To Find a Killer

by Charlie Vogel

  “No,” she said fiddling with the ribbon on the flowers. “He claimed self-defense. Said you beat the crap out of him. Didn’t want to admit a woman knocked him on his ass. He never got a good look at my face, just my back.”

  “And your feet . . . as they hit him.”

  She tried not to grin. “More like my shoes. I’m still working at Bison and actually see the bastard every day. I’m sure he doesn’t know me.”

  “Didn’t the cops question you? Didn’t you tell them what happened?”

  “Well, I . . . not everything. The cops and ambulance arrived. I told them I was passing by the alley when I heard a fight going on. I told them you gave your name and Turner’s before passing out. Before they could ask for my driver’s license or anything, I split. Remember I’ve still got a warrant hanging over my head?”

  “Oh, sorry. I-I forgot. So . . . much . . . going on.” I felt my life on the end of a rope dangling over a deep canyon, one hand slipping, the other getting tired. I lay in a bed of a public hospital anyone could get into. One quick slice and that rope would be cut. Turner knew I knew. He didn’t like pulling a trigger, but I had pushed him into a corner. And who the hell was his “Skipper?” What was that man capable of?

  “Lori, is there a guard on my door?”

  “Guard? Lots of nurses and staff running all over, but nobody has been like assigned to just you.”

  “Turner admitted he killed Eileen, but only because he thought I was a dead man already. He talked about orders from somebody he called ‘Skipper.’ There’s two people who seriously want me dead.”

  “You’re right!” She began to pace around the foot of the bed and back, something I had never seen before. Her worry only increased mine. “Maybe he hasn’t tried anything because either Harry or me has been here these last three days, like in shifts. He was here when I worked and I came in and sat through the night.”

  My heart clenched with that explanation. Tears burned at my eyes. No one in my entire life had paid that kind of attention or worried that much about whether I lived or died. Don’t make a pansy-assed fool of yourself and cry, Norris! I cleared my throat and clenched my jaw, even though that made my face and head hurt.

  “Except for this entire afternoon. I’ve been awake and no Harry.”

  She fidgeted then finally said, “Well, he kinda wore himself out and you know how he is. I mean it’s not like he could help it. He had a flashback at work last night, right in the middle of the Stop-and-Go, with customers watching and everything. The cops called an ambulance. He just got out of VA hospital about an hour ago and called me. They put him on some new stuff, stronger, I think.”

  I closed my eyes and pressed myself into the bed. That wouldn’t have happened without all this. Here he is getting worse because of me. And you! You’re fighting a man twice your size because of me! And here I am, a friggin’ punching bag, flat on my back.”

  “Sounds like you’re feeling sorry for yourself, Norris.”

  “All I’ve done is get you two into trouble and all because of my trouble. I’ve screwed up your lives every time I turned around.”

  “Right. Like Harry and I didn’t have a choice. Grow up, Norris! Take responsibility for yourself! Do something!”

  I glared at her. “Now you’re sounding like Henry!”

  “Hey, you think maybe once in a while the old man was right? How’d he get to be so rich? By being wrong?”

  “Ha, ha! You are so funny. Well, I’ll do something, all right. Tell Harry to buy me some ammo for that stolen gun he gave me. I’ve got plans for the minute I leave this place.”

  “I’m not so sure you’re up to any rough stuff.”

  “Who asked you? I don’t need your permission. In fact, I’m ready to test all your street lectures. What do you think of that?”

  She shook her head in total disbelief. “I don’t think its funny . . . that’s what I think.”

  Chapter 14

  My eyes snapped open on the semi-dark hospital room. The little machine that ran the IV’s stood beside the bed, its low humming and pumping silent since my IV had been taken out. Carefully, I touched my face. The bandages had been removed, too, and the pain was less. No, just moving hadn’t awakened me. Something else.

  The bathroom door stood open a couple of inches, providing the only light in the room. Lori slept like a kitten, curled in the cushioned chair. Whatever it was hadn’t awakened her. Of course, working days and sleeping nights like that, she had to be exhausted. Maybe a fire alarm would wake her up. Maybe.

