I turned in his arms and laid my head against his chest. After a few seconds, I stretched on my tiptoes to kiss him. "What's up, Babe?"
"I talked to Jake Ervin. He heard my message and called my cell phone."
"And?"
"Branden had almost a half-kilo of high-grade pot in his backpack when he was picked up. The kid claimed he was holding it for a friend, but Ervin thinks he's dealing. Ervin has his men watching the middle-school grounds and the park for drug activity."
"Do you think the chief is after the bigger fish?"
"Yes, and he wants me to make the kid cooperate with him."
"Has he discussed it with Elaine?"
"Not yet. He says he won't if I'm in the picture, otherwise he'll have to. The problem is Ervin and Elaine don't see eye-to-eye anymore. Elaine thinks Ervin had a hand in my coming to Florida."
"Did he?"
"I had to go somewhere, and this was the best job offer. I'd rather have gone into Roanoke, but that wasn't a possibility at the time." Ray paused as if to regroup, then lifted me, holding me at lip-level with my feet dangling off the floor. He planted a big, somewhat sloppy smacker in the general vicinity of my lips and put me down. "I'm hungry. What you makin'? Need help?"
Knowing better than to pursue all of those interesting comments, I concentrated on dinner. "Let's see. We'll have garlic smashed potatoes." I measured out a hearty scoop of minced garlic and put it into a Pyrex cup with olive oil. I thought about the number of chefs who would cringe as I popped it into the microwave and pushed start. They'd never allow that on Food TV. The sharp smell of sizzling garlic drifted my way. I glanced at Ray, who had settled on one of the kitchen stools and began peeling a cucumber for the salad. I pointed to a pan on the stove and continued my menu recitation. "And, we're having breaded chicken cutlets."
"Gravy?" He pulled the word out.
"Oh, hell, why not?" I lowered the heat under the cutlets, put a lid on the potatoes to keep them warm, and took out a small saucepot. I was willing to make gravy, but it was going to be the low-fat variety. I glanced over my shoulder as I worked. "When are you going to Virginia?" I held my breath, expecting the worst.
"Depends on your schedule, I guess. I called García. He said I should take however long I need. I have a ton of time on the books. I have to be in court a couple of days the first of the week, and then I'm clear to go."
"What about the new case?"
"García assigned Dick—and both Lewis and me. If it's still active when we leave, Lewis will take care of it." Ray's captain, José García, had a reputation among the officers for being fair and supportive of the need to balance personal and professional lives.
I breathed a sigh of relief and dried my hands on a towel. Reaching around the corner into the dining room, I retrieved my iPhone from my purse and displayed my schedule. I held it high for him to see. "We could leave Wednesday after I get off work. That would give us five days to get there and back."
"I hope it's enough."
"Maybe I can get a couple extra days. I'll talk to my manager in the morning. Worse case, I'll fly back."
"I'd like to drive. Branden will get a kick out of the car. It'll be an icebreaker if nothing else."
"Works for me." I poured the gravy into a bowl while I mentally pared my packing list. We'd need every cubic inch of the limited trunk space.
"I'll set the table." He grabbed the plates off the counter while I retrieved a bottle of Coke from the refrigerator.
Dinner was good. It usually is—if I do say so myself. Now that Ray lived with me, we cooked almost every day. I had to watch it, or I'd gain weight. At my height, it didn't take much to chub up.
After dinner, Ray kissed me, said he was sorry, and left the house. With ten years of experience in homicide, he was the most senior officer in the group, and his peers respected him. Ray also had the highest solve rate in the department, partly due, I suspected, to his stubborn refusal to quit working an open case.
He and I met at a crime scene when I was a rookie patrol officer. I was in the street losing what was left of my lunch. He sat me down and gave me a bottle of water.
Things got hot, heavy, and involved. We were taking a mutually agreed upon break from our engagement, but still dating, when I took a slug during a traffic stop. My partner died in the incident. Ray had released the shooter from jail earlier that day. Apparently recognizing me as Ray's main squeeze, the punk seized the opportunity to shoot me. That left me with a messed-up right leg, a constant source of discomfort. I also developed a healthy aversion to guns in general—and bullet wounds in particular.
