“You two know each other?” Carolyn asked, taken aback.
“We spoke on the phone before I took off to find you,” Marcus told her. “Hank gave me some pearls of wisdom. Now I know why you think so highly of him.”
“Oh, he’s got a lot more where those came from,” she said, digging into the pocket of Mary’s borrowed jeans. “Here’s the key Holden had hidden in the house. He said it was a safety deposit key. Can we find out where the box is?”
“Maybe,” Hank said, slipping on a pair of rubber gloves. He figured he could get something to place it in from the nurses’ station until it was booked into evidence. “Safety deposit boxes are a bitch. What do you think is in there?”
“I have no idea,” Carolyn said, shrugging. “It could be souvenirs he took from his victims. Or maybe money. With the chances he took to get the key, it must be something valuable.”
“Can I take a look at that?” Marcus asked, standing.
Hank held up a gloved hand. “What do you think these are for, pal?”
“It’s evidence,” Carolyn said, placing a hand on Marcus’s forearm. “Someone’s prints might be on it other than mine and Holden’s.”
“Turn it over,” Marcus requested. When the detective did, Marcus said, “See these five numbers? They may tell you where the key was made and possibly the bank that issued it.”
Hank was annoyed that Marcus would have the balls to tell him how to do his job. Besides, he didn’t know what he was talking about. Locksmiths didn’t put numbers on keys, and finding the company who manufactured it wouldn’t tell them anything. He might be thinking of Medeco keys, which couldn’t be duplicated, but the source code wasn’t on them. The only way to track down a safety deposit box with nothing more than a key was to canvass banks. Even if a bank said it was their key, he’d have to get a court order. A judge would want to make certain you had the right box, or whatever was in there would stay in there. “We’ll shake down Holden’s former cellmates, Carolyn. There’s also the chance that he’s committed crimes other than rapes and homicides.”
“That’s what I was thinking,” she agreed. “Have one of your people check all the unsolved robberies and burglaries, see if anything links back to Holden.” She excused herself to go to the restroom, adding before she left, “He could have stashed his loot before he went to prison and hid the safety deposit key in his mother’s house.”
Neil followed his sister into the hallway, waiting for her outside the women’s restroom. “I don’t want to tell Mother over the phone,” he said when she returned. “I’ll drive over to Camarillo and tell her in person. We should wait until we’re certain John is out of the woods, don’t you think?”
“I agree.”
Neil reached over and tugged on a strand of her hair. “Jesus, Carolyn, what were you thinking? Maybe that’s why that man attacked you. Guys in prison have better haircuts.”
Carolyn grasped his hand. “This isn’t the time to critique my hair, Neil.”
“Sorry.” Diving right back in, he said, “What’s the deal with this Marcus fellow? Why didn’t you tell me you were seeing someone? Did he really save you, or was that just bullshit?”
“Yeah, he did,” his sister said, a dreamy look in her eyes. “He really saved me. I barely know the man, Neil, and he risked his life for me. He’s amazing.”
“Let’s not get carried away, sis,” Neil told her, placing his hands in his pockets. “Maybe he just wanted to get his name in the paper. Is he an undertaker? Hanging around cops would be a good way to drum up business. No one wears a suit anymore in Los Angeles. If you don’t believe me, drive downtown one day.”
Carolyn’s brows were knitted with concern. While he’d been talking, she’d been staring at the doors leading into the surgery unit, hoping the surgeon would come out and tell her John was okay. “Will you pray with me like we used to when we were kids?”
Neil began pacing, running his fingers through his already tousled hair. “That’s not fair, Carolyn. You know how I feel about this religion stuff. I’m going to get an earful from Mom tomorrow. This saint does this, and that saint does that. By the time we get to the hospital, I’ll have prayer cards sticking out of all my pockets. Knowing Mom, she’ll probably pin one on my ass.” He saw the water fountain behind them and filled up a paper cup, slugging it down.
Carolyn said, “People die in surgery, Neil.”
