A paramedic was here, but it wasn’t Max. “Ma’am, do you know what day it is?” I didn’t. “Ma’am, do you know where you are?” I nodded but couldn’t make words form; my voice had disappeared. Another paramedic was now at the passenger side door shining a light in my eyes, taking my pulse and talking to me. It wasn’t Max either.
I tried to comprehend what all had happened. Paul was dead. I heard the paramedic say, “She’s in shock. We need to get her to the hospital.” At this I looked straight at him and tears began flowing down my cheeks as if someone had turned on a faucet. I managed to get out, “I . . . need . . . to talk . . . to M-M-Max Meyer.” I started shaking like crazy. I couldn’t be sure if I had said it loud enough for him to hear, so I said again, “I . . . need . . . Max Meyer.”
“Who is Max? Was Max driving the car?” A third man, maybe a detective, was standing there with a note pad. I shook my head and reached up and grabbed the paramedic’s shirt. I asked, “Where’s Max? He’s working tonight. Where’s Max Meyer?”
The paramedic looked in my eyes, “You mean Max Meyer that works with us?” I nodded quickly and he answered, “Hold on.” I waited a couple minutes. I could see the paramedic was talking on a handheld radio, but I couldn’t hear what he was saying. He walked back over to the car and told me, “Max is working tonight. What’s your name?”
“He’s my boyfriend. Tell him I need him.”
The paramedic nodded, “You’re in shock. We need to take you to the hospital. I’ll radio ahead and tell Max to meet us there, okay?” The tears that I had almost under control flooded my eyes again as I nodded. “What’s your name?”
“Lauren.”
“Do you know what happened to your friend?”
I nodded again and was able to get out, “Paul Stratford, he got shot by a cop, I think. He’s dead, isn’t he?”
The paramedic nodded. That was it, everything went black. The next thing I knew I was in the ambulance. The paramedic’s name tag read “Phil.” Max rarely talked about the people at work other than his partner, so Phil wasn’t familiar to me. He saw that I was again coherent. “Hi, Lauren, how are you feeling?”
“Okay.” Paul and I were pulled over by someone that may or may not have been a policeman. That person killed Paul right in front of my eyes and could have killed me. I’m on a trip to the hospital, again. “Where’s Max?”
“I spoke with Max. He’s at the hospital now, waiting for us. You’re going to be fine.” His smile was reassuring.
Phil was right. We were no sooner through the doors at the hospital and there was Max. He grabbed my hand tightly then lifted my eyelids with his other. I was able to focus on him, and he smiled a forced smile back at me. I was strapped on a gurney being wheeled into an exam room. He walked alongside me asking medical questions about me to Phil while a nurse was walking with us taking notes. I found the only thing I wanted to concentrate on were Max’s eyes.
We got to an exam room, and now that I was with Max, I somehow felt stronger. I could focus on what people were saying around me, about me. He was still holding my hand, and it felt as if my strength was somehow coming from him. Max, Phil, the nurse and the doctor were all talking about me when I felt like my voice belonged to me again.
All eyes in the room were on me when I told them, “I’m okay, I wasn’t hurt. I need to talk to the police about what happened.” Max squeezed my hand and smiled at me, his normal smile this time, not the one he had forced himself to wear when I got here.
The doctor told me, “Lauren, you’re in shock. We’re giving you some fluids and a sedative to calm you down a little.”
I all but shouted, “No, please, no sedative. I need to talk to the police. Max, can you call Officer Johnson for me? I need to talk to him.” Max nodded that he could. “Doctor really, I’m fine, I was just freaked out by what happened, but I’m okay. I need to tell the police what happened right away.”
The doctor nodded and motioned to the nurse, “The police are waiting outside. Let them know she can talk to them right away.”
I didn’t recognize the person that came into my room. Max stayed with me. I was sitting up in the bed. The man held out a hand to me, “Hi, Lauren, I’m Detective Dixon.” I shook his hand and forced a smile. The man who shot Paul pretended to be a policeman, or maybe he was a policeman with a strange sense of justice. I’d never heard of Detective Dixon. I cautiously asked, “Detective Dixon, do you have any photo ID on you?”
