by Dianna Love
He stared at Jennifer Brennan as he fingered the hypodermic needle he had in his pocket. He was in a quandary here — the idea too last-minute. He’d wanted her dead since the day at Deer Run State Park when she’d screamed at him. The days when he’d stand still for being humiliated in public ended with the death of his mother. Jennifer Brennan needed to die, but was this the right time and place?
Since the hunting and securing of his prey were always well-planned, the immediacy of this idea was unnerving because it was too impulsive and risky. Was he slipping? Was he at the point where he had no control over his urges? He reviewed his options.
If he disabled her with the drug, Plan A was to wheel her out of the room on a gurney, get her to a stairwell, carry her down the stairs fireman-style, then use the wheelchair he’d stashed near the first floor stairway door to whisk her to his vehicle. There were a lot of things that could go wrong with Plan A. Now that he thought about it, it was one of the dumbest plans he’d ever had. Plan B was a lot less risky, but definitely not as much fun because the strategy was simply killing her with an overdose. One injection and good-bye Jennifer Brennan.
***
Blake couldn’t shake the voice at back of his brain that was telling him something was off. Call it his gut instinct or intuition, whatever it was, it was now screaming at him that something was very wrong. He raced back to the hospital and plunged into the first parking space in the lot. Sprinting into the lobby, he flashed his badge at the security guard and darted toward the elevator.
On the fourth floor, it was too quiet, as if all the patients slept simultaneously. No chatter from a hospital room television or from patients’ guests broke the silence. Christ, it was only nine at night. The hallway was devoid of people except for a nurse in pink-print scrubs at the nurses’ station, who was glued to her computer screen and didn’t seem to notice Blake as he passed by.
When Blake reached Jennifer’s room, the door was closed and he quietly opened it so he didn’t disturb her if she was sleeping. Inside, a tall, dark-haired man in scrubs bent over Jennifer. Blake cleared his throat, obviously startling him because he jumped and whipped around to face him. Blake checked his name tag — “Barry.”
“Hey,” said Blake. “Didn’t mean to scare you, Barry. How’s she doing?”
“Good,” Barry mumbled, as he peeled off his latex gloves and slipped them in his pocket. “Just taking her pulse. It’s fine. Nothing to worry about.” He brushed past Blake and hurriedly left the room, closing the door behind him.
The tingling at the back of Blake’s brain turned into a throbbing, earsplitting declaration, telling him something was off with the male nurse. But what? Blake’s mind did an instant-replay, starting from the moment he entered the room. Why did the man say he was taking Jennifer’s pulse? His hands were near her neck not her wrist. He ripped open the door and stepped into the hallway, his right hand resting on his gun. Seeing Barry, he headed down the hall to follow him.
Blake eyeballed him from head-to-toe, noting that Barry was wearing hiking boots. What kind of a nurse, or doctor for that matter, wears hiking boots to work? Just as Blake started to run toward him, the man glanced back at him and picked up speed. Not stopping at the nurses’ station as Blake predicted, the guy made a beeline for the stairwell door. Suddenly Barry blasted through the heavy door, slamming it against the wall, then flew down the stairs. He was already at the third-floor landing when Blake entered the stairwell, racing down the stairs by taking the steps two-at-a-time. By the time Blake reached the third floor, he heard the second floor stairwell door open, then close.
Blake raced down the stairs to the second floor and charged into the hallway. The second floor was as quiet as the fourth floor when he’d entered earlier. No one was in the hall. Drawing his gun, he held it at his side as he peeked into each patient room looking for Barry. There was no sign of the man in the blue scrubs.
Blake yanked out his cell to call hospital security. He provided a description of Barry, then gave orders to search for him and to detain him if he tried to leave the hospital.
He briefed Lane and asked for backup to search the hospital for Barry and to cover Jennifer’s room. He then hurtled back up the stairs to the fourth floor. What if the man in the scrubs had hurt Jennifer? He assumed she was sleeping, but what if she wasn’t?
