Fever Dream (9 page)
“My sentiments exactly.”
We were driving through heavy traffic to Pittsburgh Memorial, taking my car since Harry Polk was using their unmarked sedan. Between the APB on the second gunman, multiple next-of-kin notifications, and the usual procedural follow-up on a crime of this size, the police fleet of both black-and-whites and unmarkeds was stretched to the limit.
Eleanor finally settled on Coltrane and pushed the CD into the deck. Within moments, the simple, cool riffs of “Equinox” were filling the Mustang’s snug interior.
I looked over as she settled back in her seat. Her fingers drummed on her knee. Whether it was the way this case was unfolding, or the fact of being a passenger in the car with a civilian, she seemed anxious about something.
She sensed my eyes on her and tilted her head.
“By the way, Harry told me one time that you’re a boxer? Golden Gloves or something?”
“Used to be. A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away.”
“Cool. Me, too.”
I raised my eyebrows in surprise.
She smiled. “The department has a club down at the PAL. I spar there once in a while. Keeps me sharp, and helps get the aggression out.”
“Same reason I still throw combinations in my basement gym. Though it’s hardly a gym. Just some free weights, a used bench. Hell, my heavy bag is older than you are.”
“I doubt it. I’m no kid, and you’re not so old.”
“Thanks. I think.”
I turned off Grant and past the on-ramp to the Fort Pitt Bridge. The sandstone towers of Pittsburgh Memorial rose into view.
“Speaking of Harry,” I said, “how’s he been? I mean, since his divorce?”
“You know Harry. Doesn’t talk about it. But I can tell he’s drinking more. Even had to let him crash with me a couple nights. He was in no shape to drive. But Luther doesn’t mind.”
I remembered about Luther. Her Doberman.
“Harry’s lucky to have you.”
“We’re good partners. I’ve learned a lot from him.”
I paused. “You know, if his drinking’s getting worse, I should probably talk to him about a program.”
She laughed. “Yeah, you do that, Dan. I just wanna be there when you bring it up. Oughtta be fun.”
She pushed her hair up from the back of her neck with both hands. “God, it’s hot. Even with the AC.”
I nodded, then glanced over at her again. And got the distinct impression she wanted to say something more.
“Look,” she said at last, face half-turned toward her window. “About Harry. There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you about…something that’s worrying me…”
We’d just made the left into the hospital parking lot. I steered us to a vacant spot near the emergency entrance and parked.
“Is Harry in some kind of trouble?”
She kept her face angled toward the window. Took a long breath. Then slipped her sunglasses back on.
“Forget it, Dan. Forget I said anything.”
“What do you mean?”
“Wrong time and place, that’s all. Besides, I could be wrong. Misreading something. Shit, it’s not like we don’t have enough on our plates with this case.”
Without another word, she climbed out of the car. I did the same, and looked at her across the roof of the Mustang. Getting a strange vibe from her.
“Are
you
okay, Eleanor?”
Her voice grew an edge. “Hey, I’m not your patient. So let’s go see if
she’s
okay.”
She turned abruptly and headed toward the emergency room entrance. Conversation over.
I quickened my pace to catch up with her and we went inside together.
The nurse at reception directed us up to the ICU, where we were met by a plainclothes detective I didn’t know named Robertson. Beer gut, thinning hair, pock-marked face. On the far side of middle-aged.
We all shook hands, and Robertson started leading us down the hall. Rows of single-patient rooms, fronted by plate glass. The sights and sounds of life-sustaining machines. Pumping. Blinking. Beeping.
“She’s in a room at the end,” he said. “Doc’s still in there with her.”
We reached Treva’s room just in time to see, through the observation glass, her attending physician standing by her bed, writing in her chart. Then he hung it on the rail hook at the end of the bed and headed to the opened door, toward us.
I glanced past him to take a look at his patient. Treva was seemingly unconscious, with an IV drip running into her right arm. Under the starched white hospital covers, she seemed as small and slight as a child.
“I’m Lloyd Holloway,” her doctor announced. More hand-shaking all around, except for Robertson. He just mumbled some version of good-bye and resumed his position outside Treva’s door. Standing guard.
Which was Holloway’s cue to lead us away from her room and into a visitor’s lounge around the corner. The same one as in every hospital in the world. Small, with pea-green cushioned chairs. Fluorescent ceiling lights. Vending machines. We had the place to ourselves, but nobody sat.
Holloway was youngish, incongruously built like a wrestler, and with long yellow hair pulled back into a pony tail. Reminding me of that surly pony-tailed coroner’s assistant from the crime scene. Must be the new sartorial trend in medicine.
“How is she?” Eleanor Lowrey asked.
“Well, she took a helluva blow to the head, but she’ll probably be okay.”
Holloway’s manner was brusque, dismissive. Maybe he was having a rough night, I thought. Or maybe that was just who he was.
“Any concerns about a concussion?” I said.
“Not really, but we’ll just have to wait and see.”
Eleanor bit her lip. “Can we talk to her?”
“Not for a while. We have her sedated. From this point on, it’s all about observation. Seeing how she responds.”
His tone sharpened. “That order came from the hospital director’s office. Apparently, in response to a request by the police. Easier to keep her isolated up here in the unit. Protected, I guess. Fewer rooms. Fewer visitors.”
“Biegler’s doing,” I said to Eleanor. “Or maybe even the assistant chief’s.”
But she seemed distracted. Wasn’t listening.
“And there’s just the one detective on duty?” she asked Holloway. “Robertson?”
“Yeah. But he hasn’t budged. I had to send one of the nurses’ aides to get him some sandwiches. Robertson said he was hungry.”
Eleanor chuckled without humor. “Yeah, like he couldn’t afford to miss a meal or two.”
