Edge of the Heat 2 (Westwood Harbor Corruption) (2 page)

Her fingers, strictly by habit, snuck to his neck. She felt for his pulse without realizing she was doing it. A light flutter played over her fingertips.

“Oh my God Craig, you’re alive, Craig, hang in there my sweet. I am going to get you out of here.”

She stood up. “
Tanner!” She screamed, shredding her vocal cords. A moment later, he burst into the clearing, a look of terror on his face.

“
Emma, what!? What is it?!”

“
Tanner, I found him. Oh God he’s alive. Get the helicopter over here.”

He grabbed for his radio. Emma turned back to Craig, praying he would live long enough to get med-evaced out in the helicopter.

Norman packed up his binoculars and headed for the exit. He was satisfied the Sea Cafe was not being watched so his weekly pre-meeting sweep was over. He walked down the stairs of the insurance building, out the exit and across the street to the restaurant.

“
Table for one, Sir?” the host asked.

Norman pulled out
his badge. “I’ll seat myself,” he said in his gruff, ask-no-questions-and-I-won’t-hurt-you voice and kept on walking, ignoring the host’s confused look.

He stood in the archway and eyed the room. People looked his way immediately. He always cut an imposing
figure - standing 6 foot 2 inches tall, but he was unlikely to be recognized in this get up. He wore something different every time they had one of these meetings. It was becoming more like a game to him every time he went out and bought a new outfit. This one was one of his favorites. A dark blue suit with a bolero tie, complete with cowboy hat low over his eyes and cowboy boots on his feet. He felt like Clint Eastwood.

He saw the Senator seated in the back, near the wall. Good, there was an empty table c
lose by. He walked to it and sat down, opening the menu.

The waiter came by. Before he could say a word Norman held up his menu and growled, “
Snapper and salsa. Your finest craft beer. Don’t come back till it’s all ready.” The waiter swallowed, took the menu, and left quickly.

He sat back and relaxed, a satisfied smile on his face. It had been a good day. A very productive day. A fun day. He still had his old Navy Seal skills and they had bagged him one big fireman this morning. Norman laughed to himself. T
he Navy had given him a dishonorable discharge and a short jail term back in 2000, but they couldn’t erase all the ways they had taught him to disable and kill a man. And thanks to a very good, very discreet hacker friend, all record of that jail term had been erased and the dishonorable discharge was turned into an honorable one. No one could prove it had ever even happened, especially since the judge who sentenced him plus the commanding officer who charged him were dead.

Now add one more to the body cou
nt. Norman often joked with himself that he was going to lose track of all the people he had killed someday. That fucking firefighter had been easy to kill. Muscles don’t matter when you get shot 3 times. Firefighter. Ha, that was a good one. Norman knew he was FBI, investigating the death of Lucy Kinkaid. When the Senator started asking him to kill people, Norman did it, but he always investigated their back-trail, just so he never again got a nasty surprise like this one. Lucy’s brother was FBI, and Lucy’s fiance was FBI, which really pissed Norman off when he found out. What was the Senator playing at? Killing family members of the FBI. Not smart. Honestly, though, the Senator probably didn’t even know. He was stupid that way. He didn’t weigh the pros and cons of his actions. He just eliminated anyone who was a threat in the quickest way possible. Norman often thought that if the Senator hadn’t found him to do the dirty work he’d have been exposed already. Norman was smart and he knew how to cover his trail.

When he had first seen Craig
Masterson
(Craig MacDonnell actually) at Emma’s house he knew he had seen that face before and it was important. His memory for detail had not failed him, and the next morning he woke up remembering where. He looked up the FBI academy picture to be sure, and then had his hacker friend figure out where he was assigned. The friend could find nothing - only that he was undercover.
Undercover here in Westwood Harbor.
It was actually good luck that the bastard had been interested in Emma, otherwise he might never have been tipped off. Then all he had to do was decide what to do with him. This wildfire had been a blessing. He’d had a reliable tail on Masterson for days and when he’d heard he was going to be at the wildfire at night he decided to take advantage. A gun in the back had convinced Craig to move, and then a few bullets had convinced him to lie down. Norman had set the building on fire and watched for a few trees to go up too, and then got out of there fast. By now, the whole area should be nothing but ash. Who knew if they would even find the body? And since the whole area was on fire anyway, it wouldn’t even look suspicious.

