“I would assume it’s to hit the target.”
“The correct answer would be to get the bullet through the exact same hole as the first shot you fired.” Turning in a blur, Lilly took another three shots. Dana noted two holes in the head, another to the chest.
“What you see now is poor shooting.”
“I think he’d still be dead!”
Lilly drained the remainder of her drink, reached into her duffel, and placed another silver flask before her. Dana wiggled a finger in her ear, attempting to diminish the high-pitched ring.
“Why don’t you put your ear plugs in?”
“Don’t yell! I can still hear!”
“Do you know you’re yelling?”
When Lilly raised her weapon, Dana plugged both her ears with her index fingers. This time, she didn’t check the shots.
“Well, why not?”
“What?”
“You need to get those in your ears.”
“I’m not putting them in because I want to talk to you.”
“I wish you’d told me that before I got your gun ready.”
Dana placed a firm hand over the weapon to prevent Lilly from picking it up, keeping it in place until Lilly met her gaze. “I don’t think he’s coming after you.”
Lilly stilled. “That’s not what Torrence would say.”
“They’re not even sure it was him.”
“I am.”
Dana blew the bangs from her eyes. “When do you think you’ll come back to work? One shift and you’re gone for a month. Anderson’s not going to cover for you forever.”
“Why does there have to be a certain amount of time?”
“Because you need to move on.”
“I’ll be sure to say that to you after you’re raped.”
“All right, I’m sorry. But this is what you want to do? Drink and shoot for the rest of your life?”
Lilly turned her shoulders square to Dana. “I want to be ready. This is how I’m getting through it.”
“What would you say if a patient came into the ER using these coping mechanisms to work through a major event?”
“Major event? It was a crime!”
“What would you say?”
“I’d give her the double thumbs-up and tell her to carry on because you always have to be ready for the other shoe to drop. Life is only a series of tragic events. Do you ever think about that? That’s all our job is—meeting people at their lowest moments.” Lilly raised the weapon, steadied her sight, but did not fire.
“You really believe that?” Dana’s voice cracked.
“Why shouldn’t I? My father left me. My mother left me. Now I’m leaving me.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Ah, that’s because you’re not drinking enough.” Lilly picked up the flask, took several quick gulps, and set it aside.
“If you want me to stay here, you’re going to have to put the firearms away. All I need is a stray shot to do one of us in because your aim will be skewed with all that booze.”
Dana sat, holding the spare weapon in her lap. Tracing her fingers along the cool lines of the metal, her mind whirled at how something the size of her hand held such destructive force. “I remember a patient we took care of when we were residents.”
Lilly didn’t face her, but set the gun down.
“The young boy who’d suffered a traumatic brain injury and wasn’t going to live. Do you remember him?”
Though Lilly did not respond, Dana could see the heaviness of grief wilt her bravado. Her eyes widened and glossed over.
“At first, the family was adamant about refusing to give his organs away. It took you nearly twelve hours to convince them to surrender in the midst of utter despair. But they did, and several children are alive because of that.”
“And that’s not a tragedy?”
“Not for the families who received those organs. And in the end, it wasn’t for the family that gave them up. Because now they know his death meant something more than just their sorrow.”
“And this is helpful how?”
Dana stood, placing the gun back in its case. “Pain can be a great motivator of change, Lilly. I want you to do something more useful with this pain than do yourself in. Do you want to die?”
“Every single day.”
Chapter 16
November 1
NATHAN CONSULTED THE map he held and looked down the street at the quaint row of houses.
Brett took off his sport coat and slung it over his shoulder. “It’s hot. I’m hungry. I’m carrying a weapon. You know that’s a deadly combination.”
Nathan circled a two-block radius with his index finger. “We need to finish this area.”
“Deadly.”
“Stop your whining. You’re not five years old.”
“Come on. We’ve been at this all morning. Five tattoo parlors. Now, a re-canvas of Lilly’s neighborhood. Feed me and I’ll be a much better boy.”
