by Sara Reinke
“Grandma told me,” she said. “She told me about Skittles, and about Danny Thomas. Eileen O’Connell, too―and the other time, at the funeral home.”
He couldn’t breathe. He felt his stomach wrench in a sudden, painful knot, and he gasped softly, pained. “Emma,” he said, stunned and aghast. He sat up, cradling her face between his hands. “How do you know about that? Did…did your Uncle Paul tell you?”
How could he do this? he thought, distraught. Jesus Christ, Paul, she’s just a kid! A little girl! How could you tell her about all of that―about me?
“It wasn’t Uncle Paul,” Emma said. “I told you―it was Grandma. I had a dream I was at the farm and she told me. She said that’s why I could talk to her, because of what happened. Because at the funeral home, after she’d died, you touched―”
“Stop it!” Jay gasped, his hand darting out, pressing against Emma’s mouth. He was so horrified, he was shaking. He thought he might vomit. She was just a baby, only two years old when that happened! She can’t remember that! She can’t! “Emma, I…I don’t want you to talk about it, okay? It…it was a long time ago. No more.”
Emma blinked at him, looking puzzled as he drew his hand back. He was still trembling, and shoved his fingers through his hair in a vain effort to disguise that fact. “It scares you, doesn’t it?” she whispered. “What you can do.”
“Emma, that’s enough,” Jay said. He swung his legs around and crawled slowly, feebly out of bed. His legs felt impossibly weak, and he struggled to keep his balance, leaning heavily against the chair Jo had slept in.
“It’s not your fault, Daddy,” Emma said. “What happened to them…what happened to Marie…”
“I said, enough!” Jay snapped, turning to her. His brows were furrowed, but his eyes were filled with bewildered fright. How in the hell does she know all of this? Did Paul tell her? How else could she possibly know?
“He saw you in the parking garage,” Emma said. “The bad man who hurt Jo and Marie. He was still there. He heard you coming up the stairs and he hid. He wasn’t finished yet. He hadn’t gotten her pants off.”
Jay’s knees failed him and he sat down hard against the chair seat, staring at his daughter in mute shock.
“He saw everything,” Emma said. “That’s why he came to our house that night. It doesn’t have anything to do with Jo. He doesn’t really care about watching her anymore.”
Jay pressed his hand against his mouth. He couldn’t repress the vile, bitter taste that had risen from the back of his throat.
“He’s going to keep doing it, Daddy,” Emma whispered, her eyes wide with fear. “He’s not going to stop. Now he wants to watch you.”
Jay grabbed the washbasin from his bedside table and jerked it beneath his chin just as his stomach wrenched and he vomited violently. He crumpled from the chair to his knees, and leaned over, heaving the frothy contents of his empty gut.
* * *
Paul woke at a quarter past five in the morning with the nasty flavor of Mongolian beef still lingering in his mouth, and a painful crick in his neck from where one of the cot’s mattress springs had dug into his muscles during the night. He had slept in the homicide division’s break rooms, and when he squinted blearily at a nearby wall clock, he swore aloud. He’d meant to wake up well before now.
“Goddammit,” he muttered, fishing his cell phone out of his pants pocket. He’d set the alarm on it to go off at four o’clock, and had no idea why it hadn’t worked until he unfolded the lid. He’d somehow rolled on top of it during the night, and in the process, managed to turn it off. The alarm hadn’t gone off, and he saw he had four missed calls.
“Goddammit,” he hissed, when he realized they’d all come from home. He thumbed the speed dial button for the house, and Bethany answered on the fifth ring, her voice hoarse and sleepy.
“Daddy? Is Mom with you?”
He blinked. “What? No, she’s not with me. What are you talking about? She’s not at home?”
“She got a phone call last night from a nurse at the hospital. He told her you’d asked him to call, that Emma was awake and you wanted her to come there.”
Paul ran his fingers through his thinning hair. What the hell? he thought. He hadn’t asked anyone to call Vicki. He’d thought about it himself, but she’d been screening her calls, not answering for him, and it had pissed him off so badly, he’d hung up without leaving her any messages.
