Fever Dream (16 page)
“Just lucky, I guess.”
I roused myself, sat up straighter. Unless it was my imagination—or just wishful thinking—it seemed like my head was starting to clear a bit.
“What about Treva? How is she?”
“Fine. They’re seeing to her now. Dr. Holloway’s okay, too. Just shaken up. He’s got a jaw like a hunk of marble, apparently.”
“What about that cop Roarke shot? Did he make it?”
“Yes, thank God. He’s in emergency surgery, but all his vital signs are good. The docs say he’ll probably need some vocal rehab, and maybe more surgery down the line, but considering…”
“I guess if you’re gonna get shot, a hospital’s the best place for it. And Detective Robertson?”
“Concussion, but otherwise fine. Though talk about irony. He’s in one of the empty beds in ICU. Not two steps from where he was found on the floor.”
I peered up at her. “What the hell happened up there, anyway? The lights were all out. Nobody around.”
“That’s what we’re gonna find out.”
Finally, with her hand under my elbow, I got to my feet. The cluster of cops around me had begun to disperse, Biegler barking orders to them in two’s and three’s. The usual protocols in the aftermath of a crisis situation. Secure the perimeter. Check everywhere for any wounded, missing, hiding. Start crafting a timeline for what happened, and when.
And, most importantly, begin building a case for which poor bastard to blame for the fuck-up.
Not my department
, I thought sullenly, as I started to walk back toward the hospital. Without saying a word, Eleanor came along beside me. I gave her a quizzical look.
“Just to make sure you get your head examined.” She was smiling. “If you know what I mean.”
“Funny. You’re a funny person.”
We were about a dozen feet away from the entrance when I heard Lt. Biegler explode in anger. I looked back to see him screaming curses to the few remaining uniforms. Waving his arms. Literally ranting.
“What’s going on?” I asked Eleanor.
“I think he just realized something. I noticed it myself a minute ago, but kept my mouth shut.”
“Realized what?”
“The car Roarke escaped in. It’s Biegler’s.”
Within an hour, I’d learned two more things:
First, a harried ER doc checked me out and determined that, except for a nasty headache, I’d probably be none the worse for wear. Turns out I
did
have a harder head than Detective Robertson.
“No surprise there,” Eleanor had said, as the doctor applied a bandage to the back of my skull.
The second piece of news wasn’t as good: Wheeler Roarke had escaped. By the time police choppers had been called in to help, he’d led the pursuing squad cars through a maze of streets on the North Side. And then into a sprawling construction site, where he abandoned the stolen car and disappeared. The cops searched the site from the air and on the ground, but Roarke had vanished. Again.
But how? One possible answer emerged when the police found the trucker that Roarke had flagged down after the ambulance crash. Right where Roarke said he’d be, in a ditch off Crawford Street. And, thankfully, still alive.
He was also alert enough to tell the cops that in addition to the truck, Roarke had taken his cell phone.
Maybe, the cops figured, Roarke had called someone early on in the pursuit. His partner from the bank, probably. Who could have driven to the construction site and been waiting there to pick him up.
The stolen truck itself had also been found, parked in an alley behind the hospital. Where Roarke had left it. Near the loading area, ground floor. Same level as the morgue. Where he told me he’d hidden.
I got all this from Harry Polk, who’d joined Eleanor Lowrey and me as we left the ER.
He spoke in short, mumbled bursts. Tie unknotted and dangling, shoulders slumped under his worn suit jacket, Harry looked wrung out. Spent. More from frustration than exhaustion, I guessed.
“Can’t believe that fucker slipped the net again.”
Polk squinted in the glare of the unforgiving overheads as we waited at an elevator. We were heading up to the main patient floors to talk with Lloyd Holloway.
“If he
did
use the trucker’s cell to call somebody,” Eleanor said carefully, “we could get the records from the phone company. I mean, assuming it was his partner—”
“Biegler’s got the techs following up on that already. But I’m bettin’ the partner was smart enough to use a throw-away cell. Untraceable.”
Eleanor took this in without comment. Then: “What about that conference call with Sinclair?”
“Change of plans. After this newest screw-up, the DA just wanted Biegler and the Chief on the line.”
“I’m not surprised,” I said. “Now it’s more about controlling the message than anything else. Figuring out how to spin it for the media.”
Polk snorted. “Ya got that right. No sense havin’ us grunts puttin’ in our two cents. Messin’ things up by actually tryin’ to run an investigation.”
“That reminds me,” Eleanor said. “Did we ever send anybody over to talk to James Franconi, the bank manager? Guy who was home all day with a cold.”
“Yeah, I almost forgot. Couple detectives from the one-three questioned Franconi earlier tonight. At his home. Better them than me. They said the guy was laid up with a bad cold. Probably still contagious. Who needs that, right? I mean, summer colds are the worst.”
Eleanor smiled. “Franconi give them anything? Other than his germs?”
“Just that he was sick in bed all day. Wife can verify that. Also, that he wasn’t worried when he heard about the robbery attempt.”
“Why not?” I asked.
“Turns out, the bank vault’s on a timer. Roarke and his buddy woulda needed a fuckin’ bomb to open that thing. So Franconi wasn’t surprised when our guys told him no money had been taken.”
Eleanor said, “Any way around the timer?”
“Just one,” Polk said. “The assistant manager. Bobby Marks. He had the over-ride codes.”
“Maybe Roarke knew that. Or at least suspected it. Maybe he planned to force Marks to open the vault.”
“That’s what the one-three thinks, too. Then things go belly-up. The only guy who could open the vault gets shot. Roarke panics and starts shootin’ the other people.”
I considered this. “Not the brightest move, was it? Shooting Marks. No wonder a guy as smart as Roarke went off the rails.”
