Polly Iyer - Diana Racine 03 - Backlash (14 page)

“Diana.”

“I’m here. Give me a minute.” The smell hit her first, but it wasn’t the smell of the room. Something powerful wafted under her nose. She pushed it away. “Aarrgh, that’s awful. No more.” She adjusted to the light. Lucier and Dr. Cothran stood over her. She was lying on a gurney in another room. She looked around. No dead bodies. “How long have I been out?”

“A few minutes,” Lucier said.

“Luckily, I found some smelling salts,” Cothran said. “Don’t need those for our patients, but sometimes a cop will hit the floor during an autopsy. You didn’t want to wake.”

She sat up. Dizziness overwhelmed her, and she plopped down again. In a moment of forgetfulness, she almost told Lucier what happened in front of Cothran.

“Everyone knows what you do, Ms. Racine,” Doctor Cothran said, “what you’ve done since you were a kid. But the body and/or mind can take only so much stress before something breaks. I advise you to be careful. You’re playing with your health.”

Diana wanted to tell him that if she could have turned off the visions, she would have stopped twenty-five years ago. Then he’d tell her she didn’t have to come looking for trouble, which was true. So no argument for once.

“Thank you for your concern, Doctor. I promise, I’ll be careful.”

“That’s a doctor talking, Diana,” Lucier said.

“A doctor whose regular patients can’t argue with him. Just saying.”

“I know better than to argue with a woman,” Cothran said. “Ask my wife.”

Lucier helped her up. “We’d better go. Thanks for accommodating us, Charlie. I’ll make sure Diana takes your advice.”

Diana wobbled and leaned against Lucier until she stabilized. “Thank you, Doctor.”

“It might help if you stopped putting yourself into these situations.”

“I agree,” she said to placate him. She straightened, gathered herself, and walked to the door. Lucier had his hand around her forearm.

Once they got into the car, he turned to her. “Are you okay?”

“I am now.”

“Obviously you saw who killed Chenault.”

“No, but I saw the hand holding the gun. He wore an unusual wedding band. Titanium. Dark gray with a lighter band in the middle. I’d know the ring if I saw it.”

“Married, huh? That narrows the field; the ring even more,” Lucier said, pulling into the street. “I know for sure Hodge is married. What about Michel, Feldman, and Rickett? I’ll find out.”

“And about a thousand more,” Diana said. “You can’t be sure no one else is involved.”

He let out an exasperated sigh. “You’re not helping.”

“Sorry. I’m being realistic. You have your mind focused on the card-playing group. It might be one or two, but all of them?”

“I’m betting on the one or two.”

“Keys played with them, and I know he wasn’t involved, which is why he’s dead. He didn’t have a vengeful bone in his body.”

“He was involved with Chenault.”

“Keys was gay. Chenault was leading a double life, and one of those lives was as a gay man. I bet his other friends didn’t know about his sexual orientation. And from what you told me, the married cops were probably more worried about him hitting on their wives. It still doesn’t make his card-playing buddies complicit in murder.”

“No, but I’m going with my gut on this one.” He glanced at her. “I have a pretty good gut.”

Diana looked him up and down, arched one brow. “You certainly do.”

He fake-punched her arm. “You’re a bad girl.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“Usually. At night.”

Feeling better, she laughed.

“I’ve got work to do. I feel we’re closing in on this team.”

“Is that your gut talking or your brain?”

“Both.”

Ten minutes later, Lucier pulled into Diana’s driveway. “I’ll walk you inside. Get some rest, and call me later.” He hustled around to the passenger side and opened her door.

“Wow, such service.”

He took her hand and helped her out. “I aim to please, ma’am.”

“Actually, I am tired.” When they got near the steps to the door, she stood on her tiptoes and kissed his lips. “I’ll see you later?”

“As long as you promise to be a bad girl.”

Her laugh was loud and real and almost covered the pop-pop sound from behind a copse of trees. A divot of grass chunked out of the lawn.

“Get down,” Lucier yelled. He pushed her toward the ground and protected her with his body from the direction of the shots while he drew his gun.

Another pop echoed in the quiet street. Lucier jerked and fell on top of her.

A warm spatter sprayed her face.

Lucier groaned.

Diana lost her balance and fell hard onto the walkway, cracking her head against the corner of the brick step.