He raced down the fourth floor hallway until he reached the nurses’ station. He slammed his fist on the counter to get the nurse’s attention. Flashing his badge, he said, “Page a doctor to Jennifer Brennan’s room, then follow me!”
The nurse, her face now flushed with anxiety, asked, “What’s going on?”
“I just found a man dressed in blue scrubs in her room. Do you have a doctor or nurse on duty tonight wearing blue scrubs and hiking boots?”
“Sherry Simpson and I are the only ones working the night shift and I assure you, neither of us would be caught dead wearing hiking boots.”
They reached Jennifer’s room and Blake ushered the nurse through the door. “Check everything to make sure she’s all right.”
The nurse rushed to Jennifer’s side, immediately grasping her wrist to take her pulse. “Pulse is a little slow.”
Something caught her attention, and she moved blanket near Jennifer’s neck. “Oh, my God.”
Blake moved beside the nurse to see a hypodermic needle hanging precariously from a tiny fold in Jennifer’s neck. The nurse made a movement to remove the needle, and Blake grabbed her hand. “Don’t touch it!”
Blake pulled a pair of latex gloves out of one pocket and a small evidence bag out of the other. Once he donned the gloves, he gently pulled the hypodermic needle out and then held it up to the light to see how much of the liquid inside could have been injected into Jennifer’s body. It looked like three fourths of the drug was still in the hypodermic. They needed to identify what was in the hypodermic and fast. Blake slipped it into the evidence bag and sat on the bed.
“Jennifer, wake up!” Her body limp, Blake pulled her against his chest, supporting her back with his arm. She began talking, but her speech was so slurred he couldn’t understand what she was saying.
He looked at the nurse, who was pressing her hand against her chest, her expression wide-eyed and terrified. “Who’s your lab director?”
“Clifford Jones, but he’s gone for the day. Left work hours ago.”
“Where’s he live?”
“Over on Elm Street, near the golf course.”
Pulling out his cell phone again, Blake called dispatch. “Get a deputy over to Clifford Jones’ house on Elm Street near the golf course. He’s the lab director for the hospital and he’s needed in his lab for an emergency. It’s Jennifer Brennan. Tell the deputy to get him here now.”
Blake glanced at the nurse who was now in a huddle with the E.R. doctor and said, “We need to find out what’s been injected into Jennifer Brennan’s body.” For a moment, they both stared at him. “Stop standing around and draw some blood or whatever else you need to do!”
The doctor took action first, focusing on the nurse. “Get the phlebotomy kit and get some blood drawn. Get a urine sample too. Run the samples down to the lab and tell them we need the results stat!”
He then motioned to Blake, “Help me get this bed down to the E.R.”
***
Hands on his hips, Blake stood with Tim and Lane outside the Emergency Room, each too tense to sit in the waiting room. Finally, the E.R. doctor appeared along with the lab’s director, Clifford Jones.
Jones spoke first. “Jennifer was injected with a small dosage of Rohypnol. Since you’re law enforcement officers, you know that this date rape drug is often used to incapacitate victims with its potent sedative effects.”
He glanced at Blake. “She’s lucky you walked into her room when you did, because if she had received the full dosage we found in the syringe, she would have overdosed or died.”
Tim spoke to the doctor, “What can you do for her?”
The do
ctor responded, “To be safe, we’re giving her oxygen because the drug can impact breathing. We’re also treating her with activated charcoal to soak up the drug from her stomach and intestinal tract. I also conducted an examination to confirm whether a sexual assault had taken place. It’s standard hospital practice when we find a woman has been given this drug.”
The men stiffened noticeably.
The doctor shook his head. “No sexual assault.” He paused for a moment, then continued. “The effects of the drug may last from eight to twelve hours. I predict she will sleep throughout this time, but we will monitor her closely. I’m keeping her down here in the E.R.”
“I’m putting a deputy in a chair next to her bed,” said Lane. “I’m also assigning an officer to work with hospital security to secure all entrances and exits. This was a direct attempt to take out a law enforcement officer, and we’ll pull out all stops to prevent it from happening again.”
