by Blake Pierce
“The EMT who signs off on these reports,” Laura said. “They don’t work alone, do they?”
“No, ma’am,” the administrator said, in a kind of stern tone. “They work in pairs, always, if not in groups when responding to larger accidents. Why do you ask?”
“The names on these reports,” Laura said. “There’s only one.”
“That would be the person who had seniority at the time and therefore had the responsibility to write the report,” the administrator said.
Laura saw what this meant. There was someone else at the scene when Lincoln Ware nearly drowned. That someone else could have been Paul Payne.
She didn’t have evidence yet, but surely it would be easy to find.
“I want to speak to one of these EMTs,” Laura said, looking up at the administrator decisively. “Where can I find him?”
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
Laura studied him from a distance for a moment before moving closer. Paul Payne was dressed in the standard gray shirt of his profession, a radio hooked up on his shoulder, ready and waiting to call him in for any new emergency. He was talking casually with a colleague, a young woman sitting in the back of the ambulance beside him.
It was lucky that he happened to be on shift, right here at the hospital, exactly when Laura needed to speak with him.
He was young enough himself, no more than forty years old. No, Laura would have guessed even younger, actually. Maybe around the same age as the women who had died, or around her own age. No younger than thirty, given the fine lines he wore around his eyes and across his forehead. He was handsome enough, too, with straight, dark hair worn swept to one side and cut slightly longer across his temple and pale blue eyes. Laura remembered reading somewhere that having dark hair and blue eyes was actually extremely rare in genuine genetics, and that was why such a large percentage of actors and actresses seemed to have them. It was viewed as rare and exotic.
A kind of natural advantage, giving someone a charm that could override a nasty reputation. Laura took that into account as she approached him. In her experience, the handsome ones were the ones you had to watch out for. They got away with so much just by being admired.
“Excuse me,” she said, as she reached the back of the ambulance where the two EMTs were sitting. “You’re Paul Payne, is that correct?”
“Yeah,” he said, sitting up a bit straighter. His expression smoothed out, like he was putting on his customer service voice. “How can we help? Do you need some assistance?”
“You could say that.” Laura dug her badge out and showed it to them both, glancing at the young woman who was sitting beside Paul. She didn’t need an audience. “I wonder if we could chat for a moment?”
She felt tension thrumming high in her veins. If he was the killer and she was about to get herself left alone with him, she could be in danger. But what was she supposed to do? Nate wasn’t in the right frame of mind to do this with her, not right now. She couldn’t let him just carry on roaming the streets. She had her gun. And at least here, on the hospital grounds, there was a good chance of there being a witness at all times. That might make him think twice, if he really was the killer.
“Sure,” Paul said. He followed her glance at his coworker, and evidently recognized her hint towards privacy. “Uh, I was actually due a break anyway. I’ll head inside with you – there’s a little room we use near the canteen. Sandy, can you take us off call for fifteen?”
“Sure,” the other woman nodded brightly, though her eyes kept flicking over Laura uncertainly.
Laura was sure it wasn’t completely unusual, an EMT having to talk to the police. There were cases they would have been involved in, treating victims and so on. Sandy didn’t argue, only watched curiously as Paul got down from the back of the ambulance and walked Laura inside.
“What’s this about?” he asked, when they were inside the doors, walking down the hushed halls. Even though it was still daytime, there was a kind of quiet to a hospital. The people sitting in the main waiting area were subdued, many of them looking blank as though they’d been there for a long time, even the ones clutching bloodied towels against hands or foreheads. A baby was crying, but even that was shushed as they walked by.
“It’s regarding an ongoing case,” Laura said. “I’d feel better discussing it when we’re in your break room.”
“Of course,” Paul nodded. They were surrounded by people, so it was hardly an unexpected request, Laura thought. He led her to a small room, as promised, which was occupied by only one other person. A slightly overweight man with headphones jammed in his ears, a paperback and a bowl of kale and chicken salad in front of him, and the same uniform as Paul. He nodded a greeting when they entered, but that was all.
Laura instantly felt better. A witness, but also one who wasn’t going to be listening in to their conversation. The best she could have hoped for.
The room held three tables surrounded by chairs, as well as a wall of lockers and a fridge, sink, and cupboards for plates and mugs. Paul led her to one of the tables, then hesitated as she sat down. He turned to get a smoothie out of the fridge, marked with a piece of tape that had his name written on it in black pen. Then, at last, he sat down to face her.
“So, what is it?” he asked. “Is it about that stabbing last week?”
“No, this is about some older cases,” Laura said. “Well, older for you. There are three that took place over the last few years. I’d like to get your perspective on them, if I can.”
“Oh, sure,” Paul said, flipping up the top of his smoothie shaker and taking a draught. “Anything you need.”
“Alright,” Laura said, reaching into the inside of her jacket. She’d stashed a file there containing the things she wanted to show him: the three EMT reports for Veronica, Stephanie, and Lincoln. “I have your name on a couple of these reports, so I want you to take a look at them and see what you remember.”