“It was late. We were already in our pajamas, so she told us just to stay put, that we could see Emma in the morning,” Bethany said. After a long pause, she added in a tremulous, anxious voice: “She’s not there with you?”
“I’m not at the hospital,” Paul said, wincing as he stood up, and the crick in his neck strained in protest. “I’m at work. I spent the night here.” He limped toward the coffee machine, hoping the pot of regular was fresh enough to kill the stale garlic and ginger flavor in his mouth. “I’ll call her on her cell. Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. I―”
“I’ve been trying her cell phone,” Bethany said, sounding even more worried. “It’s on, but she’s not answering it. I’ve left her messages. That’s why I tried to call you, Daddy. She said she wouldn’t be gone long, only a couple of hours or so.”
Paul had poured himself a styrofoam cup of coffee, but paused now with it poised near his mouth, ready to sip. “When did she leave the house?”
“Around ten, I think. Ten-thirty, maybe.”
Paul set the coffee cup down. “She’s been gone all night?”
“Well, yes,” Bethany began. “But I…”
“She got a phone call last night from a nurse at the hospital. He told her you’d asked him to call, that Emma was awake and you wanted her to come there.”
“Shit!” Paul hissed, darting for the door. He’d taken his pistol and holster off before going to bed; it was locked in his desk. If something had happened, if it had been Nathan Gambit who’d called, then he knew more than just Paul’s phone number―he had to know where Paul lived, as well.
“Daddy?” Bethany asked, sounding alarmed now.
“Bethany, I want you to listen to me,” Paul said, opening his desk drawer and pulling out the leather shoulder harness for his sidearm. “I want you to make sure all of the doors are locked, and then you and M.K. just sit tight. Don’t go outside for anything―not even to get the mail, do you understand? And don’t open the door for anyone unless you talk to me first and I tell you it’s okay.”
“Daddy, what’s going on? Is Mom okay?” Bethany’s voice warbled with tears, and Paul paused, softening at the sound of her fear.
“Mom’s fine, sweetheart,” he said gently. “I’m going to the hospital right now. I bet she’s just fallen asleep there with Emma. I just…one lost Frances woman is all I can handle at a time, okay? That’s why I need you and M.K. to just stay put.”
“Okay, Daddy,” Bethany said. He could tell by the quiver of uncertainty in her voice that she wasn’t convinced, but he was her father. If he said something, in her eyes, it must be true.
“Good, then,” Paul said. He checked the clip on his nine-millimeter and then locked it home. Before he left, he tried to reach Vicki on her cell phone, but had no better luck than his daughters. He cursed under his breath as he hurried outside for his truck.
CHAPTER NINE
Jo darted out of the bathroom when she heard Jay retching. She’d just finished her shower and changed into her white uniform scrub pants and tunic. She was barefooted, and skittered against the wet linoleum of the hospital room floor, finding Jay on his hands and knees beside his bed, a wash basin beneath his face. He’d finished vomiting, but his arms were trembling; his entire body was wracked with shudders.
“Jay, oh, my God!” she exclaimed, kneeling beside him. “What happened? Why are you out of bed?”
She looked up at Emma, who sat cross-legged on the bed, still half-swathed in sheets, with her teddy bear in hand. She found no explanation there, only the child’s steady and so
mewhat eerily stoic stare, and unnerved, Jo looked away. “Jay,” she said, touching his shoulders. “You shouldn’t be out of bed yet. You’re still too weak. What happened?”
He shook his head and spat one last mouthful of spittle into the basin. “Nothing,” he whispered, his voice feeble and hoarse. “I just felt sick to my stomach, that’s all. I got out of bed to reach the pan.”
He leaned heavily against her as she helped him limp to his feet. He stumbled unsteadily, nearly toppling Jo in the process, and she had to support him as he sat back against the mattress. “Stay here,” she said, and she turned, reaching for his bedside table and grabbing a pair of latex gloves from a box. She slipped her hands into the gloves and then picked up the wash basin. There wasn’t much inside; Jay hadn’t had any solid food in days. She carried the pan into the bathroom and rinsed it out in the toilet.
