Polly Iyer - Diana Racine 03 - Backlash

by Polly Iyer

  A syringe.

  Lucier fought and twisted, energy draining with every movement, but the man jabbed the needle into his vein. “Ooohh, nooo.”

  Body arched, his eyes rolled into his head. Warmth surged through his veins, warm like sunshine. He felt no more pain, just a wave of pleasure.

  Come, Diana. Come with me to Paradise.

  Come.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  A Bird’s Eye View

  Before Diana could plow through the open door, Cash stopped her with an arm across her chest and motioned her to stay outside.

  Fat chance.

  Shaking his head at her persistence, and with his gun drawn, he entered cautiously. Beecher lay sprawled behind the door, blood congealed on the side of his head from a nasty gash. Cash swept the room, then disappeared into the back of the house.

  Diana wanted to go with him but stooped to place her fingers on Beecher’s neck instead. “He’s alive,” she said when Cash returned. “How’s Ernie?”

  “Gone. No blood, no sign of a struggle.” He called to report the break-in and ordered an ambulance.

  “How could that be?” Panicked, she ran to the guestroom, then the bedroom. The house wasn’t that big. Lucier wasn’t there. Returning to the guestroom, she searched for some clue, something to tell her where he was or who took him.

  “Don’t touch anything, Diana,” Cash said. “You don’t want to mess up any prints.”

  Though the bed had been slept in, nothing appeared unusually mussed. Her insides twisted with fright. “Why would they take him? Why?”

  “Dunno, but if they wanted him dead, he’d be dead.” He tried to rouse Beecher. “Come on, Sam. Open your eyes. Talk to me.”

  “Sam, where’s Ernie?” she said to the unresponsive detective.

  “See those little pieces of confetti-looking stuff. That’s from a Taser. Beecher was zapped, then clobbered.”

  “Sam wouldn’t let just anyone in. He must have known them.”

  “Not if they left him alive.”

  “How then, Willy? Ernie wouldn’t have walked out of here without putting up a fight. Yet ―”

  “He didn’t walk out of here on his own steam.”

  Diana paced in circles. “Oh, God, what the hell is happening?”

  Cash put a pillow under Beecher’s feet. “He’s out cold, but his pulse is strong.”

  The whir of a siren stopped all conversation, along with an awakening moan from Beecher. Cash hurried outside while Diana tried again to rouse the detective.

  “Come on, Sam. Wake up. Tell us what happened.”

  Two EMS techs barreled through the door pushing a gurney and went straight to Beecher, nudging Diana out of the way. Beecher moaned again. “Ernie.”

  Diana pushed her way back in. “Where is he, Sam? Who took him?”

  One tech strapped a blood pressure cuff to Beecher’s arm; the other put an oxygen mask over his mouth and took his pulse. Beecher opened his eyes, but they rolled up into his head.

  “That’s a nasty bump on his head. We’d better get him to the ER on the double.” They slid Beecher onto the gurney and rolled him out the door.

  “We can’t forget about the Feldman boy, Diana. He’s suffocating somewhere. Beecher’s in good hands. We need to find the kid, then find where they took the lieutenant. I thought of calling the captain, but the lieutenant didn’t want anything leaking. I won’t call. We can get chewed out together.”

  Her head felt on the verge of exploding. A boy was dying, and the love of her life was missing.

  Cash went into the kitchen to talk, and Diana went back into the guestroom. She touched the bed sheets, held the top sheet to her cheek, concentrated. “Tell me where you are, Ernie.” But Ernie Lucier was beyond her psychic reach, evident from the first day she met him. Once, she tried to read him without telling him, but through some miraculous stroke of fate, he’d been off limits to her. She’d always been grateful for that, until now.

  Cash came into the room. “I need access to your computer. Mine’s in the car, but yours will be faster than setting up mine.”

  She led him into her office, and he booted up her laptop. “We still need to keep Feldman’s death quiet so whoever took the kid will think they have leverage.”

  “But they’ll kill the boy no matter what, won’t they?”