Norman
’s thoughts were interrupted by movement at the Senator’s table. Senator Oberlin got up and walked past him on the way to the bathroom, dropping a small piece of dark paper on his table as he passed. Norman palmed it immediately. He watched the Senator walk to the bathroom. Expensive 3 piece suit, balding on top, still trim and strong. He had to be what, pushing 70 years old? Norman hoped he took care of himself. The Senator had promised him Chief within 10 years for doing all the dirty work that couldn’t be trusted to ordinary criminals. The Senator never wanted to hear details, just that the job was done. Norman thought he liked to pretend his hands were cleaner that way.

Norman
’s food came, and he ate it quickly, mopping up his sauce with his bread and drinking the beer in one swallow. He threw 2 bills on the table and left without a word to anyone.

Once in his car he unfolded the Senator
’s note.

C.N. needs another lesson. Your c
hoice. H-job. See details you know where. Maricio’s.

So Chuck Nance was going to have another
‘accident’ befall him. OK. He’d have to think of something a little more creative than blowing up his factory, setting fire to his house, and loosening the lug nuts on his wife’s car. Either that man had the stubbornness of a mule, or the brains of one. Norman didn’t know what Senator Oberlin wanted from Nance, but he didn’t much care either. He just wanted that Chief’s position. And he didn’t mind fucking with people’s lives in the slightest.

And H-job. Apparently there was another hacker job the Senator needed done, modifying records or something. That was fine, as long as there was cold hard cash sitting alongside those details. His friend didn
’t work cheap.

And
Maricio’s. Next week’s meeting would be at the same time on the same day, just a different restaurant. Norman thought maybe he’d go in biker gear next time. Maybe a black doo-rag over his head and a leather jacket and chaps. Too bad he didn’t have time to grow a beard. Maybe he could even commandeer a Harley to ride in on.

Norman started to get excited thinking about it. Maybe he
’d visit Nance in character in the middle of the night and slice off a finger or something. He shifted in his seat. Damn, his excitement was showing behind his zipper. Hmmm, maybe it was time to visit Lydia or Chloe.

He quickly committed all the details to memory and tore up the piece of paper in little pieces and dumped half of them out his window and put the other half in his asht
ray, then started the car and pulled out into traffic.

Senator Oberlin wanted him to eat the pieces of paper and Norman said he did, just to appease him. But damned if he was going to actually do it. That was stupid. If he hadn
’t already had enough dirt on the good Senator to bury him 5 times over he would have saved every single paper, but as it was he didn’t have to.

Like the Senator
’s first and possibly worst job ever (that Norman knew about). First screwing and then killing a 15 year old girl because she got pregnant with his babies. Norman knew about that one because it was the first hack job Senator Oberlin had ever given him. To erase all medical and autopsy records pertaining to the death of a Christie Callahan on September 13th, 1983. Norman had found the records: 15 year old girl brought to the hospital by a man who found her crawling, in labor, on the side of the road. She didn’t say a word, just screamed. Blood was gushing out of her the whole time. The babies were delivered and were fine, but they were never able to stop the girl’s bleeding. She died a Jane Doe, never even able to give her name.

At first, Norman hadn
’t found any records on a Christie Callahan dying that day. He checked the day before and the day after. Still finding nothing he looked up Christie herself. She had been reported a runaway in May of 1983. Case never closed. Norman found her mom and, pretending to still be looking into the case, he asked her some questions. It turned out that her mom suspected Christie had run off with an older man - one who looked almost 40. Christie’s mom didn’t remember much about what he looked like, but she shared what she did remember. She had seen them together once and confronted Christie about it but Christie wouldn’t tell her anything. The day before she ran away, her mom had accused her of being pregnant. Her shape was changing and her breasts were growing. Christie had left the house crying, come back that night, and left the next day for school but just never returned. Christie’s mom told all the details mechanically. Norman could tell she thought her girl was dead and had for a long time. Norman didn’t tell her she was right.

