Chasing Shadows

by Lila Bruce

  She sighed and looked over at the woman sitting in a wheelchair near the big sliding glass doors of the Emergency Room, her eyes closed, a white mask over her face and low moans emanating from her as she rubbed her belly. Her—Husband? Baby daddy?— loosely held her hand while watching YouTube videos on his cellphone, completely ignoring the three children who presumably belonged to him, and who were running around the waiting room, playing some made up, complicated version of tag. Its only rule seemed to be that when one of the other kids got near them, the rest had to jump up, scream at the top of their lungs, and try their best to knock somebody down as they got away. Twenty-three minutes in and most of Avery’s nerves had died agonizing deaths, her last one hanging on by a shred.

  The video their sperm donor was watching on his cell phone seemed to consist, from what Avery could tell, of a group of men alternately laughing or shouting incoherently at each other while other men played video games. It was the most annoying thing she’d ever heard, hands down, and if this guy did that all the time, it was a wonder he wasn’t the one to have to go to the ER. Avery would have taken a frying pan to the side of his head years ago. Any second now that last nerve was going to snap, and she would slap that phone right out of his hand.

  As for Bishop, he and Chuck Jackson had been whisked away inside behind the double doors as soon as they arrived. The charge nurse had promised she’d come for Avery and Hobbs as soon as the doctor finished his examinations and the test results had come back in.

  Shaye and a few of the crew from Cam’s show were at the far end of the waiting room, waiting on news of their makeup woman, Louise, who Bishop had mowed down in his escape attempt. Deciding it was best for all involved if she moved as far away from the YouTube family as possible, Avery walked down to the row of chairs where Shaye was sitting and expressed her concern over Louise’s condition.

  “Louise was talking in the ambulance on the ride over,” she said, not seeming troubled by the entire affair. “The paramedics said they thought she’d be fine. Just a few bruises. She’s waiting on X-rays to be read by the doctor before she can be released.” Shaye blew out a long sigh. “I’ll be glad to get back to the hotel and rest. This has been quite a night.”

  “Well, let me know how she is,” Avery said. “I’m really sorry she was in the line of fire, so to speak.”

  “She’ll be fine.” Shaye waved away her concerns and actually smiled. “And the ratings for this one will be through the roof.”

  As Avery got up to rejoin Hobbs, the ER nurse he’d spoken to earlier came out and called her name. Finally! The nurse motioned for them to follow her through the double doors leading out of the waiting area. “Sorry you’ve had to wait so long. It’s pretty crowded back there tonight.”

  “No problem,” Avery murmured as the nurse led them through winding corridors lined with hospital equipment and the occasional gurney. “How’s the patient?”

  “The doctor’s been by, and we’ll probably release him soon,” the nurse advised. “There’s no sign of any skull fracture or concussion. He just needed a few stitches for the head laceration. We’re waiting on one more test result and then he can go home.”

  Avery nodded, relieved to hear that there was no serious injury, given the amount of blood there had been back at the house. “I need to speak to him first.”

  “Of course. He’s in Room 12.” She pointed to the far end of the corridor. “Last room on the right.”

  “We can find our way, thanks.” Avery smiled her thanks to the nurse and continued down the hall. Once they reached Bishop’s room, Avery turned to Hobbs. “Tell you what…why don’t you go talk to the staff and see that we’re not disturbed. The last thing we want is for a nurse to barge in right in the middle of a confession.”

  “Do you really think we’ll get one?”

  “Maybe,” she shrugged. “Stranger things have happened.” Which, she decided, watching Hobbs hustle back toward the nurses’ station, may have been the understatement of the year. Taking a deep breath, she pushed open the door and stepped inside. Bishop, sitting up on the hospital bed with a pillow propped behind his back, seemed surprised to see her. A large, rectangular gauze bandage covered his forehead.

  Avery took up position at the foot of the bed. “Hey, Buddy. How are you feeling?” She noticed that Bishop’s blood-stained shirt had been replaced by a green scrubs top.

