his gun after he scanned up and down the street. “Very well. Follow us, we’ll escort you to the nearest emergency room. We still have a few questions.”
Sam lowered her arms, keeping an eye on the other patrolman. “You should find that gun. It’s not safe to leave it lying around.”
The men in blue looked at each other in silent communication. Finally, crew cut said, “We have to call this in. You wait here.”
>
“Can I at least get in the car? It’s freezing out here.” Without waiting for an answer, Sam slid into the driver’s seat.
While the blond patrolman went to the cruiser, his partner stood guard over them as if he expected her to make a break for it. She thought about it, but prudence reigned. She didn’t know the location of any hospitals in Portland, she’d have to rely on the knowledge of the two baby police officers.
“This is a fine mess.” Henry spoke out of the side of his mouth, keeping his head forward.
Sam kept her head down, searching the side of the seat to adjust it so her feet could reach the pedals. She finally noticed a glowing light on the dashboard with a drawing of a seat and pushed the button. As the seat began to glide forward, she kept her gaze on her feet, testing the comfort of the gas pedal and muttered, “We need to ditch these two.”
“Don’t try it,” Henry warned. He let out a small groan as he bumped his ankle by accident and a new surge of pain shot up his leg.
It might have only been minutes but it seemed like hours before the blond officer signaled to his partner. “Get in. Let’s get these two to the hospital. We’ll come back and search for the gun after we take care of these two.”
Sam followed the police cruiser’s flashing lights through the dark streets. Five minutes later, they pulled in front of the emergency doors to the Legacy Good Samaritan Medical Center. The patrolman riding shotgun hopped out and went inside.
Henry had been quiet during the ride, remaining still so as not to aggravate his ankle. Now he swiveled his head to look out the side window. “I guess we should wait here. I don’t think I can make it inside without help.”
Sam nodded in the direction of the sliding doors as they swung open to the patrolman rolling a wheelchair in front of him. “Looks like you’ll have a ride.”
She parked the car while Henry was wheeled inside, hoping that the police cruiser and its inhabitants would be gone by the time she walked into the emergency waiting room. No such luck.
The cruiser sat off to the side of the driveway, its lights finally off, but the blond officer waited for her at the admitting desk. “Since that SUV you’re driving is listed as a rental, we need an address for you in Portland. I need to see your driver’s license too.”