Lloyd Holloway glanced at the wall clock over our heads. “Look, I’ve got a meeting on Ward B, all the way on the other side of the building. I’ll be back soon to check up on the patient. So if you’ll excuse me…”
He gave us a brief, professional smile and walked out of the lounge. I watched him go down the narrow hallway, stopping only once to chide some nurse who’d just come from another room. Whatever his grievance, he didn’t wait around for her response. I watched her tired, worried face as he strode off. ICU is a tough gig.
When I turned back to talk to Eleanor, I saw that she’d crossed her arms and was leaning against the opened doorframe. She looked pretty beat herself.
“We’re stretched too thin,” she said quietly. “With the recent cut-backs, and some early retires that took the department by surprise, everybody’s feeling the strain. This bank robbery thing is really pushing the envelope. Christ, if a jerk like
Robertson
is who we’ve got watching our star witness…”
I came closer and touched her shoulder. Her violet eyes rose up to meet mine.
“Listen, Treva’s probably as safe in here as she’d be anywhere. The truth is, we’re both feeling like we screwed up. At least, I know
I
am. I should’ve been in that ambulance with her. Maybe then…”
She frowned. “Yeah, about the ambulance. The crash. I mean, what do you think happened?”
“Karp probably lost control. I was told he drove off like a bat out of hell. Bergmann’s orders were to get Vickers and Treva to the hospital ASAP. Unless there was some kind of mechanical problem…the brakes, or…”
“We’ll know soon enough. They’ll take the ambulance down to the impound, CSU will go over every inch of it. Soon as we get their report—”
“Fuck
their
report!” A familiar booming voice echoed down the hall. “Wait till you hear
mine
.”
It was Harry Polk, sweat gleaming on his wide brow as he joined us in the lounge. His breathing was quick and labored, as though he was still winded from his climb up the stairs to Sinclair’s campaign office. Or else it was the unending heat, his generally poor physical condition. Maybe just the booze. But he wasn’t looking too good, that’s for sure.
He tossed his notebook at his partner, who expertly caught it. Cover flipped back, it was opened at a page covered with Polk’s scrawl.
“Check that out,” he said. “If you can read my notes. I was drivin’ and writin’ at the same time.”
As Eleanor quickly scanned it, Polk gave me a grim smile. “Not a banner day for law enforcement, Doc.”
“What’s going on? I thought you were heading over to Crawford Street. The crash site.”
“I was, till I got a call from Biegler. Prints came back from our dead perp. The gunman at the bank. Only guess what?”
“He
wasn’t
the perp,” Eleanor said evenly. She looked up from the notebook.
“Bingo. His prints were in a database, all right,” Polk explained. “But not VICAP. Not the FBI database, either. We finally found ’em because all security guards at private firms are fingerprinted.”
I stared, as comprehension dawned.
“That’s right, boys and girls,” Polk said. “The dead perp
isn’t
the perp. He wasn’t the gunman who tried to rob the bank. He’s George Vickers, the security guard.”
“Jesus.” Eleanor’s voice dropped to a whisper. “That means we just let the real guy get away.”
Polk laughed. “Get away? Hell, we escorted him from the crime scene in a city vehicle.”
Harry Polk, unable to hide the disgust in his voice, collapsed into one of the cushioned chairs.
“Shit, I’m gettin’ too old for this job.”
Eleanor and I each took seats facing his.
“I think I can guess what happened,” I said, though neither of them seemed interested at the moment. “Remember, Treva knew what George Vickers looked like. She saw the security guard every day at the bank. So on the drive to the hospital, Treva comes to and sees that there’s another guy in the ambulance with her. Wounded, bandaged up. And wearing Vickers’ uniform. She takes one look at the guy and knows something’s wrong. Maybe she screamed, or said something to Karp, who was at the wheel.”
Eleanor found her voice. “That must’ve been how it went down. The perp had no choice but to knock her out. Then, using his good arm, he grabs Karp around the neck from behind. Ambulance goes out of control, off the road and into a tree. Whether he meant to kill him or not, our guy realizes Karp is dead. So he takes off…”
“Maybe he planned to run as soon as he’d been treated at the hospital,” I said. “Even though he’d switched clothes with Vickers, he had to know he’d only be able to pull off the stunt for a short while. So he probably hoped to get patched up before making his escape. At least he’d been willing to take that chance.”
Eleanor said, “So now he’s on the loose, somewhere in the vicinity of Crawford Street.”
“But he can’t get far. Not with that bullet wound I saw. Bergmann said it himself—that bandage was makeshift at best. If he doesn’t get serious medical attention soon, he
will
bleed to death.”
Polk finally managed to rouse himself, his police instincts overcoming his disheartened lethargy.
“I bet he’s tryin’ to get to his partner, the chicken-shit who ran outta the bank when the alarm went off.”
Eleanor’s look was doubtful. “That only makes sense if he and the partner had a place in town, or a predetermined rendezvous point somewhere. In case they got separated. Typical for a bank job with multiple perps.”
“If
I
were our guy,” I said, “I’d try to find the nearest hospital or urgent care facility.”
“I hope he
does
,” Polk said. “Since we got calls in to all the possibles in a ten-mile radius. Hospitals, clinics, doctors’ offices. Whatever. Which a guy this smart would figure out, by the way.”
“Maybe,” I agreed. “But it’s a risk he’d have to take. Unless he wants to end up losing that arm, if not his life. I’m telling you, he doesn’t have much time. He’s got to get his injury attended to.”
“Well, that’s something,” Eleanor said. “At least that limits his movements.” She paused thoughtfully. “Speaking of his partner, where are we with finding the second guy?”