Indigo Man

by M. J. Carlson

  “Thanks, but I can’t.”

  “Where you gonna go, that barbecue pit that used to be your house? You gotta get cleaned up for the press when this hits the blades.”

  “Let’s not kid ourselves, here. I’m going to do jail time. It’s just a matter of how much until they kill me.”

  Tommy shook his head. “I don’t know, Zach.”

  Zach ran his fingers through his hair. “Christ, Tommy, I drove a car off an overpass today and killed a guy. I kidnapped a kid and stole his car to leave the scene of a fatal accident.” He blew out a breath. “And that’s just today. All that stuff Murphy did? I can’t prove I didn’t do it. They’ll be months just trying to figure out all the shit to charge me with.”

  “Witnesses…” Tommy trailed off.

  “They killed all the goddamn witnesses.” He dropped his head onto his hands, supported by his elbows on the table, the weight of it all finally too much. “They killed everybody. They killed Sara, her parents.” He couldn’t hold it back any longer. The sobs came in convulsive waves. “They killed Laz. Bastards. They killed me. I’m just too stupid to quit breathing.”

  Tommy moved his chair closer, threw an arm the size of one of Zach’s legs around him, and let him cry it out on one huge shoulder. “Too smart and too stubborn, you mean. And you ain’t alone. You got a witness, Zach.”

  He lifted his tear-streaked face from Tommy’s shoulder. “I don’t understand.”

  “Zach. There’s something you maybe been too busy to catch on the news feeds.”

  He sniffed. “What?”

  “That Secret Service woman?”

  He cocked his head. “Sara?”

  “She somebody special to you?”

  “Yes, she was. Very special.”

  “She’s alive. The news said so, ’bout two or three hours ago.”

  “What?” he whispered and blinked two or three times at Big Tommy. “No. Sara?”

  Tommy’s grin widened until his big, black, smiling face threatened to split. “Yeah, her. They said so. She’s in intensive care, but the doctors think she’s gonna be okay.”

  Adrenaline surged through Zach as he stood to face the screens where Tommy pointed. Several showed the same well-dressed newswoman he’d seen on the muted screens at the pawn shop. She stood in front of Bayside Hospital’s Emergency Department sign. Big Tommy retrieved a remote and increased the volume, drawing Zach toward one of the screens.

  “Again, at the top of the hour. Police are still waiting for Secret Service Special Agent Sara Elizabeth Goode to regain consciousness after being gunned down early this afternoon along with two males on St. Petersburg’s south side. Names of the deceased are being withheld pending notification of families.”

  Blood pounded in Zach’s ears. He stumbled against one of the tables. Tears blurred his vision as his knees buckled. Big Tommy helped him to his feet and led him to the men’s room. “Come on, kid,” Tommy said, in a quiet tone. “We gotta get you cleaned up. They’ll never let you into expensive care lookin’ like that.”

  Zach turned and grabbed Tommy’s arms. “She’s alive.”

  Big Tommy nodded, turned Zach around, and pushed him toward the men’s room door. “I’m gonna have to call Marti, tell her not to get too attached to that ring. I think you’re maybe gonna need it before long.”

  CHAPTER 26

  Zach sat across the scratched metal table from two detectives. Karen Preston, his bulldog of a lawyer, sat in the other uncomfortable plastic chair next to him, wearing a cream-colored silk blouse and navy blue power suit. She made a show of checking the wrist unit of her PCOD, where the time was displayed in large, white numerals. “Gentlemen,” Preston said. “Could we please wrap this up? My client has technically been released. We’re just awaiting paperwork processing.”

  Detective Blunt, the shorter of the two, leaned forward. “Listen, counselor. Your client can go when we say he can go. We’re going to get to the bottom of this thing, and then we’re going to start recommending charges be brought against him.”

  Zach watched Blunt and wondered what genetic combination was keeping the man’s heart pumping. He was a good sixty pounds overweight, had the sallow complexion of decades of poor lifestyle choices, and desperately needed a shave and a change of deodorant. Zach remained quiet, his hands folded on the table, following the advice Detective Jack Goode, retired and damn glad about it, had given him at the kitchen table a scant four days ago—“have a lawyer, keep your mouth closed, and if you say anything, tell the truth, because it’ll be the only thing that can save you.”

