Reprisal ac-5

by F. Paul Wilson

  "Here?" Ryan said. The fatigue seemed to drop away from him in an instant. His eyes came to blazing life. "Here? Give me a few minutes alone with him in this little room. Just five minutes. Two." The Styrofoam cup suddenly collapsed in his hand, spilling hot coffee all over him. He barely seemed to notice. "Just one lousy minute!"

  Okay. So the priest most likely had nothing to do with hurting the kid.

  "I want you to tell me the whole story," Renny said.

  "I've done that twice already." The fatigue was back in Ryan's voice. "Three times."

  "Yeah, but to other people, not to me. Not directly. I want to hear it myself, from you to me. Right from the moment these people stepped into St. F.'s until you arrived here in the ambulance. The whole thing. Don't leave anything out."

  So Father Ryan began to talk and Renny listened, just listened, interrupting only for clarifications.

  None of it made much sense.

  "You mean to tell me," he said when the priest had finished, "that they had this kid in their home for weekends, whole weeks at a time, and never laid a finger on him?"

  "Treated him like a king, according to Danny."

  "And then as soon as the adoption is official the guy slices the kid up. What's the story there? What's it mean?"

  "It means I screwed up, that's what it means."

  Renny saw the tortured look in Father Ryan's eyes and felt for him. This guy was hurting.

  "You did all the routine checks?"

  The priest jumped up from the sofa and began pacing the length of the small room, rubbing his hands together as he moved back and forth.

  "That and more. Sara and Herb Lorn came up as white as that snow falling outside. But it wasn't enough, was it?"

  "Speaking of Sara—any idea where she is?"

  "Probably dead, her body hidden somewhere back at that house. Damn! How could I let this happen?"

  Renny noticed that he wasn't passing the buck, wasn't blaming anyone but himself. Here was one of the good guys. Weren't too many of those around.

  "No system is perfect," Renny said in what he knew was a pretty lame attempt to console the poor guy.

  The priest looked at him, sat back down on the sofa, and buried his face in his hands. But he didn't cry. They sat that way in silence for a while until a doctor in surgical scrubs barged in. He was graying, in his fifties, probably robust-looking when he hit the golf course, but he was pasty-faced and sweaty now. Looked like he'd been on a week-long bender.

  "I'm looking for the man who brought Daniel Gordon in. Which one of you—?"

  Father Ryan suddenly was on his feet again, in the doctor's face. "That's me! Is he all right? Did he pull through?"

  The doctor sat down and ran a hand over his face. Renny noticed that it was shaking.

  "I've never seen anything like that boy," he said.

  "Neither has anyone!" the priest shouted. "But is he going to live?"

  "I—I don't know," the doctor said. "I don't mean his injuries. I've seen people mangled in car wrecks worse than that. What I mean is, he should be dead. He should have been dead when he was wheeled in here."

  "Yes, but he wasn't," Father Ryan said, "so what's the point of—?"

  "The point is that he lost too much blood to have survived. You found him. Was there much blood there?"

  "All over. I remember thinking that I never knew the human body could hold so much blood."

  "That was a good thought. Was he bleeding when you found him?"

  "Uh, no. I didn't think about it then, but now that I look back… no. He wasn't bleeding. I guess he'd just run out of blood."

  "Bingo!" said the doctor. "Exactly what happened. He ran out of blood. Do you hear what I'm saying: There was no blood in that boy's body when he got here! He was dead!"

  Renny felt the skin at the back of his neck tighten. This doc was sounding crazy. Maybe he'd been on that bender after all.

  "But he was conscious!" Father Ryan said. "Screaming!"

  The doctor nodded. "I know. And he remained conscious through the entire operation."

  "Jesus!" Renny said, feeling like someone had just driven a fist into his gut.

  Father Ryan dropped back onto the sofa.

  "We couldn't find any veins," the doctor said, talking to the air. "They were all flat and empty. You see that in hypovolemic shock, but the child wasn't in shock. He was awake, screaming in pain. So I did a cut-down, found a vein, and canulated it. Tried to draw a blood sample for typing but it was dry. So we started running dextrose and saline in as fast as it would go and took him upstairs to start suturing him up. That was when the real craziness started."