“There are more important things than your grumbling stomach.”
Brett sat on a wooden park bench and brushed off flecks of peeling green paint. “I know you’re obsessed with this guy. I know you’re freaking out because it’s time for him to strike. That’s if we have his pattern correct.”
“I just want to finish this.”
“Plus, the FBI is coming. Are you even sleeping?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“I’m giving you one more hour.”
“Whatever. Let’s do the block in front of Lilly’s complex. There were just a few houses where we didn’t get interviews. Let’s hit 1171. Supposedly the neighborhood busybody lives there.”
“Why hasn’t anyone been able to catch her home?”
“Probably because she’s busy. I didn’t say she was a shut-in.”
They approached the door. The yard was well kept. Early-style bungalow painted white with crisp, navy-blue shutters. Mums were planted along the brick path to the door in varying shades of rich autumn colors. Brett rapped on the door. It opened up barely an inch. One unmoving pale brown eye stared through the gap.
“What is it you want?
Nathan approached, adjusted his tie. “My name is Detective Nathan Long. This is my partner, Brett Sawyer.” Both quick-flipped their badges. “We’d like to speak to you about Dr. Lilly Reeves. Do you know her?”
The gap widened a few more inches. Wisps of corrugated gray hair fell over a wrinkled face that any Shar-Pei puppy would envy. “I know her.”
“May we come in and talk?”
“You like dogs?”
“How many are we talking?” Brett asked.
“Just one, but he’s mean. Let me put him out back.”
The door closed.
“Are you sure about this?” Brett ventured.
“She could be a witness.”
The house shuddered as the back door slammed. The sounds of growling, barking, and the old woman yelling seemed to incite every animal within hearing range to cry out in protest. The front door opened wide; the woman smoothed her black velvet dress and opened the screen.
“Come on in. I’ll make you some tea.”
They stepped into the foyer. The house was clean, void of lingering animal scent or muscle-cream rub. Nathan scanned the small living room. He stepped to the bay window and tapped his finger on a pair of binoculars.
“This is what I was hoping for,” Nathan said.
Brett walked the periphery of the room. “No family pictures.”
The woman returned, setting three cups on a small glass table. She motioned for them to sit on the couch as she took the wing chair.
“Mrs.?” Nathan ventured.
“Connelly.” She passed the vapor flowing cups to them, took her own, and promptly threw her leg over the side of the chair. Brett averted his gaze to the side. It was evident Mrs. Connelly didn’t believe in traditional, white undergarments. Nathan brought the liquid to his lips and took a large swig as Brett mirrored his mov
ement. The burning in his mouth was not from the temperature of the liquid. Nathan let the liquid dribble back into the cup as Brett swallowed his.
The old woman eyed Nathan with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “You don’t like it?”
“Mrs. Connelly, we very much appreciate your generosity. It’s just that we’re not allowed to drink on the job and I’m sensing there’s a little bit of alcohol in this beverage.”
“A lot of alcohol …”
“Brett,” Nathan warned.
“More and more of your gender can’t hold their liquor. You just can’t find real men in the world anymore.”
“As that may be true, let’s talk about Dr. Reeves. How well do you know her?”
“We’re more acquaintances than anything. She’s always been very kind to me. Checks on me when we get those five-foot blizzards and I can’t get out. I told her I was not going to take my blood pressure medicine anymore. Would rather buy other things.”
“Like good whiskey, no doubt.” Brett reached for his teacup. Nathan cut his hand across his neck.
“Exactly! Nonetheless, Dr. Reeves came over every day for two months to check my blood pressure. Made sure it was okay so I didn’t stroke out. Said it was easier to keep me alive than to have to clean my place out.”
“You don’t have family then,” Nathan said.
“My husband died many years ago. We were both singly born. Never had any children of our own.”