Detective Dixon reached into the breast pocket of his jacket and pulled out his credentials. I looked at them, and they appeared to be genuine. “Thanks.” Under normal circumstances I would trust what my eyes were showing me, I would put more credence in the fact that my body wasn’t giving me any warning signs, I would simply believe that this detective was exactly who he said he was, . . . but there was nothing normal about the last couple hours. “Can you get Officer Keith Johnson on the phone?”
Max instinctively moved between the detective and me and looked like he was ready to brawl. Detective Dixon pulled out his cell phone without a word, dialed a number and said, “Good evening, Sergeant, I need a twenty on Keith Johnson. Is he on tonight?” There was a pause while the Desk Sergeant must have been speaking to the detective. “Great. Can you patch me to him? Thanks.” Another short pause and then I heard, “Keith, this is Dixon, I’ve got Lauren Davis at the hospital and she wants to talk to you. I’m going to hand her the phone.”
His expression was neither condescending nor frustrated when I took the phone from his hand. I asked, “Officer Johnson, is that you?” into the receiver.
His familiar voice replied, “Lauren, what’s going on? What’re you doing at the hospital? I saw I missed a couple calls from you and hadn’t had a chance to call you back.”
“You recognize the detective, right?”
“Sure, what’s going on?”
“A cop . . . a guy . . . a guy I think was a cop . . . shot Paul. He just . . . he just walked up to the car and shot him.”
“Lauren, I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”
“Yeah, a little freaked, but okay.”
“Can you put Detective Dixon on?”
I handed the phone to the Detective. The two talked briefly, then I heard, “I’ll get her statement and meet you at the station as soon as I’m done here. Yeah, I’ll tell them.”
While Max stayed in the room, I relayed the events of the night in as much detail as I could remember. I wasn’t able to give a good description of the man that had impersonated a policeman and shot Paul. The detective asked me questions throughout. After I had relayed the whole story, he asked me a few more, “Did Paul seem to recognize the person that shot him?”
I paused for a minute and thought about it. “Right before Paul died he said something that didn’t make sense. He said ‘Not a cop, Ms. McMasters’ something, then he died.”
“Where were you when Paul made this statement?”
“The intersection where I stopped the car – 23rd and King.”
I replayed the events over and over in my head, answering all the questions the best that I could, giving even the minutest details. At the end of the interview it felt like I had been answering questions for hours. The detective asked, “Did you see anything else that could help in the investigation?”
“I was so scared I’m not sure how or even if this is relevant. When I was waiting for the ambulance to come, I saw a man across the street watching our car. I had blared the horn a bunch of times to signal that I needed help. The man I saw just stood across the street staring, without coming over. It seemed weird at the time because another guy came to help. I wouldn’t have thought anything of it, except the man who was watching left before the police and ambulance arrived. You know, if he were really interested in what was going on, he would have stayed and watched, right?”
The detective scribbled something in his book and asked, “Did you see where he went?”
I nodded, “Yeah, he went into an apartment build
ing right behind him. It might be nothing, and I wouldn’t mention it at all except it looked like he was wearing a sweatshirt with dress pants.” The detective stopped writing and looked at me confused. I explained, “Well, it’s way too hot for a sweatshirt this time of year, and who wears one with dress pants?”
The detective stood up. “I think I’ve got everything I need. Thanks for all your cooperation. I’ll fill Keith in on everything.”
The detective left, and the nurse came back into my room and checked my vitals. “Nurse, I’m really feeling much better. I don’t think I need to be here. Can I go home now?”
The nurse pursed her lips and looked from me to Max, “I think we should have the doctor take a look at you again. If he says you’re clear, I can start your discharge, but going into shock is nothing to take lightly. He may want to keep you here for observation tonight.” She walked out leaving me with Max.
Max was at a loss, “Can I get you anything?”
“No. I don’t want to stay here.”
