Deadly Aim

by Patricia H. Rushford

  “Don’t talk like that. You aren’t going to die. Since when did a little thing like a heart problem stop a Delaney, huh?” She wanted to yell at him for not telling the family about it and for continuing to work when he had a life-threatening condition. She shook her head. “What were you thinking?” she whispered as she placed her free hand over his.

  God, please let him be okay.

  When they arrived at the hospital, several of the emergency room staff met them at the door, and while they whisked her father inside, they left Angel to answer questions and fill out papers.

  Her father had been taken to a room and was already hooked up to a monitor when she was finally able to see him. An army of attendants in scrubs, masks, and gloves surrounded him. Someone broke the pack—a lab tech carrying a tray and vials of blood. The monitor showed an erratic heart rhythm, but the beep reassured her that he was alive.

  Suddenly, the blips gave way to a long steady beep. He’d flatlined. Angel felt as if her own heart had stopped as well. A guy in a white jacket and black slacks began barking orders while grabbing paddles off the cart. The paddles connected with her father’s chest, and the jolt raised him off the table.

  “We’re losing him, people!” someone shouted.

  She wanted to turn and run but couldn’t move. She bit into her fist. Don’t let him die. Just please don’t let him die.

  A woman in a white lab coat, holding a chart, approached her. “You’re his daughter?”

  Angel managed a nod.

  “I’m Marley Dale.” Her name tag identified her as a nursing coordinator, whatever that was. “Let’s go out to the waiting room.”

  “Can’t I stay here?”

  “It’s better that you don’t.”

  Angel let herself be ushered out of the room. “Is he going to make it?”

  “I don’t know.” Marley adjusted her glasses. “Dr. Larson is one of our best cardiologists. He’ll do what he can.”

  Angel followed the woman into a room equipped with numerous chairs and love seats. Dozens of magazines were scattered on several tables. A coffee station had been set up in the far corner.

  “We need a medical history on Mr. Delaney.”

  “I already filled out some forms.”

  “I know, but unfortunately we’ll need more than what you gave us.”

  Angel had done the best she could with what she remembered, but there were too many questions she’d had to leave unanswered. She glanced around for a phone. “I need to call my mother. She’ll be able to give you the information you need.”

  The woman touched her arm. “There’s a phone over here.” She pointed to a cubicle in the corner to their right.

  Angel punched the numbers in and waited. No answer. She was just hanging up when she heard her mother’s voice in the hallway. “Where is he?”

  “Take it easy, Mrs. Delaney. I’ll find out.” The masculine voice belonged to Eric.

  “Where’s Angel? She should be here.” Her mother sounded almost frantic.

  “I’m here, Ma.” Angel stepped into the hall. “I was just trying to call you.”

  “Well, thank the good Lord I didn’t have to wait that long. Eric came to get me.”

  Angel gave him an awkward glance. “Thanks.” He and the others would have heard dispatch and known the ambulance was bringing them in.

  “What happened?” Eric and her mother asked together.

  “He’s had a heart attack.” She didn’t add the fact that he’d been angry with her. Why couldn’t she have just gone along? She tried to tell herself that her compliance wouldn’t have made a difference, but she couldn’t quite convince herself.

  “Oh, Angel.” Ma wrapped her arms around her daughter. “And right after having your apartment broken into. You must’ve been scared to death.”

  Terrified. “I’m okay.”

  “It’s a good thing you were there with him.” Turning from Angel, Anna headed for the door. The frightened look was gone, replaced by sheer determination. “I want to see him.”

  “He’s being worked on right now. They might not let you go in.”

  “Let them try and stop me.”

  “Ma. Wait.” Angel hurried after her.

  Being a volunteer at the hospital twice a week, her mother didn’t need to be shown where anything was. She stopped a nurse coming out of her husband’s room. “Frank Delaney, he’s my husband and—”

  “Oh, Mrs. Delaney, I’m glad you’re here. He’s asking for you.” The nurse placed her hand on Anna’s shoulder. “You can go in, but only for a minute. He needs to rest.”