The doctor nodded, then said, “By the way, we’ve had to calm Jennifer down a couple of times. Her speech is slurred, but we think she is afraid of being locked in a blue room. Do you know what she’s talking about?”
“I do,” said Tim sadly. “Five years ago she was kidnapped and kept in a basement room lined with sound-proofing foam. It was royal blue.”
***
Once a deputy was in place at Jennifer’s bedside, Tim, Lane and Blake gathered to talk confidentially in a corner of the hospital’s dining room.
Tim sipped his hot coffee then asked, “Blake, did you get a good look at the guy in Jennifer’s room?”
Running his fingers through his hair, Blake tried to visualize the man in Jennifer’s room. “He was about six feet tall, brown hair, brown mustache and black-rimmed glasses. The mustache didn’t look right and may have been part of a disguise.”
“Anything else?” asked Tim.
“He wore brown leather hiking boots that looked well-used, like he’d worn them for a long period of time.”
“Why would this guy target Jennifer?” Lane wondered.
“I think he may be the same guy who left Catherine’s cell phone in Jennifer’s house.” Blake began. “He killed Catherine, and maybe he thinks Jennifer knows something that would connect him to the murders.”
“Guess that leaves Evan off the hook,” said Lane.
“Evan Hendricks no more killed those girls than I won the lottery last week,” said Tim. “We’ve got a serial killer on our hands and he’s still out there planning his next move.”
Looking confused, Lane said, “I thought you had to have three or more murders to determine serial killings.”
“I personally don’t give a damn what the definition is, we’ve got two girls dead, both tortured and murdered the same way by the same offender. We’ve got an organized and intelligent killer who knows enough about forensics to cover his tracks. I’m not waiting until we have a third murder until I call it the way I see it. I’m also not too proud to call out for help. The FBI has resources and experiences with this kind of thing. We need help.”
“I have a direct contact with the FBI who has experience with serial murders,” offered Blake.
“Who is it?”
“My sister, Carly, is a special agent in the Criminal Investigation Division of the FBI division office in Tampa. She’s dealt with serial murders. She’s on leave now. I could ask her to fly here to help us.”
“Why was she put on leave?” asked Tim.
“She’s just coming off a sex trafficking case where her partner was killed.” Blake explained.
“What happened?”
“The traffickers made Carly’s partner as an agent and beheaded her before Carly and backup got there. Carly discovered her body. Her backup had secured the others, but the leader drew a gun on Carly and she shot him in the face. He died at the scene.”
“But why was she put on leave?” Lane wondered aloud.
“Carly and her partner had worked together several years and were close. She took her murder hard, so her supervisor put her on leave.”
“Do you think she’ll be up for helping us?”
“The time off is driving her nuts. Carly needs something to do, something that requires her specialized talents. If I ask her, she’ll be on the next flight to Indiana.”
“Ask her.”
***
Blake relieved the deputy at Jennifer’s bedside and watched her sleep, the clear plastic oxygen mask covering her face. He picked up her hand to kiss it.
“Honey, I am so sorry I left your room,” Blake whispered, his voice cracking. “I was supposed to protect you and I let you down. I promise you I won’t do that again.”
Jennifer whimpered softly in her sleep, so Blake lifted the mask. “No, don’t lock me in the blue room.” She wrapped her arms protectively around her body. “Don’t hurt my baby.”
“Can you hear me, Jennifer?”
Though she didn’t open her eyes, she nodded fearfully.
“Honey, I’m here and I promise you that no one is going to lock you anywhere. They won’t get past me. Don’t you worry. Just sleep. Everything’s going to be okay. I’ll be right here.”
***
Two days later, Blake opened Jennifer’s front door to find a petite woman with a slender build waiting on the porch.
“Hello, my name is Allison Wade. I need to talk to Jennifer.”
“I’m sorry, but Jennifer is resting.”
“Blake, I’m not an invalid. Let Allison in.” Jennifer called out.