  “Like I’ve just knocked the piss out of myself. How do you think I feel?” He frowned and sat up straighter in the bed. “What do you care, anyway?”

  “Just making sure you’re okay…Buddy. You really did a number on yourself back there.”

  “I’m not your damned buddy,” he scowled. “And you can tell the sheriff that I don’t need a ride back to the station.” Crossing his arms, Bishop sat back into the bed. “I don’t suppose you saw that damned doctor with my release on your way in?”

  The door opened then, and Hobbs walked in. Avery gave him a small nod as he moved past her to stand beside the hospital bed. Avery watched Bishop, his gaze darting back and forth between she and Hobbs, for a long moment before pulling out her phone. Clicking on the voice recorder, she said, “Hobbs.”

  Hobbs cleared his throat and moved closer to Bishop. Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out a small notepad and flipped it open to the first page. “David Bishop, you have the right to remain silent.”

  Bishop’s eyes became saucers as Hobbs continued to read him his rights. “What the fuck kind of game are you two playing here, Smith?” Avery ignored him, instead keeping her gaze pinned on Bishop as she listened to Hobbs read the Miranda warning.

  “Do you understand these rights as I’ve explained them to you?” the young officer concluded.

  “Of course I know my goddamned rights, damn it.”

  “Do you want a lawyer?”

  His cheeks red, the veins in his neck popping, Bishop spit out his response to Avery’s question. “What I want is for someone to tell me what the hell is going on.”

  Avery took in a deep breath as she debated on how best to begin. She’d known Bishop long enough to know that there was nothing he loved more than the sound of his own voice. Given the opportunity, there was a good chance that he would implicate himself in Jennifer Morris’s death, if not admit to killing her altogether. All she had to do now was give him enough rope to hang himself.

  She folded her arms and stared down at him. “Why are you so upset?”

  Bishop’s nostrils flared as he took up a defensive position in the bed. “Who said I was upset?”

  “Well,” she said, “you took off out of the séance like a bat out of hell. Almost knocked people down getting outside. Then ran all over a poor makeup woman. So what happened back there? Things getting a little too close to home there for you?"

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Bishop growled. “I never wanted to do that damned séance thing in the first place. I don't believe in all that crap. Sitting there in the dark holding hands like a bunch of pansies. It was stupid. And then that-that woman faked a ghost!”

  “Nobody faked anything, Bishop.”

  “Bullshit. I saw that mist coming toward the table. I didn't like it so I left.”

  “You didn’t just leave. You ran out of there like there was something after you. Why was that? Is there something you'd like to get off your chest?”

  “Again, I’d like to know what the hell you’re talking about.” The bandage on his forehead began to fold as he furrowed his brow. “Wait…let me guess. You’re still pissed about getting kicked off the Morris case. That’s what all this is about, isn’t it?”

  Avery shook her head. She could tell from his tone that Bishop was going to attempt to take control of the conversation. Not happening.

  “You want to tell me why you did it?” she asked, her voice low and steady.

  “Why I did what?”

  “C’mon, Bishop, there’s no point in playing around.”

  “You’ve lost me.” He frowned.
“What is it I’m supposed to have done?”

  “We know you killed Jennifer Morris,” Hobbs burst out before Avery could say another word.

  Damn it, Hobbs. They’d agreed earlier that Hobbs would read Bishop his rights and leave the rest to Avery. So much for that...

  Bishop barked out a laugh and shook his head as he leaned back into the pillow. “You’ve lost your damned mind. Both of you. What is this, some kind of joke?”

  “Nobody’s laughing.”

  Bishop regarded Avery and Hobbs quietly, the ticking of the oversized clock that hung above the door the only sound. Finally, he said, “You’re actually serious. Why the hell would I kill that woman, I didn’t even know her.”

  “I didn’t say you killed her…unless that was a confession?”

  “Hardly.”

  “But you did know her, didn’t you, Bishop? You took the report she made on finding the diary that belonged to Roxanne Johnston.” Avery took a step toward the bed and inclined her head. “Which begs the question, why didn’t you say something at the murder scene? Why didn’t you identify her then?”