  “He’s okay then?” Anna clutched her purse to her chest.

  “He’s stabilized for now. Dr. Larson will give you more details later.”

  Angel leaned against the wall outside the room while her mother went inside. Come on, Angel, pull yourself together. She’d dealt with plenty of emergencies and had managed just fine. But this was her father.

  She sucked in a long breath. She knew she should walk to the phone and call Tim and Susan, but her knees had turned to mush. If she moved away from the wall, she’d slide to the floor.

  Eric came up beside her. “You don’t look so good.”

  She straightened and took a wobbly step. When he grabbed hold of her elbow to steady her, she bristled. “I have to call Tim and—”

  “I already did. He and Susan are on their way over.”

  “Efficient, aren’t you?” She glanced up at him. She hadn’t meant to sound so cranky. “I’m sorry.”

  “Hey, no problem. I wouldn’t be in the greatest mood either. And it wasn’t my efficiency—it was your mom’s. She asked me to call while we were in the car. They should be here any minute. In the meantime, maybe we should wait in the waiting room. You look like you could use a chair. I’ll buy you a cup of coffee.”

  “The coffee’s free.”

  He grinned. “I know.”

  Somehow she managed to walk without Eric’s help, and plopped down in the first chair she came to. Eric headed straight for the coffee machine, pulled a cup from the stack, and pushed down the black lever. He came back with two cups and handed one to Angel. “Here you go, straight up. Looks strong enough to eat with a fork.”

  “Thanks.” Angel took the cup, staring into it for a long time before bringing it to her lips. It was bitter, but she hoped it would give her the jolt she needed.

  Seconds later, Tim and Susan came in. “Sorry to take so long,” Tim said as he leaned down to give Angel a hug.

  “We had to find a sitter for the kids.” Susan clasped Angel’s hand and took the chair next to her.

  “We heard what happened at the apartment,” Tim said. “And then Dad having this heart attack. Seems like everything is hitting all at once.”

  Angel frowned. “Ma’s with him.”

  Susan nodded. “I’ll go see what I can find out. Can I get you anything?”

  Ever the nurse. Angel shook her head and blinked back tears.

  Susan squeezed her hand. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  Tim started to sit beside Angel and changed his mind, going to the coffeepot instead. “Thanks for bringing Mom,” he said to Eric.

  “No problem. I figured I’d save you some time.” He took a sip of his coffee, made a face, and tossed it into the trash. “I’d better be getting back to work.”

  Tim thanked him again. “Appreciate your help, Eric.”

  Eric nodded and turned to Tim. “Don’t let Angel go home tonight, okay? The apartment isn’t livable, and the crime lab guys are still working on it.”

  Angel started to protest, but the words caught in her throat. She sipped at the bitter coffee. In the distance she heard the elevator ding and the door swish open. Tim set his coffee on the table and lowered himself into the chair.

  “You look exhausted, sis. Why don’t you go to the house and get some rest? There isn’t much you can do here and—”

  “Ma won’t leave. She’d be upset if I did.”

>   “She’ll understand—what with all you’ve been through.”

  Tim was right. Ma probably would understand. But Angel wasn’t going anywhere—not until her father was stable.

  What do you mean the evidence isn’t there?” Callen cradled the phone between his jaw and shoulder and settled his elbows on Joe Brady’s desk. Joe had gone out and offered to let Callen use his office for a couple hours. “I left written instructions for the clerk here to send it out first thing Monday morning with specific orders to get your people on it right away.”

  He rubbed his forehead. This was not the time to be losing evidence. As the investigating officer, he had the responsibility of gathering the evidence and making certain it got to the crime lab in Portland. Before he’d gone home Sunday evening, he’d pulled everything together in the officer-involved shooting: Angel’s gun and magazine from Nick, her uniform, her urine sample, the swabs he’d done for the GSR test, the stuff that had been in the Hartwell kid’s pockets, along with his clothes. He’d even included the hollow point bullets the medical examiner had recovered during the autopsy. Callen had packaged it all up himself and put it in the temporary evidence locker, leaving explicit instructions with the clerk that it be sent via UPS Monday morning so it would arrive in Portland on Tuesday. He should have double-checked with the clerk yesterday to make certain it had actually gone out.