  “I don’t see how they can let him go if he can identify them. Maybe they wore hoods or threw a hood over him. Your vision said he’s still alive.” He logged on to Google Earth. “I need to locate landfills.”

  “Landfills? You mean dumps? How did you come up with that?”

  “Circling birds could mean the carcass of a dead animal anywhere, but a mound and circling birds, now that’s telling. If I’m wrong, and the kid’s as bad off as you said, he’s dead.”

  Cash’s fingers danced over the keyboard, zeroing in and out of locations. He kept returning to one site in particular and focused the perspective to match as closely to Diana’s description as possible. “Does this look familiar?”

  She studied the picture on the screen. “It could be, maybe from another side.”

  He zoomed out to display the surroundings around the hill of trash. “How about now?”

  “I don’t know, Willy. I saw the scene from the boy’s viewpoint. This could be the place, but I don’t see anywhere he could be in the land around here.” Then she closed in on the computer screen. “What’s that tower-like thing?”

  “A crane. That’s what you saw, right?”

  “Yes, a crane. Of course. A landfill with birds and a crane.”

  “Let’s go,” he said. “I know where this is, and it’s not far from the cemetery where you found Chenault and Alba.”

  “What about Ernie?”

  “Nothing we can do about him right now, but we can save a boy’s life. Hurry.”

  Though distraught by Lucier’s disappearance, Diana agreed. The boy depended on them. They raced to the car, and Cash hit the accelerator before she could fasten her seatbelt.

  Diana’s thoughts were torn between two people: the boy and Lucier. She prayed for them silently while Cash sped toward the landfill. He navigated traffic with the skill of a stunt driver. She watched him, knowing how pleased Lucier would be at how he was handling the situation. With Halloran taking the new calls normally shared among the three in Lucier’s group, Cash had taken charge of this investigation.

  “We’re here,” Cash said. “Now the fun begins. Any idea to the direction?”

  She surveyed the area. “There has to be a road, right?”

  “Right.” Cash tapped into his phone. “There are two, one on either side. Where was the crane in your vision?”

  She closed her eyes, drawing on her memory. “On the back side.” She pointed. “There.”

  Cash checked his phone again, then put the car in reverse, backed up, and turned around. He shot forward for about a quarter of a mile before coming to a narrow road. He banked a sharp right and kept going. The landscape on the passenger side was scrubland, but over a rise, Diana saw a scattering of run-down trailers. “There. See them, Willy?”

  “I see them. Hold on.”

  She didn’t think Cash could go much faster on the rough surface of the country road, but she was wrong. When he bounced over one hump, she thought for sure all four wheels left the road. He slowed when they got to the neglected entrance of a deserted mobile home park. A dozen dilapidated trailers parked helter-skelter sat cramped in the small area. Only four faced the landfill.

  “They look abandoned,” Diana said. “No cars, nothing.”

  “They are. This is a condemned trailer burial ground.” Cash shut off the car and hit the steering wheel in frustration. “If the kid’s here, I want the son of a bitch who left him to die inside one of these tin cans. I want him bad. Take the left side and start yelling. Try the doors, bang on them. Rip them off the hinges, whatever. Call me if you hear anything.”

  Diana took the one nearest her while Cash sprin
ted to the other end.

  “Alan, Alan Feldman.” The first one she went to was on blocks. Mold covered the siding. “Alan. Can you hear me?”

  Cash hollered Alan’s name at the other end.

  Diana climbed up on the rickety stoop and tried the door. Locked. She peeked inside. “Alan, your mother sent me.” Nothing. She stood on tiptoes to see inside but could detect no one. She dashed to the next one and did the same thing, but again, empty.

  Cash ran to meet her. “Nothing, Diana. I didn’t see anything or hear anything.”

  Both screamed Alan’s name again. Tears leaked from Diana’s eyes. “I’m sure he was here.” One more scan of the area. “Wait, Willy. That trailer on the other side. See? It faces the landfill with a clear view.”

  They both ran to the discarded trailer. Cash climbed on the stoop and looked into the dirty window. “I see something on the floor.” He tried the door but it was locked. Waving his hand, he said, “Get back. I’m going to shoot off the lock.”