“Okay, fine, I’ll pray with you. Are we going to do it right here in the hall? You want me to get down on my knees?” He stepped aside as a nurse walked past them. “We could pray in the bathroom where no one would see us.”
“You’re mocking me,” she said, blinking back tears. “I just wanted to go to the chapel and say a prayer for John.”
He draped an arm around her shoulders. Carolyn snuggled under his armpit. “What are we standing here for?” he said, lifting her chin up with his forefinger and smiling. “Where’s the damn chapel? Maybe I’ll paint their ceiling in exchange for a meal in the cafeteria. That’s probably more than Michelangelo got paid.”
Hank took a seat beside Marcus in the waiting room, pulling out a toothpick. Staring at the small sliver of wood in his fingers, he wished it would magically transform itself into a cigarette. A toothpick wasn’t much consolation when you were forced to act civil to your rival. “So, you met Carolyn in an accident?”
“Yeah,” Marcus answered, tossing the magazine he’d been reading down on the table. “She ran a stop sign and broadsided me.”
“Where’s your gun? The one you’re going to shoot Holden with.”
“In my car,” he said. “I have a permit, in case you’re wondering.”
“How did that come about?”
Marcus coughed. “I sometimes handle property that belongs to the government.”
“Humph,” Hank said, checking his cell phone to see if he had any messages. He wondered what was keeping Carolyn. He couldn’t stay at the hospital much longer with his cell phone turned off. He didn’t understand why they prohibited them. They claimed it interfered with their equipment, but he’d seen nurses communicating with each other by cell phone. “What kind of government property do you handle, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“I don’t mind you asking,” Marcus told him. “I just can’t tell you. My work is classified.” Changing the subject, he added, “It took an odd set of circumstances to bring us together. Carolyn’s a terrific woman, Hank, one in a million.” He smiled. “Of course, I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know, right?”
“True,” Hank said, barely getting the word past his clenched teeth. The guy had seen right through him.
“Does Carolyn attract trouble or something?”
Hank leaned forward over his knees. “Maybe you’re the one who’s bad luck. She’s only known you a short time, and she’s been in two accidents.”
“She ran into me the first time. I’d crash every car I have to meet someone like Carolyn. How bad was the Infiniti damaged? She just got it out of the shop yesterday.”
“I don’t think they’ll be repairing it this time,” Hank told him, still smarting over the “every car” remark. How many cars did he have? “Can’t you give me a general idea of what you do for a living?”
“Computer software,” Marcus said, shifting anxiously in his seat. He looked up when Carolyn returned, then stood. “Here, sit down next to Hank.”
“Thanks.” Carolyn had dark circles under her eyes, and her posture showed signs of exhaustion. Her shoulders were rolled forward, her arms hung limp at her side, and she walked as if in a daze. “Did you hear anything?”
“No,” Hank said, standing. “I have to take off. I just wanted to stop by and check on John. Looks like you have plenty of support here, Carolyn. Try and get some rest. If you need anything, you know where to find me.”
“How about Holden’s head on a stick?”
“Working on it,” Hank said, walking out the door to the waiting room.
Was it je
alousy that made him dislike Marcus Wright, or was it something more sinister? Over the years he’d developed a talent. He could sniff out a rat, no matter how cleverly they disguised themselves. Then again, maybe Marcus was CIA. Guys from the Agency were trained not to blow their cover, even when subjected to torture. The problem was they would also use anyone necessary in order to complete their assignment.
Hank was in deep thought when he stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for the ground level. While in prison Holden could have hooked up with a terrorist, or become involved in something that had high-reaching ramifications, perhaps a plot to assassinate the president. His concern for Carolyn’s safety heightened.
Why had he let Marcus examine the key to the safety deposit box? There was a number etched on it, and he might have been trying to verify it. Had Marcus been after the same thing as Holden—the key?
Holden had gone to extraordinary lengths to get the key back. By going to Carolyn’s house and holding her family hostage, as well as assaulting a police officer, he’d put himself in a position to either be killed or returned to prison. Why would a man who’d just been granted his freedom do such a thing?
