Fever Dream

by Dennis Palumbo

  As we all started to file out, Sinclair put a hand on my arm to stop me.

  “Could you stay for a moment, Dan?”

  If Polk, Lowrey, or Chester had any reaction to this, they did a good job hiding it. Biegler, however, jerked his head around to glare suspiciously at me. As I remembered from my previous encounters with him, the lieutenant hated being out of the loop.

  When it was just Sinclair, Fletcher, and me, the district attorney closed the door again.

  “What’s wrong, Lee? Did I speak out of turn?”

  “Not really. Or else I’m getting used to it.” He leaned against the doorframe. “Actually, I just wanted to ask a favor.”

  I have to admit, this was a bit unexpected.

  “Okay, shoot.”

  “Look, I don’t know if I have your vote or not. But there’s a major fund-raising dinner tomorrow night at the Burgoyne Plaza, and I’d like you to attend.”

  “Me? I don’t know if I can swing the $5,000-a-plate entrance fee.”

  Fletcher looked up from his writing. A placid smile. “It’s only $1,000-a-plate. But don’t sweat it, you’re comped.”

  “But why me?”

  Sinclair’s gaze was direct. “Truth is, Dan, you’ve got a pretty high profile, thanks to your involvement in the Wingfield case. I think if you’re there with me, the mayor, the chief…Well, it’d be a nice photo op for me.”

  “I don’t know. I’ll have to check my schedule.”

  “Do that.” He sighed. “Look, I know we’ve bumped heads a few times in the past, but there’s no reason we can’t let bygones be bygones.”

  I was still weighing my response when Fletcher came over and handed his rewrite to his boss.

  “Tell you the truth, Lee, I think this guy’s a loose cannon. As in, more trouble than he’s worth.” Fletcher gave me a cautious grin. “No offense.”

  “None taken.”

  Sinclair folded the speech and put it in his jacket pocket. Then he put his hand on the doorknob.

  “Give it some thought, okay, Danny? I’m not asking for an endorsement. Just some public face time.”

  He glanced at his watch, then past me at Fletcher. “Is the driver downstairs, Brian?”

  “Waiting at the rear door. With the engine running, the AC blasting, and two Rolling Rocks in the cooler.”

  “Great. Just make sure we ride with the shades down. Don’t want my future constituents getting the wrong idea. Now let’s get moving.”

  Sinclair was about to turn the knob when the door suddenly burst open, knocking his hand away. He stepped back, startled.

  It was Biegler, face white as a paper plate.

  “Sorry to barge in.” He sucked in air. “But Lowrey just got a call from the hospital. The ambulance with Treva Williams and George Vickers never arrived there.”

  “What?” Sinclair recovered quickly. “Then where the hell is it?”

  “Polk checked with Highway Patrol, and they’d just filed a report on an ambulance found off to the side of Crawford Street. In a ditch, smashed against a tree.”

  I stepped quickly in front of Sinclair. “What about Treva Williams?”

  “Looks like she’s okay. They found her in the back, unconscious but alive. The driver wasn’t so lucky.”

  “The EMT tech? Karp?”

  “Yeah, that’s the name. Dead. From a broken neck.”

  “What about Vickers, the security guard?” Sinclair’s face had hardened to stone. “Is he alive?”

  Biegler looked miserable. “That’s just it, we don’t know. He wasn’t in the ambulance. Or anywhere nearby at the scene. He’s gone, sir.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Leland Sinclair stood in the doorway, eyes closed, slowly massaging his temples. Fletcher came up behind him, dark features pinched with worry.

  Biegler, at a loss, plunged ahead.

  “Highway Patrol filed the accident report less than fifteen minutes ago,” he said. “So at least we’re out in front of the media on this.”

  “For now,” Fletcher said flatly.

  “God knows, that won’t last.” Sinclair opened his eyes, pulled himself back to the business at hand. “Don’t worry, Lieutenant. I don’t make a habit of killing the messenger. What steps are we taking to find Vickers?”

  As if in answer, Harry Polk’s heavy tread could be heard as he lumbered up the stairs behind us. Florid-faced, his breathing labored, he kept his grip on the banister when he’d reached the top. Eyes on Biegler.

