by Rick Reed
Chapter 17
Jack left for home. He hoped Katie hadn’t found the surprise picnic in the garage fridge. That made him think of something she had said the other day. There was a new teacher, Craig something or other, at Harwood where she worked. She said she thought he had a crush on her. She said this guy had brought her a lunch and had offered to walk her to her car. He had even broken up a fight in Katie’s classroom. Big deal. It was two twelve-year-old girls. That didn’t make him a he-man. He would have to meet this putz. Maybe show him a good place to hide a body.
He pushed Craig and a shallow grave out of his mind and thought about an evening with Katie under the stars. Wine. Hot tub. Scotch. The big head fogged up and the little head was taking over. But then another thought intruded. This one overpowered even the little head. He had been given a chance to pay Double Dick back in spades. Give him a taste of his own medicine. But he didn’t work that way. Did he? Okay, maybe he did, but he would try to get to the truth. That’s what a police investigation was all about. The truth. On television and in the media the cop was always portrayed as a villain who would lie or plant evidence to put an innocent person in jail or in the ground. That was a lie. He would try his damnedest to prove Dick didn’t commit any of these crimes. He would keep politics out of this. If he couldn’t prove Dick was innocent, Jack would frog-march him up and down Main Street. If he wasn’t guilty…well…
He was passing Deaconess when his thoughts turned again to the latest victim of this fiasco. He should check on Reina. That would mean he’d have to forgo the sex and scotch, in any order, for another thirty minutes, but then he’d go home. It was the right thing to do.
He pulled into the emergency room drive and parked behind an ambulance. It was late. It was a detective’s car. But just in case he stuck his official fbi business placard on the dash. His job with the federal task force had some benefits. Now if could get the feds to give him a take-home car, free gas and maintenance, he’d be set. He went through the double doors, waved at the off-duty policeman working the desk, and went to the employee elevator.
Coming off the elevator, he met Mrs. Day, who was just leaving.
“Is Reina asleep?” he asked.
“They won’t let her sleep, poor girl. Some nurse or other comes in every hour, taking her blood pressure, checking her pupils, asking stupid questions. Reina practically threw me out I was fussing with them so much.”
“I was going to stop by and check on her. Maybe I should just go. I’ll walk you out.”
Mrs. Day pushed the call button for the elevator. “Nonsense. She’ll be glad to see you. She hates having a policeman outside her door. They call security to relieve them even to go to the bathroom. Is she really in that kind of danger? Should I stay here with her?”
Jack said, “We have her under our protection, Mrs. Day. You need some rest too. This must be exhausting for you. I promise you she will be well taken care of.”
“Have you made any progress, Detective Murphy?” she asked. Her eyes were red-rimmed. She probably hadn’t slept well since Double Dick came a’calling. That was the problem with cold cases. To investigate them properly a detective had to dig up the past. A past that had been made peace with, or at least had brought resignation that it would never be solved.
“We’re getting a clearer picture of what happened. We’ve already talked to several officers who remember the case and we’re going to reexamine the evidence and statements. We’ve also been assigned your husband’s case on the off chance it’s involved. I’m not saying it is, but we have to consider it to cover all the bases.”
The answer seemed to satisfy her a little. The elevator doors opened and when they started to close she stopped them.
“Thank you for helping my daughter, Detective Murphy. I can’t—” Her voice broke and her eyes teared up.
Jack held the elevator door and let her get under control. She’d had one too many big shocks in the last few days. “I’ll make sure she’s okay,” Jack said reassuringly. “But I suspect she can hold her own.”
That brought a smile and she said, “She’s a fighter, that one. She’s got a lot of her father in her. Just like Max.”
“Mrs. Day, I meant to ask you something and then I’ll let you get home.”
“Anything,” she said guardedly.
“Do you have any of your husband’s work documents? Bills of sale? Who has a federal firearm license? Anything from his gun shop?” Jack asked.
“The cops called it Dirty Harry’s Gun Shop. Did you know that?”
“We heard that somewhere,” Jack said.