Norman went back to his hacker friend and had him check records on any Jane Does that had died that day. There it was
. 15 year old Christie had died from bleeding out during delivery, and the doctor had not noted anything suspicious in the chart. An autopsy had never been done.

Norman reported back to the Senator the records were wiped. The senator searched his eyes for
any accusation. Norman had none. What about the baby? the senator wanted to know. It died, Norman said, not sure why. I wiped that record too. Satisfied, the Senator had nodded, and given him another job.

Norman was interested in finding out what had happe
ned to the babies. Adoption and foster system. Only one had stayed in Westwood Harbor. Norman followed the trail and found her. Named Emma Hill by the delivering nurse, and put into the foster system immediately, she was an exemplary Paramedic/Firefighter. Norman was curious, so he arranged a ‘chance’ meeting at work one day. She had inherited the Senator’s light blue eyes, but not his dirty ways. She was a sweet, clean woman. The only woman he’d ever met who he couldn’t see that dirty, waxy layer under her skin. He courted her, pulling out every charming trick he’d ever read in books and on websites. It worked. But he couldn’t hold it together and they divorced soon after. Norman had his friend wipe that record of their marriage too. When Emma agreed to marry him again he wanted it to be like the first time. Like the only time.

On auto-pilot, Norman had made it all the way to his
‘office-away-from-the-office’. His erection had made it too. He smiled. He was about to get out of the car when his cell phone rang. He listened, and his smile got wider. The tail on Emma had found a good reason to pull her over. “Perfect. Make sure she is fingerprinted.” he said.

Then he got out of the car and walked inside, hoping both Lydia and Chloe would be there. He had a lot
of celebrating to do.

Emma didn
’t usually know how she felt about God. Her childhood had been just horrible enough for her to wonder if she had been abandoned by God, if indeed God existed. But that didn’t matter right now. Sometimes she prayed under her breath, just a whispered “Please God” but today she said entire prayers, cobbled together from what she had seen on TV and heard from friends. She had a least 40 minutes till she made it to the hospital to see how Craig was, and that was a long time to sit and do nothing but drive.

She sped down the highway in her borrowed car and prayed to a God she desperately hoped was listening. She prayed for Craig and prayed for an answer to the questions that were plaguing her. She had told the helicopter
to land right in the clearing they were in. It was too dangerous to try to move Craig far. He had lost a ton of blood by the look of the puddle he was laying in. While they were waiting for the helicopter she had turned him over and tried to asses his injuries. The hole in his turnout jacket suggested he was shot. But why would someone shoot Craig? Why would
Norman
shoot Craig? Would he really go to those lengths to keep her from dating?

She had opened up Craig
’s turnout gear and cut open his shirt to assess the damage. But there was none on the front. He was wearing a bulletproof vest. A much lighter and thinner bulletproof vest than the one she had always seen Norman put on. Emma’s mind had swirled with questions. Why would Craig wear a bulletproof vest to a wildfire? Or ever?

But that meant the blood probably wasn
’t from a bullet wound in his chest? Her fingers had crept to his face, which was bathed in his blood. Underneath it, his skin felt smooth, but swollen. She’d felt around his ears and back to the back of his neck and head. His helmet was still on. She didn’t dare take it off at this point. She hadn’t noticed any holes in it from the back but she was starting to get scared it was keeping his skull together. In the back of his neck on the right side she’d found a large, bloody, scabbed over lump. Gingerly she’d probed its edges. Was this a bullet hole? Emma’s paramedic brain had taken over, shoving the rest of her brain into a corner, where it cried like a small child.

As she had heard the chopper
come close, and felt its buffeting winds, she felt Craig’s pulse again at his neck. Fluttery, faint, but there. She’d cut his pants open up the right leg and checked the pulse near his groin. Nothing there. That was bad. That was very bad. That’s when she had begun praying. When the chopper landed she gave the medic on board a report - what little she knew. She’d helped Tanner and the medic get Craig onto a board and as the two men carried him she had cut both of the sleeves to his jacket all the way to the collar so the medic could try to start an IV line in the air. She’d squeezed his hand and whispered in his ear “Please come back to me my love.” And then he was gone.

She
’d run all the way to her car and headed for the hospital.

