Paradise Crime Thrillers Box Set

by Toby Neal

  No one was there.

  Even the officer guarding the room was gone.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Even the police officer’s plastic chair was gone. Sophie tensed as she looked up and down the empty hall.

  This could be nothing, or it could be the beginning of something very bad.

  She withdrew back into the room and checked for some way to lock the door, but there was none. She grabbed one of the plastic chairs and propped it under the handle of the door. She pulled a pillowcase off one of the pillows wedged beside Alika’s head and, ripping off a bit of surgical tape from the roll inside the wall-mounted rack of supplies, hung it over the window into the hall so no one could see through the safety glass insert into the room. Then she hurried to the phone and called the nurses’ station.

  The phone rang and rang and rang.

  Maybe there was a major emergency that had called all the personnel away.

  Maybe the officer had left his station for a bathroom break, knowing she was a Federal cop visiting the victim.

  But she’d turned in her badge, creds and weapon, and even though she had her own gun, it was at home in a safe where it could do exactly no good.

  “Always better to assume the worst in a combat situation,” she told Alika, glancing around for something to use as a weapon even as she dialed 911 on her cell phone. “You told me that.”

  No Signal.

  She’d experienced the notoriously bad reception in the hospital before, but the timing didn’t seem coincidental.

  Sophie went back to Alika’s bed and hit the Call Nurse button on the cord beside his hand. A light went on at the back of his bed, and she suddenly wondered who saw those lights in the nurses’ station, and whether alerting a possible unsub that she was aware of a problem was worth the risk.

  Too late now.

  She grabbed the wall phone and instead of dialing 0 for the desk, tried an external line and called 911 again.

  The phone was dead too, the absence of a dial tone as deafening as a siren in her ear.

  Sophie lifted the makeshift curtain she’d made off the window and peeked out. Unfortunately, now she had only a limited range of view, but she still saw no one. She wondered if she had time to try to move Alika somewhere else, decided it was too risky to try to wheel him into the hall.

  But she could try to shelter him from the line of fire through the door. And she needed a weapon.

  Moving fast, she unhooked all the various bags of liquid from the tall steel IV pole beside Alika’s bed and set them on the bed beside him. It was wheeled, so she unplugged all the electrical units on the bed from the wall. This set off an alarm from the cardiac monitor, a high-pitched beeping that she hoped was going somewhere else in the hospital to bring help. She pulled the brake lever, and, grunting with the effort of moving the heavy, unwieldy bed, hauled it over out of range of the window and door. Anyone trying to get a bead on the bed would have to come inside the room and turn to do so. She wasn’t going to let that happen.

  Sophie picked up the steel pole, hefted it.

  It was solid, with clunky wheels on one end a T-shaped crossbar at the top. She unscrewed the wheel unit from the bottom and took up a position beside the door to wait, the pole raised.

  She didn’t have to wait long.

  The door handle jiggled against the plastic back of the chair propped under it. Jiggled again. Jiggled a third time.

  What if it was hospital staff? She had done all she could to alert the medical team to a problem in the room.

  The glass of the door’s window shattering was her answer as something blew it out. The pillowcase she’d put up deflected the heavy glass to tinkle onto the floor beside her. The rest of the glass was knocked out of the window. She glimpsed the red metal of a fire axe.

  No one called out. Medical personnel wouldn’t enter a room that way. The unsub was trying to get a look inside, see what was happening in the room and where the target was.

  A hand appeared in the window’s opening, holding the silver gleam of a Sig Sauer with its barrel lengthened by a silencer. The gun’s muzzle lifted the pillowcase, questing for the bed. She was very glad she’d wheeled Alika off to the side against the wall with the bed’s back to the door.

  Sophie brought the steel pole down like a guillotine on the wrist protruding into the room. There was a gratifying crack of snapping bone, a scream, and the Sig dropped at her feet. Sophie scooped up the weapon, and, staying beside the door, stuck her hand out the small window and fired blind into the hall.

  The silencer made a sound like spitting watermelon seeds. Sophie hoped like hell she didn’t hit some innocent nurse coming to help.