  The doc paused and Renny saw a look on his face that he'd occasionally seen on older cops, thirty-year men who thought they'd seen everything, thought they were beyond being shocked, and then learned the hard way that this city never revealed the full breadth of its underside; it always held something in reserve for the wiseguy who thought he'd seen it all. This doc probably had thought he'd seen it all. Now he knew he hadn't.

  "He wouldn't go under," the doc said. "Hal Levinson's been my anesthesiologist for twenty years. He's one of the best. Maybe the best. He tried everything he had—from pentathol to Halothane to Ketamine and back and nothing would put that kid under. Even a high-level spinal block wouldn't dent him. Nothing worked." His voice began to rise. "Do you hear me? Nothing worked!"

  "So—so you didn't… operate?"

  The doc's expression became even bleaker.

  "Oh, I 'operated.' I 'operated,' all right. I went into that kid and put everything in his belly back the way it was supposed to be, then I closed him up. And I closed up the holes in his hands and feet too. And he jerked and writhed with every suture and so we had to tie him down. Yeah, he's all back together. He's up in Recovery now but I don't know why. He doesn't need to recover from the anesthesia because none of it took. He's got no blood and I can't give him any because we can't get a sample to type. He should be dead but he's up there screaming with pain but making no sound because his vocal cords are all shot to hell from all the screaming he's already done."

  Renny watched in shock as tears began to form in the doctor's eyes.

  "I sewed him up but I know he's not going to heal. He's in pain and I can't stop it. The only thing that's going to help that child is dying and he's not doing it. Who is he? Where did he come from? What happened to him? Are there any medical records on him anywhere?"

  Father Ryan snapped his fingers. "Here! He had a full neurological workup right here just last year—through the child study team."

  The doc dragged himself wearily to his feet. His expression was even bleaker than before.

  "You mean I'm going to find this kid in medical records? That means he really exists and this isn't just a nightmare." He sighed heavily. "Maybe they typed his blood."

  As he turned to leave, Father Ryan grabbed his arm.

  "Can I see him?"

  The doc shook his head. "Not now. Maybe later. After I see if I can get some blood into him."

  As he stepped out the door, Kolarcik stepped in.

  "They just brought in the guy from the house."

  "Lorn!" The priest leapt forward. "Let me—"

  Renny put a hand on his chest and pushed him back. Gently.

  "You stay put for now, Father. I'll want you to ID him, other-wise you stay here for the time being."

  "If he looks like Teddy Roosevelt, you've got him. But tell me something. Am I under arrest?"

  "No. But you're up to your neck in this, so for everybody's sake, stay put."

  "Don't worry about that. As long as Danny's here, I'm here."

  Renny had no trouble believing that.

  The handcuffs spoiled the picture, but this guy Herbert Lorn really did look like Teddy Roosevelt. Only the glasses were missing. And he was either completely whacked out or was putting on the best damn show Renny had ever seen.

  Renny seated himself opposite Lom. The guy's eyes were focused somewhere
off in space, like on Mars maybe.

  "Your name is Lom? Herbert Lom?" Renny said.

  "Don't waste your breath, Sarge," said the uniform who had brought him in, a cocky brat named Havens. "No one could get a word out of him over at the station. His wallet says he's Lom, though."

  "Were you at the house?"

  "Nah. Wasn't my shift."

  "Anybody tell you about the scene."

  Havens shrugged. "Said the upstairs bedroom was practically painted with blood."

  Just like Father Ryan had said. Renny gave Lom's clothes a careful visual going over.

  "These the clothes he was wearing when they found him?"

  "Yeah. You don't think we changed him, do you?"

  Havens's mouth was going to buy him big trouble someday, but not from Renny. Not tonight. He was too concerned with why there was no blood on Lom's clothes or hands.

  "Forensics go over him?"

  "Yeah. Scraped his fingernails, vacuumed his clothes, the works." t

  "He's beep Miranda'd?"

  "About three times, in front of witnesses."

  "And he hasn't asked for an attorney?"

  "He hasn't even asked to take a pee. He don't speak and don't do a goddam thing you tell him to, but watch this."