  “Just got word from the crash scene, Lieutenant. They put the Williams girl in a second ambulance and took her to Pittsburgh Memorial. Karp’s in a coroner’s wagon, on his way to Doc Bergmann at the morgue…”

  Sinclair let out a breath. “Our distinguished M.E.’s having a busy day.”

  Another set of footsteps drew our attention as Eleanor Lowrey trotted briskly up the stairs. In marked contrast to Polk, she was barely breathing hard.

  She handed a single sheet of paper to Biegler. “Here’s the latest from CSU. Prints confirmed the identities of the deceased bank employees. Matches the descriptions and prints from the bank’s personnel files. Tina Unswari, Phyllis Hopper, Robert Marks.”

  “Congratulations, Detective,” Biegler said coolly, giving her back the paper. “You got the Golden Ticket, so you get to notify the next of kin.”

  Though I could tell she’d pretty much expected this, she still couldn’t hide her reluctance. She soberly folded the paper and put it in her jeans pocket.

  Sinclair spoke. “What about the dead bank robber? Has he been ID’d yet?”

  Lowrey shook her head. “Still running his prints through the database.”

  Fletcher tapped Sinclair’s arm. “Lee, we don’t want to be late. And you know North Side traffic at this hour.”

  “Yes, of course.” Sinclair flashed a tight smile to the rest of us. “If you’ll excuse me…”

  He paused at the top of the stairs.

  “Remember, everyone. Conference call in two hours. If nothing else, it’ll give me an excuse to get out of the Masonic Hall before they start serving the rubber chicken. Let’s go, Brian.”

  With his campaign manager right behind, Sinclair went quickly down the stairs. I glanced over the banister as he and Fletcher disappeared into the main room, where a shift in the murmur of voices signaled his team’s excited awareness of the candidate’s appearance.

  It’s good to be king, I thought.

  With the district attorney gone, Biegler’s tone grew more officious. “Now, Harry, what about finding Vickers?”

  “Uniforms on-scene are just starting the search. You got some woods, back lots. Plus residential. We figure Vickers survived the crash, but was dazed and wandered away from the scene. He’s probably passed out behind some trash dumpster, bleeding to death.”

  Lowrey groaned. “This just gets better and better.”

  I got between Polk and his boss. “Look, I hate to interrupt all this cool cop stuff, but I’ve got to get down to the hospital. I want to see Treva Williams.”

  “Like hell,” Biegler said.

  “Listen, Lieutenant. If she’s gonna talk about what happened, she’ll talk to me. Besides, I’m a civilian therapist and she’s under my clinical care. Technically, I don’t even need to ask your permission.” I showed him some teeth. “But I was trying to show my props to the chain of command. Since I’m on the payroll.”

  “A big mistake, if you want my opinion.”

  “Never have, Lieutenant. Probably never will.”

  His eyes darkened with malice. Finally, letting out an aggrieved sigh, he waved his hand.

  “Sure, you want to go see her, go. It’ll be good to have you out of my hair. But we’re gonna need an official statement from her, anyway. Harry will go with you.”

  Polk snorted. “C’mon, Lieutenant. I figured I’d get over to the crash site, run the search for Vickers. Let Detective Lowrey interview the girl.”

  “Weren’t you listening, Sergeant? She’s doi
n’ next-of-kin.”

  “Sir.” Lowrey turned her violet eyes on him. I wasn’t sure if it would have any effect. “Can’t you assign the notification to another detective? For one thing, I worked with the Williams girl. Right next to Dr. Rinaldi. She trusts me. Besides, I believe she’ll be more comfortable giving her statement to another woman.”

  Polk agreed vigorously. “I’m tellin’ ya, Lieutenant. Detective Lowrey here takes a helluva statement. Especially from another broad. I mean, female.”

  Biegler looked from one of them to the other.

  “You two think I’m an idiot? I know tag-team bullshit when I hear it. On the other hand, I happen to agree about female detectives being better at getting statements from female witnesses.” He raised a warning finger at Lowrey. “Which is the only reason I’m letting you off the hook with the notification. Got it?”

  “Yes, sir. I appreciate it, sir.”

