Another Chance (A Penelope Chance Mystery Book 2)

by Daniel Patterson

  ANOTHER CHANCE

  by Daniel Patterson

  www.facebook.com/DanielPattersonAuthor

  A Penelope Chance Mystery

  Main Menu

  Start Reading

  Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Epilogue

  Also by Daniel Patterson

  Author’s Note

  About the Author

  Acknowledgements

  To Meeghn and Michael

  PART ONE

  CHAPTER 1

  Friday, March 22, 2013, 1:15 p.m.

  Gainesville, Florida

  He ran a gloved finger over the pistol grip handle of the Remington tactical shotgun tucked under his jacket. The thick leather coat hid the weapon well.

  With his partner by his side, they walked through the automatic doors and into the lobby of Grace Memorial Hospital. They had less than three minutes to get in and get out.

  Kevin Scott started his count.

  One.

  Two.

  Three.

  No sign of security.

  Four.

  Five.

  Six.

  He kept his head down. The brim of his baseball cap would hide his face from the security cameras. He wouldn’t pull up the bandana he wore around his neck until right before they entered the clinic. They had to look natural—as natural as one could look wearing all black on a hot, March, Florida afternoon.

  Seven.

  Eight.

  Kevin and his partner walked through the main lobby and made a quick right toward the glass double doors that led to the free clinic and pharmacy.

  Nine.

  Ten.

  He pulled his bandana up over his face.

  No turning back now!

  He looked to his partner. Piercing, light blue eyes were the only things visible underneath the bandana and hooded sweatshirt.

  Twelve.

  They pushed through the doors and entered the clinic. Kevin’s partner stayed behind, just inside the entry, while he walked on to the pharmacy. He glanced at the young medical receptionist as he passed. An older nurse stood by her side. She looked calm and able. The receptionist seemed less so. She would be the first to squeal.

  Fourteen.

  His partner pulled out a Kimber semi-automatic handgun and pointed it at the queue of people waiting at the counter.

  Everyone froze. It was a moment of silence before the storm.

  It took only a fraction of a second for a person’s eyes to grasp the danger. It took even less time for that person to snap out of the freeze that their body went into while the brain processed which was more important: fight or flight. After that, there was almost no time before the body took over and the mind was only along for the ride.

  Kevin saw the events as if they happened in slow motion. Time stood still. Faces contorted with shock. Brains whirred. Terror replaced the shock, and then came the screaming. It was always the screaming that snapped him back to reality.

  He needed to control the room.

  Nineteen.

  Kevin took a deep breath, pulled the shotgun from his jacket and shouted, “Everybody down on the ground!”

  Twenty.

  His partner jumped into action. “I want wallets, jewelry, and phones.”

  Twenty-two.

  Kevin stepped inside the pharmacy and pointed the shotgun at the pharmacist behind the counter.

  “You! Oxycodone and diamorphine in the bag, now!” He slid a duffle bag across the counter. “Now!”

  He lost count. Twenty-something? He picked up at twenty-five.

  Twenty-six.

  “We’re all out,” the woman said.

  A hospital out of medication?

  Kevin rushed up to the pharmacist and waved the barrel of the shotgun in her face. She turned an ashen color, and he could almost see her knees collapse under her. “Oxy and morphine in the bag . . . now!”

  She disappeared behind a shelf with the bag. Somewhere around thirty seconds now. They had to get out of there.

  “No funny business back there,” Kevin yelled at the pharmacist, as he glanced back into the waiting area. His partner collected everyone’s valuables in a leather satchel. Time was money. Literally.

  Thirty-three.

  Thirty-four.

  Everyone seemed to be cooperating, and the bag was bursting.

  Thirty-five.

  Thirty-six.

  As he turned his attention back to the pharmacist, a scream reverberated in the waiting room. The receptionist . . . it had to be her. The older, more experienced nurses could deal with a stressful situation. It was in their blood. But receptionists were there to answer phones and greet people.

  “Dr. Gordon!” the receptionist screamed as a doctor appeared from one of the exam rooms.

  His partner pointed a pistol at the doctor.

  A shot fired.

  CHAPTER 2

  The doctor went down, and a red flower of blood blossomed from his right shoulder.

  It looked like the bullet went clean through and lodged in the wall.

  Counting, where was he? He kept losing track. Couldn’t have been more than a couple of seconds.

  Forty-five?

  The pharmacist dropped the duffle bag on the counter and screamed when she saw the doctor bleeding on the floor.

  Kevin stopped counting. They had to get out of there!

  He snatched the bag and turned to see a patient come out of the exam room the doctor had left. Kevin looked over at his partner who was panicking—rigid body, finger on the trigger.

  From the ground, the doctor saw it too.

  It happened almost at the same instant; the trigger pulled back, and the doctor reached up, face twisted in a snarl as he pulled the patient to the ground.

  The bullet splintered the wall above them.

  Kevin’s heart beat in his throat, making it impossible to breathe under the bandana.

  “You won’t get away with this,” the pharmacist said.

  “Fine,” Kevin answered, grabbing the woman by the arm. He’d had enough of her bravado. “You want to play hero? Let’s see how you feel with a bullet in your skull.”