Now, done reliving it agai
n, she entered the city limits. A small voice told her to slow down, but she couldn’t get her foot to let up on the pedal. She was desperate for news of Craig. Surely he was in surgery already. Westwood General had an amazing trauma center, and if anyone could save him, the doctors and nurses at Westwood General could.

She took the back way, hoping to run into less traffic. She pushed the small car to its limits on an open side street. She didn
’t look at the speedometer, but she heard the protesting whine of the engine and let up a little.

Behind her, a black and white fell into pace with her, flipping on its flashing lights. She didn
’t notice. A short whoop came from that direction, to get her attention. She paid it no mind and focused on the road ahead of her. Then she heard the full police siren turn on and wail. She glanced in her rear-view mirror and her heart wept.
Not now. I can’t handle this now.

Briefly, she conside
red just continuing to drive. But that would end with her being hauled off in handcuffs once she got to the hospital. Frustration made her eyes water, and she pulled over.

Stopped, she wiped her eyes and took some deep breaths. Should she claim official bu
siness? She was in her fire gear. No. That wouldn’t work. No one was allowed to speed in a civilian car. She better just tell the truth. When the officer got to her window she rolled it down quickly and started telling her side.

“
Officer, I’m sorry I was speeding, please, you have to let me go. My boyfr - my fiance is in the hospital. He was just taken to Westwood General in a helicopter. I’m afraid he’s going to die.” She felt close to tears again and decided to go with it. It could only help her, she thought.

The officer just looked at her. She checked his name tag - Officer Jeffries. She looked pleadingly into his eyes, her prayers now changing from prayers for Craig to prayers that he would understand and let her go. Fantasies of a lights and siren poli
ce escort flashed through her head.

“
Don’t move,” he admonished, and disappeared.

Emma gawked backwards at him. He was going to just leave her here? Was he writing her a ticket? What was going on?

She watched him in her rear-view mirror. He was on his cell phone.

He looked up and caught her watching him. He hung up the phone and started for her car. “
Step out of the car please,” he said when he got to her window.

Fear shot through Emma
’s body. He wasn’t even going to ask for her license and registration? Had someone reported this car stolen?

She weighed her options. She didn
’t have any. Desperately her mind wondered if Norman could help her.
Yeah right
, came the reply.

The officer took a step back and put his hand down near his belt. Emma
’s eyes followed the hand. It was on his taser.
Oh God, this is bad.

“
I said, step out of the car, right now.”

Emma opened the door and got out quickly. She didn
’t want to be tased. Or arrested.

Officer Jeffries stepped back to allow her to get out. “
Put your hands on your head and walk to the front of the car ma’am.”

She did, fear beating at her breastbone.

He walked directly in front of her and said “Stand up straight and face me.” He pulled a pen out of his breast pocket and told her to follow the pen’s movements with her eyes, but not move her head.

She realized he was testing her for impaired driving. Thank God. She could pass this.

He ran her through the motions and she was certain she passed each test with flying colors. In between tests she chanted “hurry, hurry, hurry,” inside her head. She felt frantic with desire to get to the hospital to see if Craig was alive.

“
Turn around and put your hands on the hood of the car,” he admonished her.

“
What? Why? Are you going to arrest me? I passed your tests.”

He smiled what seemed to Emma a rather slimy and sly smile. “
Actually, you were a little shaky on the field sobriety test. I’ll need to have you blow in the Breathalyzer, but mine isn’t working so you have to come to the station.”

Emma couldn
’t believe her ears. Had to go to the station? Was she arrested?

“
Am-am I under arrest?” she forced out.

Officer Davies dropped his right hand across his body to his taser again. His slimy grin got a little wider. “
I said, turn around and put your hands on the hood of the car.”

Emma
’s mouth went dry. Something told her this man wanted to taze her. He was hoping she would give him a hard time. Thoughts of fear for Craig fled to the back of her brain and thoughts of fear for her own safety took over. She turned around and put her hands on the hood like instructed, her eyes searching the surrounding area for anyone who could help her, or at least be a witness to her “arrest”.

The were just barely inside the city limits. The street was two lane in both directions and tra
ffic was light. There were a few buildings on both sides of the road, but no foot traffic. Emma felt very vulnerable.