  “Yeah, whatever. Now you and Rinaldi go down to the hospital and get what you can from Treva Williams.”

  ***

  Eleanor Lowrey sat in the passenger seat of my car, nervously flipping through my cache of CDs.

  “Miles Davis. Sarah Vaughn. Brubeck. Parker.” She frowned. “Don’t you listen to anything but jazz?”

  “You don’t like it?”

  “It’s okay, but I’m more of an R&B girl myself. Grew up in the Hill listening to nothing but Motown.”

  I took this in. “The Hill” was the Hill District, a poor, predominately black area of urban Pittsburgh. I realized then that I’d never heard her mention her background. Nor much of anything else about herself.

  “Hey, you’ve got Diana Krall here.” She held up the elegant CD cover. “She’s not bad for a white chick.”

  “My sentiments exactly.”

  We were driving through heavy traffic to Pittsburgh Memorial, taking my car since Harry Polk was using their unmarked sedan. Between the APB on the second gunman, multiple next-of-kin notifications, and the usual procedural follow-up on a crime of this size, the police fleet of both black-and-whites and unmarkeds was stretched to the limit.

  Eleanor finally settled on Coltrane and pushed the CD into the deck. Within moments, the simple, cool riffs of “Equinox” were filling the Mustang’s snug interior.

  I looked over as she settled back in her seat. Her fingers drummed on her knee. Whether it was the way this case was unfolding, or the fact of being a passenger in the car with a civilian, she seemed anxious about something.

  She sensed my eyes on her and tilted her head.

  “By the way, Harry told me one time that you’re a boxer? Golden Gloves or something?”

  “Used to be. A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away.”

  “Cool. Me, too.”

  I raised my eyebrows in surprise.

  She smiled. “The department has a club down at the PAL. I spar there once in a while. Keeps me sharp, and helps get the aggression out.”

  “Same reason I still throw combinations in my basement gym. Though it’s hardly a gym. Just some free weights, a used bench. Hell, my heavy bag is older than you are.”

  “I doubt it. I’m no kid, and you’re not so old.”

  “Thanks. I think.”

  I turned off Grant and past the on-ramp to the Fort Pitt Bridge. The sandstone towers of Pittsburgh Memorial rose into view.

  “Speaking of Harry,” I said, “how’s he been? I mean, since his divorce?”

  “You know Harry. Doesn’t talk about it. But I can tell he’s drinking more. Even had to let him crash with me a couple nights. He was in no shape to drive. But Luther doesn’t mind.”

  I remembered about Luther. Her Doberman.

  “Harry’s lucky to have you.”

  “We’re good partners. I’ve learned a lot from him.”

  I paused. “You know, if his drinking’s getting worse, I should probably talk to him about a program.”

  She laughed. “Yeah, you do that, Dan. I just wanna be there when you bring it up. Oughtta be fun.”

  She pushed her hair up from the back of her neck with both hands. “God, it’s hot. Even with the AC.”

  I nodded, then glanced over at her again. And got the distinct impression she wanted to say something more.

  “Look,” she said at last, face half-turned toward her window. “About Harry. There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you about…something that’s worrying me…”

  We’d just made the left into the hospital parking lot. I steered us to a vacant spot near the emergency entrance and parked.

  “Is Harry in some kind of trouble?”

  She kept her face angled toward the window. Took a long breath. Then slipped her sunglasses back on.

  “Forget it, Dan. Forget I said anything.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Wrong time and place, that’s all. Besides, I could be wrong. Misreading something. Shit, it’s not like we don’t have enough on our plates with this case.”

  Without another word, she climbed out of the car. I did the same, and looked at her across the roof of the Mustang. Getting a strange vibe from her.

  “Are you okay, Eleanor?”

  Her voice grew an edge. “Hey, I’m not your patient. So let’s go see if she’s okay.”

  She turned abruptly and headed toward the emergency room entrance. Conversation over.

  I quickened my pace to catch up with her and we went inside together.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The nurse at reception directed us up to the ICU, where we were met by a plainclothes detective I didn’t know named Robertson. Beer gut, thinning hair, pock-marked face. On the far side of middle-aged.

