Quicksand

by Carolyn Baugh

  Nora read his mind. “She could have snuck out?”

  He shrugged. “Screen’s out of this window, not the other. It’s an easy drop off the porch.”

  “Could someone sneak in?”

  “Someone like Dewayne? Not his style.”

  “Unless he was really out to mess with Kevin Baker’s mind,” Nora pointed out. She pulled out her spray powder and dusted a soft line onto the window frame from the inside and out. She carefully pressed fingerprinting tape against the painted frames, and then applied the tape to the white paper in the kit.

  John picked up a backpack that had been left on the bed. He unzipped it carefully and started pulling out notebooks and textbooks, rifling through them gingerly.

  Nora was just sitting down at Kylie’s desk when she heard her partner grunt. “What do you think of this?”

  He passed her an open biology text. The chapter was on amphibians, and the margin was decorated with “I love Dewayne,” written in wobbly cursive.

  Nora shook her head. “Wow.”

  “Wow is an understatement.”

  “How’d you know to do that?”

  “Hey, I raised two girls.”

  “Doesn’t mean he didn’t rape and murder her,” Nora said, then suddenly coughed, her throat uncomfortably tight.

  “It just means she might have helped him out.” John replaced the books in the backpack and shouldered it, coughing slightly himself. “Let’s ask Mrs. Baker if she’d mind us taking this to the office. I think she hasn’t dusted in here for ages.”

  They walked down the stairs. Mrs. Baker saw them carrying her daughter’s backpack. She didn’t move from her chair, but said, almost listlessly, “Where you going with her school pack?”

  John said, “Mrs. Baker, could we take this with us to the lab for analysis?”

  “It’s her school pack. What are you gonna analyze in her school pack?”

  “We can run her things for prints, see if we get any leads on who she was hanging out with…”

  But Mrs. Baker wasn’t really listening. She had refocused her attention on the television, and she waved them off again. “Take it,” she muttered.

  John and Nora thanked her and headed for the door. John checked his watch as they headed toward the Suburban. “It’s just past noon. Let’s get this to Watt and see if there’s anything else we can find. Then, I think we should have another talk with Dewayne.”

  Nora was about to agree when a shiny black Escalade skidded around the corner at high speed. Before she could react, John tackled her, and the two crashed onto the Bakers’ lawn as the air erupted with bullets.

  * * *

  Stunned, Nora looked wildly about her. John’s chest was heaving on top of hers, and she struggled for breath. As soon as the SUV had careened out of sight, he rolled off of her. “Are you okay? We have to get to the car—are you okay?!”

  She nodded, wordless, and followed him in a running crouch to the Suburban. He yanked open the back door and they both tumbled inside, even as he was shouting into his cell phone.

  “Agents under fire at Sixty-fifth and Montenegro. I repeat, agents under fire—Black Cadillac Escalade, one or more shooters. I need immediate backup!”

  Nora shouted, “And EMTs!”

  “And EMTs!” he added, punching off his phone. “Are you hurt?”

  She shook her head, “No, John, you are!”

  He looked himself over to see his left arm oozing blood from above the elbow. “Goddam it!” he shouted.

  He started looking around for something, and Nora immediately pulled off her jacket. Instead of pressing it against his arm, he started wiping at the upholstery.

  “You’re insane,” she snapped, yanking her jacket back. “This is to stop the bleeding. Take your shirt off, quick—can you?”

  The two fumbled for a moment, and finally pulled off John’s jacket and shirt. He was breathing fast in his sleeveless undershirt as Nora swabbed at his wound. “Hold that against it. Is there a first aid kit?”

  He nodded. “All the way back.”

  She scrambled over the backseat and into the trunk area, noting the massive cracks in the back and side windows where the bulletproof glass had weathered the storm. She dug the first aid kit out from the sidewall compartment. “Gauze, gauze, gauze…” she muttered as she rifled through the contents, finally pulling out a large roll of gauze. She climbed back into the backseat and started wrapping his arm.

  “Is there an exit wound?” he asked.

  She craned her head to look at the back of his arm. “Yes, I think so. It’s a lot of blood, man, just hold on.” She started wrapping, fighting the wooziness that surged over her.

  “You okay?” he asked, noting her face.

  “Just worry about yourself, got it?” she retorted, relieved to hear the wail of sirens bearing down on them. She looked over her shoulder at the Baker house as she worked, but saw no movement.

  John followed her gaze. “Any broken glass?”

  She shook her head. “It looks okay to me.”