  Diana hopped down the steps and covered her ears. Cash shielded his eyes, blew off the lock, and wrenched open the door. Hot fetid air blasted out like a furnace, forcing Diana to turn away to suck in fresh air.

  Alan Feldman lay curled on a torn, dirty mattress at the back of the trailer in front of the window overlooking the landfill. Cash hurried to him and bent down in front of the boy’s face. “He’s burning up and not sweating. Pulse rapid.”

  “What does that mean?” Diana asked.

  “Means we’d better get him to a hospital, and fast.”

  Cash picked up the limp boy, and they hurried to the car. “We can get him there faster than if we called an ambulance.”

  “Poor baby,” Diana said. “I’ll stay in back with him.”

  Cash set Alan on the backseat of the car. “Unbutton his shirt.”

  Diana climbed in next to him and did what Cash told her to do. She gently lifted his head onto her lap and strapped them both in. The pulse in the boy’s neck was pumping fast. She said a little prayer. Please, God, keep him safe. She finger-combed his hair back and stroked his forehead.

  “Here’s a bottle of water,” Cash said.

  “Great.” She twisted off the cap and sprinkled some on a scarf she had in her purse to rub around the boy’s neck and forehead.

  “Hold on tight,” Cash said.

  She leaned down and whispered, “You hold on too, Alan. Hold on.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Icarus

  Lucier floated somewhere above the earth. Everything was so clear, the continents and oceans, the rivers. Diana, her hand outstretched, beckoned him to come down from his lofty perch in the sky. He hovered over her, reaching for her hand, fingertips almost touching. He was an astronaut, an eagle; he was Icarus, flying near the sun without wings.

  The big orange ball bathed his body in heat. Burning heat. He waved the sun away, but the rays seared his skin. The smell of scorched flesh, melting like Icarus’s wings, singed his nostrils. Tumbling to earth, he saw Diana, the goddess. His Diana. Fire consumed him. The devil’s fire.

  Water. Head for the water.

  Setting his sights on the ocean, he plunged in to dowse the flames.

  Under, under, deep into the abyss, but the water was as blistering as the fiery sun. Boiling hot water.

  Lucier bolted upright. The strange bedroom swirled until his eyes crossed. Drenched in sweat, he clutched at the gnawing pains in his stomach.

  What’s happening to me?

  He could ask that question a hundred times, but he knew. Fear stabbed him. He needed a bathroom. Swinging his legs to the side, he tried to stand.

  Come on, Ernie. You can do it.

  Rubbery legs, arms too weak to push himself up. Room traveling in dizzying circles.

  “Bathroom,” he yelled. Surely they wouldn’t let him fester in his own urine. “Bathroom.”

  The door opened and a shorter, slighter hooded figure entered. Lucier wouldn’t try to pull off the hood. That would get him another shot. No, play it smart. Regain your strength before you try anything.

  Without speaking, the man opened a door in the room to reveal a small bathroom. He gestured for Lucier to go in.

  “You―you have to help me. I can’t walk.”

  The man shook his head. He still didn’t say anything.

  Lucier slid to the end of the bed so he could latch on to the bedframe and force himself to his feet. Panting, he stood for a moment to get his equilibrium. The room spun some more. Nausea attacked. He leaned over and retched a slimy bile. Pain from his wound pierced his side, and he couldn’t straighten. His empty stomach triggered the question of how long he’d been there. Days? No, he would have known about the bathroom.

  Or would he?

  The man made a disgusted sound and grabbed Lucier’s arm, dragging him to the bathroom. He still didn’t speak. Lucier tried to place him, but he had enough trouble putting one foot in front of the other.

  He stumbled to the toilet in time to heave again. His stomach muscles cramped to the point he wanted to scream. He relieved himself, then splashed water on his face. Dampening the towel, he wiped it around his neck and arms. His shirt, soaked with sweat, clung to his overheated body.

  Hooded man waited outside the door. He helped Lucier to the bed, then grabbed his arm. Lucier saw the syringe. “No,” he yelled. The man pushed him down. He struggled to yank his arm away.