She called his name in a whimper. “Ernie.”

He didn’t make a sound. Didn’t move.

Then everything went dark.

A
jackhammer
pounded in Diana’s head. Her first attempt at opening her eyes was met with a dizzying kaleidoscope of fractured light. She scrunched them shut again, only to see Lucier pushing her out of the way as the shots rang out. Protecting her. Saving her.

The blood.

Lucier’s blood.

She bolted upright, heart racing, gulping short breaths of terror. A hanging bag of liquid dripping into her hand tipped over on its stand, but Diana didn’t notice.

“Ernie,” she screamed once, then again. The room spun. She couldn’t focus. Where the hell was she?

A nurse rushed into the room and righted the bag of solution, then gently prodded her back into a reclining position.

“Now, now, Ms. Racine, take it easy. You’re going to pull that needle right out of your hand.”

The shock of being in a hospital bed only added to the panic at not seeing Lucier. “Where’s Lieutenant Lucier? Is he ―” She couldn’t say the word, wouldn’t think it. “Is he all right? Where’s the doctor?”

“Calm down now,” the nurse said. “You have a concussion and a badly sprained shoulder; along with some cuts and bruises. Don’t get excited. You’re in the hospital emergency room.”

“Lieutenant Lucier? You have to tell me.”

“I’ll let the doctor explain,” the nurse, whose nametag displayed Yolanda Cintero, said.

“Get him here, please. I have to know.”

“He’s with another patient now. He’ll be in here shortly. Now you have to be quiet. You have a nasty bump on your head.”

Tears flooded Diana’s eyes, blurring everything in the room. “So much blood.” The pain in her head intensified. “How long have I been here?”

“Since this morning,” Nurse Yolanda said. “You woke a few times, but slipped back into unconsciousness. We were very worried about you.”

She didn’t remember waking, didn’t remember anything except the blood and the slam of Lucier’s body coming down on her, his jolt when the bullet made contact.

“Tell me if he’s alive, please.” She shot the nurse a pleading look and was about to beg when a serious-looking doctor came into the room, glasses perched on top of his head.

“Glad to see you’re up and feisty,” he said. “I’m Doctor Kessler. Now why don’t you relax? I’m afraid the other patients on the floor will think we’re killing someone in here.”

“Lieutenant Lucier. How is he?”

“If I tell you, will you calm down? You’ve had a serious head injury, and you don’t need to get excited.”

“Promise. I’m calm. See? Calm as a morning lake.”

A slight smile curled the doctor’s lips. “The lieutenant is in serious but stable condition. Barring any unforeseen complications, I expect a full recovery.” He nailed her with a steady expression. “Now, let me take a look.”

The doctor lowered his glasses and checked the stats on her chart, then drew a penlight to shine in her eyes. “Good,” he muttered. “Breathe deeply.”

She did, and he listened to her chest and back. “Going to check your BP again.” He put the cuff on and watched as the dial bobbed. “Good. Very good. You’re a lucky lady.”

“Only because Lieutenant Lucier saved my life. Tell me, really, how is he?”

“Ordinarily, I wouldn’t give out any information except to a family member, but I understand you’re as close as he’s got.”

“I am. His parents are dead, and ―” the words that his wife and three children were dead too stuck in her throat ―” I’m all he’s got.”

“One bullet pierced a lung and lodged close to his heart. Removing it was delicate surgery, but we have one of the best heart surgeons on staff at this hospital, fortunately for the lieutenant.”

“I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.”
But Ernie is alive, and he’s going to live.
“Did they get the shooter?”

“No,” Sam Beecher said, entering the room. “How’re ya doing, Diana?”

“Better now that I know Ernie will live. He will, won’t he, Doctor? You mentioned complications.”

“He’ll be fine,” Beecher said. “Doctors always say that to cover their backsides, isn’t that right, Doc?”

Kessler raised his specs and gave Beecher the evil eye while maintaining his professional demeanor. His body language left no doubt he didn’t appreciate Beecher’s comment. “I never say never,” the doctor said, “but I don’t anticipate anything to cause that to happen.” To Beecher: “You shouldn’t be in here, Detective. How’d you get past the nurse?”

“She didn’t see me,” Beecher said.