“I still think we oughtta take another run at Franconi,” said Eleanor. “He’d know the override codes, too. So it could still be an inside job.”
“What do you mean?”
“Maybe he and Roarke cooked it up together. He gives the codes to Roarke, stays home sick with his wife to alibi himself. But then things blow up in the bank. The alarm goes off, Roarke’s partner runs away. Roarke freaks and starts killing hostages. Which triggers our guys goin’ in. SWAT. Everybody. No time to get the vault open and grab the cash. The whole plan falls apart.”
“Not bad,” I said, as the elevator doors slid open and we stepped inside.
Polk stifled a yawn. “One thing’s for sure. It’s worth takin’ another look at Franconi.”
Then he winked at his partner. “
You
oughtta go talk to him tomorrow morning. Those douche-bags in the one-three couldn’t get a confession out of a nun on her death-bed.”
Eleanor’s eyebrows rose. “You’re not coming, too?”
“Can’t. Got some bullshit personal thing.” He gave a short cough. “Cover for me with Biegler, okay?”
“Uh, sure.”
Polk muttered his thanks. Then, hands in his pockets, he studied something interesting on the elevator floor.
As we rode the rest of the way up in silence.
“Where the hell’s that nurse with my Percodan?”
It was Dr. Lloyd Holloway, sitting up in one of the two beds in a semiprivate room on Ward B. Arms folded, he studiously ignored his three unwanted visitors as he scanned the corridor outside.
Holloway was in a fresh pair of hospital scrubs and sported a wide bandage on the left side of his jaw. As well as a lot of attitude.
“I mean, how long can it—”
He squeezed his eyes shut.
I could tell it was difficult for him to talk. The bruise peeking out from the sides of his bandage looked particularly nasty. His jaw must’ve hurt like hell.
“She said she’d be right back,” Eleanor reminded him. “As soon as your attending physician gives the okay.”
Lowrey sat next to Holloway’s bed on one of the straight-backed visitor’s chairs. Polk occupied the other one, which he’d maneuvered into a corner. I sat on Holloway’s opposite side, in the room’s other bed.
Rousing himself, the young physician scowled at Eleanor. “My attending? You mean, Dr. Chen? Hell, up till last week she was a goddam
intern
.”
“Staff’s stretched pretty thin, Doctor.” I smiled. “Lots of activity tonight. You know that better than anyone. Low-risk patients like you and me aren’t a top priority.”
He didn’t appreciate my attempt at solidarity. He sighed dramatically, then sat back against his pillow. I had to admit, Holloway didn’t look good. Skin pale, almost translucent. Slight anxiety tic under his left eye. He was physically and emotionally exhausted. It was evident—at least to me—that his ordeal with Roarke had taken a huge toll.
I also speculated that, given his solid, muscular build and relative youth, his friends and colleagues would probably underestimate its traumatic effects. They’d assume that Holloway would have little trouble coping, and “moving on.” In fact, all too soon, they’d insist upon it.
Under different circumstances, I thought, I’d probably offer him my card. Which I suspected he’d refuse.
Polk stirred unhappily in his chair.
“Much as I’m enjoyin’ this get-together, I’d like to get some kind of statement from the doc here.
Before
he tranks out on meds and starts forgettin’ those pesky little details that make doin’ our jobs even half-way possible. If nobody minds.”
He raised an eyebrow at Lowrey, who nodded and leaned in closer to Holloway. Gave him a brief but warm smile.
I’d asked that the overheads be shut off, to spare both Holloway and myself the inevitable headaches our injuries often created. So the room was lit only by small table lamps on either side of the bed. A similar tableau to that which I’d come upon in Treva’s room in the ICU.
The overall effect was of an intimate, unofficial meeting. Less an interview than a conversation. Which was also something I’d hoped to accomplish, though I hadn’t mentioned this notion to Polk and Lowrey.
My reading of Holloway was that a strictly by-the-book, authoritative approach would meet with greater resistance from the young doctor. I guessed that he prided himself on his independence. On being a maverick. After all, he didn’t wear that pony tail for nothing.
“I know you’re in a lot of pain, Dr. Holloway,” Eleanor began, her voice soothing. “But we really need to hear your version of events. Get a sense of this guy’s moves. The sooner the better, if we’re gonna catch him.”
Smart approach, I thought.
We
need
you
, she was saying. As a prime eyewitness to what happened,
you’re
the authority figure, not us.
“Yeah, okay.” Holloway sniffed. “Probably be good to lay it all out now, while it’s still fresh in my mind. While I can still feel that bastard’s gun in my ribs.”
He sat up again, hands gripping the bed rails as though to launch himself into his story.
“I shoulda known something weird was going to happen. I mean, I could
feel
it. ICU was too quiet.”
“Is that because the two other patients had been removed from their rooms?” I asked.
“Yeah. One had died, and the other was upgraded to stable and taken to the regular patient wing. She’s just down the hall from us, matter of fact. So like I said, it was suddenly pretty quiet up there. Just the night nurse, at her station at the other end of the corridor. And me with Treva Williams, in her room. I’d just gotten there to check up on her. Update her chart.”
Eleanor cut in. “Where was Detective Robertson?”
“Where he usually was, standing outside the door. Treva was awake and responsive, so I informed Robertson that it was okay if you guys wanted to talk to her.”
“Right. That’s when Robertson called me. But he also said Ms. Williams insisted that I not be present for the questioning.”
Holloway shrugged. “Hey, I just told Robertson what Treva said to me. She was adamant about it.”
I glanced over at Eleanor. Saw the pain in her eyes. I quickly spoke up.
“What happened next?”
Holloway turned to me. “Right after that, the night nurse went to take her break. Then Robertson pokes his head into the room and says ‘Why don’t I give you two some privacy?’ and goes down to the nurse’s station.”