  Get up. Fight.

  But he could do neither.

  No match.

  The needle plunged into his vein.

  “Noooo.”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  In the Nick of Time

  Diana stroked Alan Feldman’s burning forehead as Cash displayed his racecar driving skills once more on the way to the hospital emergency room. Whenever traffic tightened, he hit the siren, and like the Red Sea, a path opened for him to speed through.

  The boy’s rapid pulse worried her. His mother hadn’t mention any chronic illness like diabetes or asthma, didn’t mention medications. Still, he was breathing.

  Cash veered into the circle of the emergency entrance and parked in front. “Not waiting,” he said as he unfastened the seat belt and picked up the boy. Diana followed him into the hospital. The desk nurse called for a doctor STAT, and Alan was rushed into an examining room. Cash and Diana were told to wait outside.

  Flashing his badge, Cash told the admissions nurse what she needed to know while Diana called Sheila Feldman to assure the distraught mother that her son was alive and receiving medical treatment. She should have called the minute they were in the car, but she wanted to pay full attention to the boy, comforting and talking to him as much as possible to reach his subconscious.

  Diana waited while Cash went outside to call Captain Craven. She could now concentrate on Lucier. Where was he? Was he even alive? She couldn’t go there. Couldn’t. Wouldn’t.

  Keep positive thoughts, Diana.

  “The captain knew about Beecher,” Cash said, coming inside from his call. “Sam called when he woke up. Beecher was still in the ER an hour ago. Craven assigned a cop to him, and he’s sending someone to guard the boy. He’s a witness, and until he can talk, he won’t be left alone.”

  “Jeez, I didn’t even think of that. But you’re right. Alan might crack this case.”

  “I don’t think so,” Cash said. “If the boy could describe anyone, they wouldn’t have left him alive. Still, he could have seen or heard something. Seven-year-old boys are pretty clever. I remember being one.”

  Diana smiled.

  “I’ll go speak to the hospital administrator. Be right back.”

  Diana took a seat. She had totally forgotten about Alan as a witness, but Cash was right, which meant whoever left the kid to die in an airless trailer was worse than evil.

  Before long, Sheila Feldman and her sister hustled through the ER door, their heads swiveling this way and that before finding Diana and Cash.

  “Oh, my God. Is he going to be all r
ight? Where’s the doctor?”

  “I’m right here,” a tall, good-looking man in a white jacket said. “I’m Doctor Arias. Are you Mrs. Feldman?”

  “Yes. How is he? How’s my Alan?”

  “He’s suffering from heat stroke. We have him on an IV, and we’re cooling him down. His temp was in the stratosphere, but he should be all right. We’ll keep him here overnight to make sure. He’s a lucky boy.”

  Sheila broke down in tears.

  Marilyn, herself tearful, comforted her sister.

  “Can we see him?” Sheila asked.

  “In a little while. After we move him to a room, one of the nurses will let you know.” The doctor turned to Diana. “Are you the one who brought him in?”

  Cash reappeared. “We both did,” he said and flashed his badge.

  The doctor turned to Sheila. “You have these two to thank for saving your son’s life.” The doctor focused on Diana. “You look familiar. Have we met?”

  “She’s Diana Racine,” Marilyn said. “The one who found Alan.”

  “That’s who you are. I knew I’d seen you before.”

  A nurse approached Sheila and her sister, holding a tablet. They spoke, then moved to a chair to fill out the insurance forms.

  “I didn’t want to say anything in front of the boy’s mother,” the doctor said, “but if you’d brought him in any later, I’m afraid he wouldn’t have survived. His temperature hit 105, and he probably would have slipped into a coma.” The doctor addressed Cash. “Is this a police matter?”

  “Yes. The boy is a potential witness in an ongoing investigation and could be in grave danger. An officer will be here shortly to stand guard.”

  “I don’t know how this happened, but if someone hurt that boy deliberately, he needs to be put in prison.”

  “We’ll do our best to make that happen,” Cash said.

  “Nice to meet you, Ms. Racine. I saw you perform in Boston when I was doing my residency there. Quite an entertaining evening.”