HE PICTURE IN BARKER’S HAND was the last of Deek’s per sonal belongings. He stared at the photo, remembering the occasion–the fourth of July less than a year ago. “Just a bunch of grownup kids,” Barker chuckled. There he stood, along with Deek, Stacey and Deek’s brother-in-law, arms over shoulders, dressed in full paintball gear, each covered in blotches of paint. Deek had hoisted his shirt to reveal several nasty-looking welts on his chest and abdomen. Stacey was new on the force. It was the first party he’d come to. The brother-in-law, who often played a rambunctious game of paint ball with his sons, had wanted to have a serious shoot-out with the “cops from Mapleton.”
They’d all met in an open area of fields and trees out west of Deek’s house. Working as teams, Barker and Stacey had gotten the best of Deek and his brother-in-law, partly because Deek had taken an early paint ball squarely in the mask, obscuring his vision for much of the time. By the time it was over, the men had emptied their guns on each other. Barker smiled as he reminisced. The ringing of his cell phone broke the spell. “Out of area,” the caller ID flashed.
“Barker here.”
“Paul, Stace. I shot a guy; he’s hurt pretty bad. You’ll find him in the woods, west of marker 265. Look for the dead Rottweiler in the field. Last time I saw him he was about 20 yards north of the dog.”
“Where are you?”
“Can’t say.”
“Stace, listen to me. We’ve got enough to take down Bingham. You’ve got to come in.”
“Is he in custody?”
“He will be in the morning.”
“I doubt it...” Stacey, breathing hard, grimaced with pain. “These guys he sent after me...were military; they had it all.”
“Are you hurt?”
“Not as bad as Sig.”
“Come in, then. You’ve got to come in.”
“You’ve got to pick up Bingham first...or I’m a dead man. He’s up to more than just trying to kill me....You can bet on it.” Stacey turned off the phone. With Sig resting in the back, he fired up the Suburban and pulled onto the highway.
Barker called central dispatch. “I need every available deputy you’ve got.”
Don shuffled into Christina’s room to try and catch some shuteye. The battle of wits was wearing thin—and Melvin was proving to be a brutally relentless opponent. He always seemed to know where Don was. The footsteps and the sawing, echoing throughout the apartment, would move above him from room to room. Don would change rooms, the sawing would stop for a minute, followed by footsteps, then the insane cacophony would resume, directly overhead. He thought he could hear what sounded like the ultra-quiet buzzing of a remote control car, moving through the heat vents that ran overhead. Or maybe it was just his agitated imagination.
Retreating to the family room, Don picked up the remote and clicked on the television, staring aimlessly in its direction. Then— there it was! Something flickered by in the heat register that opened just over the television. It had lurched mechanically, pointed in his direction, then had done an about-face and vanished out of sight. It appeared to have two red eyes.
Suddenly the lights in the room went out. He kept his eyes on the screen, which, just seconds later, went to static, as if someone had disconnected the antenna. He played along, swearing loud enough to be heard upstairs. Melvin’s high-pitched, crazed laugh resonated through the vent. Obviously, he was relishing this little game of cat and mouse.
Don jogged to the kitchen, then stopped to listen. The buzzing and the footsteps followed. Craning his neck, he peeked through the heater vent grate. There, back in the shadows, two ever-so-faint lights could be seen.
He’s getting sloppy , Don mused. Walking to the bedroom, he found a screwdriver and a clothes hanger, which he reshaped to form a long hook. Then he positioned himself under the vent, his tool ready. Carefully threading it back through the vertical holes in the grate, he twisted it sideways.
The buzzing sound intensified—as did Melvin’s cursing. Holding onto the end of the hook, Don unscrewed the grate and eased his mechanical prey out of the vent. It was shaped like a rat on wheels, a tiny remote camera as its nose. Don flicked on the bedroom lights and smiled broadly directly into the lens. He wanted to make sure Melvin saw exactly what he would do next. Placing the expensive device face up on the floor, he took his heaviest pair of work boots from the closet and slipped them on his bare feet.
“No!!” Melvin shrieked as the boot came crashing down.Ten deputies formed a line next to the fence. Spaced about ten paces apart, they began to traverse the field. One of the deputies called out: he’d spotted the dog. It took only a few more minutes to locate the site where the struggle had taken place. Deek’s vest lay in the dirt beside several spatters of dried blood. “I want this area roped off. Continue to search for a body,” Barker instructed. The deputies worked their way across and back, systematically scouting the area.
Stacey slowed to a stop in front of Deek’s house. He staggered to Dianne’s bedroom window. At the rapping sound, the bedroom light turned on and the window opened. “I need your help. Sig’s bad off.”
Together they carried the almost lifeless animal into the house and lay him on the kitchen table. Then Stacey let out a groan, turned to take a step, and crumpled to the floor. He didn’t know how he’d made it. The waves of nausea still swept over him. “I’m allergic...to codeine,” he mumbled.