Paul took the first one, his forehead furrowing as he looked it over. Something he saw made his eyebrows lift and eyes widen, his face going pale. “Oh, God. Wait. Is this about the clock killer?”
“What makes you ask that?” Laura replied, instantly on guard.
“The name,” he said. “Veronica Rowse. I saw it on the news earlier today. That’s one of the victims, isn’t it?”
Laura silently cursed in her head. Captain Blackford hadn’t been able to hold off the media forever. There went the element of surprise. Still, it wasn’t like it was unusual to deal with members of the public who already knew some details of the case. She needed to watch him carefully, figure out if he knew more than he should. One slip, and she would have him. “Yes, I’m afraid it’s about that case,” she said. “This is one of the victims.”
“And the other two?” he asked.
Reluctantly, Laura nodded.
Paul sighed heavily, passing a hand over his mouth and shaking his head. “Damn. That’s… wow. I resuscitated her. And now she’s dead anyway.” He flipped through the other two pages, stopping at Stephanie Marchall’s. “This one, too?”
“You see why I wanted to talk to you in particular,” Laura said, glad he’d picked up on the connection. “It seems like you would be best placed to tell me anything that stands out about these two cases.”
Paul’s eyes roved over the reports again and he shook his head slowly. “I don’t remember anything in particular that isn’t already written down here,” he said. “They were… well, pretty much like any other callout. We did good. Saved their lives. I just… I can’t believe they’re gone now.”
“What about the third one?” Laura asked. “Do you know anything about that? Did you happen to be there as well?”
Paul glanced over the third sheet. “Lincoln Ware – it doesn’t ring a bell. No… No, I definitely wasn’t on shift that night.”
“How can you be so sure?” Laura asked, watching him closely. She couldn’t get a read on whether he was genuine or not. Had he reacted properly to the name, like he
really hadn’t heard it before? She couldn’t tell. “This happened six months ago. You remember what you were doing on that night?”
Paul gave her a brief smile. “I’m sure,” he said. “That’s my birthday. I was out with family.”
Laura leaned back in her chair, sighing internally. He had an alibi for that night. He still would have had access to the records, of course, but it became less of a connection if he wasn’t personally there at all three of the near-death calls.
“Who were you working with on the other two nights?” she asked. “Do you stick with the same crew, usually?”
“Sometimes,” Paul shrugged. He looked between the sheets of paper which held information about Marchall and Rowse, as if he was looking into his memory at the same time. “I don’t think… no, these two nights were different crews. Holly was there for both Lincoln and Stephanie, I think, but she wasn’t there when we responded to the car crash for Veronica. It all depends on who’s on shift, you know?”
Laura nodded. She made a note of it, anyway, in case it turned out to be relevant. She could always track this Holly down and interview her next, if she got desperate. It looked like a dead end, but you never really knew.
She was about to ask another question when the door opened, letting in a couple of EMTs who were loudly laughing and talking among themselves. They stopped when they noticed Laura, their expressions dropping from the over-exuberant to simply cheerful.
“Oh, sorry,” one of them said. “Didn’t realize you had a guest in today, Paul!”
“Oh, I don’t,” Paul said, though he was smiling back at them. “This is Agent – Frost, wasn’t it? She’s with the FBI.”
“Hope you’re not looking into Paul,” one of the newcomers, an older guy who was rail-thin and had tightly muscled arms under his shirt, joked. “He’s one of our best. We need him on the team!”
Paul laughed and shook his head. “Don’t listen to him,” he said. “He’s just trying to get me to cover his weekend shift.”
“You know it,” the older EMT laughed. “No, I’m not kidding. He’s got a better record than most of us out here.”
“Is that so?” Laura asked, looking back at Paul.
He had a faint blush on his cheeks, which was kind of funny to see on a man who was so handsome, self-possessed, and obviously confident in his work. “I don’t really pay attention to the records,” he said modestly.
“Well, those of us that do know he’s got a hell of a lot of saved lives ahead of most of us,” the older man said. “What are you chatting about, anyway?”
“It’s a case,” Paul said, sliding the pieces of paper back across the table to Laura. “I… guess I’m not supposed to talk about it?”
“If you could keep it to yourself for now,” Laura replied, tucking the sheets back away into the folder. “Thanks for your time, anyway. I think that about covers it. But if you do think of anything relevant…”
Paul took the card she was offering him with a nod and a smile, immediately slipping it into his breast pocket. “I’ll call you right away,” he said.
“Thanks again,” Laura told him, getting up. “Enjoy the rest of your break.”
“Thank you,” Paul said. “And, good luck. I hope you catch whoever did this. It’s… well, it’s a tragedy.”
Laura nodded, skirting the three other EMTs who now made the small break room feel crowded on her way to the door. She found her own way out of the hospital, back the way she’d come in, until she was standing outside in the cold air of the morning again. It was still early. Early enough that, if the killer was planning on starting a timer today, it wouldn’t have been set up yet.