  Preston matched Blunt’s stare and leaned in. “Please do, detective. Dr. Marshall has been completely forthcoming with his statements. He voluntarily agreed to come in for questioning,” She touched the face of her wrist unit. “Three days ago.” She blew out a breath, heavy with exasperation. She reached into her pocket, pulled out a small plastic box of breath mints, and plopped them on the table between them.

  Behind Blunt, his partner, Detective Decker, bit his lip to keep from smiling.

  Preston was saying something, “…Now, if you don’t mind, detective…”

  Blunt held his ground. “I still want to know where the gun went,” he said, leaning back, and crossing his arms over his chest.

  Preston rolled her eyes and pulled one of the yellow legal pads from her briefcase. As she leafed through it, she said, “Dr. Marshall previously stated—”

  “I want to hear it from him,” Blunt said, and pointed a finger at Zach.

  “Detective Blunt, you have heard it from my client. So has the Justice Department, the Department of Homeland Security, and the FBI’s Office of Professional Standards, and a virtual parade of government agencies. Now if there’s nothing else…”

  Decker spoke up for the first time, “Humor us, please.”

  Preston turned to Zach and gestured toward the detectives with her head.

  Zach spoke, “I don’t recall ever having or touching a gun, detective.”

  “What about Tyler Williams’s original statement, that you took his car, describing said weapon as ‘a big-assed, blocky thing?’”

  “Which he later recanted,” Preston said. “And changed to—she flipped a page in her notepad, ‘I guess I was a little freaked out and stuff.’”

  Zach shrugged, fighting the smile. “As I said, detective, I had just been in a significant car crash, and my memory is a little hazy. Is there any proof I had a gun?”

  “You know there isn’t,” Blunt scowled.

  “And does Mr. Williams say I ever actually threatened him with a gun?”

  “You know he doesn’t,” Decker said.

  “Dumb-assed kid can’t say enough nice things about you,” Blunt said past a scowl.

  Zach shrugged. “Sorry. Can’t help you.”

  A uniformed officer opened the door and nodded to Decker and Blunt. The two stood, but Blunt spoke, “This isn’t over, Dr. Marshall.”

  Zach sighed. For him, it probably never would be. Still, he managed a smile. “Have a nice day, detectives.” After the pair stalked out, Preston reached into her brief case. “I thought you might want to see this.” She pulled out a hard-copy newspaper and laid it on the desk in front of Zach.

  “I haven’t been keeping up with world events for the past couple of days.” He picked up the paper.

  Preston scowled. “They ought to give you a medal for what you did.”

  “They going to pin it on my new orange jumpsuit?”

  Preston said, “Don’t be too quick to pick out your new wardrobe, Dr. Marshall. Most of your rights were violated during this fiasco, not the least of which was a clear attempt to deprive you of your fundamental right to survival by a representative of the federal government. I’ve already had calls from half a dozen human rights organizations offering to lend legal assistance. This is the kind of high-profile case most lawyers dream of.”

  Zach grunted, wishing he was certain any of it made a difference. He focused on the sto
ry. The headline read, “PRESIDENTIAL FRONTRUNNER DROPS OUT”. It went on to say that not only had Congressman Stiles dropped out of the race, but he and Don Brown were being charged with conspiracy to commit murder, arson, kidnapping, and other crimes to be specified later.

  Zach read in silence, rubbing a hand over his mouth. He supposed he should be elated, or justified, or even satisfied, but all he felt was sadness. “Somehow, it doesn’t seem enough for all the pain they caused.” He hadn’t mentioned Sara’s parents and no one had said anything to him about them. He wondered when they would get around to blaming him for their deaths.

  Preston shook her head slowly, her jowls moving with the effort. “It isn’t.” She patted his forearm. “But it’ll have to do.”

  The uniformed officer motioned for Zach and Preston to follow him. They stood and left the interrogation room, where Zach had spent three of the most miserable days of his life. Two nights in a cell and questioning by an alphabet soup of agencies was an experience he hoped never to repeat. His leg ached from his wound, but it had improved and his limp was barely noticeable. He hoped to ditch the cane in a couple of weeks.

