Indelible

by Laurie Buchanan

  “Yes, he’s on his way. Can you tell where she was hit?” Joe asks, worry evident in his tone.

  “He shot her in the back. It hit the left side, between her scapula and spine. When I first heard her breathe, there was a sucking sound. I think a bullet may have hit a lung. I plugged the wound so she can breathe easier.”

  “So that’s why you’re missing a sleeve,” Joe says, nodding toward Mick’s bare arm.

  Just then they hear Hemingway bark. “We’re almost there, Emma. Hang on,” Mick whispers.

  When they reach the top of the canyon, Herb, Chris, Joe, and Niall lift Emma from Mick. Once he’s seated in the back of the ATV, they transfer her back to his waiting arms. Mick’s heart thrashes against his sternum as he looks at her. Please don’t die.

  From the side of the ATV, Hemingway tries to nudge Mick. “It’s going to be okay, boy.”

  Turning, Mick says, “Chris, will you please take Hemingway up to the main house? I know Libby, Fran, and Cynthia can use your assurance.”

  Motioning for Joe to step closer, Mick says, “Now’s the time to call the FBI. Bring them up to speed on the situation, and then you and Herb head back down to Toni. I’m sure she’d appreciate it.”

  Joe nods his agreement.

  And with that, Niall drives toward the front gate.

  “Herb, you head down to Toni,” Joe says. “I’ll be right there.”

  Whump-whump-whump. They hear the sound of rotating helicopter blades long before they see the chopper. As they drive through the front gate and stop, it swiftly sheds altitude and lands about a hundred feet away. Its prop wash pummels them and bends the tall grass back.

  Two first responders exit the bird with a stretcher and make the expert transfer look easy. “We’re taking her to St. Joseph’s. It’s the closest hospital with a helipad,” one of them shouts.

  As Mick makes to join them, one of the guys shakes his head. “There’s only room for the triage unit,” he yells.

  Mick nods in understanding. “I’ll be there as soon as I can,” he yells back.

  The noise is deafening as the turbine gears up for liftoff.

  Niall says, “Mick, if you let Libby call Emma’s parents while you shower, you can be on your way to St. Joseph’s all the sooner. I’ll have a fresh pot of coffee ready by the time you head to the hospital. You’re a little on edge to be the one to call her folks.”

  “You’re right,” Mick agrees. “I almost killed a man tonight, Niall.”

  Resting his hand on Mick’s forearm, Niall says, “We were wondering what happened in The Devil’s Canyon. But from the bits and pieces we’ve put together, it sounds like the world would be a safer place without him.”

  Mick runs his hands through his hair and down his face. He exhales deeply through his mouth and inhales through his nose, trying to wrap his mind around what’s happened.

  Above them, the stars seem weary in a sky bleached thin by the neighboring city’s lights.

  “Jason was going to slit Emma’s throat,” Mick says. “Everything happened at once. She stood up fast and caught him under the chin with her head and stabbed him in the leg. He shot her in the back. I shot him in the chest.”

  “Emma stabbed him?” Niall asks, impressed. “Where’d she get a knife?”

  “I think it was Jason’s. When he reached for it in his pocket and it was gone, he pulled a gun instead. That’s when Emma stood up. He didn’t expect it. She blindsided him. Remember, he wasn’t in the kitchen the night she showed us what she’s been working on—that she can stand.”

  Toni slaps on a pair of latex gloves and rummages through “Jason’s” backpack. She shakes her head at the number of aliases she’s known him to use. She checks every compartment but doesn’t find anything of use.

  Turning her flashlight onto Alex’s body, her eyes are drawn to the knife sticking out from his right thigh. Emma, you’re one smart cookie. She nods with admiration.

  Picking up an empty bottle of Jack, Toni looks at Alex’s motionless body and says, “Everyone has an Achilles heel, and this is yours.”

  She starts pacing—back and forth, back and forth. I can punch his ticket right now, and no one will be the wiser. Just pinch his nostrils, cover his mouth, and it’ll be over. She pauses and turns around, directing the beam at Alex’s face. He’s one of the most dangerous and volatile men I’ve ever known. She draws in a long breath, then blows it out, giving herself a moment. He’s got a hole in his chest. It would be a “mercy” killing. Her brief smile is followed by a frown. But I want to know what he meant by, “I told her.” Who, Emma? And just what did he say?