“Do you want me to call Molly?”
“Wait to see what the doctor says.” He nodded. No sense calling to tell her a whole lot of nothing.
“Are you okay?”
Tears leaked down my cheeks. I looked away. “I’m okay.”
Max squeezed my hand, “You’re going to be fine. I won’t leave you.”
The tears streamed faster, “I was really scared until I saw an ambulance pull up tonight. I must be the only person in the world who looks at an ambulance and feels relief. When I saw the paramedic wasn’t you, I thought I was going to have a melt-down.”
Max hadn’t let go of my hand the whole time since I arrived at the hospital, and he squeezed it gently again. “I could hardly believe what Phil was saying to me over the radio, that you had been in a car where the driver was shot and you were in shock. I started yelling questions to him, but then for no reason I got really calm: I just knew you were okay.”
Max and I talked about everything but Paul. We talked about Seth, Rachael, my parents, how they were all going to react to this latest incident. We talked about graduation, which was tomorrow, and finally our trip to nowhere special.
The doctor came back in to check on me and cleared me for release. When I asked Max if he was in trouble for not going back to work, he answered, “No, my boss started my leave of absence tonight instead of tomorrow. I’m done working until we come back from our trip.”
Max called my parents. He must have talked to my dad because the conversation was really short. “It’s Max. Before I say anything else, I want you to know Lauren’s okay. She was driving with a friend, Paul Stratford, tonight, and he was shot while she was in the car. She was brought to the hospital because she was in shock.” There was a pause where Dad must have asked Max a question, “No, she’s coherent, and the doctor said she’s fine for discharge. I was going to take her back to my apartment just so I can keep an eye on her tonight, if that’s okay?” Another long pause, “Yes, I’ll bring her by in the morning so she can get ready for graduation. I’ll see you then.” Max put his cell phone away and helped me to my feet, “I hope you don’t mind, but I would feel better if I was with you tonight.”
A uniformed police officer was standing at my door. “Ma’am, I’m Larry Phillips. Keith sent me as a protective detail.”
“That’s nice but not necessary. If the guy wanted me dead, he would have killed me a couple hours ago.”
Max held out his hand to the policeman, “Hi, Larry, I’m Max. She’s going to stay at my place tonight. You’re welcome to come along.”
I was so emotionally drained I didn’t even try to argue.
Chapter Twenty-five
Saturday morning the sun was shining brightly through the windows. I could hear birds chirping. I glanced over at the alarm clock: 8:00 a.m. My body felt heavy, like moving right now would require significant effort, nearly more than I possessed. Instead of fighting gravity, I lay there replaying last night.
I hadn’t even noticed the gray sedan until Paul pointed it out, probably the same gray sedan he had noticed several nights before. Hiding in the alleyway seemed like such a paranoid thing to do. Paul had to have known: he had to have felt that he was in some sort of danger. I felt it, but I still didn’t expect for anything so horrific to happen.
I should have looked at the man’s face. I should have willed myself to make a note of something about him. The only thing I got a clear view of were his hands. He wasn’t wearing gloves, and he didn’t have any tattoos on his knuckles like you see on people in prison. I closed my eyes and willed myself to return to that moment when I saw the barrel of the gun aimed at Paul. A tiny waft of smoke was released from the barrel. In that instant what did I see? The knuckle of his index finger was protruding from the rest of his interlocked fingers; his finger was on the trigger. In that same moment, I remembered a flash of metal, white gold, silver or platinum on his ring finger. I concentrated harder realizing it was his left hand that I was visualizing. The shooter was left-handed with a silver ring of some kind, so he most likely was married.
Excitement welled within me as I realized I remembered a detail that could help the police. I remained focused and replayed the moment he had walked up to the car. Paul wouldn’t roll the window down, which had infuriated the man. A real policeman wouldn’t have lost his cool like that. Police talk on radios; even when they’re in restaurants, you can always hear chatter on their radios. I don’t remember hearing any kind of chatter. I relived those few moments until just after the gun shot again when I reached over with my left foot and tromped on the gas pedal.