“Most of his customers were cops—excuse me, policemen. They were always buying or trading or wanting him to sell something for them. He was proud to help them. My Harry was always a cop at heart. He’d been in the Army and was discharged because he had a bad ticker. If he didn’t have that he would have been a cop, like you and your father.” She seemed far away for just a moment and then said, “Yes. He kept detailed records. When he died Reina was in medical school in Nashville. Vanderbilt University.
“Reina wasn’t going to run the shop. Harry always meant to keep it in the family. But he was gone and I hated guns. Still do. I sold the place to Earl Dickson. He was Harry’s competitor. He paid a good price for it and he promised to hang on to Harry’s records. That was such a long time ago that I doubt he still has them.”
Jack had seen Earl’s Gun Emporium downtown, but he’d never been inside.
“Are you sure it’s okay to visit?”
“She’s asked about you today,” Mrs. Day said.
“I’ll just stick my head in the door. Where did you park?”
Mrs. Day said, “In the emergency patient parking lot. I’ll be fine. Thank you again, Detective Murphy,” she said. “The family is grateful. I’m sure Harry would be pleased.” The elevator closed and she was gone.
Jack went around the corner and spoke briefly with Office Doolan, who was standing guard. Or sitting guard. Doolan was pulling a double shift for time-and-a-half pay.
Jack was about to knock and Doolan said, “Double Dick was up here checking on her. He didn’t go in because her mother was in there with her. He seemed scared and told me not to tell anyone he was here.”
I’ll bet he did. “Did he say what he wanted?” Jack asked.
“He didn’t say much. He acted like I was an ant to be stepped on, but it might dirty the bottom of his shoe. Is it true that he might be the new Chief?”
Jack shrugged. He wasn’t to talk to anyone if it wasn’t absolutely necessary.
The officer said, “I sure as hell hope not. He hates me.”
Mrs. Day hadn’t said anything about Dick contacting her again, so why would he risk coming to see Reina in the hospital? But then, why did Double Dick do anything? It pleased him. Or it was to his benefit. Double Dick didn’t have time for anything or anyone but himself.
“Welcome to the club,” Jack said, knocked on the door, and entered the room.
Reina was sitting in a comfortable chair beside the hospital bed. She had a blanket pulled up around her shoulders and it draped down her lap to the floor.
“How’s my favorite gunslinger?” Jack asked and this drew a smile.
“You’re so full of it,” she said. “My mother just left if you’re here to see her.”
“I’m here to check on you, Miss Day,” Jack said.
“Oh God! That makes me feel older than my mother. Call me Reina. Or Dr. Day.”
Jack pulled his familiar line. “Okay. You can call me Supreme Commander. My phone always does.”
“What do you want, Supreme Commander?” Reina asked with a straight face.
“Seriously. I just came by to check on you.”
“Well, you checked just in time. I’m going to check myself out. As you can see, I’m fine and I have things to do. I have a patient ear
ly in the morning and I’ve got to get clothes and a real shower and food. And I feel like I’m in jail. I don’t like having a policeman stand outside my door.” She started to get to her feet and a dizzy spell dropped her back in the chair.
“Maybe you can leave in the morning, Reina,” Jack said. “Doctors are always the worst patients. I’ll pull the guard off your door if you want.” He didn’t intend to release the guard. He’d just have him move down the hall a little.
“The poor man may want to do something else tonight. Maybe a doughnut shop is open,” she said jokingly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”
“You saw my partner, Reina,” Jack said. “Three hundred pounds of pure doughnut muscle.”
The smile was back and a twinkle in her eye he hadn’t seen before, but it faded as another wave of dizziness hit her. She was pale and Jack called the nurses’ station for her.
“Before she gets here, I want you to leave. A lady doesn’t like to get sick in front of a man.”
Jack got it. He stayed in the doorway until the nurse arrived.
Doolan was mimicking sticking his finger down his throat and making gagging noises.
“You realize everything in this hospital is being video-recorded,” Jack said, but it didn’t faze Doolan.