  They stepped into the hallway, where Big Tommy greeted them. He threw his arms around Zach and lifted him, grunting, off the floor.

  Preston stepped aside and chuckled for the first time since Zach had met her.

  When the spots retreated from Zach’s vision and his broken rib allowed him to breathe again, he said to Big Tommy, “Man, you have to stop doing that. People will talk.”

  “Let ’em,” Tommy said. He turned to Preston. “How’d he do?”

  “So far, so good,” she said, shaking his hand. “Thanks again for the opportunity to defend your friend, but we really should go,” she said, gesturing to the uniformed officer, who waited to escort them through the building. After what seemed like an eternity in a maze, the officer led them through a gray steel door into an enclosed garage. The LED lights overhead cast a cold blue light onto the unmarked police cars parked in the space. Big Tommy’s silver Mercedes sat in one of the spaces. Zach stopped, unsure what to do.

  “We couldn’t take you out the front,” said Tommy. “The press is creating a mob scene. This is the biggest story of the last ten years. I’m still not sure how to get you out. Lay you in the back seat and make a run for it, I guess.”

  Zach and Preston followed Big Tommy down a short flight of steps to the concrete floor. They spread out at Tommy’s sedan, one on either side of Zach.

  Zach patted the trunk lid. “I have an idea.”

  The uniformed officer retreated through the door. The three started to laugh as Zach explained.

  ***

  “Come on. Please.” Zach pleaded, drawing the word out. He stood at Bayside Hospital’s intensive care nurses’ desk. It’d been easier to get around the Justice Department guard in the hallway. He was an older agent, who’d recognized Zach from the feeds, smiled, and let him through, but prune-faced Marylyn the nurse presented a different set of variables.

  “Dr. Marshall, for the third time, the answer is no.” She frowned up at him. Her stare was as flat as her desk, and about as encouraging.

  “But Marylyn,” he tried again through his forced smile. “Listen, it’s important. I have something for her, something I have to give her. The news feeds said she was awake and—”

  “Dr. Marshall.” She spoke slowly and softly as if trying to get a simple point across to an especially slow child. “For the last time. You cannot go into intensive care. Only family is allowed in intensive care, and you are not family.”

  Zach reached into his pocket, pulled out the tiny box, and flipped it open, showing Marylyn the ring Big Tommy and Marti helped him pick out. He briefly considered whether this was manipulative behavior, and decided Sara was right. “There you are. As soon as I give her this and she says yes, I’ll be family,” he pressed on, as Marylyn stood, gaping at the ring. “And besides, she has no family. They were killed a few days ago, and—”

  Marylyn snapped out of her reverie. “What?”

  Zach stopped. “They were killed. I thought you knew…”

  “Dr. Marshall, for your information, her parents are in with her right now. If you don’t leave immediately, I’ll call security and—”

  “What?” Zach asked.

  “I said,” Marylyn started, but her desktop ’link sounded. “Wait right there while I get this, please.” She turned her head for a moment and connected the call.

  Zach stepped around the desk and strode toward Sara’s room.

  “Dr. Marshall,” Marylyn hissed from behind him. “Stop now. Stop.” From above, speakers announced a Code Orange in ICU. “Dr. Marshall, you cannot—”

  Zach spun on the ICU nurse. “Marylyn. I’m going to find out who’s in there posing as Special Agent Goode’s parents, and it’s going to take more than you and a couple of rent-a-cops—”

  “Zach?”

  Zach’s breath caught in his chest at the familiar voice behind him. He turned, afraid to look, unable to stop. Miranda Goode stood ten feet away, leaning out of Sara’s room.

  “Ms. Goode, this young man—”

  Miranda stopped Marylyn with a raised finger and stepped into the open area.

  Zach’s voice deserted him, leaving him silent and bewildered. He blinked. “I thought you were…” The words caught in his throat, like bones. “We thought…” he tried again, stopped. He couldn’t say it.