I didn’t think I looked in the rear-view mirror right away. When I finally did there was nothing at all behind us. What could I be sure of? When I looked out the window, I saw his torso. On a normal-sized man the window comes up to his waist, but this man’s waist wasn’t visible at all, meaning he had to be shorter than normal. He was a white male. His hands weren’t all weathered or wrinkly, so he had to be mid-twenties to mid-forties. He was wearing a white button down shirt, without a tie. I would have noticed a tie.
There was nothing peculiar about his voice, but as I remembered, there wasn’t a twinge of a southern accent. I don’t think there was anything Paul could have done to avoid this. Maybe drive back to the police station, but violating the terms of his bail would have been a huge problem if this had been a real cop.
I could sense the danger, and warning bells were going off in me, so why did I let Paul pull-over? Why hadn’t I seen this coming? I had asked Rewsna for help, but she’d been silent. Why would she ignore me? She told me if I ever needed her, she would be watching; I needed her and she ignored me. Her only advice: watch my surroundings after Paul was already dead. Like there was any danger at all by then.
I felt a hand on my shoulder, brushing away my hair, and I could feel Max’s lips on my neck. A warm glow consumed me. I opened my eyes and looked up at him. All I could manage was, “Hi.”
Concern was written in his expression. “You had nightmares last night.”
“I don’t remember any. Why do you think they were nightmares?”
Max continued to caress my shoulder and arm, “You were talking most of the night, and you screamed a few times. I knew waking you from your nightmare would be worse than letting it play itself out, but it was hard to watch.” He stared at me for a long moment with his beautiful green eyes. Except for Paul being dead, everything felt right with the world.
“I’m glad I stayed here last night. I probably wouldn’t have been able to sleep at all at my house. Do you think we should go? I’m sure my parents are worried.”
Max nodded, stood up, and pulled me up out of his bed. The inertia of his pull landed me squarely in his arms. Had the last twelve hours not happened, this movement would have made me laugh. As it was, I wasn’t much in the mood for celebrating, nor was I feeling very pleased with myself for letting my friend die. I stepped aside and went to the bathroom to wash my face.
> Max said nothing on the way back to my house. My mother was sitting at the table with a cup of coffee and the newspaper. It struck me after we’d already walked into the house that there were no news reporters parked outside my parents’ home. I guess I needed to be thankful for the little things.
Max relayed the events of last night to my mother while I watched on. I felt her gaze on me a few times, but I felt a little disconnected, and I really wasn’t part of their conversation. I started to distance myself from their exchange, and my mind wandered a little. I could hear Rewsna’s voice quietly, but I couldn’t make out what she was saying. I tried to listen more closely, but I wasn’t able to understand. As I was listening to her quiet voice, I heard a booming one right next to me, “Lauren, Lauren are you okay?” It was Max, and he was shaking me.
I looked at him for a second, but he was out of focus; I squinted my eyes and looked again. He was clear, and I looked at Mom who was now standing just a foot or two away from me. I managed to get out, “I’m okay.” Max told my mother I was in shock last night and had nightmares; the nightmares were a symptom, and if she knew I was having one she should stay in the room with me but not try to awaken me. Nightmares were my subconscious mind’s way of dealing with the trauma. Max continued to give her advice on how best to take care of me, as if I wasn’t right there in the room. The phone rang; I got off the sofa and picked it up.
It was Officer Johnson. “Lauren, how are you?”
“How do you think?”
“I’m sure this won’t make you feel any better, but I thought it wise to share with you that Mr. Stratford was telling you the truth. Security cameras verify the route he gave us exactly where and when he said they would. I bounced his timeline off of the coroner’s report, where time of death was between 9:30 and 10:30. Paul’s been ruled out as a suspect in the McMasters’ murders. I’ve notified his mother and grandmother of his death. I shared with them both that he had been cleared of all wrong-doing in the double homicide.”
Meeting Destiny (Destiny Series) Page 25