  As she walks over to the wheelchair, she’s impressed that it’s still upright. But that makes sense. Emma fell forward when she was shot in the back, and Alex fell backward when he was shot in the chest.

  With nothing else to do, she peels off the gloves, sits in the chair, and waits for the others, callous to the fact that someone is dying a few feet away.

  “I’ll meet you in the kitchen with a thermos of hot black coffee,” Niall says as he pulls away from the front of Mick’s cabin.

  “I’m just going to shower and change. I’ll be right over.”

  The wind kicks up, howling its worry as Niall pulls around to the mudroom entrance. “Hey, where’s Hemingway?” he calls out, expecting a greeting from his companion.

  “He bolted when Chris and Herb opened the front door,” Libby says. “How’s Emma and where’s Mick?”

  “We don’t know about Emma’s condition yet. They’ve taken her to St. Joseph’s.”

  What exactly happened?” Libby asks.

  With mutual concern, Fran and Cynthia step over to join the conversation.

  “Jason shot Emma in the back, and Mick shot Jason in the chest,” Niall says. His expression is grim. “As you know, Emma’s been life-flighted to St. Joseph’s.”

  Slack-jawed, Libby’s and Cynthia’s hands fly to their chests. Fran buries her face in her hands. Through parted fingers, she asks, “Is Jason dead?”

  “Close to it, but no. There’s another LifeFlight on its way,” Niall says.

  “This is a terrible thing to say,” Fran says, “but I wish he had died.”

  Niall nods and continues. “Mick will be here in a minute. He’s showering and changing his clothes, then he’ll swing by to grab a thermos of coffee on his way to the hospital. Libby, will you please call Emma’s emergency contact. Mick and I both assume it’s in her registration paperwork and that it’s her parents.”

  “You’re right on both counts, this is going to be a difficult phone call,” she says, heading to her office.

  Niall starts a fresh pot of coffee then puts on his apron and begins pulling ingredients out of the refrigerator and cupboards.

  Seeing the look of devastation on Niall’s face, Cynthia says, “Fran, let’s give them some space. You haven’t seen the gorgeous guest room yet. I’d love to show it to you.” And with that, the two women head down the hall.

  Mick arrives at the main house and finds Libby in her office, wrapping up the conversation with Emma’s parents. “Yes. St. Joseph’s. Okay. Sean McPherson is my brother. He’ll be at the hospital waiting. No. No. It’s no trouble at all. You can stay in Emma’s cottage. Yes. Uh huh, text me your flight details, and I’ll see you in Seattle. Ok, bye.” And she ends the call.

  “You’re driving to Seattle?” Mick asks Libby.

  “Well, the Benton’s—Maureen and Philip,” she corrects herself, “said it’ll be much faster to catch a flight to Seattle than Bellingham. They’ve got to get to St. Joseph’s from Sea-Tac somehow, and it’ll be emotionally better for them to ride with someone who knows Emma rather than with a stranger.”

  “Has anyone ever told you that you’re the best sister ever?” Mick asks.

  “Maybe a time or two.” She smiles. “By the way, are you going to finish getting dressed?”

  Mick looks down and shakes his head. He tugs his shirt closed, then his fingers march up the but
tons, fastening them.

  Libby and Mick enter the kitchen together and share Libby’s plan with Niall.

  “You’re right,” he agrees. “Mick, while you’re at the hospital, I’ll keep the home fires burning. I imagine it’ll be like a revolving door around here until the dust settles. And most people like to eat when they’re stressed.” Brandishing a wooden spoon, he continues, “And I can meet that need. Speaking of which, here’s that thermos of hot coffee I promised. Please keep us posted on any updates.”

  Turning to Libby, Mick asks, “Are you taking the van?”

  “That’s what I had in mind.”

  “That’s great, I just filled it. I’ll take my Jeep. Thank you for the coffee,” Mick says to Niall as he heads toward the door. “I’ll call or text when there’s news about Emma.”

  When Joe enters the cave, flashlight in hand, he sees latex gloves crumpled on Toni’s lap. “Did you check the backpack?” he asks, nodding toward it on the ground.