Reluctantly, Blake stood aside and directed Allison to the living room, where Jennifer sat on the sofa.
“Hi, Allison. Is everything okay? What brings you here?” Jennifer recognized the woman as the cashier at the 7-Eleven where she filled her car with gas each week. They’d exchanged short friendly conversation for the past year.
Blake headed to the kitchen to make some coffee while the two women talked.
Allison sat near Jennifer, looking down at her clenched hands as tears streamed down her cheeks. She said, “It’s my fault that Evan Hendricks is dead.”
Confused, Jennifer responded, “Fred Thomas killed Evan, not you, Allison. Why would you think it was your fault?”
“I didn’t come forward.” She began. “It was more important for me to keep the family secret than to help Evan. It’s just that I thought, he’s innocent, so there’s no way anyone could prove he did anything wrong the night Tiffany was abducted.
“Start from the beginning, Allison.”
“My boy, Danny, got involved in the youth activities that Evan ran at the church. He trusted Evan, and one day after Evan questioned Danny about a new set of bruises on his arms, Danny told him about his father’s drinking. It took a lot of courage for Danny to tell the family secret. We were so ashamed; we didn’t want anyone to know about Wayne’s problem. I feared his employer would find out and he’d lose his job. Then what would happen to us?” She paused for a long moment, looking out the front window.
“My husband, Wayne, is a good man with an evil addiction to alcohol. When Wayne’s drunk, he becomes a different person — one who is angry and violent. Though he’s been drinking a long time, it’s only been the past year that he hit us. I used to be able to protect Danny by sending him to his room, but the older he gets, the more he wants to protect his mom. He puts himself right in front of me and he bears the bruises to show for it.”
Allison glanced at Jennifer, her brow furrowed. “Danny came home the day he talked to Evan and begged me to meet with the youth minister, too. So we started family counseling. I begged Wayne to go with us, and at first he refused. When he saw how much it meant to Danny, he joined us.
“Evan talked to us about getting Wayne into rehab. Easy thing for folks with money, but that’s not us. Wayne drives a truck for Holden Dairy, and as you know, I’m a cashier at the 7-Eleven. We make enough for the essentials, but the costs of rehab were beyond our reach. But Evan found a place that would take Wayne and worked out payments based on
our income.” She paused, visibly trembling with intensity.
“Jennifer, that’s what we were discussing the night Tiffany Chase went missing. Danny, Wayne and I were with Evan until after ten that night. Because Wayne had been drinking and I’d just worked two shifts, Evan was worried about us driving home, so he followed us in his car. Evan couldn’t have abducted Tiffany — he was with us. So you see, Fred Thomas may have killed Evan, but it was my fault. If I had come forward sooner, he would have never been considered a suspect.”
***
From the window, Jennifer stood watching Allison walk to her car; the woman’s shoulders slumped as if the weight of the world rested on them. No matter what Jennifer said, Allison remained convinced she caused Evan’s death. Jennifer felt guilt of her own. She turned to see Blake standing near her.
“Blake, is there anything we could have done differently to prevent Evan’s shooting?”
“I’ve thought a lot about that. In a perfect world, we could have prevented the media from discussing and speculating on Evan’s guilt or innocence, thus preventing Fred Thomas from knowing about Evan’s involvement in the case. Grace Cohn may market her program as informative, but when she uses talking heads to speculate on an active investigation, she seriously jeopardizes the case and puts viewers, like Fred Thomas, at great risk.”
“But what would our country be without freedom of speech?”
“It’s a question of professional ethics,” Blake said, glancing at Jennifer, and noticing the dark circles under her eyes. “Honey, sit on the sofa or go upstairs for a nap. The doctor told you to rest.”
“I’ll take a nap upstairs if you take one with me.” Jennifer’s eyes glittered mischievously.
“Not a good idea. We both know if I go up there with you, we won’t be napping.”
“Okay, you’re right. I am a little tired,” Jennifer said as she headed for the stairs.
