Sisterhood (30 page)

Dressed in the orderly’s whites Hyacinth had provided, Vincent had encountered no problem in making his way from a rear entrance to Trauma 12. He grudgingly acknowledged Dahlia’s wisdom in ordering him to wait by a phone near Doctors Hospital. “A hunch,” she had called it. He had balked at the prospect of strolling into the emergency ward, but assurances that the emergency ward police were all occupied and the promise of
a bonus had convinced him to try. Now he silently applauded himself for the decision.

“You’ve been a great pain in the ass, Dr. Shelton,” he growled. “I have half a mind to make this hurt more than it should. But because at least you tried, I’m gonna make it quick and easy.”

David watched helplessly, his eyes spheres of terror as Vincent raised a knife over his face, giving him a clear view of the ugly tapered blade.

With his hand still pressed over David’s mouth, the killer hooked two thick fingers beneath his chin and pulled up. “One slice, just like a surgeon,” he whispered, drawing the dull side of the blade slowly across David’s exposed neck.

“For God’s sake, wait! I didn’t do anything,” was all David could think of in that final moment. Eyes closed, he listened for his own death scream. Instead, he heard a loud thud and the clatter of Vincent’s knife on the floor. His eyes opened in time to see the killer’s body lurch sideways, then crumple over. Behind him, Joey Rosetti lifted the heavy revolver he had used as a club, preparing, if necessary, for another blow.

“Nice place you run here, Doc,” Joey said, quickly undoing the restraints. “If I ever need another operation, remind me to go back to White Memorial.”

“He’s the man,” David blurted excitedly. “The man who killed Ben. He … he was going to …”

“I know what he was going to do,” Joey said, unbuckling the restraints. “Leonard an’ me have met before. He does it for a living. The shit. If he’s after you, my friend, then you are into some serious business.”

David sat up. This time the dizziness was bearable. Instinctively he rubbed his hand over his throat. The rush of terror had done more to bring him around than had anything else. “Joey, get me out of here,” he begged. “Shoot that animal, then get me out of here. We’ve got to find Christine.”

Joey glanced at Vincent, who was lying on one side, his face contorted by the tiled floor. “We’ll let the cops take care of Leonard,” he said. “I promised Terry I wouldn’t use my gun—at least, the other end of it—unless I had to. Someone will find him here. Can you walk? Where the hell are your pants?”

“There, over there on the chair. I … I think I can walk with a little help.” David slipped off the table and steadied himself against Joey’s arm. His ankle throbbed but held weight as he wriggled into his damp, muddy jeans. “Joey, there’s this woman, Christine Beall. She’s the only one who can straighten out the mess I’m in. We’ve got to find her.” He sighed relief at the realization that, at last, his thoughts were coming out intelligibly.

“Okay,” Joey said, “but first we’ve got to drift out of this place with as little commotion as possible. I saw this gorilla here dressed up like a doctor or something heading for your room. Nobody else even looked twice at him. I figured he wasn’t going in to give you a checkup. Now listen—my manager’s parked by the front door. Let me get a wheelchair. We’ll go as far as we can with that, then run like hell. It’s a red car, an Olds or Chrysler or some ox like that. Do you remember it?”

David shook his head. “I’ll find it, Joey, don’t worry. Let’s just get the hell out of here.”

Rosetti helped him into a wheelchair, then casually pushed it down the trauma wing corridor and across the reception area. As the electronic front doors slid open, a woman’s voice behind them called out, “Hey, you two, where are you going?”

David scrambled out of the chair and hung on to Joey’s arm as they raced the last few yards to the Chrysler. “No rubber,” Joey panted as they dove into the back seat.

Rudy Fisher nodded and eased past two parked cruisers down the sweeping circular driveway and off toward Boston’s North End.

*  *  *

Janet Poulos stood helplessly to one side of the reception area and watched them go. She had told Dahlia nothing of her abortive attempt to handle matters. Now she had another decision to make—whether or not to see if Leonard Vincent was alive and needed help. Since she was the only person the man could identify if he were arrested, the decision was not difficult.

She stopped by the crash cart, took several ampules of pancuronium, and dropped them into her pocket. The respiratory paralysis caused by the drug helped maintain respirator patients. Well, now it would help her, too, provided she had the chance to use it. If not, she would have to find a way to help the man escape. Perhaps she could still salvage some heightened prestige in Dahlia’s eyes.