  Gunfire erupted from the other side of the door.

  Sophie dove to the ground beside Alika’s bed. Shards of wood and metal blew out as the unsub unloaded another weapon on the door. There was no silencer on this one, and she covered her ears, head ringing from the blasts in the enclosed space. She tried to count the shots but they were coming too fast. A semi-automatic? Even so, she could feel the vibration of running feet through the floor as the unsub ran away when he’d emptied his clip.

  Sophie scrambled up and looked at the door. Light shone through forty or fifty holes and the wall opposite the door was peppered with embedded ammo.

  “It was a good thing I moved your bed,” she said to Alika.

  The Sig in ready position, she depressed the handle and pushed open the battered door, peering into the hall.

  Several people in white coats were running toward her, led by the officer who had been on duty.

  She held the gun up in the air above her head along with her other hand, so they didn’t think she was the attacker. “Got this weapon off the shooter and moved the patient. He’s okay. But I think we’re going to need another room.”

  Sophie didn’t leave Alika’s side all through his transfer, vigilant beside the staffers as they wheeled him, bed and all, to another room.

  She called Waxman on her cell when he’d been moved and re-hooked up to all his support systems. She was finally sitting down, waiting to give her statement to Marcus and Marcella, who were on their way. The HPD crime lab team was currently picking bullets out of the wall two floors below her.

  “I was visiting my friend Alika Wolcott in the hospital when someone tried to kill him,” Sophie said to Waxman. She turned the Sig over and over in her hands. It was evidence. And it was a nice weapon, the weapon of a professional, right down to the silencer screwed into the barrel. “Probably not related to any of my cases.”

  “What?” Waxman said. “Say that again.”

  “Just wanted to let my superior know an occurrence happened to me in the field while on administrative leave. I’m sure there’s a form I need to fill out or something.” She knew she sounded sarcastic.

  “Are you okay?” Waxman’s voice sounded blank with shock. “Were you injured?”

  “I’m fine.” She glanced down, noticed a long sliver of wood from the door protruding from her forearm. “Well, mostly fine. Few bumps and bruises, but I had those going in.” She set the Sig down and tugged out the sliver. Blood welled in its wake.

  The door opened and she grabbed the Sig and spun toward the threat. It was Marcus Kamuela, scowling. Sophie didn’t ever want to be someone he was coming after.

  “The officer investigating this has just arrived. I have to go, but I wanted to take a moment to apprise my superior.” Sophie hung up the phone and set the weapon down. “Better late than never,” she said to Marcus. “I hope you talked to that officer that was supposed to be guarding the door.”

  “Sure did. He said he was called away on his walkie-talkie by someone claiming to be a fellow officer spotting someone suspicious in the stairway. When he got there, the unsub clocked him. Good thing you were inside and took steps to protect Wolcott. Let me get your statement.” He took out a voice recorder.

  Sophie stood up and a whirlpool of black dots danced in front of her eyes. “I’m not
feeling so well.”

  She came to a minute or two later, lying on the floor next to Alika’s bed, feet elevated on a spare pillow. Marcella knelt beside her, covering her in a thin blanket, and she had an IV in her hand. A nurse was hanging a bag of clear liquid on the same IV pole as Alika’s.

  “Just some glucose and water,” the nurse said. “You were in shock and severely dehydrated. Take it easy. You’ll be fine in a little while.”

  Marcella knelt by Sophie, tucking the blanket around her. “Looks like you had an encounter today before the gunfight,” she said, touching Sophie’s cheek lightly.

  “You’ll do anything to avoid giving a statement,” Kamuela said, with weak humor. He seemed rattled by her fainting. “You look like hell, Sophie. Who gave you the beat down?”

  “So embarrassing.” Sophie shut her eyes. “I didn’t eat all day and had a bout at Fight Club, then the attack…guess it got the best of me.” She sat up slowly. She was already feeling better, the IV working to rehydrate and energize her. “Sometimes I get so caught up in my head I forget to take care of the body.”

  “Lie back down and tell us the series of events.” Kamuela pressed Record on his device.