  “I’m sorry, Detective Riley, we’ve looked everywhere. It was never logged in to our department. UPS is saying they have no record of a package being sent. Best we can figure is that the clerk in Sunset Cove never sent it.”

  “All right, I’ll check with the clerk here. Call me if it shows up.”

  “Will do.”

  After disconnecting, he went down to the basement to the evidence lockers. The temporary lockers were like those in a gym, and they served as a place where evidence could be signed in and stored if there was no clerk available, which often happened in a small town. That was what he’d done on Sunday night. When a clerk became available, the evidence was supposed to be placed into the permanent lockers, to which only the clerk and supervisor had keys. With the temp lockers, all of the officers had keys and ready access—he himself had gotten a key from Joe on Sunday.

  When he’d checked the locker Monday morning and found it empty, he assumed the clerk had found his message and taken care of it. Big mistake.

  “Sorry, Detective,” said the clerk, lifting her hands in a shrug. “I didn’t see your note and haven’t seen the evidence. I don’t know what to tell you.”

  “Are you suggesting one of the officers stole it?” Callen didn’t even attempt to hide his annoyance. “Or maybe I didn’t put it there?”

  She was a short woman, maybe five-one, but hefty with dark, short hair that had been heavily moussed to stand on end. She straightened and put her hands on her hips.

  “Young man, I understand why you would be upset, but you have no reason to take out your frustrations on me. If I had seen your note, I’d have followed your instructions to the letter. I check these temporary lockers as soon as I come in and transfer the evidence to the permanent lockers. When I came in on Monday morning, there was no evidence in that locker and no note. Now if that means another officer took it, which I sincerely doubt, then I guess your job is to find out who.”

  Her tirade had calmed him down as much as it was possible to calm down. Unfortunately, he couldn’t ignore the fact that every piece of evidence in a very high-profile case was missing, and he was going to cook for it.

  “You’re right.” Callen frowned. “I’m sorry.”

  Having made her point, the woman backed down. “This is a secure area, Detective Riley. People aren’t just going to walk in off the street. Still, it is possible that someone could’ve gotten hold of the key. I know this is serious business, and I wish I could help you. But somewhere between the time you packaged up that evidence and I came to work Monday morning, it disappeared and so did your note.”

  At Callen’s insistence, they looked in all of the lockers, both temp and permanent. The package and the note he had written were gone.

  Having no other option, he went back up to Joe’s office to call his supervisor in Portland to tell him the bad news. He winced as his boss lit into him.

  “You should have brought it in yourself, Riley. You know how important this case is.”

  “You’re right. I’m kicking myself about it.”

  “The governor called me again this morning. We’re even getting pressure from the U.S. Attorney’s Office.”

  “You’re kidding.” Callen released a long sigh.

  “I wish I was. If we’re not careful, we’ll have the Feds on us. We don’t want the FBI called in for a civil rights investigation. From what I hear, the ACLU is already on the move. Brady’s not the only one whose job is on the line here.”

  He didn’t have to elaborate. They could all be in trouble if they didn’t clear up the delicate matter soon. The public was outraged and wanted answers; they wanted the matter settled once and for all. They wanted Angel Delaney’s head or a good reason why she blew away a twelve-year-old kid with a toy gun.

  After getting explicit orders in not the most delicate language to find out what was happening, Callen hung up and leaned back in the chair. As he put his feet up on the desk, he wondered what had possessed him to get into this business. It was funny, though; he’d never imagined himself doing anything else since he was a kid playing cops and robbers with the Nelson boys down the block. He was always the cop. He wondered briefly what had happened to the Nelson boys.

  His gaze went back to the picture on Joe’s desk. Joe, his wife, and probably a daughter smiled broadly into the camera. Nice-looking family. The girl had blond hair and a wide smile. She reminded him of Karen. An old ache burrowed its way into his heart, and to ease it he went into the break room and poured himself a cup of coffee.