  “Remember,” Hobbs broke in, “he told Deputy Brooks that it was probably some meth-head.”

  “That’s right.” Avery gave a slow nod. “Why would you do that, Bishop, unless you were hoping to throw off the investigation? Or maybe you were hoping there wouldn’t be an investigation at all.”

  “Now look…” For the first time, Bishop began to look rattled. The color in his face was ashen, and it looked to Avery that he was taking tight, nervous breaths. “I never saw that girl’s body that day in the woods. The Chief sent me over to handle that mess with your little girlfriend and the real estate agent before I got two steps towards it.”

  “Then why say that to Brooks?”

  “Hell, I don’t know. I was just shooting the shit, you know how it is.” Bishop rubbed at the back of his head. “Besides, I wasn’t the first one to say it.”

  “Oh, who was?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “You don’t remember?”

  Bishop visibly swallowed and shook his head. “No.”

  “What about after?” Avery asked, crossing her arms. “After the identity came out, why didn’t you say something then? Didn’t you think it was odd that Jennifer Morris would come to you, report what she thought was a murder, and then turn up dead herself?”

  “Give me a fucking break.” Bishop made a snorting sound. “Report a murder? With what evidence? Some old diary she got in a yard sale?” He stopped and cocked his head, his eyes narrowing. “How did you find out about that anyway?”

  “I’ve got my sources,” Avery answered, keeping her voice level. Maybe ghost informants weren’t the strongest evidence to bring into things.

  “Hmpf. Well, your sources should tell you that we get crazies like her in all the time. I just happened to be the detective on call when she came in. All I did was fill out a report and send her on her way.”

  There was a knock at the door a second before the charge nurse stepped inside. “Sorry to interrupt, but I need to get one last vial of blood from Detective Bishop.”

  Irritated at the interruption, Avery nodded and moved away from the bed. From the nurse’s expression, it was obvious she wanted the room cleared. “Bishop…” Avery warned.

  He scowled in response. “Don’t worry, Smith. I ain’t going nowhere.”

  Avery motioned Hobbs to follow and stepped out into the hallway.

  Closing the door behind him, Hobbs said, “What do you think?”

  Avery shook her head as she collected her thoughts. As much as she hated to admit it, Bishop sounded credible in his denial. “I don’t know,” she muttered. “I think—”

  “Trey! Oh, Trey!”

  Avery gave a startled jump and peered down the hallway in the direction of the shrill voice. A plump, middle-aged woman wearing a bright yellow dress burst through the doors to the waiting room and bounded down the hall in their direction.

  “Oh, Trey, thank the Lord you’re okay.”

  She rushed over and threw her arms around Hobbs, who straightened up and tried to push her gently away. “Mama? What are you doing here? Of course I’m okay.”

  “It said on the news that one of the sheriff’s deputies was badly injured out there at the old Johnston house, and you know me, Trey, my mind went straight to the worst-case scenario. I knew you were out there and…”

  Hobbs looked at Avery, his cheeks flushed in embarrassment, and then back to his mother. He took her by the arm and walked away from Bishop’s room. “Mama, please. You know nothing is going to happen like that. Beside, Uncle Steve would’ve called you if anything was wrong.”

  Avery couldn’t help but grin as Hobbs’s mother rolled her eyes and made a tutting sound. “Well, maybe he would and maybe he wouldn’t.” The woman shook her head. “Knowing Buddy, he’d be too afraid to call me himself. He’s the one that got you into this godawful job that keeps me up at night.”

  For just a second it seemed that everything in the corridor came to a stop. The smile falling off her face, Avery straightened, turning her head to the side. “I’m sorry, d-did you say Buddy?”

  The woman turned to her and held out her hand. “Oh hey, hon. I’m Trey’s mama, Emma Mae Hobbs? You must be Avery Smith. My boy has talked a lot about you, and of course, I know your grandma, Mildred.”