Jack got on the elevator and remembered he hadn’t asked Reina if she’d had any current run-ins with patients or a patient’s family. He’d done what a detective should never do and assumed her shooting and the theft of her purse was tied to his investigations. He felt she’d be safe enough tonight with police protection ten feet away. He’d stop at the hospital first thing in the morning and ask her more questions. Katie, his hot tub, and scotch were waiting impatiently.
* * * *
Jack didn’t notice the black SUV parked in the Superior Court parking lot when he left police headquarters. The SUV pulled slowly onto Sycamore and followed at a distance.
The SUV driver watched the Crown Vic pull into the Deaconess Hospital ER and park behind an ambulance. The SUV pulled into the ER visitors’ lot and parked facing the ER entrance. He watched Detective Murphy get out and go into the ER. He could see through the automatic doors. Murphy said something to the policeman who was working extra duty in ER. Murphy pointed out of the doors, most likely telling the officer where he’d parked so his car wouldn’t be towed. Murphy was an arrogant ass. He watched him head down the hallway toward the main elevators.
He took a hand-carved wooden box from under the passenger seat, held it on his lap, and unlatched it. Inside was the .50 caliber Desert Eagle semiautomatic, snugged into its blue velvet– lined cushion.
He pulled on a pair of tight-fitting leather gloves before touching the weapon. The weapon was produced in stainless steel, but the oils from his skin would degrade the finish. He kept part of his attention on the ER entrance as the other part of him admired the weapon that he’d been given by his father many years ago. His father had admonished him with “guns are not toys” and “never point a gun at anything you don’t intend to kill.” He never had.
He was lost in thought and had missed seeing Mrs. Day come out of the ER and she was now walking toward the SUV. He felt a small, tingling sensation at the thought that she might be coming to confront him. He took the Desert Eagle from the case, put the case on the passenger seat, and jacked a round into the chamber. If she approached him he would finish this here.
She turned left into a row of vehicles and got into a Toyota Prius. He’d seen it in her driveway when he’d gone by earlier. Nearby there was a loud blast. His finger had tightened on the Desert Eagle’s trigger. He watched her slump against the steering wheel. Her body shuddered and her arms hung down. Did she shoot herself? Had someone else? It wasn’t possible. Then he saw her shudder and recognized it for what it was. She was crying. The blast must have been a car backfiring somewhere else on the lot.
Mrs. Day was sobbing. She raised up and slammed her fists on the steering wheel. She was hysterical. Good! She’d put him through hell all these years. She couldn’t accept the fact that her snot-nosed little prick of a son was dead. She and her crazy husband had continued to stir the pot until they had to be dealt with. She should have quit while she was ahead, but now… now it was too late.
He waited patiently until, at last, she sat up, put the car in gear, and drove out of the lot. He did likewise.
She headed toward the west side down Columbia Street and north on St. Joseph Avenue. He followed, not too close. She was heading home. He knew where she lived. No need to spook her.
She turned onto Meyer Road heading west again. They were out in the country. Houses were thinning and interspersed with wooded fields. He considered running her off into a ditch, doing it here, but there were still too many houses close to the road. He knew the area well. It would have been so much better if she had stopped at the cemetery like Reina had done earlier. He could have done her there. The symbolism, the lesson, wouldn’t be lost on Reina. But this woman was like an old horse that had been out of the barn too long. It knew one direction. Home. Alone. Always alone. He would be doing her a favor.
She turned onto Kleitz Road and he dropped further back. He decided to let her get in her house. To think she was safe. Her taillights winked in the distance and disappeared as she turned into her driveway. He proceeded past the house at a normal speed and watched her making her way from the unattached garage, down the cracked walk, up two concrete steps to her porch, and then go inside.
He slowed and turned around and saw light come on in the front room. He drove to the house, pulled onto the edge of the driveway, put his headlights on the high beam, and angled the car facing the front door about twenty feet distant.
The front door opened and Mrs. Day stood framed in the doorway, squinting, one arm held up to block the bright light. He watched her. She was curious, scared, but more curious. More stupid than scared. He left the engine running and stepped out of the SUV with the Desert Eagle held down by his leg.
