The Premise

by Andy Crossfield

  "No, it doesn’t." Ramy replied. "But when I confronted him on the phone after meeting with the police, he confessed. He said he wanted to keep me out of it, and that he would come back to face all charges. That was last weekend and, well, he never did, did he?"

  Jack and Colleen turned to Kyle who suddenly was feeling pressure to shore up his version of the story.

  "I know what I saw." Kyle said defensively. "The body was dead, charred and dead. The briefcase is proof it was Mark."

  "Kyle," Jack said, "We need to find out if Mark’s body was ever found. Can you think of anyone who might have the answer to that?"

  "Bill Cooley is the only one I trust, he wouldn’t really know I don’t think, but maybe he can ask around…"

  Colleen’s expression brightened as a question came to her. "Dr. Basra, you say Mark admitted to murder on the phone while he was in Las Vegas. Why did Mark go to Vegas in the first place? Did you send him? It seems he had lots of reasons to stay here after the break-in."

  Ramy’s face reddened. "That, I’m afraid, is confidential. But there is ample evidence to assume he felt going there would help his escape from justice."

  Jack stiffened at Ramy’s evasion and followed Colleen’s lead. "Confidential or no, your name was mentioned as a party to the hit, Dr. Basra. If there’s more to your story than you are telling us, it is only your life you are risking. Dr. Basra, I noticed you reacted when I mentioned a name earlier. So I ask you now, have you ever heard of Hank Caswell?"

  Ramy sat frozen for a moment weighing the trio’s evidence against the facts that he knew.

  "I don’t think revealing company secrets to strangers is ever warranted; even if I considered what you say is true." Ramy said sternly.

  Kyle fished a small object out of his pocket and placed it on the edge of Ramy’s desk. "Do you recognize this at all Dr. Basra? Does this key fit anything around here?"

  Jack and Colleen looked at each other and then at Kyle.

  "No, I don’t recognize it at all. Why do you ask?"

  "No reason, just thought you might have something around here that it fits, is all."

  Jack looked at Kyle with a curious glance, and then turned to again confront Ramy. "Dr. Basra, you said Mark was on the run." Jack said trying to wrest back control of the conversation. "If you don’t tell us why Mark went to Las Vegas, our next stop will be the police. Perhaps they will be more interested in our information."

  Ramy suddenly began to sweat. As large wet beads popped out on his forehead, he mopped at them with a handkerchief. "I’m afraid I’ve been more than cooperative with you already, now as I said, I am needed at another meeting." Ramy stood and looked toward the door. "Please" he said as he motioned to them to leave.

  Jack looked out Ramy’s office window and saw the rain starting. He quickly sent a text to Tom that the meeting was over and to pick them up at the lobby entrance, then stood to shake Ramy’s hand. He was following Colleen and Kyle into the hall when a tremendous explosion rocked the parking lot and caused the windows in Ramy’s office to shake violently.

  The four rushed back into the office in time to watch the remnants of a fireball high above the parking lot and flames engulf an SUV; thick smoke and fire pouring out and up from the wreckage.

  "Tom!" screamed Jack, who was out the door and on the phone with 911 before his companions could even move. Outside, he pushed through the few onlookers and struggled against the choking black smoke that was blowing toward them. Jack circled around the flaming vehicle and came back toward the horrific scene from the other side.

  By the time Jack reached the vehicle, the rain had slowed but several cars nearby had also caught fire, generating even more heat and preventing any sort of rescue. The sound of roaring flames, jets of burning gasoline, and popping glass filled the hushed parking lot as helplessness pervaded the onlookers. Jack spotted Colleen and Kyle struggling in the smoke and went to retrieve them to his spot.

  Kyle stood motionless in a trance, oblivious to the activity around him. The smell of burning tires and the sounds of melting glass and metal had caused Kyle to flash back to his tragic experience in the desert.

  After what seemed ages instead of the few minutes that had actually passed, two fire trucks pulled in and parted the large crowd. The first responders quickly brought the flames under control. Police arrived soon after and began to push the onlookers back even farther from the grisly sight and were having success with everyone except with Ramy, who insisted on moving closer.

  Ramy caught Jack’s gaze across the horrific scene and Jack could see he was terrified. Jack could only offer a sympathetic nod of the head as he wondered how this was possible.

  In all, three cars were burned completely; four more had been damaged severely. Only one body was recovered. The coroner later positively identified him as Tom Melvin.

  Chapter 23 The Debt Collected

  Hank Caswell woke up in pain. The narrow hospital bed had cramped him from the first day of his confinement, and after three days, the handcuff had rubbed a sore on his wrist and his shoulder felt like a hot poker had lodged there. He strained to see the time. Three-twenty a.m., over two hours before his next pain medication.

  He hit the call button for the nurse. His good shoulder was asleep and he’d wet himself again. He was not happy, just what the nurse wanted in the middle of the night. He was sure she’d take her time; she always did. A needy murder suspect lying in his own urine wasn’t exactly the most attractive patient on the floor. His shoulder wound was beginning to ooze again.