  The door to the hallway moved slowly inward. I glanced at the clock. Only twenty minutes ago, the nurse had taken my vitals then whispered I wouldn’t be bothered the rest of the night. Tension swept over me.

  For three days I had been a target, unconscious and available in that bed. Since talking about it with Lori, even the slightest sound had me ready to defend myself. I refused to be a victim a second time. Rehearsing my moves in such limited space had kept my mind busy. Lori challenged me to do something, hadn’t she? If this was it, I hoped to hell I wouldn’t freeze up.

  A figure in dark clothes slipped quietly into the room, easing the hallway door closed. It clicked into place and I knew what had brought me out of my light sleep.

  Under the covers, my hand found the nurse’s call button. I gently pushed it down, grateful it made no sound. The figure tiptoed across the carpeted floor then side-stepped behind the privacy curtain pulled half-way between the room’s empty bed and mine.

  I glanced at Lori. The chair faced the doorway, but her eyes were closed. She slept unawares. I had to act alone. My hand slid over my chest. This goddamn idea of Harry’s better work. But, what if he shoots me in the head? Always gotta find something, don’t you, Norris?

  Forcing my eyelids half-closed, I tried to breathe naturally. Then he was beside me, the bathroom light reflecting off the raised knife. I looked full into Turner’s wide eyes as he slammed the blade down. The metal skittered off the bullet-proof vest.

  Turner’s flicker of surprise turned to determination. I grabbed his wrist with one hand and pulled back the palm with the other. The knife didn’t drop like Harry said it would.

  The next instant two slender arms criss-crossed his neck and yanked him back. At his shoulder, Lori’s face appeared, contorted with her effort to choke the bastard. He jerked forward, pulling her off her feet and onto his back. From deep inside me came the power to smash my fist into his face. Blood sprayed from the corner of his eye, but didn’t stop him. In fact, his expression changed to a mad man’s, flaring nostrils, gruesome smile showing gritted teeth, pinched, hate-filled eyes. A face I would never forget.

  I rolled from the bed as he lunged for me again, Lori still clinging to his neck. She loosened her hold a moment to pull one arm tighter, his throat in the crook of her elbow, his jaw forced out in an opened-mouth gasp. Since his attention had been diverted to her strangle-hold, I jumped onto the bed in a crouch. My powerful right upper cut caught his extended jaw. Bone crunched. I hoped it wasn’t my knuckles. His eyes rolled closed and he sagged to his knees. Lori stepped away, letting him fall to the floor.

  As she moved, he rolled and came up by the second bed, knife in hand. He sliced the air. She backed. He stepped forward, but she dodged. I was about to leap on his back when she snapped one leg up, sending the knife spinning into the air. One, two kicks to the stomach and he doubled over, backing to the foot of my bed. Desperate for air and gagging, he turned, his hands clawing at his chest. Without hesitation she jumped. Both feet connected with his butt. Like a bulky rocket, he shot across the wall shelf he faced. His head collided with plate glass and it shattered. The bottoms of his Giorgio Italian shoes followed him out the window.

  My jaw worked, but no words came out.

  “What floor are we on?” Lori gasped as she staggered to her feet.

  I slid from the bed to look. “Ah, about the sixth, I guess.”

  She stepped beside me to look down at the alley. Thr
ee street lights cast a yellow haze over everything, yet we could distinctly see the hospital loading dock and stacks of pallets. No body sprawled on the pavement.

  I pointed at an enormous dumpster directly below us, its lid propped open. “You think he fell in the trash?”

  She shrugged. “At least he had something soft to land on, unless it’s full of gross hospital crap. I hope so.”

  Hearing the hall door open, Lori whipped the window curtains closed. I straightened my hospital gown to cover the vest.

  The nurse softly called out, “Mr. Norris? Did you push the call button?” Her pert, concerned face peered around the privacy curtain.

  I looked at the clock as I climbed back in bed. “Yeah about five minutes ago. What took you so long?”

  “We’re short two people tonight. Running our legs off. Really, I got here as quickly as I could. What is it you need?”