Janet cursed her rotten luck and David Shelton for causing her
so
much difficulty. Then she stalked down the hall to Trauma 12, hoping she would find Leonard Vincent dead.

“Ouch! What is that stuff?” David winced as Terry Rosetti scrubbed at the dirt embedded in the deep gouge along his arm.

“Just something I use to clean the windows,” she said. “Now sit still and let me finish.”

The Rosettis’ North End apartment was old, but spacious and newly renovated. Terry had decorated the place with grace, making full use of a collection of family furniture that would have been welcome in any of the posh antique shops on Newbury Street.

David lay stretched out on the large oak guest bed, savoring the smell and texture of fresh linen and wondering if he would ever feel warm again. He was weak, lightheaded, and aching in a half-dozen different places. Still, he could sense his concentration improving as the mental fog brought on by his hypothermia began to lift.
He silently thanked Joey for reasoning him out of an immediate search for Christine in favor of a hot shower.

Terry Rosetti, a full-breasted, vibrant beauty, expertly wrapped his arm in gauze. “Fettuccini and first aid,” David said. “You are truly the complete woman.”

Terry’s smile lit up the room. “Tell that to your friend out there. I think he’s starting to take me for granted. Do you know he was actually able to stop in the middle of making love to me to answer the phone when you called?”

“No wonder it seemed to be ringing forever,” he said. “I almost hung up.”

“It’s a lucky thing you didn’t,” Terry said. “David, Joey didn’t
kill
that man, did he?”

The fear in her eyes left no doubt of the importance his answer held for her. “I wanted him to pull the trigger back there, Terry. I really did. That animal killed my friend. But Joey said he’d promised you and backed off.”

Terry Rosetti swallowed at the lump in her throat.

At that moment, Joey marched into the room, carrying a load of clothes, a pair of crutches, and the Boston phone book. “I think this must be the woman,” he said. “C. Beall, 391 Belknap, Brookline. I checked the other books and this is the only name that fits. By the way, the clothes and shit are courtesy of the North End Businessman’s Association.”

“What’s that?” asked David.

“Oh, just some simple business types like me who like to help poor, unfortunate folks that get chased into the river by a gorilla.” Joey smiled conspiratorially at Terry and winked. He failed to notice her lack of reaction. “You feel up to traveling, Doc?” he asked.

“Yeah, sure. What time is it anyway?”

“Twelve thirty. It’s a new day.”

“Three hours.” David shook his head in amazement. “It’s only been three hours …”

“What?”

“Nothing, hand me the phone, please. I only hope she’s all right.”

Joey squinted down at him. “You positive
you’re
all right?” he asked.

“Sure, why?”

“Well, you’re the one with the education an’ the degrees an’ shit. All I got goin’ for me is my street smarts. Just the same, I can think of at least six or seven good reasons why we would want to tell this C. Beall what we have to tell her face to face, not over the phone. Remember, you’ve already been arrested for murder. Right now that woman’s your only hope of gettin’ off.”

David understood instantly. If Christine had nothing to do with Ben’s death, the news could panic her into a hasty, possibly fatal move. If she was somehow involved or had knowledge of who might have hired Leonard Vincent … He wouldn’t allow himself to complete the thought. “When this is all over,” he said, “I’m going to write my medical school and tell them to bring you in as a guest lecturer. You could teach medical students about making it in the real world. Let’s go find her.”

Ten minutes later, they were back in Rudy Fisher’s car headed toward Brookline. “Don’t push it too hard, Rudy,” Rosetti ordered. “We don’t want to get stopped. If Vincent already got paper for the woman, all the fancy driving in the world isn’t gonna help.” David grimaced and looked out the window.

After a mile of silence, Joey said, “Doc, there’s somethin’ I want to tell you. Call it a lesson if you want, since you’re gonna make me a teacher.”

David turned toward his friend, expecting to see the wry glint that usually accompanied one of his stories. Joey’s eyes were narrowed, dark, and deadly serious. “Go on,” David said.