Dianne took the phone book from the table, dialed, and waited. “William, I’m so sorry to wake you. This is Dianne Derickson....Thank you, I know. We miss him, too....No, I need to ask you a big favor. I have two friends who need medical attention in a terrible way. I can’t...I know you don’t. Do you still have your supplies? One is allergic to codeine. He’s so weak he can’t even stand. He also has several broken ribs. The other’s lost a lot of blood and needs stitches. Please hurry.” She rattled off her address and hung up the phone.
Stacey was in rough shape but his condition was not life-threatening. Sig, on the other hand, was having trouble breathing. From the rattle in his chest, Dianne guessed one of his lungs was filling with blood. She gently rolled him onto his wounded side so the weight of the choked off lung wouldn’t apply pressure to the other. Sig let out a whine, but nothing more. She cut the bandage off his chest and examined the other minor cuts and abrasions. Nothing else seemed to be serious.
Sig seemed a bit more comfortable. Perhaps the collapsed lung was draining. She began to clean the other wounds as best she could. Stacey occasionally tried to sit up and see how Sig was doing. It was taking her friend forever to come.
Then there came a faint knock at the front door. A silver-haired man with white, bushy eyebrows and a tired back stood on the porch, medical bag in hand. “Come in, William. Thank you so much for coming.”
The old fellow tottered slowly inside. “It took a bit to find the Phengran in my office—or should I say, my son’s office. Good thing he didn’t change the locks.” He smiled pleasantly and looked around. “I haven’t made a house call in 15...20 years. Now let’s get down to business,” he grumbled good-naturedly like the retired old codger he was. He yammered on as he followed Dianne into the kitchen. “Where are these two patients?—my land, it’s a dog!”
“I know, William—and a very good friend. I think he has a collapsed lung. Lost a lot of blood, too.” He walked around the table and saw Stacey on the floor.
“This man doesn’t look so good, either.” He took a small bottle of pills from his sweater pocket. “This will help.” He listened to Sig’s chest. “You did learn something all those years ago,” he teased.
Dianne filled a glass of water and gave Stacey one of the pills. “Give him two,” muttered the old doc, turning his attention to the dog. “Don’t know if I’ve ever seen someone hit quite so hard by a painkiller before.”
He and Dianne worked well together. She seemed to know exactly what he needed. She strung an IV from a cupboard door and did her best to keep track of the flow and serve as assistant. Stacey started to come around.
“Must have been one heck of a reaction, young man,” William said, glancing up from his work. “Codeine works on the central nervous system as well as the nausea centers of the brain. We find that those with the worst reactions to it usually developed a sensitivity when they were young.”
Stacey, though coherent, still wasn’t feeling any better. “How’s my dog?” he grunted through the fog, sounding a bit unappreciative.
“I think he’ll make it.” Stacey noticed that the old man’s hand shook as he raised it up from the gash on Sig’s side. However, each time his hand came back down for another stitch, he was steady and calm. A slight cackle escaped his lips. “I’ve never blown air into a dog’s lungs before.” He took another stitch. “Must be some dog for Dianne to care so much about him.”
Stacey pulled himself up into a chair. He wondered how Dianne had persuaded the old doctor to come and help. “Oh, Rick, this is Doctor William Frisby. I’ve known him since I was a child. He was our family doctor. I also worked with him as a student nurse before I met Deek.”
The old man nodded. “Nice to meet you, Officer Stacey. You the one they’re blaming for Deek’s death?”Dianne and Stacey were a tad stunned; neither one had spoken his last name. “I knew Dianne didn’t believe you had anything to do with it the second I saw you,” he explained. “She wouldn’t have brought me here unless she trusted you.”
The minutes passed. William’s work on Sig was almost finished.Stacey turned to Dianne, a hint of sadness in his weary face. “I’m sorry I missed the funeral.”
“Actually, it was postponed until today,” Dianne replied. “The autopsy suggested some sort of chemical poisoning. They’re not sure what it is—or where it came from. The hospital’s in a panic. It may have been introduced during the emergency surgery. The poison— or whatever it was—apparently was slow to act—until it got to his heart, which sent it straight to the brain. That’s what killed him.”
Stacey sat in silence for a minute or two, thinking. Then he said, “I wonder if there’s a connection between Deek’s death and the military. I think the men who attacked me and Sig were military.” Aminute later he went on. “Barker just told me they have enough evidence to pick Bingham up. It should happen this morning, but I don’t think they’ll find him. He’s looking for me. Whoever found me had done their homework, and had money to spend. Their equipment was some of the best I’ve seen.” Thinking through all the facts, he suddenly blurted out, “I’d better get out of here—and soon!”
“You’re not taking your friend anywhere,” said the doctor as he put the last stitch in Sig’s side.
“I’ll keep him in the garage, where he’ll be out of sight,” Dianne offered.
“Now let’s take a look at those ribs, young man,” the doctor groused, positioning himself in front of him like a riled-up gradeschool teacher. Stacey pulled himself to his feet and removed the overcoat. It dropped to the floor, exposing the enlarged bruise, now black as coal. Dianne gasped. She’d seen a lot of injuries, but never anything like this.