  "Bout time you showed up. How about letting me sit up, okay?"

  "Can’t do that Mr. Caswell. I don’t have a key to those, remember?" The nurse said as she nodded to the handcuffs restraining him to the bed.

  "Well, how am I supposed to get comfortable?" Hank shot back.

  "I’m not sure that’s what they had in mind for ya."

  "I pissed myself again because I couldn’t reach the damn urinal."

  ‘Sucks to be you then. The change team doesn’t come on till seven. But you knew that already, didn’t ya?" The nurse gave him the same look every time, a cross between feigned sympathy and delight at his condition.

  "What have you got against me, nurse…" Hank strained to see the nurse’s name badge, "Vasco?"

  "Nothin’" she said dismissively. "Nothin’ at all, Mr. C.E.O. …" Her voice trailed off but Hank thought he heard another word under her breath.

  "Well how about something for the pain?" Hank asked. "My shoulder is on fire, and I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if the staff around here wasn’t watering down the dosages and selling it!"

  Nurse Vasco spun on her heel and put her face in Hank’s. "Is that supposed to be your idea of charm, Mr. C.E.O.? You chattin’ me up to get me to break the rules and risk my job… with that? I declare, I just do not know how some folks get so far ahead in life and don’t learn nothin’ about how to treat folks!"

  Hank fell back on his pillow with his back to the wall and watched the nurse for a minute. He was not in the mood to hear another diatribe about how the working class had it so hard in life. What a bunch of complainers he thought. He swallowed hard and held his tongue. "Does that mean you’re not going to help me?" Hank said in a forced pitiful but pleasant tone.

  "Help you? Help you what?"

  "Help me, … please?"

  "Jesus hisself would give you pause, you know that?" Said the nurse in a restrained voice that conveyed her anger.

  Hank exploded. "I’m innocent! Innocent until proven guilty, and I demand to be treated with respect! …Do you hear me?"

  "Maybe I should bring in the policeman outside your door? I’m sure he can settle you down Mr. C.E.O. Maybe you want to give him your innocent story; maybe he never heard one before. That’s what I’ll do… Is that what you want Mr. Caswell?"

  Nurse Vasco turned toward the door as if to fetch his guard, when Hank stopped her.

  "Wait… just bring my meds…" Hank said looking sheepish. He
paused, let out a sigh and said "Please?"

  "Which ones you want Mr. C.E.O.?" Nurse Vasco asked in a patronizing, singsong voice. "The ones you get in two hours, or the ones you get later on in the day?"

  Hank went ballistic. He ripped at his restraint and nearly bent the rail on the side of his bed, shaking his body violently from side to side and wild with fury.

  Nurse Vasco recoiled at the sight, keeping clear of Hank’s flailing legs.

  Hank again collapsed into the pillow and tried to grab his shoulder, now spiking in pain. His ranting had opened his wound and loosened the bandage, causing it to ooze down his chest and soak his pajamas.

  "You through?" Nurse Vasco said, cautiously approaching Hank’s bed from his injured shoulder side.

  "You’ll never heal up if you keep thrashing about like that." she said as she started to replace the bandage. "But if you think they’ll let you drag out your stay here, let me say I’ve seen folks worse off than you that got took off to jail!"

  Hank turned toward his nurse as if to say something and then spit in her face. He tried to grab her arm but the restraints held.

  "That’s it Mr. C.E.O.… you can rot in here for all I care!" Nurse Vasco said as she wiped his spit from her face with a towel. "You’re on my last good nerve, you know that?"

  Nurse Vasco stormed out of the room and looked for the guard. He wasn’t much of a guard she thought. He took a lot of breaks during the night shift, but tonight he seemed to be gone more than usual.

  She walked back to the nurse’s station and grabbed up the clipboard, then fumbled with the pen as she entered her latest visit on his chart.

  "What’s wrong?" said the other night shift nurse.

  "That guy in 242. He’s mad 'cause I won’t up his meds. And for that, he goes and spits in my face! I need a cigarette, bad!"

  "I thought you was quitt…"

  Nurse Vasco looked her in the eye with a dagger stare, "Can you watch the desk for me?"

  ‘Sure, Joline," said her co-worker. "You want me to go unplug somethin’ in his room for ya?"

  "No," Joline said with a grin at the thought of Mr C.E.O. gasping for air or worse. "But you can keep an eye out for his guard… I haven’t seen him in over half an hour; probably in some closet somewhere, asleep!"

  Joline Vasco made her way down the two flights of stairs, exited out the back door of the hospital, and sat on the secluded bench used as a smoking area. High bushes hid the spot from public view, both to provide privacy for the employees, and cover for the hospital, which remained embarrassed that they were not more persuasive in getting their employees to quit the habit.

  Joline inhaled her first puff dramatically, as if she had just surfaced from a deep dive. As her cigarette shortened, Joline’s resolve to quit increased, and finally she stubbed it out the same way she had for the last two months.

  "That’s my last one!" she said to herself, hoping this time she would really mean it.