  “Yes, ma’am. It’s nice to meet you. But did you say…Buddy?”

  “Yes.”

  Avery swallowed, pushing down the foul taste of bile. “Chief Deputy Ramsey?”

  “That’s right, my brother. It’s a silly nickname from when we were kids, I don’t think anybody but me calls him that anymore.” Emma Mae flashed a glance at her son. “Is there a problem?”

  Avery had heard people say their blood ran cold all her life, but she’d never really understood what they meant by it.

  Until now.

  Buddy was Chief Deputy Ramsey, and not Bishop! And—oh dear God—she’d left her grandmother, Jane, and Cam all alone in that house with him. With a man who in all likelihood had already killed two women. A man who, if this came out, would have nothing left to lose.

  The diary—Roxanne Johnston’s diary—that Cam had been insistent they bring to the séance, flashed into Avery’s mind.

  She managed to get out a strangled sounding “Hobbs! We have to hurry!” before rushing down the corridor, through the double doors, and headlong past the people in the waiting room. She hurdled over one of the kids still playing tag, stumbling out the glass doors and heading for the car.

  Damn it, it might already be too late—especially if Ramsey found out about the diary. He could have already tried to cover his tracks the only way he seemed to know how, while she sat there in that waiting room from hell, chasing after shadows. She pulled out her radio and then reluctantly put it back.

  He’d have his radio on, too, damn it.

  “Hobbs, get on your cell phone and call for back up,” she called out as Hobbs finally exited the hospital. “Tell them to meet us at the Johnston house. And maintain complete radio silence. If Chief Deputy Ramsey calls in, let them know not to tell him we’re on the way!”

  Hobbs looked shell-shocked, but followed suit as Avery slid into the Impala. “But-but what’s going on? Why are we going back out there?” he turned frightened eyes on Avery. “Does this…does this have something to do with my uncle?”

  The expression on his face told her that he’d already figured it out for himself. Avery nodded. “Yes, Hobbs. I’m afraid it does.”

  “Y-yes, ma’am,” he said in a soft voice, only the tightening of his hands on the steering wheel showing his feelings.

  Maybe, Avery thought, as Hobbs wheeled the Impala out of the hospital parking lot, they’d get lucky and Ramsey would think that the goings on tonight with Bishop were enough to cover his tracks. After flipping on the car’s lights and sirens, she leaned back into the passenger seat, her thoughts racing. Cam had never g
otten around to using the diary, so there was no reason for him to suspect that they even had it. Just so long as no one mentioned it, they should be okay. If they did….Ramsey would have nothing to lose if they did. Nothing at all.

  ****

  Mildred pushed the last chair under the table in the dining area and looked around. “Well, I think it’s as straightened up as it’s ever going to be. Why don’t you go round up Cam? I want to catch McDonalds before they close. I’m starving half to death.”

  Jane put the finishing touches on folding the tablecloth they’d used in the séance and then bobbed her head before scurrying out of the room in search of Cam.

  Because she knew it would irritate Jane, Mildred called after her, “And be quick about it! Those kids’ll have the shake machine broken down if we don’t hurry.” She grinned when she heard Jane’s muffled response, adding, “And tell her not to forget that diary! I’m sure Avery will be needing it.”

  Chuckling to herself, Mildred walked out of the dining room and to the den, remembering the box of electronic gadgets—any of which would fetch a nice price on Ebay—she’d seen there earlier. If she was lucky, the TV people wouldn’t have collected it just yet.

  “What were you saying about a diary, Mrs. Smith?”

  Mildred jumped at the voice, turning to see Chief Deputy Ramsey hovering in the doorway of the dining room. “I thought you’d already left.”

  “I was just about to,” he said, stepping closer. “I couldn’t help but hear you say something about a diary?” He was already seated at the table when she’d arrived earlier in the evening, and she was surprised now to see how tall he was. Even though his hair was graying and he was dressed in a simple white shirt and black slacks, there was no mistaking that he was a cop. He just had that look about him.