  “Hi, Detective.” Brandy Owens and another officer were sitting at one of the tables. “We’re signing cards and collecting money for a gift for Frank Delaney. We were also wanting to raise some money to help Angel out. You want in on it?”

  He took his coffee over to the table. “What’s going on?”

  “You mean you haven’t heard?” Brandy asked. “Frank had a heart attack yesterday afternoon. And Angel’s apartment was vandalized. It was all over the news.”

  He hadn’t heard. He’d spent most of the afternoon tracking down potential witnesses to the shooting death out on the wharf. Never had been able to find the guy with the sailboat. He opened his wallet and took out a couple twenties, then signed the card for Frank. When he finished, he pulled up a chair and told them about the missing evidence. “Has anyone in the department mentioned losing a key?”

  Both checked their key chains and responded in the negative. He excused himself and went back to Joe’s office, stopping at the secretary’s desk on his way in. Leaning on the counter, he said, “Rosie, I have a problem. Can you get me a complete list of all of the officers who work here—anyone who’d have a key to the temporary evidence lockers?”

  “Um—I suppose so.” Rosie Gonzalez had a smooth southern drawl that went down like honey and butter on a cornbread muffin. “Am I allowed to ask why?”

  He told her about the missing evidence.

  Rosie frowned. “Oh, Detective, you can’t be thinking any of our officers would take it.”

  “Believe me, that’s the last thing I want to be thinking, which is why I need to account for all the keys in the department. Make sure none are missing.”

  “I’ll check my files and make a list. I should talk to Joe before I give it to you though. I mean, I’m sure he won’t mind—just don’t want to do anything without his say-so.”

  “I understand.”

  Callen went home then for a number of reasons—to feed Mutt and to eat lunch himself. Primarily though, he needed to think, and he did his best thinking running on the beach or cooking up some exotic dish in his state-of-the-art kitchen.<
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  Why would someone steal evidence in a deadly force investigation, and who would benefit? The questions burrowed like a tick in his brain while he fed and played with Mutt, ran on the beach, and rearranged his kitchen to where everything was within easy reach.

  Once his kitchen was in working order, he sliced and sautéed onions, mushrooms, and garlic, then tossed in freshly cut tomatoes with the seeds removed. Into that he poured three beaten eggs and stirred, adding cilantro, salt and pepper, and shredded Tillamook cheese. With skills he’d mastered watching various chefs at work in restaurants and on television, he lifted the pan and flipped the omelet into the air, catching it easily as it fell. Too bad no one was there to see his performance. He grinned. “Hey, Mutt, did you see that?”

  Mutt danced around his master’s legs, barking his approval.

  Callen enjoyed showing off his culinary skills and even more enjoyed watching people eat his meals. Angel Delaney came to mind. He thought he wouldn’t mind sharing one of his gourmet meals with her. Maybe he’d invite her over sometime. He shook his head, erasing the thought. There would be no dinner with Officer Delaney or any other woman anytime soon. His heart still ached over losing Karen. He had loved her more than he’d thought possible. In their wedding vows they’d spoken the words “Till death do us part.” He’d just never expected it to happen.

  He tucked away the memories, as he always did when they emerged. Time had taken away the raw edges of his wounds, but he doubted he’d ever heal completely.

  He took his feast out on the deck, where he’d set out a place mat, napkins, silverware, and a tall, cold glass of iced tea. Mutt kept him company by sitting at his feet, inclining his head every now and then for a handout.

  Somewhere between the first delicious bite and the last savory morsel, Callen had answered his question about the evidence, but he didn’t like the answer one bit.

  Thirty-six hours had passed since her father’s heart attack. It was Wednesday morning, and Angel had spent most of that time in the hospital with her parents. She seemed to have drifted into a fog, her mind refusing or unable to deal with the reality of the past few days. Those times when she did attempt to think about the shooting or her apartment, she’d feel as though she’d been dumped into the ocean with only a piece of cork to hold on to.