  I held up my throbbing right hand. It had begun to swell. “I hurt my right hand . . . while I was asleep.”

  “He had a nightmare,” Lori offered.

  The nurse’s gentle hands and fingers examined me. She mumbled, “I’ll have to call the doctor. This needs to be X-rayed.”

  Moments later, a young aide pushed my wheelchair toward the elevator. Lori walked beside me, trying not to smile. I rolled my eyes at her.

  “While, ah, you’re in X-ray, I’ll go out for a smoke and check out the dumpster.”

  “Did you lose something, Miss?” the aide asked.

  I glared. Lori chewed on her lip then managed, “Window had been cranked open, you know just a couple inches, for fresh air. Something accidentally fell out.”

  * * *

  I discovered nothing happened fast in a hospital unless somebody’s heart stopped. After waiting forever for the X-rays, I sat in an exam room in the E.R. for someone to wrap my hand. Another hour passed before the aide came with a goddamn wheelchair to take me back to my room. The whole thing took three hours. It didn’t matter that my hand was only sprained and bruised. I had to know what Lori found.

  Despite the aide’s protest, I climbed out of the wheelchair at the doorway and walked into my room. Lori stood nose to nose with a short, fat man wearing tan pants and shirt. His embroidered name patch read “Elmer.”

  “I don’t know how the window got broke. But it looks to me like that goddamn machine fell over. It is half sticking out the friggin’ window!”

  “I don’t have to put up with talk like that, ma’am. I’m just the maintenance man. I have a report to write . . .”

  “Well, Mr. Maintenance Man, it looks like you are doing one piss-poor job.” Her painted finger nail pointed. “Wheel’s missing from the stand. Looks to me like the goddamn thing fell over! You try to blame this on Mr. Norris or me and we’ll get a friggin’ lawyer to sue for negligence! How do you like that?”

  He shifted nervously, glanced at me, then held up his hands in surrender. “I-I, ah, think I’ll talk to the nurse. This can’t be fixed tonight, so-so she’ll have to move him to another room. How’s that sound?”

  Lori looked at me. I shrugged.

  “You do that . . . like pronto!” she ordered.

  When he scurried out, she arched her eyebrows and looked smug.

  “Pretty good thinking, Lori.”

  “The little sonofabitch came in here all arrogant-like. I already had it set up, so I wasn’t going to let him talk to me like that. I just remembered how you and Henry handled the piss ants of the world.”

  I held up my hand to quiet her as the aide hustled in the door with that wheelchair again.

  Settled in another room, we waited for the aide to leave before talking.

  “Did you find Turner?”

  “In the dumpster. Not a pretty sight. I think he split his head open, maybe on the edge when he hit. And your hand?”

  “Not broken. When will they find the body and put two and two together?”

  Her fingers brushed at a soiled spot on her blouse. “I threw a couple pallets on top of him . . . just before a janitor came out to add some more bags. I shared a smoke with him. He said the garbage truck comes around five. When I asked if anyone had to handle all that hospital stuff, he said the container’s just lifted and dumped in the truck. Nobody touches a thing or sees a thing. He made it clear he didn’t want to, anyway. Turner won’t be noticed until he hits the landfill. And the truck makes the rounds of three hospitals, so no one will know where he came from.”

  As relief took hold, I realized my head, ribs, and hand hurt like hell. Turner is one. There is another.

  “But we did him in before finding out about his ‘Skipper.’”

  She threw herself into the lounge chair. “We? We did it?”

  “Hey! I slammed him in the face for you. I did something. Isn’t that what you told me to do?”

  She cocked her head. “Yeah, I guess I said that. So we’ll both take the rap, is that it?”

  “I’m depending on no one being able to trace him, but . . . if push comes to shove, yeah, I’ll take the blame with you.”

  Her eyes teared up. She swiped at them then turned business-like again. “Yeah, we gotta search out this ‘Skipper’ on our own now. Harper is locked up, but he could still be directing things from jail. It has been known to happen.”

  “Possible, but I don’t know. Turner didn’t seem to know him. No, I don’t think Harper is this ‘Skipper.’ Yet, everything keeps going back to Bison. Who besides Eileen and Maggie knew what Harper was doing and had ties to Turner?”