“I see. So you feel obligated to watch out for her.” Nathan pulled his notebook out and opened to a fresh page.
“I do what I can for her.”
“I want you to think back to the month of August, early September. Do you remember any odd happenings around the neighborhood?” Brett asked. Nathan skimmed his notes.
“Like what?”
“Any strange cars? Any strange events? People that were around then that don’t seem to be around now.”
“There was a man I would see walking around the neighborhood with one of those small, yippy dogs. I say if a dog don’t weigh more than twenty pounds, you may as well call him a rat and put him in a cage.”
“Not like Bruno out back.”
“His name’s Buttercup.”
“Of course,” Brett said.
“This man walking the dog … he’s not around anymore?”
“Haven’t seen him for a couple of weeks.”
“That puts him past Lilly’s assault,” Brett said. Nathan acknowledged the point.
The woman dropped her leg to the floor and clasped her knees with her hands. “Dr. Reeves was attacked?”
“Yes, in her home in September.”
“Thinking back, there was a strange thing that happened. I hadn’t seen her in a couple of days. I wasn’t feeling well. Had this headache for a week that wouldn’t go away. I wanted to talk to her about it. Went to her door and there was a man there checking her locks.”
“Checking her locks? How?”
“He had three keys and he was trying them in each of the deadbolts. One seemed to be giving him trouble.”
“You didn’t think he was trying to break in?”
“It was the middle of the day; bright and sunny. I could see him from the street. It would seem pretty brazen to do something like that.”
“Did you speak with him?”
“I asked him what he was up to. He said he was changing out Lilly’s locks. Checking to make sure the keys fit right.”
“You didn’t find that odd?”
“If you knew Dr. Reeves, you would know there was nothing weird about that. She’s a woman living alone. Never can be too safe, I say.”
“Can you describe this man?”
“He had dark brown hair.”
“Did you notice anything about his eyes?”
“He was wearing those annoying mirrored shades. Kind of like what I thought you’d be wearing.”
“How about any tattoos or distinguishing marks?”
“The man was covered except for his head. Wore this long, heavy overcoat. For a locksmith, he seemed overdressed and too warmly for that matter. The odd thing was he seemed annoyed that he was there. He said, ‘I’m going to do all this work, and I guarantee you she’s going to want her locks changed again tomorrow.’”
“Do you remember what day that was?”
“The day before Labor Day. I know for sure because I was looking forward to a senior lunch they were having at the church because of the holiday.”
Nathan took out a pocket calendar. He’d been tracking the crime dates in red. His own personal timeline of the events. He flipped back to September. The day before Labor Day, September 3.
Chapter 17
November 15
MID-NOVEMBER BROUGHT on cold, gray, misting clouds. The wind blew flags straight as if they were nailed to a wall. Lilly pulled into the parking structure near SMC and sat there, staring at the ER entrance. Her arms felt leaden with the thought of reaching up to turn off her vehicle. The sudden flood of tears obscured her eyes like trails of raindrops on a windshield. The thought of opening the door, walking on the wet cement into her department, taking off her coat, trying to comfort the sick and distressed when all she felt was fear and anxiety brought more despair.
She leaned forward and rested her head against the steering wheel, her arms tucked and folded tight into her body. The heated interior of her car provided little warmth against the darkness that sapped her strength.
At first, the gentle rocking of the vehicle barely registered through her drug haze. Then, a crisp rap on the driver’s window caused her to lift her head and look left. A crowbar came fast and struck the window again, and fine lines spread through the dirt covered glass. She turned to reach for her purse; her fingers tingled with anxiety as she groped for the gun tucked inside.
“Lilly! Are you all right?” The baritone voice reached through her cocooned ears. Relief flooded through her and she pulled her hand off the cool metal. She waved Luther away from the door.
“Lilly! Thank you, Lord. Open up! Are you all right?”
She unwrapped the scarf from her ears and disengaged the locks. Luther opened her door and immediately brought his fingers to her wrist. She nudged them away.