  The cop pulled Lom to his feet and he stood there without moving. He pushed him back into the chair and he stayed seated. He got Lom up on his feet again and pulled him forward. After a couple of stumbling steps he began to walk in a straight line. The cop let him go and he kept on walking, right into a wall. Then he stopped walking and stood with his face against the wall.

  "Guy's a fucking robot."

  Renny didn't argue. He had Kolarcik bring Father Ryan down from the doctors' lounge.

  "This him?" he asked the priest when he arrived.

  Father Ryan's gentle features twisted into a snarl.

  "You filthy—!

  He lunged for Lom's throat and it took everything Kolarcik and the other uniform had to hold him back. Lorn didn't even flinch.

  The cop was right: Lorn was like a fucking robot.

  "I'll put that down as a positive ID," Renny said. "In the meantime, Father, would you mind returning to the lounge?"

  As the priest was led away, Renny turned to the uniform.

  "Take our friend down to the emergency room and have them give him the once-over. I don't want anyone saying we didn't see to his medical needs while he was in custody."

  He glanced at his watch. Two A.M. Christmas already. And he hadn't called Joanne yet. There'd be hell to pay for that.

  He hurried to a phone.

  The ER doc caught up to Renny in the hall about half an hour later.

  "Hey, Lieutenant—"

  "It's sergeant."

  "Okay—Sergeant. Where the hell did you find that guy?"

  This doc was young, in his thirties, had long dark hair, an earring on the right, and a neat beard. Looked like a rabbi. The name-tag on his white coat said A. STEIN, M.D.

  "Lorn? We've got him for attempted murder. Maybe murder, too, if we ever find his wife, so… Why are you shaking your head?"

  "There's no way your Mr. Lorn is going to stand trial for anything."

  Renny's stomach gave a lurch at the note of finality in Stein's voice.

  "He died?"

  "Might as well have. He's as good as brain dead."

  "Bullshit! He's faking it, acting like he's got that disease, cata—cata-something."

  "Catatonia. But he's not catatonic. And he's not faking. You can't fake what he's got."

  "So what's he got?"

  Stein scratched his beard. "I'm not sure yet. But I'll tell you one thing: His neurological exam puts him on a level somewhere between an earthworm and a turnip."

  "Thanks, Doc," Renny said acidly. "You've been a big help. Now find me a specialist, one who knows that a guy who walks around ain't brain dead. Maybe then I can get a real exam done."

  Stein's reddening face told Renny he'd scored with that one. Stein grabbed him by the arm.

  "Okay, wiseass. You come with me. I want to show you a few things."

  Renny accompanied him to a curtained-off cubicle in a rear corner of the ER where Herbert Lom lay on a gurney. Alone.

  "Where's Havens?"

  "The cop? I sent him for coffee."

  "You left a suspect here alone?" Renny said angrily.

  "Mr. Lom's not going anywhere," Stein said. He pulled a penlight from his coat pocket and stepped around to the far side of the gurney. "Come on over here and take a look at this."

  Renny stepped closer and looked down at Lom's impassive face.

  "Look at his pupils. Look how wide they are." Stein flashed the beam of his penlight into each eye, back and forth, one and then the other. "See any change in them?"

  The pupils didn't move a hair.

  "Fixed and dilated," Stein said. "Now watch this."

  He touched his finger to Lom's left eyeball. Renny flinched but Lom didn't. He didn't even blink.

  "You don't need a medical degree to know that's not normal," Stein said. "Now check this out. Watch his eyes."

  He grabbed Lom's head with both hands, one at the chin and one at the crown, and rotated it back and forth a few times, then moved it up and down like a nodding marionette. Lom's eyes never moved in his head; his gaze remained fixed straight ahead, staring whichever way he was turned.

  "We call that 'doll's eyes.' It means his brain's in deep shit. He's got no higher brain function—nothing above the brain stem, if that much. He's a turnip."

  "And he couldn't be faking it?" Renny said, although he already knew the answer.

  "No way."

  "How about drugs? What'd the blood tests show?"

  Stein looked away. "We didn't do any."

  "You mean to tell me you've got a guy you're calling brain dead and you haven't checked to see if he's full of H or blow or ice?"