Stepping out of the elevator, Hank ran into the brunette nurse he’d seen earlier. “I was just coming up to find you,” Erica said, flashing a seductive smile. “I’m off work. Want to come over to my place for a drink?”
Hank’s ego shot up several notches. Maybe Carolyn wasn’t for him. Sometimes a person wanted something they weren’t meant to have. Before he’d left Martha Ferguson’s lab, she’d handed him her home number and told him to call her. Since she’d pinched his ass, he doubted if she wanted to see him to discuss business. Martha wasn’t so bad, now that he’d gotten to know her. She might be a hot number.
He decided to accept Erica’s offer. As long as he left his cell phone on and the station could get in touch with him, there shouldn’t be a problem. He’d already put in over seventy hours this week. “Sure,” he told her. He recalled her remark about having a drink. “I’m a recovering alcoholic. I’ll have to pass on the drink, but I wouldn’t mind visiting with you, if that’s okay.”
“So am I,” Erica told him, seemingly thrilled that they had something in common. “I’ve been sober for fifteen years. It doesn’t bother me if someone else has a drink. I don’t keep liquor at my house, though. I would have had to stop off at a liquor store on the way. My car’s in the employee parking lot. I’ll pull up in front of the hospital so you can follow me. I live about three blocks away.”
Hank sucked in his stomach and thrust his shoulders back. Losing the weight had definitely been worth it. He watched Erica’s hips sway as he walked behind her through the lobby and out of the hospital.
CHAPTER 25
Friday, September 22—5:23 P.M.
The hospital had just moved John out of the ICU. Finally, his vital signs had stabilized. Marcus had slept in the chair in the waiting room since John had been shot. He had left at five o’clock that morning to go home, freshen up, and then drive to his office in Los Angeles.
Carolyn had spent two nights on a rock-hard convertible bed next to her son. Monitors and machines hung from the ceiling, and warning sounds and blinking numbers on the screen had flashed, making it impossible to sleep for more than a few hours at a time. John’s condition, as the nurses had told her, had been touch-and-go. His blood pressure had plummeted, causing the doctor to order another transfusion. Carolyn had felt helpless to do anything other than hold his hand and call the nurses when she saw changes on the monitors.
She not only blamed herself for what had occurred, but the criminal justice system in general. What had happened to her family was an everyday occurrence across America. Convicted criminals were released to wreak more havoc. This time it had hit the hardest for Carolyn. Getting shot or assaulted on the job was tragic, but it came with the territory. Holden had crossed a barrier that no mother could tolerate. He had shot her son. She would not let him get away with it. Once John was released, she would hunt down Holden herself. She’d done it before; she could do it again. At present, the bastard was free, and the police had no leads whatsoever.
John was sleeping. Now that his blood pressure was under control and there was no sign of infection, the doctor said he would probably be able to go home by Monday.
Carolyn listened to the woeful sound of an elderly man crying in the adjacent room. Her thoughts kept returning to Marcus. Risking his life to save her from certain death had made him her personal hero. He was a businessman, not a seasoned cop like Hank, trained to act in a crisis. He could easily be the man of her dreams—but they had met at a rough place in time. She had only two priorities right now, and neither her job nor Marcus were among them. Number one was her children, John in particular, and the second was making certain Carl Holden didn’t destroy more lives. How could love possibly thrive when she was so consumed with hatred?
The golden boy, Brad Preston, suddenly filled up the room with his presence. Carolyn placed her finger over her mouth to let him know that John was sleeping.
“Coffee?” he whispered, pointing down the corridor.
Carolyn slipped out of the room, stopping off at the nurses’ station to let them know John was alone in the room. They took the elevator to the basement, where the cafeteria was located. “Have you eaten?” Brad asked. “I just got off work.”
“I can’t stomach another bite of hospital food. You go ahead, though. We can talk while you eat.”
“Actually,” Brad said somewhat sheepishly, “I’ve got a prior commitment. It’s been balls to the walls at work, or I would have been here sooner. How’s he doing?”
