Deep Night (13 page)

Chris knocked on the door. He waited a few seconds, then his fingers closed around the knob as the dread built inside him. He opened the door and froze in horror. There was blood everywhere, on the walls, splattered on the ceiling and dripping off the fixtures.

Miller's body was lying on the bathroom floor, leaning up against the tub. Next to him on the tile was a short-barrel shotgun, his finger still in the trigger guard. He looked like he was just resting…except that most of his head was gone.

“Is he in there?” Sara called.

Her voice broke through the mist and flipped a switch somewhere back in his subconscious. The expression of shock was replaced by the steely determination of a field medic. He turned and returned to the living room.

“Yes, he's here,” he answered, his voice flat.

“Did you…? Is he…?” she asked, her question changing as she saw his face.

Chris went to the coffee table, picked up a leash, and clipped it to Riley's collar.

“Send in the cops.” He bent over and rubbed one of the dog's floppy ears. “Tell them to call the coroner.”

While Chris kept a firm hold on Riley, the cops passed through the living room and into the bedroom.

“Holy fuck!” one of the officers said loud enough for Chris and Sara to hear.

“Did he OD?” Sara asked.

“He blew his head off,” Chris told her without emotion.

“Oh, no,” she cried. “Poor Miller.”

“Stupid son of a bitch,” Chris muttered.

The cops quickly returned to the living room. They were both shades paler than when they had gone in. One of them held an envelope.

“Looks like he left a note. It's to Charlinda Jones.” He looked at Chris. “You said you knew him. Any idea who she is to him?”

“Might be his old girlfriend. She lives in Kentucky.”

The officer held up the envelope and nodded. “Yep, it's Kentucky.”

The front door opened and the animal control officer entered the room. Riley, sensing a hostile presence, jerked his leash out of Chris's hand and ran into the bedroom.

“Riley, come back here,” Chris called as they chased him. They found him in the bathroom, lying next to his master, the dog's head on the man's lap. Without lifting his head, Riley rolled his eyes up to see the intruders. Instead of barking, he whimpered, a long, sad, mournful moan. If it was possible for a dog to cry, it looked like there were tears wetting the fur around his eyes.

“I'll get him,” the animal control officer said as he adjusted the noose on his catch pole. He started to push his way into the room, but Chris shoved him out of the way.

“You touch that dog and I'll fucking kill you.”

Sara's head snapped around, startled by the vehemence in Chris's voice.

“I've got to take him in. The dude's dead,” the officer pointed out.

Chris stiffened. Straightening to his full height, he stepped forward until he was inches from the animal control officer. “That man isn't a
dude.
He's a proud veteran of the United States Marines. While you were scraping shit off the streets, he was risking his life every minute of every day in Afghanistan. He deserves honor and respect, and if you open your mouth again, I'll knock your teeth out.”

Without waiting for a response from anyone, Chris bent down and picked up the dog's leash. “Come on, Riley. You're going home with me.”

After a few tugs, the dog reluctantly stood. He looked back at his master with confusion.

Sara made that little smoochy noise again, and Riley finally followed her and Chris out of the room. She picked up their kit and headed down the stairs, passing the coroner at the bottom.

“Top floor, turn right,” Chris told the coroner, then led the dog outside. There was a water hose attached to a spigot on the redbrick building, and he took Riley to it. Sara held him while Chris sprayed him until the water dripping off the Lab changed from red to clear. Riley helped himself to several mouthfuls of water, not minding the impromptu bath at all.

They led him to the ambulance and Sara got a clean blanket out of the back. They worked together in silence until the dog was relatively dry. Chris picked him up and put him on the floor of the cab on the passenger's side. Sara climbed in and shut the door while Chris went around to the driver's seat.

He headed for their apartment. It wasn't until they parked outside on the street in front of their building that he spoke. “I'm sorry I didn't ask. It's your place.”

She reached out and rested her hand on his arm. “You know how much I love dogs. Of course it's okay.”

He didn't look at her, though he sensed she wanted to say more. But he wasn't in the mood to talk, so he didn't encourage it. “We've got only an hour left on our shift. He should be okay until we get home, don't you think?”