  “It was Kevin Baker’s car.”

  Nora’s eyes widened. “No way. Shooting at his own home?”

  “Or shooting at us. Or both. Nothing surprises me.”

  Nora tied off the gauze and looked at him. “Thanks, partner. I was slow out there.”

  “You’ll catch up, Nora. You just gotta stop assuming the best about people,” he said with a wink.

  She laughed softly, as a flood of police cars skidded to a halt around them. “I’m gonna go check on Mrs. B.”

  “Yeah, I’ll talk to these guys.”

  Faces had started tentatively appearing at windows and on front porches, peering nervously at the crowd of law enforcement officers and at John Wansbrough who was talking rapidly as the EMTs began attending to his wounds. Nora walked up to Mrs. Baker’s door, belatedly realizing her hands were covered in blood. Under the wide-eyed gazes of Mrs. Baker’s next-door neighbors, she wiped her hands on her trousers before knocking rapidly on the door. “Mrs. Baker! Mrs. Baker, are you all right?”

  After a lengthy wait, Nora heard the familiar sound of dead bolts being pulled to one side. She sighed in relief as she saw Mrs. Baker standing in her foyer. The woman’s voice was choked, “What just happened—another drive-by?”

  Nora nodded. “Yes. Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” the woman answered, looking around. “I don’t think anything came in. You all okay?”

  “My partner was hit in the arm, but he’s going to be fine—Mrs. Baker, my partner identified Kevin’s car.”

  She narrowed her eyes at Nora. “That’s not possible. Kevin wouldn’t shoot at his own home.”

  “Still, I have to ask you again, has Kevin contacted you at all in this period?”

  Mrs. Baker shook her head, simmering with anger. “What you’re saying is impossible. It was a car that looked like Kevin’s.”

  “Please, Mrs. Baker, you have to know how concerned we are for your safety…”

  “And you have to know that I am a mother who has nothing, nothing to say to you all anymore. Now go on about your business!”

  Nora blinked, staring for a long moment at the door that was shut emphatically in her face. She glanced at the neighbors, then started back down the front walk, just as Ben Calder and Eric Burton drove up, adding their car to the growing group around the Suburban.

  Ben jogged over to her, intercepting her on the front walk. His face was etched with worry. “You okay?”

  “Yeah, just a little bruised from the linebacker tackle. John’s hit, Ben.”

  “I know, we heard already. What happened?”

  She recounted for him the screech of tires and hail of bullets from the Escalade. “Everything happened so fast.….”

  Her voice trailed off, and the two stood for a while surveying the scene. Eric Burton was standing next to Wansbrough, listening intently as he continued giving orders to Philly PD and Bureau personnel about strategies for finding Kevin Baker’s
vehicle. Already, a few squad cars had headed out, sirens shrieking.

  Ben continued, “You’re very lucky, Nora. Come on, I can’t believe you’re still walking around every day without a vest—especially after having a gun aimed at your head the other day!”

  “A vest wouldn’t have helped me with Lisa Halston. But I get it, I won’t go out without it anymore.”

  Ben looked at her, his eyes bright with concern. “Promise.”

  She looked at the ground, unsteady under that gaze, and recalling how hurt he had been the last time they had spoken. She met his eyes. “I promise, Ben. If you will, too.”

  He held her gaze, then nodded.

  The EMTs were forcing John Wansbrough into the back of the ambulance. He looked furious.

  “Nora!” he practically shouted.

  “John?”

  “This is ridiculous—it’s just a flesh wound, but they’re taking me in. I told them we don’t have time for this.…”

  Ben piped up, “You have time, John, just take it easy.”

  Wansbrough ignored him, saying, “Nora, the keys are in my blazer pocket…”

  “Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ll get the car to the evidence techs at the garage and meet you at the hospital.”

  He said, “I was gonna say give them to Calder.”

  Ben laughed out loud.

  “Ha-ha,” she answered testily. “Guess what, Special Agent Wansbrough, your Suburban has already been shot at and bled on today. I can’t do much worse to it than that.”

  Wansbrough tilted his head, considering this. “Then again…”

  “Alrighty then—see you at the hospital,” she said, smiling brightly as she helped the EMT shut the ambulance’s back doors.

  * * *

  After determining that John would be released that evening, Nora said good-bye to him and Olivia, who had met them at Hahnemann Hospital. After promising to check in often, Nora took the elevator to the gift shop, bought a bottle of Aleve and the cuddliest bear she could find, then took the elevator up to the psych floor. She would have taken the stairs, but she was still in pain from John’s tackle. She was starting to think she had sustained a bruised rib, and she paused at the drinking fountain to swallow two pills.