The doctor raised his stethoscope up to listen. “Deep breath.” Stacey did his best. “Sounds like you got some fluid in your lungs, too. Could turn into pneumonia. Heart sounds okay. I was afraid it might be bruised.” He ran his fingers across the blackened tissue. “Couple of ribs out of place. I’d better see if I can put them back. I’ve seen bronc riders that look like this.” He turned to his case and brought out several bandages. “It’s not going to feel so good. You up to it?”
“Do I have a choice?”
The old fellow cleared a spot at the end of the table. “Sit here facing the wall,” he said, slapping the table. “Dianne, I might need your help.”
Stacey gingerly climbed onto the table. “Now, I want you to put your arm over my shoulder and do your best to relax.” The old man stood on Stacey’s good side and reached his arms around the officer’s broad chest. “This might take the wind out of your sails. Help me catch him if he goes out, Dianne.”
The old doctor began to squeeze, every few seconds shifting the position of his hands. Stacey hung on to the doctor’s neck, also squeezing, not realizing he might break the poor fellow’s neck. A scream broke free from deep in his gut. He managed to stifle it in his throat. The old man’s strength was phenomenal. Then something popped. Stacey immediately felt light-headed. The doctor could feel Stacey’s grip slacken around his neck, then came a second pop, and something gave way.
“Get ready,” was the last thing Stacey heard, as everything went black. He awoke to smelling salts a few minutes later. His chest was wrapped tightly and he lay face up on the table, his feet hanging over the side. He tried to get up.
“Hold on...slowly.” Stacey could feel Sig stir next to him. Turning so that their noses were only inches apart, Sig did what Stacey hoped he would. Out shot his tongue, swiping it across Stacey’s mouth. Dianne’s eyes filled to overflowing.
Stacey scratched Sig under the chin. “Best kiss I’ve had all month.”
Dianne and Dr. Frisby helped Stacey up. “You only have a few hours before dawn, so you’d better get going. Sig’ll be in good hands here.” Dianne handed Stacey a bag of things she’d put together and helped him with his coat. “We put something other than codeine in here in case you need it.”
Stacey lifted his arm to slip on the coat. The pain had subsided. He headed to the car, bag in hand. His mind was clearer now. He needed some clothes and a place to sleep. He’d stop by his parents’ home one more time. If he hurried, he could be in and out before anyone knew it.
As he pulled away from the curb, another car pulled out several blocks down the street.
Barker and his deputies had not found the body. Sweep after sweep had revealed only that someone was dragged away. The search was called off until morning, and all but two of the deputies went home to bed. Beyond exhaustion, Barker followed their lead.
Too jumpy, Don still didn’t get much sleep. Every sound made him flinch. Once, he thought someone was in the apartment and sat straight up in bed. Around three-thirty he finally nodded off for good.
Parking several blocks from his parents’ place, Stacey took a backyard route that required little fence-climbing. He knew the yards where every dog lived, and took pains to avoid them. Soon he was at the back door and up the stairs. The closet door rattled softly as he slid it open.
“I knew you’d come,” came a sleepy voice from behind him.Stacey almost jumped out of his skin. If he’d been up to par, he’d have seen Amber lying there on the bed. He knelt down next to her. “Hey, Amber!”
“Did you hear about my signal?” she asked hopefully. “No, I didn’t.”
“I set off the fire alarm at school so you’d come.”
“Sorry, I wasn’t in the best condition.”
Amber just smiled. Then her face brightened. “My friend has some
evidence. She sneaked into that creep’s house and saw a huge computer and hundreds of disks. You need to help her get them.” “I don’t know if I can. I’m not safe right now.”
“She gave me the key to the apartment and everything. No one’s
staying there. Maybe that’s where you could hide. And then you could make sure he doesn’t hurt someone else.” Amber placed the key she was clutching in Rick’s big hand.
“Who’s he?” Stacey asked.“My friend’s the one that got attacked last week. She lives in his basement apartment.”
Stacey hadn’t kept up on the news. “Are you talking about the Briggs guy?”
“Yup. My friend Christina Rodriguez moved into the apartment under his house. That same night she was attacked. Now she has evidence, enough to put him away.” The door to the bedroom suddenly opened. Stacey reached for his gun.
“Rick, I had a feeling it was you.” It was Stacey’s mother, her arms outstretched and coming toward him.
“Ohhh!” he cried as she hugged him.
She stepped back. “What happened! Are you hurt?”
“A couple of broken ribs. I’m doing better now.”
“Where’ve you been? We’ve been worried sick.”
“I can’t tell you. I could be placing you all in danger.” Stacey removed his coat. In the moonlight the bruise could be seen above the bandages.
“Oh, my gosh!” Amber gasped. Mrs. Stacey bit her lip.
He took a shirt from the closet and began to put it on. His mother rushed to help. Just then a dark sedan coasted past the house, its lights out. Stacey crouched by the window to watch it pass. When it reached the corner it stopped and turned left.
“I’ve got to leave.” He grabbed a few more things from the closet and started for the door. His mother began to cry. “I’ll be okay, Mom. It’ll all be over in a few days.” He slipped down the stairs and hurried out the door.