  Joline keyed her code into the door pad and slipped inside as she reached in her smock pocket for her breath spray. Mr. C.E.O. was still on her mind as she absently wiped at her cheek again where just minutes before his saliva had been. She dreaded her next encounter with the occupant of Room 242.

  As she started back up the stairs, she didn’t notice the door never locked back, or the piece of tape preventing it from doing so, or for that matter, she never noticed the shiny black shoes laying toes down behind the very bench where she had been sitting. The shiny black shoes with Officer Prewitt in them…

  __________________

  Hank pulled another blanket over his shoulder and up to his chin. He was wet and now cold, and relief was many hours away. He’d been coded as dangerous, and that meant only specially trained orderlies could attempt a sheet change or any other maneuver that might involve removing his restraints.

  He had given up on calling the nurse again, and had decided to wait for a shift change at 6 am to see if the day nurse would offer more compassion in getting him enough painkillers to ease the constant throbbing pain in his shoulder. His struggle and the constant pain in his shoulder had worn him out; what little energy he had was gone and he was exhausted. Hank had just entered a semi-twilight sleep when he became aware of an aide in the room. Through one barely opened eye, he watched a pair of hands reach out and inject his IV line.

  "Thank you" Hank said sleepily, closing his eye again as he waited for the pain to ease.

  "You’re welcome, Hank" said a familiar deep male voice.

  Hank sleepily forced his eye open once more and then woke with a start. Hank tried hard to process what he saw as the dark figure moved silently toward the door and quietly out of the room. In a panic, he reached for the button and called for the nurse. Then he realized she would arrive too late. Already his legs were feeling the paralysis of the drug, and he could feel it creeping up his body toward his chest.

  Nurse Vasco was attending another patient when the pager call went off. She finished up with her patient after a few minutes and stopped off at the nurse’s station before heading down to 242. Reluctantly she pushed open Hank’s door, steeling herself for the verbal assault she imagined awaited her.

  Something was wrong. Her patient lay in a fetal position with his back to the door, which meant he was lying on his injured shoulder. The room was quiet except for the sound of his handcuff jangling rhythmically against the bed rail. She cautiously approached, fearing another spitting episode. Peering over his shoulder, she could see his wrist in palsy, jerking back and forth against his handcuff restraint.

  Nurse Vasco quickly moved around the bed and looked into Hank Caswell’s eyes. His face was contorted and his eyes were ablaze with fear, blinking out a sort of Morse code that Joline could not understand. She took his wrist to try to calm its motion and realized his whole body was wracked in spasm, putting his muscles into a rigor simulating death.

  Working quickly to correct the situation, she issued a code for more help and checked his IV, then pulled a stand of instruments toward the bed and began attaching the connections for the monitor. His entire body was engulfed in rigor. Hank’s body was pulled in so tight she couldn’t reach many of the attachment points for the electrodes. As the monitors began displaying their readings one by one, Joline shook her head in disbelief. Pulse and BP were erratic and falling fast. Breathing shallow and O2 levels were dropping too. She was losing him.

  She looked again in his eyes and watched helplessly as Hank tried repeatedly to form words with his lips. At the very instant Hank tried with all his might to form the words that would identify his killer, help arrived. In that instant, Joline’s attention was diverted. She never got to see, and couldn’t be expected to hear the faint last whisper uttered by Henry Francis Caswell…

  "William Downs."

  The shadowy figure paused long enough in the stairwell to evaluate the commotion he had just caused. Room 242 was only steps from his position at the top of the stairwell and from his vantage point, William could hear both the urgent attempt to save Hank and the realization from the staff that they had failed. Satisfied, he made his way down the stairs and quietly slipped out the door, removing the tape on the strike plate as he left.

  Once outside, he pushed through the thick hedge behind the bench and stood over Officer Prewitt’s body; assessing the scene before stooping and removing the tiny dart from the back of his neck. Then he carefully rolled the body over and unzipped his fly, grasped his penis and pulled it through the opening in his pants. He then rolled the body back to its original position. William stood to survey the scene once more, using a small flashlight to check the area for footprints or anything else that would indicate foul play.

  When he was convinced the scene was clean, William slipped back into the shadows, removing his latex gloves as he walked quickly across an alley to the back of a nearby warehouse. He stopped again to look back toward the hospital. It was quiet. He stuffed the dart, the syringe, and his gloves into an empty beer can he found on th
e street and wiped his prints from the outside. After crushing the can with his heel, he kicked it in a storm drain and walked the few short blocks to a busy cross street where he hailed a cab.

  "Where to Mister?"

  "Fremont Street."

  "Last show down there was midnight, not much going on this time of morning. You looking for some action?"

  "No,"

  "Okay, Mack, I’m just trying to be helpful…"

  "Just drive, okay?"

  Chapter 24 His Master's Voice

  Bill Cooley’s phone rang early, before he had a chance to settle in at his desk.

  "Warden Cooley," he said in a deep, first-call-of-the-morning voice.

  "Bill, its Brenda, in Hank Caswell’s office?"