“I’m all right, just tired.”
“Lilly … the window. Man, I’m sorry but you scared me to death. I’ve been here forever trying to get you to wake up. The security guard brought me the crowbar and then I sent him for a gurney. Turn your car off. Do you have a headache, nausea, blurred vision?”
“All the above.” She turned off the ignition and placed her keys inside her purse.
“Come on, let’s get you inside and put you on some oxygen.”
She resisted his arms as they reached into the vehicle. “I don’t have carbon monoxide poisoning. I’m just tired. I’m not sleeping well.”
Stepping out of her vehicle, she stumbled against him. Luther gathered her in his arms to keep her steady. Lilly eased him back and leaned against her car, but he maintained a firm grasp on her upper arm.
“Lilly, are you okay? Really okay?”
“I’m fine, honestly.” She looked past Luther, seeing two other nurses paused at the ambulance entrance with a pram. Lilly waved them off, but they seemed wary to turn away. She tugged out of his grip.
“Luther, let me talk with her. I’ll make sure she gets in okay.”
Dana stood back a few feet. Luther withdrew, waving off his coworkers as well. Lilly hugged the open door for support.
“Not sleeping? Or something else,” Dana asked.
Lilly pulled her body from the gap and slammed her support structure closed, surprised that the window did not continue to shatter and shower her feet with sharp crystals. She crossed her arms tight over her chest; the sound of expanding cracks in the glass like ice falling off trees sent small pulses of apprehension up her spine.
“It’s going to be fun getting this fixed.” Lilly turned and patted the glass, her fingers numb inside her gloves. She
arched her fingers and tapped harder, trying to illicit a painful response, wanting the broken shards to score into her flesh to prove she could still feel something instead of this emptiness.
“Stop that.”
Lilly shoved her hands into her pockets.
“Luther was concerned for you, as am I. Have you been drinking?”
“Not this morning.”
Dana sighed. “How much?”
“Just enough to get me to sleep.”
“So, essentially, you’re hung over. Are you doing this every night?”
Lilly avoided her gaze and pulled her coat tighter.
“What does it matter as long as I’m sober here?”
“Lilly, honestly, I’m shocked. You know what’s wrong with it! Soon, you’ll be drinking at work. These are not good coping mechanisms. You need to see someone before you slip more. Do you want to lose your job?”
Pushing away from the car, Lilly stood nose to nose with Dana.
“Stay out of it. I’m fine. What do I need to talk to anyone for? To get some pity for what happened? I’ll figure it out.”
She turned from Dana and stumbled several steps before righting herself. Luther waited for her at the ER entrance, chart in hand.
“I’ll call someone about your window.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of it.”
“There’s some guy waiting for you.”
“A patient?” Lilly asked.
“Yeah, he requested you. He’s been waiting for a couple of hours according to the night nurses.”
“You know we don’t like people to do that. It sets a bad precedent. I’m not their primary doctor. Nor do I want to be.”
Luther shrugged. “What can I tell you? Two other docs tried to see him, and he refused.”
“Fine, I’ll take it.” She threw her coat and purse over the nearest chair. Was it a dare for someone else to get her keys and finish her off?
The exam room was close. Lilly hovered in the hall and scanned over the medical information. Odd. Date of birth was listed as 00/00/0000. Sex: Male. Complaint: “Message Delivery.”
A psych case. Great.
She entered the room and closed the door behind her. The man sat on the rolling stool. His clothes were without defect. Seams were pressed into his trousers. She perused her own attire. Her white lab coat resembled a smoothed-out wad of wrinkled paper, having been pulled from her clothes hamper moments before she left the house. His chocolate-brown camel hair coat was folded neatly and laid over his legs. Black polished shoes reflected the overhead lights. His hands lay folded, fingers not intertwined, on top of the garment. His eyes held hers as she stood waiting for him to give up the stool.
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