  "We couldn't get any blood out of him," Stein said, still looking away.

  An icy-fingered hand began a slow walk down Renny's spine.

  "Oh, shit. Not another one."

  "You know about the kid too?" Stein said, looking at him now. "I guess everybody in the hospital's heard. What the hell's going on, Sergeant? Somebody brings in a bloodless mutilated kid who can't be anesthetized, and you cops bring in this… this zombie with no pulse, no blood pressure, no heartbeat, yet he sits, stands, and walks. I couldn't find any blood anywhere in him—I even stuck his femoral artery, or at least where I thought his femoral artery should be. We cathed his bladder for urine but wound up with a dry tap. This is getting scary."

  "Maybe he's brain damaged," Renny said, shaking off the chill. He'd heard enough Twilight Zone bullshit for one night. "Can't you X-ray his head or something?"

  Stein brightened.

  "We can do better than that. We can get an MR—and we can get it stat."

  Renny stayed with the inanimate, staring Lorn while Stein rushed off to set up the MR or whatever it was.

  "You're not fooling me, pal," he whispered as he leaned over him. "I'm going to break up your little game and see that you pay for what you did to that kid."

  Renny almost jumped back when Lom's mouth twisted into a toothy grin.

  Renny was still shaky as he sat outside the Magnetic Resonance Imaging room. Lom's grin had lasted only an instant before collapsing back into the slack expression he'd worn all night, but that had been long enough to convince Renny that he had a supreme con artist on his hands here.

  Which was just great. As if this case weren't already twisted enough, he had to have some Houdini-type trance artist as a prime suspect.

  Stein came down the hall and dropped into the seat next to him. He was carrying a pair of X rays. He didn't look so good but he managed a smile.

  "Standing guard?" Stein said.

  "Actually, I'm sitting."

  Renny had stationed himself here when Lom was wheeled in and he'd sit here until he was wheeled out again. There was only one way in or out
of Magnetic Imaging and this was it. He was here to see to it personally that Lom didn't pull anything cute—like a disappearing act. Renny would have been inside, right next to the MR machine, except that they'd wanted him to remove anything that contained any iron and leave it outside. Something about warping the magnetic field or something. That meant stripping off his pistol and his badge; they'd even told him he'd have to leave his wallet outside because the field around the MR machine would scramble the magnetic strips on his credit cards.

  Sounded like Star Trek stuff to Renny, but he wasn't going anywhere around Lom unless he was fully armed. So he'd camped outside.

  "I'm telling you, Sergeant, Mr. Lom is not going to take a walk. Anywhere."

  "And I'm telling you he grinned at me. He's playing you for a sucker, Doc."

  "Uh-uh. That was a random muscle twitch."

  Renny was about to suggest another muscle Stein could twitch when the MRI technician stuck his head out the door.

  "Yo! Dr. Stein. We got ourselves a little problem in here."

  Renny was on his feet, reaching for his .38. I knew it!

  "Where is he? What's he doing?"

  The tech was a skinny black guy sporting short dreadlocks. He looked at Renny as if he was nuts.

  "Who? The patient? He ain't doing nothin', man. Be cool. It's the computer. It's puttin' out some weird shit."

  As Stein followed the tech into the control room he glanced back over his shoulder at Renny.

  "Coming?"

  Renny was about to tell him that he'd already seen enough weird shit for one night, then decided that a little more wouldn't make much difference.

  "Yeah, sure. Why not?"

  He followed them to the control console with its rows of monitors. He watched Stein lean forward and stare at one of the screens, saw his face go slack and fade to the color of the eggshell wallpaper behind him.

  "You're kidding, right?" Stein said. "This is bullshit, Jordan. If you think this is funny—"

  "What's wrong?" Renny said.

  "Hey, man," the tech told Stein. "If I could make it show that kinda shit just for fun, you think I'd be workin' this shift?"

  "What the hell's wrongT' Renny said.

  Stein sagged into the chair before the console.

  "That's Mr. Lom's head," he said, pointing to the screen before him. "A side view. A sagital cut through the center of his head and neck, top to bottom, right between his nostrils."