“I'll make him a bed,” she volunteered.

They got out of the bus and went upstairs, three solemn creatures walking side by side. They stopped in the courtyard and waited for Riley to pee before continuing upstairs. Sara found an old blanket that she folded and placed by the couch. Chris filled a large bowl with water.

“We'll pick up some dog food and dishes on the way home,” he said.

“You're not going to finish your shift, are you?” Sara asked, her eyes wide with shock and concern.

“Of course we are. Why wouldn't we?”

She blinked back tears. “Because your friend just committed suicide. You need time to deal with that.”

He gave Riley a distracted pat on the head. “What's to deal with? He's dead. Life goes on for the rest of the world, and there are people out there who need us. Let's go.”

Sara hesitated, but when she saw he was serious, she followed him out the door and locked it behind her.

“Ambulance 25 back in service,” Chris spoke into the microphone as soon as they were back in their mobile office.

The dispatcher immediately responded.
“Glad you're back. We've got a backlog. Start with 16th and Larimer. Pedestrian hit by the MallRide. Possible broken bones.”

“We're on our way,” Chris responded as he fastened his seat belt. Sara hit the lights and siren, and they turned onto Blake Street, heading toward the accident location.

The 16th Street Mall was a popular tourist attraction. It was a mile-long pedestrian-only shopping area with horse-drawn carriages and free shuttle buses that ran down the middle of the mall. They ran in a continuous loop, with stops at every block so tourists could get out to shop at the many stores or to eat at a wide variety of restaurants along the way. Locals also used it to get to their jobs or to baseball games at Coors Field. The shuttles started at five a.m. and ran continuously until two a.m., so it had just started its service for the day.

Locals knew to watch for the shuttles, but tourists often didn't pay attention as they crossed 16th Street, which ran through the mall.

Chris and Sara arrived quickly. The crowd parted, allowing room for them to pull up to the intersection in front of The Cheesecake Factory. The victim was sprawled across the pavement and the bus was stopped only a couple of feet away. The shuttles got up to twenty-five miles per hour between stops, so when the woman stepped off the curb in front of it, it had hit her pretty hard, bouncing her back toward the sidewalk.

Chris hopped out and opened the back doors. Sara helped him unload the gurney. He put their kit on top of the bed and wheeled it closer to the patient.

Sara, who apparently was more shaken by Miller's death than Chris was, stood by while he took the lead on the call. He kept the woman talking while he gave her a quick but thorough exam.

“Looks like a fractured tibia and fibula,” he said over his shoulder to Sara. “And possibly the ulna and radius. You splint her arm and leg while I check out her head wound.”

She ran back to the ambulance and retrieved the temporary splints. The woman cried out, even though Sara was very gentle as she strapped the supporting braces that would keep her leg immobile. “I'm sorry, ma'am. I know this hurts.”

The woman bit down on her lip to keep from screaming. Chris wrapped a roll of gauze around her head to cover a deep wound where she had hit her head on the curb. Then he helped Sara splint the woman's arm. He strapped a cervical collar around her neck before they slid a scoop under her, then lifted her to the stretcher.

“Is anyone here with you?” he asked her as they wheeled her to the ambulance.

“My daughter and her son.” The woman's voice quivered with pain as she tried to look around, but was restrained by the collar.

Chris saw a young woman holding a two-year-old boy while she talked to the police. She kept glancing in their direction with a worried frown.

“I think I see her. We'll let her know we're taking you to Denver Health as soon as we get you loaded,” he told the older woman.

One of the firemen on scene helped Chris lift the stretcher into the ambulance while Sara went over to the woman's daughter and gave her an update. The woman decided to ride to the hospital with her mother, so she and her son climbed into the back with Sara for the short trip there.

With the siren echoing loudly inside the downtown labyrinth of tall buildings, they headed toward the hospital. Chris could hear Sara talking to the patient and her daughter as he drove.

“What were you ladies doing in the mall so early in the morning?” Sara asked as she checked the woman's blood pressure and oxygen level.

“We wanted to eat breakfast before we left,” the younger woman explained. “We were flying back home to Memphis at noon.”

“Looks like you're going to get to stay a few extra days. I hope you haven't checked out of your hotel yet.”