When she returned, she found Emma still watching her with that odd, creepy expression, her gaze fixed on Jo. She glanced at Jay, hoping he’d notice his daughter’s attention and say something to make it stop, but he had his eyes closed, his hand pressed against his forehead.
“He was wearing all white, too,” Emma said suddenly, still studying Jo. “And he had gloves on like those.”
Jay opened his eyes, at last following her gaze.
“Who?” Jo asked.
“The man,” Emma said. “The bad man, the one who hurt you and Marie.” She looked Jo directly in the eyes. “You know. You saw him, too.”
“I…I didn’t see his face,” Jo stammered, taken aback. She looked to Jay for rescue and this time, he caught her cue.
“Emma, the bad man works here at the hospital,” Jay said, and he hooked his arm about Emma’s neck, drawing her against him in an embrace. “He’s not here right now, but when he comes back, your Uncle Paul will be waiting for him. Uncle Paul knows who he is, and he’ll catch him. He’ll arrest him for hurting Jo and Marie.”
Emma turned to her father, her oddly impassive expression softening into something more childlike and fearful. “What if Uncle Paul is wrong?” she whispered.
“I…I need to go,” Jo said, turning for the bathroom again. She ducked inside and closed the door, leaning heavily against the sink and allowing a moment to compose herself. Emma’s words had startled and disturbed her.
It’s Nathan Gambit, she told herself firmly. He’s the one―I know he is. I’m sure of it. It was Gambit, and the police are going to get him. They’re all over this building, and if he shows up―when he shows up―Paul is going to arrest him.
Thus resolved, she hurriedly pulling her hair back into a ponytail. She was ready to get to the floor and begin working; to lose herself in her duties. It was the only escape she’d ever found or enjoyed, and all of a sudden, she needed it desperately.
She stepped out of the bathroom again, fresh-faced and pulled together again. She wasn’t due on the ward for another half an hour, at least, but she didn’t care. She would be there early.
“I need to go,” she said again, leaning over the bedside rail and kissing Jay lightly on the mouth. She glanced quickly at Emma and then away again, forcing a bright smile. “You two don’t go having too much fun without me, okay?”
“Thanks for staying with me, Jo,” Jay said quietly, sounding weary. He reached out and caught her momentarily by the fingertips, giving her arm an affectionate shake.
She smiled at him. “You’re welcome, Jay.”
* * *
She was surprised to meet Charles Toomis in the corridor. She’d been on her way to the elevator; he’d apparently just stepped off of it. “Hey, you,” she said, surprised and somewhat bewildered. “I was just on my way up to the floor.”
“Hey, you,” he replied, looking equally puzzled. “You’re going now?” He glanced at his watch. “It’s not even quarter ’til yet. Besides, they sent me to find you. The police, I mean; I ran into them downstairs. Some bald guy with a detective’s badge asked if I knew you. I told him yeah, I’d track you down. I’d seen your car outside and figured you’d be up here.”
“Paul sent you?” Jo asked, her heart suddenly quickening. Paul had said he would be in early that morning; he’d set up a sort of sting operation both within the hospital and along the grounds outside in the event that Nathan Gambit showed up. “He’s Jay’s brother. What did he say?”
She’d wanted to call Paul the night before, just to make sure there was nothing he needed from her in the meantime, but even though she’d turned her purse upside down, emptying its contents, she’d been unable to find the business card he’d given her with his home, work and cell phone numbers on it. She hadn’t wanted to wake Jay and ask him for the numbers, and so she was relieved to learn Paul was looking for her. She’d hated to think she’d be standing around, idly and helplessly, like some damsel in distress while the police went after Gambit.
“He wants to see you. He’s downstairs waiting. I told him I’d walk you down there.”
“Alright,” she said, with a shrug.
“He said it was urgent,” Charles said. “He looked pretty upset, Jo.”
She hadn’t said a word to Charles about what was going on, and felt badly about it. He knew something was up; she could tell by the expectant way he kept looking at her, as if he was waiting for her to let him in on the whole story.
“You’re not in any trouble, are you?” he asked, as they stepped onto the elevator together. There were several other people already aboard, and they moved to the rear of the car.