  We all shook hands, and Robertson started leading us down the hall. Rows of single-patient rooms, fronted by plate glass. The sights and sounds of life-sustaining machines. Pumping. Blinking. Beeping.

  “She’s in a room at the end,” he said. “Doc’s still in there with her.”

  We reached Treva’s room just in time to see, through the observation glass, her attending physician standing by her bed, writing in her chart. Then he hung it on the rail hook at the end of the bed and headed to the opened door, toward us.

  I glanced past him to take a look at his patient. Treva was seemingly unconscious, with an IV drip running into her right arm. Under the starched white hospital covers, she seemed as small and slight as a child.

  “I’m Lloyd Holloway,” her doctor announced. More hand-shaking all around, except for Robertson. He just mumbled some version of good-bye and resumed his position outside Treva’s door. Standing guard.

  Which was Holloway’s cue to lead us away from her room and into a visitor’s lounge around the corner. The same one as in every hospital in the world. Small, with pea-green cushioned chairs. Fluorescent ceiling lights. Vending machines. We had the place to ourselves, but nobody sat.

  Holloway was youngish, incongruously built like a wrestler, and with long yellow hair pulled back into a pony tail. Reminding me of that surly pony-tailed coroner’s assistant from the crime scene. Must be the new sartorial trend in medicine.

  “How is she?” Eleanor Lowrey asked.

  “Well, she took a helluva blow to the head, but she’ll probably be okay.”

  Holloway’s manner was brusque, dismissive. Maybe he was having a rough night, I thought. Or maybe that was just who he was.

  “Any concerns about a concussion?” I said.

  “Not really, but we’ll just have to wait and see.”

  Eleanor bit her lip. “Can we talk to her?”

  “Not for a while. We have her sedated. From this point on, it’s all about observation. Seeing how she responds.”

  His tone sharpened. “That order came from the hospital director’s office. Apparently, in response to a request by the police. Easier to keep her isolated up here in the unit. Protected, I guess. Fewer rooms. Fewer visitors.”

  “Biegler’s doing,” I said to Eleanor. “Or maybe even the assistant chief’s.”


  But she seemed distracted. Wasn’t listening.

  “And there’s just the one detective on duty?” she asked Holloway. “Robertson?”

  “Yeah. But he hasn’t budged. I had to send one of the nurses’ aides to get him some sandwiches. Robertson said he was hungry.”

  Eleanor chuckled without humor. “Yeah, like he couldn’t afford to miss a meal or two.”

  Lloyd Holloway glanced at the wall clock over our heads. “Look, I’ve got a meeting on Ward B, all the way on the other side of the building. I’ll be back soon to check up on the patient. So if you’ll excuse me…”

  He gave us a brief, professional smile and walked out of the lounge. I watched him go down the narrow hallway, stopping only once to chide some nurse who’d just come from another room. Whatever his grievance, he didn’t wait around for her response. I watched her tired, worried face as he strode off. ICU is a tough gig.

  When I turned back to talk to Eleanor, I saw that she’d crossed her arms and was leaning against the opened doorframe. She looked pretty beat herself.

  “We’re stretched too thin,” she said quietly. “With the recent cut-backs, and some early retires that took the department by surprise, everybody’s feeling the strain. This bank robbery thing is really pushing the envelope. Christ, if a jerk like Robertson is who we’ve got watching our star witness…”

  I came closer and touched her shoulder. Her violet eyes rose up to meet mine.

  “Listen, Treva’s probably as safe in here as she’d be anywhere. The truth is, we’re both feeling like we screwed up. At least, I know I am. I should’ve been in that ambulance with her. Maybe then…”

  She frowned. “Yeah, about the ambulance. The crash. I mean, what do you think happened?”

  “Karp probably lost control. I was told he drove off like a bat out of hell. Bergmann’s orders were to get Vickers and Treva to the hospital ASAP. Unless there was some kind of mechanical problem…the brakes, or…”

  “We’ll know soon enough. They’ll take the ambulance down to the impound, CSU will go over every inch of it. Soon as we get their report—”

  “Fuck their report!” A familiar booming voice echoed down the hall. “Wait till you hear mine.”