  “I did, but nothing looks important. I left everything where it was. Do you want me to bag and tag it?”

  “Yes, please.”

  Pointing with her chin, she continues, “I removed the knife from the guy’s thigh before they carried him out of here. I bagged and tagged it, along with the empty bottles of Jack. They might have prints we can lift.”

  “Good work, Bianco. Thank you.”

  Carrying the evidence bags up the side of the canyon, Joe turns to Toni. “There are ten unsolved murders we think this guy’s responsible for. The autopsy findings from the first two victims show that each medical examiner recovered tissue from under their fingernails. And while the DNA tissue scrapings match each other, they don’t match anything currently on file in CODIS.”

  Bianco listens intently, as she always does, sometimes grunting or nodding in encouragement, occasionally requesting clarification.

  Joe continues, “At the hospital, we’ll be able to get DNA from Hughes or Berndt, or whatever the hell his name is.”

  “I wonder why only the first two women had tissue under their nails?” Toni asks.

  “The eight women after them had zip-tie restraints around their wrists,” Joe says. “It appears the killer got better at subduing his victims.”

  They trudge for a while in silence, each one thinking their private thoughts.

  “I’m meeting with Sean Rafferty at the hospital in the morning,” Joe says.

  “Who’s Sean Rafferty?”

  “Oh, that’s right, you’re a new transfer. Rafferty’s an FBI agent from the Seattle office. We’ve worked cases with him before.”

  Toni’s step falters and she catches herself. “When did they get involved?”

  “About thirty minutes ago.”

  CHAPTER 25

  “My aim in constructing sentences is to make the sentence utterly easy to understand, writing what I call transparent prose. I’ve failed dreadfully if you have to read a sentence twice to figure out what I meant.”

  —KEN FOLLETT

  Toni enters the hospital, wearing her uniform. Everyone trusts a cop. At the reception desk, she inquires about Alex’s post-op condition.

  “I’m sorry, but we don’t have a patient by the name of Alex Berndt, listed,” the woman says.

  Toni thinks about which fake ID he’s carrying and amends the question. “I’m sorry, that’s his pseudonym.” She smiles. “He’s an author. He’d be listed as Jason Hughes.”

  The receptionist runs her finger down the page. “Ah, yes. Here’s Mr. Hughes. He’s in intensive care, but stable. That’s on the fourth floor. The elevator’s right over there.” She points to polished metal doors with fake greenery in large terra cotta pots on either side.

  From the panel of lights above the doors, Toni sees there are twelve floors and that the elevator’s descending.

  “Thank you.”

  On the way to the hospital, Mick’s cellphone buzzes. He answers it, cupping it against his ear with his shoulder as he drives toward a sky that promises more rain. The inclemency of the weather doesn’t faze him. He has other things on his mind as he listens to the person on the other end of the call. He thanks them and puts his phone away.

  The rain falls harder, causing a thundering drum on the roof of the Jeep. Mick’s view is reduced to a blur. He turns the wipers to full power. If there were any oncoming traffic, his face would be distorted to them by the rainwater on the windshield. They wouldn’t be able to see that he’s crying.

  I used to feel a lot of things before Sam died. Up until I met Emma, I mainly felt grief, rage, and guilt, devouring each other like tail-eating serpents. Emma’s presence in my life shattered the numbness I felt. Those feelings are still there, but now they’re overlaid by a rich, quiet glow.

  When he pulls into the parking lot of St. Joseph’s, he rolls down his window and punches a button. A ticket pops out, and he tucks it in the visor.

  Like the aching tug of an ocean current, Mick’s feelings for Emma run deep. Looking in the rearview mirror, he brings his hands up and rubs his face. Please, God, don’t let her die.

  The lights are dim on the fourth floor of the hospital. The nurse’s desk is a visible glow at the end of the corridor.

  Toni has a grim twist to her mouth. She can feel the hospital’s central heating breathing as quietly as the patients in the calm of the night shift.

  As she approaches room 401, she sees a man—his back to her—sitting in the guest chair. It’s pulled up close to the hospital bed. The man is bent over Alex Berndt, a.k.a. Jason Hughes. She can’t hear the whispered words, but it sounds like a prayer. Well, I’ll be damned. It’s Father Patrick MacCullough, Niall’s brother. I bet he’s on chaplain duty.

