Authors: Teri Riggs
“Here, try a little sip of water. Let me help you.”
Nick supported her head as she drank slowly and awkwardly through a white, flexible straw. She felt winded, couldn’t quite catch her breath.
Nick pulled back the straw. “That enough?” “It was good.” She licked her lips.
Nick took her hand and she let him hold it.
“You’ve had a long, hard night, Detective. The doctor’s been in and out several times. Tommy and I’ve been taking turns sitting with you.”
“They let you stay?”
“I took advantage of my seat on the hospital board. Tommy was grateful for the favor.”
Tommy?” You’re on a first name basis with Grandpa?”
He twisted his fingers in a knot, looking pleased with himself. “Practically best buds.”
“That’s just great.”
Nick nodded. “Your partner stayed until he had to leave for LVTVS.”
“He’s waiting for an AFTER picture.” It was a statement not a question. “The killer dropped an envelope next to me, right? I was supposed to be one of his victims. Sick shit.”
“Yes, he left a picture at the scene. One of you and me at the coffee shop.” “Everything is still kind of fuzzy.”
“That’s understandable. Looking at the bruising on the side of your face, I’d say the killer walloped you a good one. How are you feeling?”
“Like I was on the downside of an elephant stampede. I’m really not dead?”
“No, you’re not dead.”
“I thought I died and went to Graceland.”
“Did your doctor check you for a head injury?” She heard the humor in his voice, saw the smile, dimples and all.
“Never mind, I’m sure I’ll have an explanation for that one later.”
“You’re in UMC’s Trauma Unit. The low-life bastard stabbed you in the back, barely missed your kidney.”
“No wonder my back hurts like a bitch.” She tried to stretch her legs, but the pain intensified. She settled on her present position.
“Did you get a look at the man who attacked you?”
“No, I didn’t see his face. Only his feet. A hand. And loafers. Yeah, he had on shiny, brown loafers.”
“Did he say anything you remember? Maybe you recognized his voice?”
“No. Just told me he was going to rape me before he killed me.” She hesitated, not sure if she really wanted to know the answer to the question she needed to ask. Her voice cracked when she finally asked, “Did he?”
“No, sweetheart, he didn’t rape you.” She didn’t miss the tenderness in his voice.
“Well. Okay then.” Her voice trembled. “That’s good.” “Yeah, that’s good.”
“He kept calling me love. And now that I think about it, his voice was kind of familiar. I need to tell Wilder this stuff.” Gripping the bed’s guard rail, she tried to sit up, but fell back in the bed, exhausted and hurting.
“Stay still, Irish. I’ll put in a call to Detective
James for you.” Nick smoothed
back her hair and wiped at the tears that fell from
her eyes. Damn, she hated to
cry.
She sniffled. “Where did you say Grandpa went?”
“He just stepped out to get some coffee. Why don’t you lie back and rest until he comes back?”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine. You were almost killed.”
“But I wasn’t. And this? ‘Tis but a flesh wound,” she quipped as she pointed to her side. Nick was still frowning and she added, “Don’t worry. I’ll be out kicking ass and taking names by tomorrow.”
He kissed her hand. “I hear you can’t keep a good cop down.”
She pulled her hand out of his grasp and slid it inside the sandwich of crispy white hospital sheets, then closed her eyes and floated back into the blissful darkness.
Nick
waited until her breathing grew heavy before he slipped out of Kennedy’s room. John was off the respirator and breathing on his own, a mask feeding him a steady stream of oxygen. His skin was no longer the waxy, pale color it had been earlier. Nick went straight to the room’s small closet, pulled out the white plastic patient bag containing John’s clothes and looked inside. He found what he was looking for.
John’s shoes. His well worn Nike tennis shoes. Nick breathed a deep sigh of relief, felt a rush of adrenalin flow through his veins. With a huge satisfied smile, he placed the bag back and was leaving when he heard John stirring. He moved to the side of his hospital bed.
“Nick...that...you...buddy?” “Yes, John. It’s me.”
“Didn’t hurt... the... I... didn’t... not... your detective.” “I know you didn’t, John. Did you see who did?”
He grabbed at Nick’s shirt. “That guy... the one who... Nick... be careful... that guy, he hates you.”
With a long exhalation of air, John released Nick’s shirt and lapsed back into unconsciousness. Nick gently patted John’s hand and tucked it back beneath the covers. He’d heard enough. He knew who hated him. Louis
St. Louis
.
And Nick was going after him.
“Are
you sure you’re up to this, O’Brien? You’re barely out of surgery and only out of the ICU a few hours.” Lieutenant Hazelwood was setting up a laptop on Kennedy’s beside table, making enough noise to wake the dead. “Hell, you’re having trouble sitting up.”
“I’m sure, Lieutenant. I’m a cop. I’m Irish. I’m a woman. I’m tough. I’m—” “I get the picture, O’Brien.”
“Lieutenant, I’ll go crazy in here if I don’t have something to do. My doctor comes in every hour or two to check on me. The nurses are just as bad. I need to do something to keep my mind focused.” She scooted up in bed, bit back a groan.
“See, no more pain. Anyway, Grandpa is going to help when he comes back later from the ‘Boys Club’. He goes back and forth like a yo-yo. He likes having the use of Campenelli’s car. Grandpa thinks he’s a big shit now.”
“Tommy O’Brien has always thought he’s a big shit.” Kennedy laughed. “He has, hasn’t he?”
Hazelwood set a small box of discs next to the laptop. “These are the surveillance discs for the days the murders occurred. You’ve got about a five mile radius. I believe you’ve been through some of the camera shots already.”
“Unfortunately, they didn’t turn up anything.”
“And you may not find what you’re looking for on these.”