“Mrs. Day,” he said loud enough to be heard.
Her head cocked. She couldn’t see him. He was just a shape. But she was listening, trying to discern the voice. He stepped closer. “Mrs. Day,” he said again, a little louder.
She stooped a little, her hand held up to block the light. He saw realization dawn as he stepped forward. She dropped her arm, her shoulders slumped, and she said, “You.”
He stepped forward so she could see his face more clearly. “Yes. It’s me, Mrs. Day,” he said, raised the gun, and blew the top of her head off.
The impact knocked her backwards through the open door. He walked up on the porch, kicked her foot inside the door, and pulled it shut. He got back in the SUV, wiped the slide and receiver down with a soft cloth to get the burned gunpowder off. He admired the gun, the weight, the perfect balance, before he put it back in the box and shut the lid. He backed out of the driveway and turned west.
He wasn’t worried about the noise. People were always shooting guns out here in the country. The only thing on his mind now was the enormous muzzle flash the Desert Eagle made. Flames shot out of the muzzle two or three feet. A fireball. Blinding. Spots still danced across his field of vision. It was the cleanest kill yet.
Chapter 18
Jack parked inside his garage and retrieved the picnic from the fridge and set it on a little table on the back patio. He was proud of the small additions he’d made to the house since moving back in with Katie. This was his house when he was growing up, and he’d purchased it from his mother after his father passed away and she’d moved to a Florida retirement community. He’d brought his new wife to live here and they had made it their home. Everything was perfect. Perfect wife, perfect life. Perfect pregnancy. And then they lost the baby; a little girl, full-term, stillborn, no explanation.
Jack had never gotten over the sight of Katie, blood running down her legs, pale to the point of death, rushing her
to the hospital, and then he fell into the mental void where waiting, patience, fear, and anger met and fought for his attention. He was mad at Katie, mad at himself, mad at the doctors for not seeing this coming, mad at Him. How could He have allowed this to happen? What had he, or Katie, or Caitlyn, the baby they were trying for—what had any of them done to deserve this? He got sick to death of people telling him, “It’s God’s plan. She’s in a better place now.” Talk like that made him want to knee someone in the nuts. She wasn’t in a better place. She should have been at home. With them. That was the better place. He was Catholic and wanted badly to believe in heaven, but he’d lived most of his adult life in hell or sending assholes there. He needed to chill. Have a scotch. But the past wasn’t done with him.
After Caitlyn was buried, Jack had thrown himself into his job. He’d begun neglecting the things he’d talked about doing when they’d moved into the house. The yard turned to weeds. The fence needed whitewashing. The garage needed roofing. He was neglecting his friends. Neglecting Katie. He found himself becoming impotent, and not just sexually. He felt unable to breathe sometimes and was on meds to control his anxiety, but that only shifted the problem to drinking.
Katie had withdrawn. He was losing her too. He had finally put them out of their misery and they divorced. He gave her the house and he’d moved into the river cabin he’d inherited from his father. He buried himself in his job and drinking became a requirement. He’d tried to pull himself out of the pit he was digging, but the more he tried, the deeper he dug. Through it all Katie hadn’t abandoned him. Not completely, anyway. He’d fought his way back to her and would never leave her again.
He remembered that while they were apart, he had dated around, had come close to getting engaged, but it didn’t work out. Katie had dated a couple of guys and it bothered him even though he was seeing someone else. It didn’t really get to him until she announced her engagement. Then he had a come apart.
He looked across the spacious backyard. Katie’s engagement party had taken place right there. A smooth-talking Chief Deputy Prosecutor had come along and swept her off her feet. Eric Manson, tall, dark and a dickhead. Eric had deserted Katie without a word and fled Evansville when he came under indictment for his part in a sex scheme run by his boss, not to mention he was complicit in the death of the then-prosecutor. But the prosecutor’s office had survived both of their absences. Cut the head off one snake and five more grew in its place.