  Toni leans in further trying to hear what’s being said, but the hushed words are muffled. Is it just the priest who’s talking, or is Jason responding?

  Aware of the security cameras, Toni casually walks down the corridor and leans against the wall in an alcove, ostensibly to check her phone. From here, she watches Alex’s door. When she sees Father MacCullough leave, she heads back down the hall and enters room 401, shutting the door behind her.

  The ICU waiting room is warm and comfortable with pale ochre walls, woven yarn hangings, and sage corduroy chairs. The buzz humming through the hospital almost drowns out the beeps and hisses of the machines. A low murmur comes from other people in the waiting room awaiting news of their loved ones.

  Mick observes that the more life-threatening the prognosis, the quieter the doctors and nurses become, their calmness balancing the hysteria around them.

  Nearing the breaking point himself, Mick links his fingers behind his head, stretches his back, and continues pacing. His mind wanders back to the day he picked up this month’s group of writers at the airport. The moment I saw Emma rolling toward me in her wheelchair, she kept rolling, right into my heart.

  There’s a low hum of activity in the hallway—a doctor being paged by the oncology department, the wheels of a gurney bouncing off the wall, a cry silenced.

  “We’ve got to stop meeting like this.”

  Mick whirls around to see Dr. Zimmerman.

  “What are you doing in the intensive care unit, Mr. McPherson?”

  “I’m waiting for news about Emma Benton. Do you know how she is?”

  Tilting her head to the side, Dr. Zimmerman says, “Just the other day you were here for one of your guests, Cynthia Winters. Is Ms. Benton another guest, or is she a family member? You know I can’t give out infor—”

  Mick doesn’t hesitate. “She’s my fiancée. We’re engaged.”

  Dr. Zimmeerman thrusts her hands into the deep square pockets of her white lab coat and stands still. She raises an eyebrow and gives the slightest of smiles. “She’s not my patient, but I’ll see what I can find out.”

  Toni adjusts the drip rate on the IV bag hanging above the patient’s head. Until now you’ve been known as Jason Hughes. But the cops, the FBI, and everyone else is going to find out—if they hav
en’t already—that you’re really Alexander Berndt. And I’ll be damned if you take me down with you.

  Turning to Alex, she says, “I increased the med flow, so the pain will lessen soon.”

  As she sits in the still-warm chair, she leans over him. When she notices the cannula threaded under his nose, force-feeding him oxygen, she removes it.

  “It’s your own damn fault that you’re in this position. You’ve been sloppy, Alex, and now I’m forced to clean up the mess. I don’t have a choice.”

  Alex slits an eye open. His hand moves toward the call button.

  Toni shakes her head. “Uh, uh, uh. I’m sorry, but we can’t have any interruptions. Now let’s see.” She pauses for a moment. “When we were in the cave you said, ‘I told her.’ Did you mean Emma Benton?”

  Alex nods his head yes.

  “What did you tell her?

  He tries to speak but can’t. It’s increasingly hard for him to breathe.

  “Did you tell her that I’m a dirty cop?

  Alex gives another affirmative nod. And though he can’t speak, he makes a poor excuse of a smile.

  “Does anyone else know?”

  He gives her another weak smile and whispers, “Yes.”

  “Who else did you tell?”

  He still can’t talk.

  Toni threads the cannula back under his nostrils and waits.

  It’s barely audible, but she hears, “I told the priest.”

  Toni opens her jacket and extracts two syringes. She lays one on the bedside table.

  “Now let’s see just how good of a teacher you were when you taught me this clever little trick of using two drugs to mimic a heart attack. Correct me if I’m wrong,” she smiles, “but you said, ‘It’s virtually undetectable as a murder.’ Let’s find out, shall we?”

  She uncaps the needle and continues. “If I understood this accurately, calcium gluconate is a drug used to counteract the effects of hyperkalemia—too much potassium in the body—that can produce heart arrhythmias. An injection of too much calcium gluconate, however, initiates lethal electrolytic imbalances that disrupt the normal levels of sodium, potassium, and chloride in the body’s cells. These electrolyte imbalances interfere with and slow the heart to dangerously low levels, eventually creating a heart attack.”