“I realize that. I’ll pick it up where I left off and work my way outward. I think there’s a good chance the killer parked farther away and walked to the kill area.” She reached for the discs. “Let’s see if the new surveillance cams are worth the money City Hall and Homeland Security are spending for them.”
“Then I’ll leave you to it. Just don’t overdo it, O’Brien.”
“I won’t, Lieutenant. Wilder have any luck at LVTVS?”
“He stopped by his house to get out of his pimp clothes first so he just got there. He’ll stay as long as it takes for the killer’s AFTER photo of you to arrive. If it arrives.”
Kennedy couldn’t help but worry about her partner. “Who’s got his back?”
“A couple of uniforms are still posted there. If the killer shows, we’ll get him.”
“Good.” She wished she was as confident as she tried to sound. She didn’t like the idea of not being there with Wilder. They were a team, after all.
“By the way, Detective, your hunch about
St. Louis
was right. It looks like his mother’s accident wasn’t an accident after all. According to Boulder PD, the brake line in her car was cut.
St. Louis
’ prints, well preserved in the garage lock-up, were all over the vehicle’s underside and brake line. BPD didn’t have any reason to doubt his mother’s death was anything other than an accident until you tipped them off. Good job, O’Brien.”
“Thanks, Lieutenant. Grandpa gave me the lead.”
“It was a damn good one. We’ve had
St. Louis
under surveillance all night. An arrest warrant is in the works and we’ll pick him up shortly. As a matter of fact, I’m heading over there when I leave. With him being a mayoral candidate, I thought it best to stay on top of things myself. I don’t want any media blow ups or political backlash. Sheriff Taylor would have my ass.”
“
St. Louis
was home all night?”
“Yes, he was. He’s not the prostitute killer, O’Brien. Sorry. I know you thought he might be good for it.”
“Yeah, he was one of my top suspects. He and John Tully. He’s not our killer either. The man who attacked me wore loafers.”
“I got your message about Tully’s shoes not matching.”
“That’s according to Campenelli. Maybe you should double check.”
“Already being handled. I’m expecting to find just what Campenelli says he found. He seems to be on the up and up.”
“Yeah, he’s Mr. Wonderful.” She rolled her eyes, remembered Campaign Lucy. “I’ll get busy looking through these surveillance shots. See if I can come up with something. I’ll call if I find anything.”
“O’Brien, remember what I said about going easy. Tommy will have my ass if I let you overdo it.”
“You afraid of Grandpa, Lieutenant?”
“Damn straight, I am. He’s a tough old bird.” “He is at that.”
“I’ll check in after we’ve got
St. Louis
locked up.” “Okay.”
Kennedy put the first of many discs in the laptop and hit play. After a little while, her eyes began to blur and she was feeling the take-your-breath-away kind of pain in her back big time. Fluffing pillows around her as best she could, Kennedy tried to get comfortable without taking another hit of her morphine drip.
She was fighting a losing battle.
CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE
IGNORING THE COPS POSITIONED AT THE DOORS, FRANK BREEZED INTO THE NEWSROOM AND WENT STRAIGHT TO ED’S DESK.
He found him busily thumbing through a messy pile of papers looking agitated.
“What the hell are you doing here so early? The production meeting doesn’t start until nine thirty. No one else is in but the early morning crew.”
“I’ve got some fact checking to get caught up on.”
“Always busy, aren’t you? Did you notice the cops at the doors?”
“Kind of hard to miss them don’t you think? They’ve been there all week.”
“Why don’t you come in my office?”
Ed was a wrinkled mess and the black bags under his eyes could hold enough clothing to last three days.
“You’re looking kind of rough, Hersh. Can I get you some coffee? A razor? An iron? A cold eye mask?”
“I’m not in the mood for funny, Frankie.”
“Come on. You can use my private bathroom to clean up.”
Ed ignored him and kept digging through the pile of papers, cursing in low whispers. He wasn’t a normally friendly man anyway, but Frank thought Ed seemed especially out of sorts this morning.
“What’s got you so upset?”
“I’m not upset, I’m pissed. Royally pissed. The Network—our—network turned me down. I just don’t understand how they could pass on me again.”
“I heard they were thinking you might not be the right man for the Nightly News anchor spot, but I didn’t know the decision was final. Tough break, Hersh.”
“You have no idea how hard I’ve worked to get them to notice me. I deserve to be noticed. Well, fuck them. They’ll be begging one of these days.” Papers dropped to the floor and Frank watched as Ed kicked them out of the way. “There are other networks out there. I’ll show them.”
“I’m sorry, Hersh. I know how important a network spot is to you. But don’t give up yet, they could always change their minds. And you’re right, there are other networks. I heard a few days ago that CNN has a few contracts coming up that might not be renewed. There’s a possibility for you.”
Ed stopped digging through his pile of papers and looked up. “Really? I’ll send them my résumé.”
“You’re still on a hot story, after all. It just got hotter last night. My police scanner went fucking crazy. The prostitute killer attacked two hookers last night. He fucked up, though. Big time. One of them didn’t die. An undercover cop, from what bits and pieces I could gather. I hear she’s over at University Medical Center, supposedly doing very well.”
Ed’s eyes narrowed and Frank continued. “There’s also a rumor of a suspect under guard at the very same hospital. I’m surprised you’re not over there dogging the staff for a story.”
“The victim didn’t die?”
“That’s what I said. I also hear the killer stabbed her instead of strangling her. She’s damn lucky.”
Ed stood up and gathered up his clean shirt and razor, then wrapped an arm around Frank’s shoulders. “Let’s go use your bathroom. Executive privilege, right?”
“Sure.”
By the time they’d entered Frank’s office, he could tell Ed was fuming again, whispering curses Frank couldn’t quite make out. Frank watched him warily.
Maybe he’s having a breakdown. Who would have thought losing out on a network spot would be that big a deal?