  Sophie went through the attack and how she’d ended up with the Sig. Marcella bagged the deadly looking weapon. “Hopefully, the rounds from the wall tell us something and so does this.”

  “So someone came with intent to kill Wolcott. Or were you the target?” Marcus asked.

  “Don’t see how they came for me,” Sophie said. “No one knew I was coming here and I’ve been staying away on purpose.” She told them her worries about Assan.

  “So then we don’t really know who this shooter was going after.”

  “I think it’s safe to assume the target was Alika.” Sophie got up slowly from the floor and sat down on a handy chair beside Alika, glancing over at him.

  Alika was gazing back at her. His golden-brown eyes were circled in pouches of old bruising, but clear and conscious.

  “Who are you?” He articulated each word clearly. “And what am I doing here?”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Sophie unlocked her apartment, feeling a thousand years old. Marcella was right behind her as she went in, deactivated the alarm and greeted excited Ginger, who badly needed to go out. That was the first thing the two women did, walking the dog out of the building and standing close together against the wall, still sun-warmed though evening was casting purple shadows on the patch of lawn trimmed in hibiscus hedge beside the building. The lab nosed around the grass and did her business

  “They say amnesia is common with a head injury like he has,” Marcella said.

  “That’s the third time you’ve said that and the fourth time I’ve heard it, if you include the doctor who told me the first time.” Sophie cleaned up after the dog and tossed the bag in a nearby garbage can. “Let’s go to that little noodle place on the corner. I need to move. My muscles are stiffening up.”

  Marcella was subdued, and Sophie couldn’t think of what to say either, reduced by exhaustion and trauma to a zombie-like state as they proceeded down the sidewalk to the noodle shop where she and Ginger sometimes got meals.

  “His parents were so happy to see him awake, but he didn’t recognize them either.” Marcella was obviously still bothered for Sophie’s sake.

  “Marcella, it’s okay. I’m just glad he’s alive and going to get better. As long as we can stop whoever’s going after him,” Sophie really believed that right now. The relief of seeing Alika awake had more than made up for the blow of his amnesia. She’d taken comfort from the fact that the forgetfulness seemed global. He hadn’t just mentally deleted her in particular. Ginger flopped down when Sophie secured her leash and they went inside, sitting at the long communal counter.

  They earned a few curious glances from the various patrons of the restaurant, but the owner recognized Sophie.

  “Hope you gave back some of the same.” He made a gesture that took in her battered appearance as he served her a huge bowl of saimin.

  “I made him work for it.” Sophie scooped up fragrant broth with the deep square spoon. “But I didn’t win this time.”

  They talked about the MMA scene as the proprietor served Marcella, and finally moved off to wait on other customers.

  “So I might as well catch you up on Alika’s case. We’ve got the gang members who beat him in custody, and we’re following leads from their testimony.” Marcella slurped a mouthful of noodles and chased a slice of egg around in the broth. “Things are promising with prosecuting your ex. We can’t find any link between Alika and Ang, besides using the same shipper and storage facility. I don’t think this attack is personal, or about you having a relationship with Alika like you’ve been worried about. Everything we’re uncovering seems to point to him running afoul of the Boyz who control the construction trade. They set him up to appear like a wholesale drug shipper and then used him to send a message to other noncompliant developers. But we may not get anyone higher on the food chain for a while. Marcus is digging in for a long investigation into the activity in the construction trade. For now, I’m glad we brought in the hoods who beat him up. They were probably supposed to kill him, and the Boyz sent someone to finish the job at the hospital. Hopefully, we can put enough heat on them so they leave him alone now.”

  Sophie set her spoon down, turned to her friend. “He should probably go home to Kaua`i and recover, get off their radar for a while. And what about shutting down Assan’s operation?”

  “That’s going well so far. We’ve got the injunction approved to seize everything we can locate that he owns in the United States. I’ve been enjoying that.” Marcella grinned the toothy, triumphant smile she reserved for evildoers getting what they deserved. “Even if we can’t extradite him, we can put a serious dent in his business, and that’s going to hurt.”

  “Not enough. And it won’t do anything for his new bride.” Sophie said. “He needs to be stopped. Permanently.”