“Can I see the lieutenant?” Diana asked.

“Later. He’s resting. I don’t want him excited, and something tells me if anyone could excite him, you’d be the one.” He winked. “Now, relax. I’ll be back in a while. Don’t go pulling that solution out of your hand again. We’ll keep a watch on you overnight. You can go home tomorrow.”

“What about Ernie?”

“He’ll be here for a few days, and like the detective said, we take care to cover our butts, so I won’t be a hundred percent optimistic.” He winked again, patted her hand, and headed to the door with a barely perceptible sneer at Beecher.

“Thanks, Doctor,” she called after him. “Don’t let anything happen to him. I’m not anywhere near finished making his life difficult.”

Beecher snickered. “You’re probably right about that, but Ernie’s not complaining.”

“Do you think the shot was meant for me, Sam?”

“My guess is the both of you. Luckily, a neighbor heard the popping noise and came out yelling. The shooter disappeared out a back street. The neighbor said he was wearing a hoodie, but she couldn’t see his face or identify him. No one else saw anything.”

“Damn. No car racing out of the area?”

“Nope. You didn’t see anything? Hear? Smell? Sense? Anything?”

“No, the street was quiet, no one around. Most of my neighbors work. Thank goodness someone was home to stop whoever from killing us both.”

“You got that right. Now, tell me everything you remember. Where were you before you got to your house?”

Diana didn’t know if she should say anything. Lucier told her to keep the visit to the morgue quiet.

“Don’t worry. I know about the morgue visit. Craven gathered us all into his office and told us that finding who shot the lieutenant was priority. He said where you’d been.”

“I wanted to read Chenault to see if I could, you know, see anything to point to the killer.”

“With Ernie down, I’m in charge of the case. Tell me everything you saw or felt.”

“The hand holding the gun wore a titanium wedding band. Chenault went for his gun. He knew the shooter.”

“Listen to you, picking up the lingo. The shooter. Pretty soon you’ll be saying perp and scumbag.”

Diana smiled, then her smile faded. “Someone is killing off everyone who can blow the killer’s cover. He’s a cop, isn’t he? Maybe more than one cop.”

“Dunno. Maybe. The lieutenant thought so. A vigilante group to mete out justice where the courts didn’t do their job.”

“We’re getting close, aren’t we?”

Beecher twisted his mouth and the word “Yup” slipped out. “Think back. Tell me everything that happened after you left the morgue.”

“We got to the house.”

“Did Ernie mention anyone following you?”

“No, but he was concerned about me. He might not have been thinking about anything else.”

“Doesn’t matter. Whoever shot at you probably followed you to the morgue. Maybe he even called ahead to someone else when he knew where you were going.”

“The captain knew.”

“The captain didn’t leave the district. Neither did our team, and Jake Griffin doesn’t seem to be involved this time.”

“That’s because they knew they were going to shoot us.”

“Possibly. Ernie was a target. So were you.”

“Then they’d have to kill your whole team. You all know too much.”

Beecher hummed in his throat. “But you could nail the killer with a touch.”

Diana didn’t like Beecher’s conclusion at all, mainly because it could be true.

“What happened next?”

“Ernie opened my car door and walked me up the drive. I heard a pop, and he pushed me down and covered me with his body.” Her breath caught. “He put himself in harm’s way to save me, Beecher.” Her chin quivered. “Oh, damn.”

“That’s because you’re more important to him than his own life. Damned if I know why, though.” He socked her in the arm and offered her the tissue box on the bedside table. She took one and wiped her eyes.

A laugh escaped amid Diana’s tears, relieved to rid some of the guilt. If Lucier died, she’d never get over his loss. Beecher helped lighten the situation; otherwise, she’d burst into tears.

“Wasn’t there anything at the scene? A broken branch that caught his monogrammed handkerchief or something?”

Beecher grinned. “No such luck. Clean as the proverbial whistle. He even raked over the ground where he stood.”

“Who else but a cop would know to do that?”

“Anyone who watches enough cop shows on TV. Everyone’s a forensic expert these days.”

Diana was about to agree when a commotion exploded in the hall.

A voice over the P.A. system called, “Code blue, code blue. ICU. Room 320.”

Beecher paled.

“What?”

“That’s the lieutenant’s room.”