  She began to sob, her arrogant mask cracking and showing the fear underneath. Kevin knew that would happen. That was the plan. He couldn’t have anyone thinking they could stand up and fight. Fear had to do the bullying for him. He wouldn’t shoot the pharmacist; he only needed her as a shield if they had to shoot their way out.

  Using a chokehold, Kevin pulled the pharmacist into the clinic lobby. She gurgled, and her hands clawed at his arm. He relaxed his grip.

  “We have to get out of here,” Kevin said to his partner, who waved the gun around, ready to shoot at anything that moved.

  The doctor was on his feet and shuffling closer. If anyone had a hero complex, it would be him. He saved lives, so he couldn’t let it rest now, could he?

  “Come on now, son,” he said in a tone that was both calm and reassuring.

  The doctor came closer still, and Kevin could see his eyes now. Warm eyes. Caring eyes.

  “You don’t have to do this,” the doctor continued. “You have what you wanted. Let her go.”

  Kevin blinked hard for a moment. He wasn’t going to fall for this man’s words. He wasn’t going to let the doctor talk him out of this.

  “You don’t want to hurt her, do you? Come now. I’m sure there’s got to be another way,” the doctor said.

  “What do you know about it, Doc? What do any of you know about this life?”

  The doctor was so close he could feel the kindness radiating off him like a poison—a mind-altering poison. Kev
in hated this man. He hated him because it was impossible not to like him.

  The room was silent.

  No police were coming.

  No security guard was coming.

  Kevin threw the pharmacist to the ground, and the doctor took a step closer. He swung the barrel of his shotgun like a baseball bat in the doctor’s direction and connected with the side of the man’s head.

  A shot fired at the same instant.

  Kevin looked at his shotgun and then at his partner.

  The smoking gun his partner held pointed at the doctor.

  Kevin looked into the doctor’s eyes one last time as the man’s limp body crumpled to the floor, life fading from his face. Those eyes would haunt him forever. He hadn’t wanted the doctor dead. He hadn’t wanted anyone dead.

  His partner ran to the lifeless body and went through his pockets for valuables.

  Blood pooled beneath the doctor.

  Kevin grabbed his partner by the sweatshirt and ran.

  In the hospital lobby, an older man in a security uniform saw them and went for his service revolver. They knocked the guard to the ground, ran past a couple of nurses, and headed for the parking lot.

  The burgundy, 1979 Cutlass Supreme was waiting for them in the handicap space.

  They dumped the guns and the haul in the backseat. Kevin got behind the wheel as his partner jumped into the passenger side. The engine roared to life, and the tires squealed as he stepped on the accelerator and pulled out of the parking lot. The hospital shrank into the distance in the rearview mirror.

  “That was close,” his partner said. “Still, we made it in less time than I thought. Just over two minutes? Were you counting?”

  The air around Kevin did nothing for his body, no matter how deeply he breathed. Two minutes? It felt like an eternity. “We said we wouldn’t shoot anyone!” he said to his partner.

  “You were letting that doctor get to you. I could see it in your eyes. You got all soft on me. I had to do it.”

  Kevin’s blood-splattered hands gripped the steering wheel. If that doctor was dead, it made him a murderer. He may not have been the one who’d pulled the trigger, but he’d killed him all the same.

  Life was difficult before. Now it’s going to be unbearable!

  CHAPTER 3

  Two hours later . . .

  Seated near the back of the Alachua County Criminal Justice Center, Franklin, Florida, Police Officer Penelope Chance waited anxiously for the jury to emerge. Five long months the thirty-two-year old officer had waited for this moment. Would justice finally be served?

  Gainesville and Franklin residents filled the courtroom to capacity, and reporters from the major news outlets squeezed in along the back wall.

  A large wooden door opened near the jury box, and the murmuring of the crowd reached a critical mass as twelve ordinary citizens filed into the court and resumed their seats. The vaulted ceilings magnified the buzz of the spectators, and a barrage of camera flashes lit up the dreary room like lightning during the day.

  Penelope scanned the faces of the jurors for some indication of what to expect, but she couldn’t read them—they looked resigned and a bit weary. Their job had not been easy.

  The bailiff called the court to order and the room fell silent.

  Everyone stood as the Honorable Pam Gonsalves entered the room through the tall, heavy door from her chambers. She wore a traditional, black robe with a white lace collar. Her silver-blue eyes and blonde hair with a few gray streaks gave her a look of wisdom and authority. She called the court to order and waited until the whispers and flashes stopped completely.

  Judge Gonsalves nodded to the bailiff and addressed the crowd. “It’s been brought to my attention that the jury has reached a verdict. Is the State ready to proceed?”

  “The State is ready to proceed, Your Honor.”

  “Defense?”

  “Defense is ready, Your Honor.”

  “Madam Foreperson, has the jury reached a verdict?”

  A distinguished-looking woman stood and addressed the court. “Yes, we have, Your Honor.”

  “Please present the verdict to the bailiff.”

  She looked grim as she handed the bailiff a large, manila envelope.