  “One step at a time.” Marcella picked up her bowl and drank the broth straight from the rim. They both finished, and Sophie took a twenty out of her pocket and set it on the counter. “I think you can be confident we’ve at least shut him down in the United States.”

  “It’s a start. Keep the change,” Sophie told the owner, and got a head nod and the flash of a gold tooth in reply.

  “Win next time.” He shook the bill at her. “I’m planning to bet more than twenty on you someday.”

  Sophie smiled, and it hurt her split lip. They untied Ginger and headed back toward her building.

  “So you know I’m on admin leave, right?” Sophie said as they walked down the sidewalk. Her full belly had brought on immediate sleepiness, and now all she could think about was getting to bed. “Waxman is disciplining me for not telling him about the break-in at my apartment.”

  Marcella gave an exaggerated shudder. “I’m way too familiar with being on his shit list. I don’t envy you right now. Yeah, I heard in the staff briefing—he used your breach as an example of ‘the wrong kind of independent action.’” She made air quotes. “I’m sorry. But you need some time off anyway. You can visit Alika tomorrow, take that dog to the park. Get a pedicure.” Marcella dimpled at Sophie.

  “Right. I finally have time to do a pedicure. Ow. Mouth hurts when I smile.” They’d arrived at her building.

  “I’ll call you tomorrow. Make sure you’re okay. And brace yourself. I think Waxman’s sending Dr. LaSota to make a house call on you.” Marcella gave Sophie a hug.

  “Thanks for the warning. I don’t care for that woman.”

  “I don’t know anyone who does.”

  “She told me I should have therapy—because of Assan. I didn’t want to hear it at the time, but…” Sophie raised her shoulders, dropped them. “She might be right.”

  “Well, you don’t have to do therapy with her. Dr. Wilson is a much better choice.” Marcella named the petite blond psychologist that worked for the
state police department and did contracting work for the FBI.

  “Maybe I can head off Dr. LaSota by already having an appointment with Dr. Wilson,” Sophie said. “Worth a try.”

  “I’ll text you Dr. Wilson’s number. See you.”

  Sophie waved at her friend and tugged Ginger away from a dead toad on the sidewalk. “No, girl.” The brown, warty amphibians came out everywhere in Hawaii after a rain, and this one had been flattened by a car. Ginger loved nothing better than to roll on a dead toad, and the strong reek was hard to get out of her thick fur.

  Up in the apartment, Sophie did her new security routine: relock door once inside, activate alarm, review security footage from the day on fast forward, and sweep the apartment for bugs. Only when all that was done did she open a can of food for Ginger.

  “Wish you were a better guard dog,” she told the lab, giving her an affectionate pat. “But that’s okay. You’re good company, and that’s enough for me.”

  She turned on her computer rigs with the fob, stripped out of her dirty clothes, and got into the shower. Under the warm flow of water, she reviewed the day.

  She and Alika were both lucky to be alive. Sophie decided what she’d do tomorrow morning. There were still some loose ends she could run down, some unfinished business she could take care of, even on admin leave.

  Wrapped in the dragon robe, she called the number Marcella had given for Dr. Wilson, and left a message requesting at least a phone or Skype appointment “to discuss a case and do a post-shoot debrief.”

  Done with necessary reaching out, she blinked blearily at the multiple screens, and realized that, exhausted as she was, she was still lonely. Sheldon Hamilton, wherever he was, must sometimes feel that way. He had to be so alone, hiding from everyone.

  She clicked on the email address she’d saved from the Ghost, and sent him a message.

  “I had a hard day. I told my boss about your getting into my apartment, and he didn’t like how I handled the situation and put me on admin leave for a couple of days. Then, I went to the gym and lost my bout. Haven’t taken such a beating in the ring in a long time, and it was just fine because I was so angry. It made me feel better, but then I visited a friend who’s in the hospital, and someone tried to shoot him. We barely got out alive. I hope your day was even a tiny bit better than mine. Why don’t you tell me why you disappeared? What does that accomplish? I’m curious. I just really want to know.”