  “I’m still working there. I wanted to shove that up Ol’ Henry’s ass but I didn’t. I forgot to tell you he called. Well, he left a message on the answering machine the day Turner caught you. We didn’t get back to him about all this.”

  “Don’t worry about it. He called the nurse’s station yesterday. Got a report on my condition and left the message he couldn’t get up to see me. Like I give a damn! The nurse also said he contacted the business office to cover my bill.”

  “Considerate, ain’t he?”

  “More like laughing his ass off and thinking I got what I deserved.”

  That thought made my head hurt worse. I pushed the call button to ask for some pain medicine.

  * * *

  Following my discharge orders to rest, I stretched out on my couch and spent the morning finally reading that old paperback.

  On her noon break, Lori called. The Bison employees had been informed of Turner’s dismissal the day before and the appointment of Vickie Templeton to replace him. The name sounded familiar to me, then I remembered she was the chick Maggie had said was messing around with Harper. Lori already knew that. Company gossip had it that Harper’s arrest had screwed up the woman’s ambitions, so she just redirected herself into a role as a department head. She didn’t give a damn if it was Security or Cleaning. She just wanted to be top dog someplace. Lori had met her. Her statement “She wouldn’t make a good whore!” kind of summarized her opinion.

  The rest of the afternoon I kept trying to put the puzzle pieces together. The more I thought about it, the more convinced I was that Turner hadn’t been close to Harper, yet he had killed Eileen for investigating Harper. What other reason could there be?

  The two o’clock oriental cooking show came on just as Harry wandered across the living room and headed for the kitchen. He reappeared with a glass of orange juice and a handful of pills. After swallowing those, he sat in the arm chair and squinted his eyes at me.

  “Morning, Harry,” I chirped.

  He shivered at my cheerfulness. “Instead of that goddamn TV, you should be listening to the radio. Mine popped on with the news that Turner’s body was found at the dump. Kinda gruesome, they said. A worker saw a leg sticking out and pushed aside garbage until he was uncovered. How long’s he been there? Two days? Bet he smells pretty bad.”

  I cleared my throat. “How can you talk like that when you just put something in your stomach?”

  “Me? I seen a lot worse in Nam. Dead bodies
don’t bother me. The assholes walking around? That’s another matter.”

  “Speaking of assholes out there, did you get my ammo?”

  He sighed heavily and settled back, studying me as if calculating my readiness. “Loaded and ready for you to commit another murder . . . if that’s what you’re set on.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “How many people have you seen killed since . . . well, you know?”

  “Three. Well, four if you count Chucky and five if you count Maggie, but I didn’t see those.”

  “More than your average bear, I’d say. What does that tell you?”

  Unable to hold his gaze, I stared at the muted TV. “Yeah, I’m kinda walking with death, aren’t I? An indirect cause, but a cause, all the same.”

  “Now you’re sounding like the reasonable teacher instead of some cartoon avenger.”

  “Cartoon!”

  “Hold it, Lone Ranger. It’s not a slam! I’m just saying you need a grip on reality here. The murder tally in this city in the past few weeks passed last year’s total. And this year ain’t half over! Every one of these people had some connection with Bison or you. Morten may be the world’s worse cop, but he ain’t entirely stupid.”

  “Well, he can’t tie me to Turner. He was found in the dump!”

  “Maybe not Morten, but what about Roy? What’s he gonna say when you return his vest with a slice in it?”

  “I could say I don’t know how it happened.”

  “He won’t buy that! He’s not an idiot like Morten. And he knows you were after Turner and that Turner beat you up.”

  “So where’s the proof? Turner didn’t exactly have the knife clutched in his death grip . . . ‘cause Lori picked it up and jammed it in her purse. We could . . .” I searched for a cover- up. “Yeah, we could drop the vest in the garage, back the car over it, and tell him it got sliced by some glass when it fell out on accident.”

  Harry shook his head in disgust. “Amateurs! Go ahead, try it. But I want to see you look him in the eye and tell that story.”

  I slumped. My life of lies was wearing me out.