Ray hid his guilt in the arms of another woman. After rehab, I went home to North Dakota to finish recovering under the watchful eye of my mother—the nurse. Much to her relief, I elected to go to nursing school rather than return to the force.
That was many years ago. My relationship with Ray struggled on with a series of false starts and separations over the years until he moved into my house again. I was convinced he'd jumped the gun by selling his condo, feeling the condo sale sealed our cohabitation and pushed us beyond the point of no return. I wasn't ready to discuss marriage.
I settled on the loveseat facing the big-screen Sony. The TV was Ray's only addition to the house when he moved in. The rest of his furniture went into storage along with his limited kitchen accessories and mismatched dishes. I reached for the remote as Sunshine jumped into my lap.
"What would you like to watch?" I asked the dog. As usual, he nodded his head, indicating anything I wanted to see was fine with him.
Later, I lay awake in bed with the horror of the day overwhelming me.
4
My alarm clock jarred me awake a few minutes before six. I'd been drifting, not sleeping. Every time I began to drop off, I envisioned the fresh double murders affecting our lives—at least in the short term. Ray hadn't come home—I didn't expect him to—and, as I dressed, I dwelled on the loneliness the next few days would bring.
I sat on the side of the bed giving Sunshine his requisite morning rub and thought of other nights, other homicides when Ray was gone for days, coming home only to shower, change, and catch a few winks. This one, I thought, would be no different. The fact it involved children would make the public spotlight shine brighter and the demands to settle the case louder.
I brushed my shoulder-length black hair from my face, applied a touch of eye makeup, and spritzed on CHANEL No5. It didn't take long to dress for work. I grabbed the next uniform hanging in my closet, a set of white scrubs.
I paused to inspect myself in the mirror. I looked at Sunshine's fuzzy little face, dark eyes staring at me. "I think your mom needs a diet." I patted my nearly flat belly and laughed. "You don't agree, huh?"
One nice thing about Sunshine is that he never agrees with me when I make self-deprecating remarks. He looked antsy.
"Better get you outside."
Our house had an L-shaped formal living-dining room in the front and a central kitchen opening into the Florida room in the rear. Sunshine had a doggy door onto the screened patio from the Florida room and a second one connecting to the yard. I always sealed the inside one at night to keep out the miscellaneous creatures that prowl Florida. I'd heard about raccoons gaining entrance through open pet doors—and thin burglars, too.
Sunshine bolted through the door, causing it to snap behind him. By the time he reappeared, I had served his breakfast and poured a cup of coffee and small bowl of cereal for myself. Our morning routine never varied. The dog and I were compatible, neither of us craving change from the simple things in life. However, Sunshine accepted Ray as a substitute servant.
When I picked up my purse, the spaniel took the hint and ran to his crate. I rewarded his obedience with a treat and a few kind words and hurried out the door to work. I needed to clock-in by six forty-five. I timed my travel without a minute's slack.
The emergency department was located on the north side of the hospital with entrances from streets both
south and east. I swung into the south access road and curved around to the employee parking lot. I was in luck. My supervisor, Nancy Mitchell, was getting out of her car. I hurried to walk in with her. It was humid and warm, and by the time I reached her side, perspiration beaded on my forehead.
After explaining the situation in Virginia in somewhat vague terms, I asked about getting extra days off, need be, during the next couple of weeks.
"If it's necessary, call. Just give me as much notice as possible." What else could she say?
I had a guarantee of nine days off, which should be more than enough to accompany Ray. The agenda wasn't pleasant, but I planned to enjoy the trip, and I looked forward to seeing his parents.
We entered the emergency department through the ambulance entrance, scooting around a rig.
"Morning, guys," I said to the medics, who responded with tired smiles.
I followed my manager into the ER's crowded staff lounge. Oncoming staff commingled with a couple of night-shift physicians and a stray respiratory therapist. I grabbed a cup of coffee, leaned against the wall, and waited for my assignment. By the time we filed out of the lounge to the main ER, the ambulance was gone.