Carolyn brought him up to date on John’s condition as they went through the line and got their coffee. He paid the cashier, and they managed to find an empty table. The cafeteria was packed, most of the patrons being hospital personnel. Relatives of patients didn’t appear to be eager to eat hospital food for their Friday-night meal.
“I hear you’re getting tight with this Marcus guy,” Brad said, flipping his tie over his shoulder so he didn’t spill coffee on it. “Is that true?”
Rumors traveled fast. Veronica had the biggest mouth in town, and she’d stopped by the hospital the other night while Marcus was there. “I don’t know if I’d classify our relationship as tight,” Carolyn told him. “With everything that’s happened, we haven’t had much time together outside of the hospital.”
“You’re not in love with this guy, I hope,” Brad said, taking a sip of his coffee. “Hank said you went gaga over him because you think he saved John’s and your life. What’d he do, call an ambulance? He was in the right place at the right time, that’s all.”
“You have a date tonight, don’t you?” Carolyn said, annoyed by the way the men in her life were acting. “Well, I finally found someone I really like, even though I doubt if anything will come of it. And no, Brad, Marcus wasn’t merely in the right place at the right time. He drove his car straight into Holden’s stolen Hummer. Holden could have shot me if he hadn’t done what he did, and Marcus could have been killed in the collision.”
Brad had the smirk on his face that she despised. “A Bentley and a Hummer seem like a fair match to me. Your new sex machine wasn’t driving a Mini, Carolyn. If he thought he was going to get hurt, he wouldn’t have done it. He didn’t do it to save you. He did it to impress you.”
“Look at you,” she erupted, waving a hand toward him. “You’ve probably slept with fifty women since we split up. What right do you have to—”
“Fifty women, huh?” he jumped in, grinning rakishly. “All in one night or on different occasions? According to you, I’m living like a sultan. What’s a man like that doing working for the county for peanuts?”
“That’s not what I’m getting at,” Carolyn argued. “Why can’t I fall in love with someone? And why can’t you and Hank, people who profess to care about me, be happy for me? I’d be happy for you if you told me you’d found someone and
wanted to get married.”
“Shit, now you’re going to marry the guy!”
“I’m just trying to make a point, Brad,” Carolyn told him, bracing her head with her hand.
Brad fell serious. “Love is overrated, baby. It doesn’t last. That’s the big secret no one tells you. Those old couples you see together holding hands, they don’t love each other anymore. Being with each other has become a habit, and habits are hard to break. What matters is finding a partner who stimulates you, makes you laugh, someone you share common interests with. What do you have in common with this guy, outside of this one incident?”
Good question, Carolyn thought. “We both have children.”
“All right, that’s one thing,” Brad said. “How old are his kids? Do they live with him? Is he a good father? I know you’re one hell of a mother. You’ve worked your buns off to give those kids of yours a good life. Damn, you’re even selling your house to pay for John’s college tuition. That’s sacrifice. There are people driving BMWs, living in nice houses, wearing nice clothes. How many would sell their home and move into an apartment so their kid could go to a top-rated university?” He thumped the table with his fist. “You’re the hero, Carolyn. Last year you drove a damn car off a cliff rather than take a chance a bomb would go off and kill people. I’ve seen you confront men who could kill you, and without a thought to your own safety, push them to the breaking point on the mere chance that you might be able to get something out of them that would aggravate their sentence. All I’m saying is, make sure this man is your equal, that he has at least a fraction of the outstanding qualities you possess. Don’t be impressed because he drives a fancy car and has a few dollars in his bank account. Money doesn’t mean shit.”
People at the adjacent tables had been listening with rapt attention. Brad always drew an audience. Although Carolyn hated to admit it, most of what he’d said made sense. She remembered how it had been with Frank. Six months or so into the marriage, and the fluttering hearts and surging hormones had disappeared into a routine of mundane existence. Then a couple had to struggle and innovate just to bring about a few fleeting moments that mimicked how they’d felt in the beginning.
Sullivan’s Evidence Page 24