But not early enough that she had any confidence she was going to get this done.
It was almost starting to seem impossible. Paul Payne had been her best lead yet, and she had even started to feel excited that she might be getting somewhere in this case. But now that she had met him in person, she had no qualms about ruling him out of the investigation. Not only was he charming and obviously cared a lot about his patients, but he had no connection to the third victim. Lincoln Ware had been revived when Paul wasn't even on duty, and his coworkers seem to think highly of him as well. From what Lauren knew of the Angel of Mercy-type killers, usually there was a lot of suspicion among their colleagues. People noticed when deaths happened around a certain person. It was just that the system often allowed them to get away with it for longer than they should.
Which left her back exactly where she had been yesterday, and the day before that, and even really where she'd been before she'd even heard of the case. Yes, she knew now that it must have something to do with the fact that all three victims had once been clinically dead, only to survive. But where did that get her? She had no way to link it to any particular person, and there must be so many hundreds or even thousands of people living in Atlanta who had once almost died.
Nate wasn't talking to her again; or if he was, it made no difference because she had no idea where he was now. Lacey's visit was still coming up, and Laura felt another day slipping out of her grasp slowly as they failed to get anywhere with the case. Another day closer to having to forfeit her first weekend with her daughter, and maybe something even more serious than that if she couldn't get back in time. And there was Amy, who needed support and help. If Laura had been back home, she would have gone round there, to help Chris out as quickly as she was able to. But she couldn't. Everything had to be on pause until this case was done.
Add on top of that the fact that her visions were playing up, and she had no idea why, and Laura was starting to feel like the weight of the world was on her shoulders with this case. She had no idea how to push through it. Or what she was going to do now.
All she knew was she couldn't give up.
Laura walked back to the rental car in the parking lot, shut herself inside, and leaned over the steering wheel, trying hard to think. There must be something she could do to either trigger a vision that actually told her something or move this case forward.
She just had to think.
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
Jenny sighed, looking out of her window at the car. She wished she didn’t have to go, but she was going to have to.
This was how it had been, lately. Staring out at that car, trying to work up the courage to go and get into it. Knowing she had to.
Jenny pushed her hair back from her face, the scars on her right arm catching her eye as she did so. She felt like she couldn't go anywhere without seeing a reminder of what had happened only a few months ago, even if only on her own body. The bandages had been off for a while now, and the cuts had healed to red lines, but that didn't mean she didn't remember what it felt like when they were fresh.
When the glass from the car window had sliced her open.
She shuddered, shaking her head.
No, she wasn't going to do this. She wasn't going to allow her fears to get in the way yet again. Every week, she had the same fears, the same anxieties. She'd been working with the therapist on getting over it, and she remembered now what she'd been told. Think about the likelihood. Think about the severity. How many times had she driven a car in the past without anything bad happening at all? Hundreds of times, surely. Being in one car accident one time, well, that left a several hundred to one chance of anything like that ever happening again.
Of course, her traitor brain reminded her, the likelihood was even lower if she didn't get back in the car at all.
But she had to. She had to get back to normal life. She pulled her head away from the memory of the sound of twisting metal and breaking glass, and moved towards the doorway, her motion a little off-balance.
The physiotherapy was going well, at least.
Jenny took her car keys from the peg by the door and stepped outside, moving towards the vehicle. She kept it parked under a little overhang beside the house, not really a full garage but still something that provided shelter. That was one more consolation: the fact that her neighb
ors couldn't see her having this same freak-out every single time she tried to get in the car to go to her appointment. At least none of them knew how fragile she was, how weak she could be sometimes. It was pathetic, she told herself.
And then she heard the voice of her therapist in her head reminding her that she was doing great and taking things one step at a time, and not to let negative self-thoughts get in the way of things. And she sighed again.
It was always like this. The constant battle between her head and the things that she knew she was supposed to think.
Jenny paused, patting her pockets. She'd forgotten her purse and everything in it. She moved back inside the house, grabbing it, and then finally made her way back to the car again. She had to walk all the way around it from this part of the house, slipping around the front of the car in order to get to the drivers’ side door. She was looking into her purse, rummaging around inside it to see if she'd remembered to pick up any breath mints, when it happened.
Something hit her in the back of the head.
Her first thought was that she was having a stroke or something. That the injury she sustained in the crash was finally catching up with her. She had done a lot of reading about head injuries ever since it happened, working herself up into a frenzy of terror. She knew that sometimes there could be no symptoms at all, and everything could seem as though it was fine, and then one day you would just drop dead from a blood clot or something like that. Her first thought was that it was finally happening.
But she staggered forward, catching herself on the car, and when she was able to focus on her own reflection in the window glass, she could see that there was someone behind her.
She turned, managing to get the strength to push herself against the car, using it as leverage so that she could stay standing up.
“Sorry,” the man said, his tone actually apologetic. “I'm usually a lot more precise. I meant to hit your neck, knock you out cold.”