“No, we were going to do that when we got back to our room. I guess I'd better call the airline.”

“That would probably be a good idea.”

They arrived at Denver Health, and Chris backed the ambulance up to the doors. The family exited out the side door and watched anxiously as Chris and Sara unloaded the stretcher and pushed it into the hospital. They updated the doctor on the woman's circumstances and condition, transferred her to a hospital bed, then pushed the stretcher back to the ambulance. The daughter was busy at the admittance desk, but she gave them a grateful wave as they passed her.

Chris and Sara loaded the stretcher and drove to the garage. All through the process of cleaning the ambulance, they worked together smoothly but silently. As they were about to check in their narcotics, the dispatcher came through with another call.

“Overtime. Good, I can use the money to buy textbooks for the fall,” Chris commented casually. “Can you believe they're charging $250 for Advanced Biology?”

Sara put her hand on his arm. “Chris, are you okay?”

“Sure, I'm fine. Let's take the call.”

She sighed, clearly emotionally torn as she replaced the narcotics in the drug kit and put their all-purpose go kit in the back. Sara never turned down overtime. Everyone knew she was like a squirrel hoarding nuts for winter. She wanted to make as much money as possible before she started her residency, not to mention for the expenses of her senior year of medical school. But this evening's events had rattled her.

“Are you up to it?” Chris asked, noticing that she wasn't as enthusiastic about the overtime as he was.

Her light blue eyes pierced him as if she was trying to see into his soul. “I think we should go home and take care of Riley,” she finally answered.

“Just one more call, and then we will,” he promised.

She sighed reluctantly and got back into the cab.

Chris hopped into the driver's seat and picked up the radio. “This is ambulance 25. We're ready for that call.”

“Multiple car accident on I-25 under the 20th Street overpass, code 10.”

“We're on it.”

Even though it was early on a Sunday morning, the wreck had caused a traffic jam that stretched back two exits. Chris honked the horn to alert people as he passed them on the shoulder. When they finally reached the accident, there were already two ambulances there, as well as the police and fire department. One of the cars was on its side and another was crunched so badly, several firemen were using the Jaws of Life to cut the passengers out of it. It appeared a tire had flown off a tractor-trailer, causing it to jackknife and wipe out two cars in the adjoining lanes. The truck driver was walking around in shock, cradling his arm against his chest.

“I didn't mean to do it. My tire blew…” he muttered over and over.

Sara went to see about his injuries while Chris went over to see who else needed help. One of the ambulances headed off with the most critical patients. The second one was being loaded with a child who had been extracted from the car that had rolled on its side. Sara urged the truck driver to ride with that transport, and he reluctantly got into the front seat. It took another half hour for the firefighters to extricate the two people in the twisted car. Chris and Sara loaded the wife on a stretcher, and the husband was doing well enough that he was able to sit on the bench in the back. Chris set their kit inside and shut the doors. He was just about to drive off when the cop he had been talking to earlier in the shift at Miller's apartment approached him. He held out a white envelope.

“We found this on the floor of your friend's apartment. It must have gotten knocked off the bed. I think it's for you.”

Chris looked down at the envelope that had the words
Lieutenant Chris Wilson
scrawled across it. He hesitated. He didn't want to take it. He didn't want to know what was inside. He didn't want to hold something in his hand that only hours ago had been in Miller's hand.

“We've already opened it and checked it out. Even though it appears to be a suicide, we've still got to investigate it. Sounds like he was a great guy.” He stuck it in Chris's pocket. “I gotta help get this mess cleared out.” The cop turned and headed toward an oversized tow truck that had arrived to pull the truck and trailer away.

Chris got in the ambulance, trying to ignore the envelope resting against his heart as he drove back to the hospital.

If Sara had heard the conversation, she didn't mention it as she monitored the patients in the back while Chris drove.

After delivering the man and woman to the emergency room and cleaning out the bus, they had to backtrack to Speer Boulevard, where they stopped at the King Soopers grocery store and picked up a big bag of dry food and a dozen cans of wet food since they didn't know what Riley preferred, along with two large stainless-steel bowls that couldn't be knocked over.