“Leonard Vincent may not be the slickest operator in
the world, but he is a pro. And as long as he or someone like him’s in the picture, you’re gonna be playing by his rules. Understand?” David nodded. “Well, we don’t have much time, so I’m gonna make the lesson simple for you. There’s only one rule you gotta know. One main rule for survival in Vincent’s game. I didn’t follow it back there in the hospital because Terry made me promise not to. But you got no Terry, so you pay attention and do what I say. If you even think someone’s gonna do it to you, you damn well better do it to him first. Understand?” He slipped his gun into David’s pocket. “Here. Whatever happens, I got a feelin’ you’re gonna need this more than me. Terry’ll make you something real special when she hears you got it away from me.”

John Dockerty knelt by the door to David’s apartment and watched as the medical examiner’s team finished working around Ben’s body and wheeled it into the elevator. He looked up at the patrolman who had been making inquiries in the other apartments on the floor. The man shrugged and shook his head. “Nothing,” he mouthed.

The news came as no surprise to Dockerty. Survival in the city meant hearing, seeing, and reporting as little as possible. He picked at the bullet holes in the doorjamb, then retraced the steps it seemed the action had taken. There was blood smeared on the hallway floor and wall of David’s apartment and along the bottom of the open bedroom window. He made a note to check David’s military and health records for mention of his blood type.

A fatal knife wound, bullet holes, blood all over, an old drunk shot to death two blocks away, and not one witness. Dockerty rubbed at the fatigue stinging his eyes and tried to re-create the scenario. There were
several possibilities, none of which looked good for Shelton. He had little doubt the man was dead.

At that moment David’s phone began ringing. Dockerty hesitated, then answered it.

“Hello?”

“Lieutenant Dockerty, please.”

“This is Dockerty.”

“Lieutenant, it’s Sergeant Mcllroy at the Fourth. We just got a call from one of our people at Doctors Hospital. Apparently this David Shelton—you know, the one you busted for that mercy killing?”

“Yeah, I know, I know.”

“Well, this Shelton showed up a little while ago on the emergency ward all smashed up. I called your precinct and they said you’d want to know about it right away.”

“Tell your people to hold him at the hospital,” Dockerty said.

“Can’t. He’s gone. Took off with some guy a few minutes after he arrived. No one realized it until too late. Our men were off taking statements from two assholes who had a shoot-out at the High Five Bar.”

“Who the hell was the guy?” Dockerty’s head began to throb.

“Don’t know.”

“Well, isn’t it on Shelton’s emergency sheet?”

“That’s just it. There is no emergency sheet. The clerk swears she typed one out, but now no one can find it.”

“Jesus Christ. What in the hell is going on?”

“Don’t know, sir.”

“Well, tell the men at the hospital I’ll be right over. They’re not to let anyone leave who saw Shelton. No one. Got that?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Jesus Christ.” Dockerty dropped the receiver in
place and swept some strands of hair off his eyes and back under his hat. It was going to be a long goddamn night.

Rudy Fisher made three passes along Christine’s street before Rosetti felt certain there were no “surprises.” He directed the giant to wait half a block away, then helped David up the concrete steps to the house. “Old Leonard’s probably having a time of it right now.” Joey laughed. “I can just imagine him trying to weasel his way out of that situation in the hospital with the only ten or twelve words that he knows.”

David braced himself on his crutches and peered through the row of small panes paralleling the door. He moved gingerly, but even a slight turn or drop of his head brought renewed dizziness and nausea. The prolonged hypothermia, he realized, had somehow impaired his balance center or perhaps his body’s ability to make quick blood-pressure adjustments.

The house was dark, save for a dim light coming from a room on the right—the living room, David guessed. He glanced at his watch. Nearly 1:00
A.M
.

“I guess we ring the bell, huh?” David asked nervously.

“Well, Doc, given the options, I’d say that was your best bet. I’m glad you’re not this tense in the operating room.”

David managed a laugh at himself, then pressed the bell. They waited, listening for a response. Nothing. David shivered and knew that the chill reflected more than the fine, wind-driven mist. He rang again. Ten seconds passed. Then twenty.

“Do we break in?” he asked.

“We may have to, but I’d suggest trying the back door first.” Joey walked to the street and motioned to Rudy Fisher that they were going around to the back. David gave the button a final press, then fought through a wave of queasiness and followed.