The Chilling Spree (12 page)

He nodded.  “If you can have one of the
men look into this accident and make sure it really was one –”

“Say no more,” Johnny said. 

His hand rubbed against my lower back. 
“Doc, I’m really sorry.  I wish I could remember what made you
learn what a great guy Ned was.  I wish I could remember a lot
of things.”

I gravitated toward him, not much, but it
must’ve communicated more than I thought, maybe more than I wanted
him to know.  Johnny pulled me against his chest and let me
burrow close for a few seconds of comfort.  I cried softly and
left wet tears in his shirt.  His fingers spanned my jaw when
I stepped away.

“Helen.”  The low tender voice rippled
over me.

“Promise me you’ll be careful,” I
whispered.

The direction his urges took was written all
over his face.  Johnny’s head dipped, but he reined it in just
as quickly as it was almost expressed.  “You be careful too,”
he said.

Chris wrapped a fatherly arm around my
shoulder and steered me out of the state police office.  “He’s
young, strong, healthy.  He’ll pull through this.”

“I can’t let myself think otherwise. 
It’s bad enough that we lost Ned.”

“You’re right,” Chris said.  “Detective
Williams was one hell of a man.  This is gonna devastate
Devlin when he finds out what happened.”

“How did it happen?”  I couldn’t stop
wondering aloud.  The cloud of perpetual ground cover that
shrouded Darkwater Bay hit us the second we stepped out of the
building.  “Damned fog.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time.”

In less than an hour, Darnell and I found
ourselves waiting outside surgery, drinking toxic  coffee,
understanding too well why the carpeting in the waiting room was
threadbare.  We added to its destruction with nonstop
pacing.

At the marker of hour two in surgery, the
physician from the emergency department who treated Devlin came up
to talk to us. 

“I’m not sure if anyone explained more than
I told you over the phone, Commander Darnell.”

“Some sort of abdominal injury,” he
said.  “Exploratory surgery.”

The doctor started talking about things like
tears to the liver or the aorta, the gross amount of bleeding in
Dev’s abdomen when he arrived at the hospital, complications and
risks involved with every type of abdominal injury known to
man.  I thought about our dead victim, Kyle Goddard.  His
aorta hadn’t withstood the trauma it endured for very
long. 

My mind’s eye saw Dev’s belly slowly filling
with blood without the wound Goddard’s had that let his blood drain
into an amplification speaker. 

“Because it was closed trauma,” I
interrupted, “would that enhance Devlin’s chance of survival if the
aorta was torn?”

The doctor frowned.  “I’m not sure I
understand.”

Chris knew exactly where I was going with
the question.  I felt a wave of panic.  What if he didn’t
understand why I asked such a question while our friend’s life hung
in the balance?

“We had a murder victim with an injury to
the aorta,” Chris explained.  “I think Helen’s trying to think
about something other than Devlin possibly meeting the same
fate.”

“I seriously doubt that his aorta was
damaged,” he said.

My confidence in trusting the words of
MSUH’s emergency physicians was nil after one of them promised me
that Johnny’s memory loss would be minimal.  My lips rolled
between my teeth, an attempt to quell the derision I felt.

“In injuries where we see immediate bruising
from abdominal impact like your colleague suffered –”

“How much do you know about the accident?”
Chris cut off the presumptive blather this time.

“I believe that the driver’s side of the
vehicle was hit.  The vehicle Detective Mackenzie was rescued
from rolled several times before it came to rest on the passenger
side.”

“Hit by what exactly?” Chris asked.

“Some sort of commercial transportation
vehicle.  A truck maybe?  Produce, I think the paramedics
said.”

“Did he commit a traffic violation?”

The doctor glanced back at me and
shrugged.  “I’m afraid we don’t get that kind of information,
detective.  In any case, your friend is in the best hands
possible.  If you’d like me to go in and see if I can get an
update on the surgery, I’d be happy to do that for you.”

“Please,” I said.

“He’s gonna pull through this, Helen,” Chris
said.  “He’s got to.”