I started, thinking I saw Ray in the corridor, but it was Dick Schneider motioning to me from where he stood in the doorway of the Pedi ER. After glancing around and noting no significant activity in the main ER, I crossed the corridor.
Dick didn't look normal. Strain showed in the dark circles around his eyes and the deep furrows in his forehead. He wasn't wearing a tie, his shirt was open at the collar, and his suit needed pressing.
"How you doing?" I touched his arm, offering support and letting him know I knew it was a long, hard night.
"I'm here with the little girl. I stopped by to check on her a few hours ago, and she didn't want me to leave." He made a motion with his thumb to indicate Amber was inside. "She doesn't seem terrified of me now, or maybe she's numb from all that's happened. Amber will stay until CCS gets here."
Children's Care Services. "Doesn't she have relatives?"
"Only the father's cousin. We don't want to send her there. Too much chance Daddy—the bastard—will show up." Dick's voice was gritty.
"The father is the suspect?" I asked.
"Prime. Amber told me while her daddy was raping her—she didn't say it that way, of course—the mother came home with her brother." His eyes glistened with tears.
I wondered why someone as compassionate as Dick continued to investigate child abuse cases. It was good for the kids that he did, but I doubted it was good for him.
I saw Amber over his shoulder. She lay on a gurney. "My God, Dick, that baby is only about eight years old." She was a beautiful child—olive skin, high cheekbones, full lips, long dark hair. I suspected in happier times her dark eyes snapped with mischief.
"Seven to be exact." He raised seven fingers and wiggled them. "Amber told me the son of a bitch hurt her before. Every time the mother left them alone, he had his fun. Apparently he didn't penetrate her then, and no one had a clue."
"He must have terrorized her. I mean, she didn't say anything to anyone."
"In these cases, usually the abuser threatens the child with physical violence, or he threatens to do harm to the rest of the family. That's what happened. Mom came home with the brother—a toddler—and confronted the bastard."
"Oh my God. Can it get any worse?"
The off-going night nurse, Leila, stood at the child's bedside. I signaled to Leila that I'd be a minute. I didn't appreciate the oh-sure way she rolled her eyes, but then she was the type that kept me waiting every evening when it was her turn to relieve me. At least I was timely. Leila couldn't clock out for another ten minutes anyway, and Amber was the only patient in the Pedi ER. Shift report would be quick.
"What did he do to the mom and son?" Having seen the bodies at the scene, I had an idea what happened, but I needed my suspicions confirmed before I spent the day with the one surviving victim.
"He bashed the woman in the side of her head with something heavy. I'm thinking a table lamp, but we'll have to wait and see what the medical examiner says. It looks like he twisted the boy's neck and broke it. Then he beat his daughter, but didn't kill her. Amber told me she remembers him saying, 'I'll kill you, too, if you don't do what I say.'" Dick shook his head as if hit too hard and trying to clear his thoughts. "Can you believe this? He finished the rape, then whacked her next to the eye and left her with the bodies. Amber must have been unconscious for a while. The neighbor, a woman named Naomi Edelstein, heard her crying a couple of hours after dinner. The crying didn't stop, and the lady went to investigate. Edelstein knocked, and when no one answered, she climbed in through the window." Dick shook his head again.
"Where's the father?" I was concerned he'd visit the ER.
"Ray's working on it. Pyle, that's the bastard's name, couldn't have traveled far. He didn't take a car, and there are no stolen vehicle reports in the area. Pyle's on foot or using public transportation. Ray has the cousin's house staked out. I figure it's a matter of time until we get him."
"The son of a bitch should kill himself, too."
"We can only hope. I think he did try to kill the girl, but she didn't die. Good for her." He waved to Amber. "How long are you here today?"
"Until seven this evening."
"Good. Keep track of whatever she says. Don't question her, but if she talks write it down. I don't expect CCS to come until late afternoon. They had a run of cases overnight, and since Amber is safe and needs medical observation, she'll be one of the last to be placed."