Officer Jeffries stuck his boot in between Emma
’s feet and kicked them 2 feet apart, hard. He put one foot behind her right leg and bent over, putting his hands around her right ankle, feeling her leg all the way from her ankle up to her thigh. She was being patted down for weapons. Emma felt sick. She’d seen officers do this many times, but never to her.

His hands were very aggressive. When he got to her groin he squeezed and rubbed her most intimate parts before heading back down the other leg. She jumped and gasped a little. Now she felt violated too.
Emma’s swirling thoughts began to jangle sharply together, paralyzing her. This was wrong. This was all wrong. But what could she do? If she ran he’d catch her and taze her and arrest her for sure. And he’d actually have something to arrest her for. Oh a dirty cop was the worst kind of criminal in the world, because they had so much authority. If this cop was a dirty cop, or one of Norman’s friends, she could be in deep trouble.

Officer Jeffries stood up and started at her waist, patting up her sides. He p
ut his hand on her breast and she couldn’t help herself any longer. She grabbed his hand and screamed “Don’t touch me!”

Jeffries chuckled behind her and said, “
Wrong move sweetheart.” He wrenched both her arms behind her back, handcuffing them in one swift move. Then he slammed her head down on the hood of the car.  “You have the right to remain silent …”

Emma squeezed her eyes shut. She couldn
’t believe what was going. She didn’t hear her rights. She could only hear the blood pounding in her ears and her own voice chanting
why, why, why?
inside her mind.

***

Jeffries didn’t say a word on the way to the station. Emma was half afraid he was going to drive her back out of the city limits and shoot her or something, but when she saw them draw close to the station she breathed a sigh of relief.

He hauled her roughly out of the car and steered her into the cell block area. Her mind raced frantically. She didn
’t even know what she was arrested for, but she didn’t think asking Jeffries was going to get her anywhere.

He took her to a small room and took her fingerprints and her picture, all without a word except, “
turn to your left, turn to your right.” He seemed to delight in shoving her around. After processing he took her straight to the cell block and shoved her in the small door. 

“
Wait! What about my phone call!” she yelled, turning around and grabbing the bars. He grinned at her and walked out of the room.

She looked around hesitantly. The cell block was just a large, open cage inside a large, open room. There
were at least 10 other women in with her, most sitting on the benches pushed towards the walls of the cage. All of them looking her up and down, many with judgmental or angry sneers on their faces - she couldn’t tell which. On the other side of the room was a desk with an officer sitting at it doing paperwork. He didn’t look up.

Emma looked desperately about for a phone. There were no phones in the room or the cage.

“Uh, anyone have a phone I could borrow?” she asked quietly.

A slim black woman wearing a
pink boa and a purple body suit told her, “Nah sister, they don’t let us have phones in here.”

Emma backed against the bars, and slid to the ground, dropping her head in her hands. This couldn
’t possibly get any worse.

She looked back up at the woman and
almost whispered, “But they have to let me make a phone call right?”

The woman laughed, a short barking laugh. “
You never been arrested before?”

Emma shook her head no.

“Course not. You firewomen don’t get arrested much, or did you steal that suit?”

“
It’s mine.”

The woman laughed again. “
They don’t have to give you a phone call ‘less they charge you with something. If you just arrested, there ain’t nobody you can call that can do nothin for you anyway.”

“
I don’t think I’m charged with anything. How long until they charge me?”

“
They can keep you here for 2 days before they have to let you go or charge you with somethin.”

Emma dropped her head into her hands again. She couldn
’t believe this. She had no idea if Craig was dead or alive, and the police could keep her here for 2 days? And then just let her go like nothing ever happened if they wanted to?
Think Emma, think!
Maybe she could ask to talk to one of the cops she knew from paramedic work. Maybe somebody would be willing to help her or make some calls for her.

Emma looked down the room at the officer at the desk. She didn
’t think she knew him. She was trying to think of the highest ranking officer she knew when a door opened in the room. Officer Jeffries came back in, holding the elbow of another woman. She had messy, long brown hair and a pretty face with a lot of make up. She was wearing a tight black miniskirt and a tight pink halter top. Emma thought she recognized the woman from somewhere, but couldn’t place her.