It felt like eternity had dragged on for
several eons by the time the doctor came through the doors from the
surgical suites.  “Good news,” he said.  “Your friend
dodged a real bullet.  His spleen was lacerated.  His
surgeon successfully removed it, and he’s being closed even as we
speak.  Detective Mackenzie should be in recovery in less than
an hour.”

Chris wrapped his arms around me shortly
after
good news
.  He hugged me tightly and spoke to the
doctor over my shoulder.  “When can we see him?”

“Not until he’s out of recovery and on the
surgical floor.  It could be a couple more hours.  You
two look like you could use some rest and a hot meal.”

Sour coffee churned in my belly.  No
arm twisting was necessary for a good meal.  The last thing I
wanted was to lose the weight I struggled to regain after Johnny’s
brutal intervention after I was shot.  “Let’s go to the
cafeteria, Chris.”

He agreed.  Over eggs benedict, Chris
started talking about his history with Devlin. 

“He was nineteen, barely,” Chris shook his
head and chuckled.  “Nineteen going on 30.  Devlin wasn’t
like the other kids in his unit.  He was quiet, not one little
bit cocky , and really was the kind of soldier that made me
nervous.”

“In what way?”

“We were an expeditionary unit,” Chris
explained, “you know, we’d go in and pave the way for those behind
us.”

“Devlin saw combat?”

Chris nodded, “Although the world at large
thought we were on some sort of peace keeping mission.  Let me
tell you, there were no campfires with the natives where we
exchanged versions of Kumbaya.  This is oftentimes what
happens when the UN talks about peace.  Those of us on the
ground know there’s nothing peaceful about it.  Anyway, civil
war is bloody, and it was our job to try to quell some of the
genocide and torture going on while the heads of state battled out
the terms of two emerging countries.”

My mind calculated Dev’s age, counted back
the requisite number of years to his youth.  I remembered the
peace keeping mission in question.  “And his behavior worried
you?”

Chris chewed thoughtfully.  “It wasn’t
so much what he did, Helen.  It was what he didn’t do.  I
remember one instance specifically.  We’d come through this
village really, so small I doubt it would’ve classified as a
town.  There was a house that had been gutted by fire. 
Family all dead in their beds.  Most of the guys got sick, a
few were crying.  Dev stoically went about business. 
There were burned remnants of rope that had been used to tie
children into their beds before the house was set ablaze.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Still haunts me to this day.  So what
I was accustomed to these kids falling apart.  Not
Devlin.  He showed no emotion.  Frankly, it worried me
more than you could possibly know.”

“Chris, I think of all people, I understand
what you’re saying.  Devlin’s lack of emotion at seeing such
horrors could mean a lot of things, the least of which is some sort
of emotionally dissociative state.”

He nodded, “Yeah, I suppose you would relate
to that on a professional level.  Anyway, I started keeping a
close eye on him.  I couldn’t find any fault with his
performance, Helen.  He volunteered for more night watches
than anybody in the unit.  He wasn’t inappropriate or overly
interested in seeing the gore.  I couldn’t figure out what his
story was, and he was so quiet, he wasn’t about to confide in me or
anybody else.  I started worrying that we were screwing this
kid’s head up.  You know?”

“Sure,” I nodded and reached for Darnell’s
hand.

“So one night I followed him out on night
watch, sort of approached in stealth mode.  I saw what was
going on first hand.”

“What was he doing?”  I leaned forward,
genuinely curious about how Devlin processed the world of war.

“Crying,” Chris said, “and praying for the
people in the countryside, that we would be able to keep peace and
save them.”  His eyes welled with tears.  “I knew then
and there that Devlin Mackenzie was no ordinary man.  He had
character and compassion and a wisdom that I didn’t find in a whole
lot of men my age.”

“I learned quickly that Devlin has a deep
respect for the law,” I said, “and not a whole lot of patience for
those who get in the way of the job being done correctly.”

“He’s a good person, Helen.”  Chris
stared at his half eaten meal.  “I feel strange saying
this.  You know how I feel about Johnny.  I’ve known him
and respected him for a long time, Helen.  But Devlin is like
a son to me.”