  She waved a hand. “Don’t worry. We rescheduled the cruise.”

  Zach tried to laugh, but it came out as a half sob. His lips tightened into a line and he closed his eyes as tears trickled down his cheeks.

  “Jeez.” Miranda moved to face him. “Lighten up, Zach. Pull yourself together. You can see Sara, but don’t let Jack see you cry. Cops never forget.”

  Marylyn stepped around to them. “You know this man?”

  “Oh, yes, we know him,” Miranda said, brushing her fingertips over his shirt to straighten imaginary wrinkles. She looked at his still-spiked hair and suppressed a chuckle.

  “Is there anything I can do?”

  “No, thank you, Marylyn. We’re fine. Zach’s a little surprised to see us is all.” She returned her attention to Zach. “When Boone and Hayes knocked on the front door, we went out the back and through the hedge into the Walinski’s yard, and called a cab. If they were there, Murphy had to be right behind. Murphy apparently followed them, broke into the house, killed those two kids, Hayes and Boone, and tried to pin it on us.” She sighed. “What a dick. We are so better off without that guy.”

  “You’re both okay?” He still couldn’t completely believe it.

  “Of course. Why?”

  He opened his mouth to tell her how glad he was, but the words tripped over each other on the back of his tongue. Instead, he stood rooted to the spot, grinning like a fool and not caring.

  “You go see Sara.” Miranda moved around him and scooped the speechless nurse up. “Come on, Marylyn. Let’s go cancel that alert before things get crazy around here.”

  Zach brushed the tears from his eyes as he approached Sara’s open door. He stopped short of entering and knocked. Sara sat propped in her bed, her arm in a sling. Her hair was loosely pinned up and faint circles had formed under her drooping eyes. She smiled at him. “Hi.”

  Zach closed his eyes tight for a moment and blinked back the tears. “You’re all right.”

  “Well, duh.” Her words were slurred. “If you don’t count being shot in the chest. No pain, though. Good meds.”

  “Shh,” Zach said. “Please don’t talk.”

  “I wish that was all it took,” her father said. His comment got him a sidelong scowl. Sara’s eyes narrowed as she tried to focus on him. Goode covered his smile with the fingers of one hand and stood from his chair. “She’s all yours. Good luck.”

  “You were right,” Zach said to Goode as he approached. “About the questioning.”

  “Did you get a good lawyer?”

 
Zach nodded.

  “You told the truth?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “Best you can do,” Goode said and tapped Zach on the arm as he passed.

  Zach limped across the room and stopped next to Sara’s hospital bed. Her eyes moved up from his leg. “Nice cane, Dr. Boy. Heard you caught yourself a bullet.”

  “I did.” He smiled at her reference to an earlier conversation. “Cute sling, Special Agent Blondie.”

  “Former Special Agent.”

  “Whatever.” He waited a beat. “I… spoke to Laz’s parents… they…” He closed his eyes and bit down on the memory of that video call. The last thing he’d expected was for them to thank him for being Laz’s friend with tears in their eyes, but they had.

  “You know,” she said, blinking a couple of times to focus on him. “That limp’ll be the center of conversation at every party we go to for months.” She patted the stingy hospital mattress next to her.

  Zach swallowed hard at the implications of her words. “You saying you want to spend time with someone who’s genetically positive for psychopathy?”

  The rude noise she made caused him to laugh.

  He winced at the pain from his rib, slid a hip next to hers on the bed, and took her hand in his. “I’m so sorry. If I’d known you were alive—”

  “You’d have what— told Murphy to put his gun away and kiss your ass?” She shifted on the bed, groaning a little. “Did you really launch one of those monster SUVs off an Interstate ramp and kill that bastard?”

  “I did. You think they’ll try to make me pay for the truck?”

  Her laugh started her coughing. When she finally caught her breath, she was pale, and her eyes were glassy.

  Zach waited till she settled onto the bed. “We’ve been through a lot in the last few days. Most of it pretty emotional, and you’re kind of wasted right now, so if you want to think about this for a few days or something, I understand.” He took the ring from its tiny velvet box and slipped it on her finger. It wiggled. “We’ll have to get it resized.”