  Penelope’s mind raced. It had been a lengthy trial, and the public defender was good at his job. A conviction wasn’t certain, but Penelope had faith—faith in the investigative work that had led to this moment, faith that the truth was on her side. And most of all, she had faith that God would not let this man’s crimes go unpunished.

  She glanced at the empty seat beside her, and a longing tugged at her heart. Her fiancé, Dr. Jacob Gordon, should have been sitting in that seat. With him by her side, she would have been strong enough to handle whatever happened in the courtroom that day. But Dr. G., as his patients knew him, was on call and wasn’t able to be in court to support her.

  A hand squeezed her knee. She turned to Doug Foster, her best friend, and adoptive brother. Penelope’s mother and father had died in a house fire when she was eight. Doug’s parents had been her godparents, and they’d adopted and raised her as their own. Doug was the closest thing she had to any real family.

  “Things aren’t always the way they seem,” Doug said in a whisper.

  “What do you mean?” she whispered back.

  Doug pointed to the empty seat. “Jacob . . . he would’ve been here if he could. You know that, right?”

  Penelope tucked a strand of honey-blonde hair that had fallen out of her ponytail behind her ear and managed a weak smile. Sure, she was being selfish, but why did Jacob have to be on call today, the one day she needed him most?

  “God,” she prayed softly. “I know you have given me the strength I need to deal with this situation, no matter the outcome. Please watch over Jacob and keep him safe. I trust in Your wisdom and that all is according to Your plan. Amen.” A wave of relief warmed her body as she surrendered control to Him.

  CHAPTER 4

  The bailiff took forever to cross the courtroom with the envelope containing the verdict. Penelope glanced at Doug, and try as he might to spare her feelings, he couldn’t hide his uncertainty. Not from her. She knew him too well. She quickly looked away. She was grateful for his support, but she wanted to search the crowd for her fellow Franklin Police Department officers to gauge their reactions to the tense atmosphere.

  Chief Curtis Jackson, seated closer to the front, directly behind the State’s Attorney, looked tired and worn. His large frame sagged somewhat, and Penelope tried to write this off to his age and his thirty plus years of service. If Chief Jackson had doubts about the verdict, she didn’t want to know it.

  Seated next to Jackson was Officer Jim Saunders. Saunders was a transplant from Georgia, across the state’s panhandle, where apparently it was customary to wear handlebar mustaches. He looked well rested, which was unusual, considering his wife, Anna, had given birth to their second child two weeks ago. Perhaps it was that “proud parent feeling” he radiated.

  Judge Gonsalves cleared her throat as the bailiff handed the envelope across the bench. As she accepted it, she cleared her throat again. She reached for a pitcher of water and poured some into a glass. Penelope shifted in her seat as the judge took a few sips, cleared her throat once more, and continued to drink.

  “Seriously?” Doug whispered.

  The judge was a mite theatrical. But being impatient wasn’t going to hasten anything. Penelope jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow. “Shhhh!”

  Doug sighed, closed his eyes, and clasped his hands in his lap. If she didn’t know better, she would have thought he was praying for patience. Doug respected Penelope’s faith but didn’t completely share it. Perhaps someday he would come around and see things differently. When he did, he would probably find some much deserved peace.

  Judge Gonsalves slit open the envelope and pulled out a slip of paper. She then set the envelope down and reached for her reading glasses. Penelope shot Doug a glance of warning, bu
t he only rolled his eyes and did not speak. The judge perched the lightweight reading glasses on the tip of her nose and inspected the verdict.

  It was impossible to tell what it said from her expression.

  Across the room, Penelope spotted Dr. Gabriel Pike, her college psychology professor and advisor. She had originally studied to become a child psychologist, but it was Pike who had suggested she apply her behavioral and social sciences skills to law enforcement.

  Dr. Pike’s expert testimony had been convincing, and she took heart from the fact that he was on their side. She always thought he looked a little like George Clooney, and she still wasn’t quite ready to admit that she may have had a small crush on him. Now in his late fifties, with his straight dark hair sprinkled with gray, he looked even closer to the part—still the picture of confidence. He reached out to her when the arrest first made national news, but so far, she had been too busy to contact him.

  As if he could sense her eyes on the back of his head, Pike turned and flashed an encouraging smile.

  A rush of warmth washed over her, and she quickly averted her gaze.

  Judge Gonsalves leaned in toward the microphone. “Will the defendant please rise along with counsel?”

  The defendant stood, head bowed. He looked more contrite than he had at any point in the investigation; during that time he had taunted Penelope and shown no remorse for his actions.

  Please, God, let justice be served today.

  “Madam Clerk, you may publish the verdicts.” The judge handed the verdicts to the Clerk of Court and looked straight ahead as did the jury.

  “In the Eighth Circuit Court of Alachua County, Florida, the State of Florida versus Michael Anthony Findley, case number 09102013GF001065Z. As to the charge of first-degree attempted murder count one, we the jury, find the defendant guilty, so say us all.” Penelope looked at Doug and saw that his eyes were brimming with tears. She quickly looked away. “As to the charge of first-degree murder count one, we the jury, find the defendant guilty, so say us all.”