“I know.”  And saw where he was going
before the words were uttered.

“Devlin cares about you.  In fact, I’d
go so far as to say he’s got a bit of a crush.  He’s too
honorable to stand between you and Johnny.”

“But.”

“Yeah,” he said.  “But Johnny can’t
remember what he knew about you, and I’m pretty sure based on his
behavior over the last week that his frustration level is making
him look for your flaws, not the reasons that he cared about
you.”

“I see.”

“You’re in one hell of a tough spot.  I
know you care about Johnny too, but I also know that you and Devlin
sort of got pretty close working the Datello case.”

“I don’t want anyone to get hurt,
Chris.  Not Johnny, certainly not Devlin.  Perhaps it
would be better if I just retreated away from both of them until
things settle down a little bit.”

“I’d like Devlin to know that you’re his
friend, Helen.  After losing Ned, which I’m not sure he even
knows yet, he’s gonna need more than me.”

“All right.”

“You need to figure out if you’re gonna
stick by Johnny right now, because it’s the mixed signals that are
gonna hurt Devlin – if he survives.”

“Chris, he’s strong.  He’ll pull
through this.”

“I’ll feel a lot better about it when he
wakes up and speaks to me,” Chris said.  He glanced at his
watch.  “How much longer do you think it’ll be before they let
us see him?”

“Let’s at least finish breakfast before we
head up to the surgical floor.”  Even though my appetite was
far from back to a hundred percent, niggling fear of backsliding
into malnutrition propelled the fork to my mouth.

He looked pale against the white hospital
linens.  I struggled with burning eyes and a leaky nose. 
Chris made no pretense.  He cried the moment we walked into
the room.  A second later, he slumped into a chair beside the
bed and hesitated before finding a patch of arm without a tube or
cuff attached.  He rested his hand lightly and started
talking.

“I don’t know if you can hear me son, but
I’m here.”

I took post on the other side of the
bed.  “It could be hours before he’s conscious enough to
realize we’re here, Chris.”

“I know.  I’ve got to believe that part
of him can understand that we’re here.  I love him like the
son I always wanted but never had.”

In that moment, I realized that I knew next
to nothing about Chris Darnell.  He said he was married
once.  I presumed given his age, that there were children and
grandchildren in his life.  Then again, my other impression of
him was that he must sleep standing in his perfectly pressed state
police uniform.

“Chris, don’t you have children?”

The smile was faint.  “I guess I’m what
you kids would consider a newlywed.  My second wife and I have
been married for three years.  Before I finally settled down,
those opportunities for kids were long gone.”

I had a hard time imagining him as the
player I was once warned Johnny was.

“My career always came first,” he continued,
oblivious to where my thoughts were headed.  “You remind me a
lot of myself when I was young, Helen.  The job came before
everything else.  After I got to a certain age, it got harder
to go home to an empty life, and my responsibilities became less
and less as the younger guys started coming up in the ranks of the
state police.  I had no doubt that Governor Collangelo would
tap Johnny to run the agency.”

“He’s a very good investigator.”

“Exactly,” Chris nodded.  “With very
little patience for the administrative aspects of the jobs. 
That was how I was coaxed out of retiring when OSI was in its early
stages of development.  Johnny wanted to keep doing undercover
work.”

“Was he with the state police a long time
before OSI?”

Chris grinned.  “Almost from day one
that he left Darkwater Bay PD, Helen.  Didn’t he tell you what
happened?”

“I knew the basics, only because I was
working with Central Division and as you recall, there were a
number of his former peers that were out for Johnny’s blood.”

“He was the top undercover guy with the
state police for a very long time.  He used that private
security business as a cover from the get go.  His father
owned it, ran a very respectable business for years before he
died.  After he disappeared, Johnny took over, not in the
literal sense.  It was more oversight than anything else,
because he was still a police detective with Downey Division at the
time.  When he left the department, I snapped him up in a
heartbeat.  He suggested that we keep it very quiet, that he
use his father’s business as a cover so he could dig for
information that we might not otherwise get.  He sort of
embraced the role of the disgraced cop.”