“No,” Jo said, managing a laugh. “Don’t be silly, Charles. He and Jay had a quarrel yesterday, that’s all. He probably just wants to find out how Jay’s doing without losing face with him. You know how guys are.”
This seemed to satisfy Charles, because he laughed. “Yeah, we’re all a bunch of pissing-contest contenders,” he remarked, and the guy standing next to him overhead and chuckled. “You know, I haven’t seen anything of Nathan Gambit since the other day.” Charles glanced at Jo. “How about you? Is he steering clear?”
Jo thought of Paul and the police officers currently positioned about Metro Hospital. God, I hope not, she thought.
* * *
“Well, hey, nice of you to join us, Frances,” Detective Dan Pierson said, his face twisted in a humorless sneer as Paul brushed past him to enter the hospital’s main security office. “Considering you told the rest of us to be here, what? An hour ago? I know I, for one, would have liked a little extra shut-eye, too, this―”
“Get bent, Pierson,” Paul growled, leaning over a console lined with small, black-and-white surveillance monitors that showcased views from various angles of the hospital’s grounds and wards. He’d just come from the fifth floor, the psychiatric unit. He’d driven around the parking lot until he’d found Vicki’s car, but when he’d checked in with Emma’s charge nurse, he’d been told that Vicki had never made it upstairs. In fact, Emma had spent the night on the third floor with her father at her doctor’s permission.
“Anyone call in last night about seeing my wife around?” Paul asked one of the task force surveillance officers.
The younger man flipped through a spiral-bound logbook and nodded. “Yeah, around a quarter ’til eleven. Doug Richards ran into her in the main lobby. There’s a note of it right here. She recognized him and said hello, asked about you. He told her you’d gone home for the night.”
“We got a tape showing any of this?” Paul asked, leaning past the officer to peer at the notebook. He watched as the younger man spooled back through the video feed from one of the lobby cameras for a few minutes. When he stopped it, the digital time recorded on the tape read 10:28 p.m.
“Should be right around here,” the officer said, and Paul watched a fuzzy image of his detective, Doug Richards, walking into frame. At least, he assumed it was Richards, to judge by the figure’s stocky build. Anything identifiable in his face was completely obscured by the low resolution of the recording.
At 10:33 p.m., the slimmer silhouette of
a woman walked briskly into frame. She paused to speak with Richards, and Paul recognized Vicki from her posture, and the woman’s visible, short-cropped blond hair. They spoke briefly, and Vicki clearly grew irritated, probably to realize that Paul was no longer in the building. First, she planted her hands on her hips, and then crossed them in front of her, shaking her head as she spoke.
“In dutch with the old lady, boss?” the younger detective asked, glancing up at Paul with an amused hook to the corner of his mouth.
“Maybe,” Paul murmured, watching as, on screen, another figure approached Richards and Vicki. He addressed them momentarily, and Vicki’s posture immediately relaxed. She unfolded her arms and seemed to be put at ease by whatever the man said. He was dressed all in white, like a hospital employee, and when he turned and walked away, Vicki waved in friendly farewell to Richards and followed him.
“Where did they go?” Paul asked.
The other detective shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said, glancing down at the logbook. “Richards radioed it in and said that guy, the nurse, took her up to the fifth floor to see your niece.”
“Who’s the nurse?” Paul asked, but again, the younger man shook his head. “Anyone?” He looked around the room behind him, but was met with only shrugs and head shakes. “Where’s Richards now?”
“He went off-shift an hour ago,” the detective said. “I can call his cell…”
“Do it,” Paul said, nodding. “Get him over here now. I want him to look at the picture of Gambit and see if that’s the guy in the nurse’s clothes.”
“What?” Pierson exclaimed from the doorway. “Nathan Gambit didn’t get in this building last night. No one reported seeing him. We’ve had every entrance and exit under constant surveillance.”
Paul rewound the tape and paused it, freezing the blurred images of Vicki and the burly nurse together in mid-stride. The height was right; the build was, too. Nathan Gambit was a big kid, Jo had said. They’d had no pictures of Gambit to go on in their surveillance, except for a grainy headshot on record from his hospital I.D. Paul wasn’t entirely sure even he could pick the kid out of a line-up just by sight alone.