Dick left and I went into the pediatric section of the emergency room. A happy border print of underwater plants and animals encircled the room, and the cubicle curtains and wall decorations featured tropical fish swimming before a variegated blue background. Even the floor reflected the theme with waves of blue vinyl from the hall meeting the white tiles in the rooms. However, instead of salt, the medicinal smell of Betadine disinfectant hung in the air.
Looking miserable, Amber reclined in bed in her fishy-print patient gown. She clung to an eighteen-inch-long stuffed fish the hospital volunteer ladies made from bright colored fabric and ignored the flickers of Sesame Street on the suspended television. I waved to Amber and went to the nurses' desk to talk to Leila.
Leila completed her report by saying, "When the sedation wore off, Dr. Stilman ordered a milder pain medicine, hoping Amber would stay awake and talk about what happened to her. She's still getting relief from the last dose of codeine but will need more in a couple of hours."
"Good morning, Amber," I said, walking into her room. "How you feeling?"
"Fine," the whispery voice said, probably lying to me in the way her father taught her.
I decided to stick with the basics. "Remember me? I'm Sophia. I was with you yesterday."
She looked at me but said nothing.
I thought I saw a glimmer of recognition.
"You hungry?"
Amber nodded.
"What do you like for breakfast?"
"Mommy gives me cereal. Sometimes she puts strawberries or bananas on it—not always, just sometimes." She shifted her position.
I noticed she sat on a soft pillow. Dear God. "Okay, sweetheart. I'll call the kitchen."
I left the room and made the call. My friend Delores in the dietary department answered the telephone. I played on her sympathy. Usually, we waited until the breakfast line was completed for an ER tray, but she promised to make an exception and send over a STAT box of sweet cereal and a few strawberries for my patient. When I told Amber breakfast would be right over, she flashed an empty smile.
Thankfully, Amber was the only patient. I pulled a chair over to her stretcher. On the TV, Grover and Miss Piggy were involved in a complicated scene that apparently caught Amber's attention. I increased the volume and watched it with her.
Amber giggled when Miss Piggy flounced across the screen with a feather boa trailing behind her. "I lik
e Miss Piggy. She's Mommy's favorite, too. Mommy got me a feather thing once."
"But you don't look like Miss Piggy."
"No, but I like to pretend. Miss Piggy is all safe and happy."
"You're safe now."
Tears welled in her eyes. "Daddy's going to kill me. He said he would if I told." She wiped at a tear with the back of her hand but missed it. "I told. He hurt Mommy real bad. She didn't move. Then he hurt Joey. He didn't move either." The tears rolled down her cheeks, but she didn't make any crying noises. "I tried to help them. Daddy grabbed me and hit me. Then he hurt me, here." She pointed between her legs.
"He won't hurt you anymore. We won't let him."
She looked at me with sad eyes, but seemed to ignore what I'd said. "Then Miss Naomi came."
Amber sat for a long time without saying anything. When she drifted off to sleep, I lowered the head of the stretcher and reduced the volume on the television. She needed rest more than anything. I took advantage of the quiet and entered a detailed narrative in the computerized chart, quoting Amber's comments verbatim and describing her hand motions. Hopefully, I wouldn't have to testify against the father, but I wanted to be prepared.
5
Amber was asleep when my supervisor, Nancy, came in. "Ready for a break?" she asked.
I waved my hand around the room. "Looks like a good time. We've been busy, and I'm starved." The pediatrician and I had dispatched a rash of small patients requiring throat swabs. Attending to their needs and Amber's had made the morning hectic. I had kept Amber medicated and comfortable. "Amber should sleep until I get back."
The cafeteria was located on the first floor, down the hall and around the corner from the ER. It provided a noontime gathering spot for staff. I called my friend Connie, who works inpatient Pediatrics, then scooted out the back door to meet her in the lunch line. I wanted to talk to her about dog sitting for a few days, and this would be the perfect opportunity. She loved Sunshine and kept him whenever I needed.
Imperfect Daddy Page 2