  The frames of Nurse Bedford’s reading glasses were dotted with tiny purple rhinestones. They dangled from a chain around her neck. Slowly, deliberately, the nurse unfolded them, perched them on her craggy nose, and then peered through them with distaste at Nora’s badge.

  Nora tried to be helpful. “You have all of her information on file. The Bureau transferred her to you from the holding tank. My name is on the paperwork as well.”

  “Visiting hours begin at six and last ’til eight,” Nurse Bedford insisted.

  Nora smiled as sweet a smile as she could muster. “This little girl is my case. She’s all alone. I have twenty minutes. It’s five o’clock. Please. Help me out.”

  The nurse was silent, nostrils flared, lips pressed. “Well, if she’s your case, then you’d better know. The doctor ran a full gamut of tests on her when she heard she’d been prostituted so young. She has gonorrhea.”

  Nora blinked, feeling queasy. “Please let me see her,” she said simply. She brandished the teddy bear for good measure.

  “She doesn’t know yet. We’ll tell a guardian whenever you produce one.” Nurse Bedford rose as if in pain and guided Nora through a secure door. They passed a man in his midtwenties who was clutching himself in a hard embrace as he sat on a vinyl-cushioned bench. An obese woman shuffled aimlessly along the hallway, her ankles bulging over fluffy blue slippers.

  Jane Doe’s room was the furthest from the nurse’s station, and her window had a full-brick view of the parking garage wall. She lay listlessly in the bed, staring at the mute black screen of the TV.

  “Hey, there,” Nora said, approaching the bedside. “I’m glad to see you.”

  The girl turned her head ever so slightly to glance at Nora, then turned away.

  “I was hoping maybe you’d talk to me today,” said Nora. “Help me figure out who you are, where you came from.”

  Silence.

  “I brought you a friend,” Nora said. She tucked the bear between Jane Doe’s thin arm and the dense, retractable side rail.

  Jane didn’t move or acknowledge the gift.

  Nora sighed softly, then pulled up a chair. “How about I just sit here for a minute?”

  This time, Nora was determined to respect the silence that Jane had built. She listened to the stillness of the room, to Jane’s breath, to her own. She only hoped she could be there when the girl found her voice again.

  * * *

  After asking Nurse Bedford to call her if there were any changes, Nora left the hospital and stood for a few moments on Broad Street, deciding what to do. It was almost six, and the streets were still so congested that walking back to the office was more efficient than sitting in a cab. Reluctantly, Nora huddled into her Windbreaker and made her way gingerly along the crowded sidewalks. Realizing she was famished, she bought herself some vegetable dumplings from her favorite storefront in Chinatown, then continued on her way. She ate as she walked, remembering how her mother had always insisted that it was incredibly rude to consume food openly without sharing it. And yet given the day she’d had, Nora decided Mama wouldn’t have faulted her.

  She greeted the evening security guard and submitted her badge for scrutiny. Then she made her way down the stairs and through the dank basement to the shooting range where she plowed bullets into targets for an hour, trying hard not to think of what might have happened had the drive-by shooter found his mark. She was exhausted and aching by the time she returned to her cubicle. There she was stunned to find John Wansbrough wearing a hospital-issue T-shirt, his arm wrapped in a huge bandage.

  “What are you doing here?” she demanded immediately.

  “Olivia’s in the car. I just came in for my laptop. Apparently I’ve been ordered to stay home tomorrow, so I’ll need it. Nora, why are you here?”

  She shrugged. “I stopped by to see Jane Doe. In addition to the meth dependency, they are treating her for gonorrhea. I didn’t know what to do, or how to undo what’s been done to her, so I came and shot my gun.”

  John nodded grimly. “With runaway kids, sometimes it only takes forty-eight hours to be approached by a pimp.”

  Nora shut her eyes. “Even if she starts talking, I don’t think we’ll ever understand the circumstances that put her in that loft that day.”

  John sighed. “Life is short, Nora.” He gestured with his head toward his bandaged arm. “Just ask me—”

  “Thank God you’re okay, John. It was really close—”

  “—You should go out more,” he concluded.

  “Yeah, that’s gonna happen,” she answered.

  “What about Calder?” he pressed. “He likes you. Hell, looks to me like he loves you.”

  Nora felt a violent blush skate across her skin, and she looked down. “You know the rule about workplace romances.”

  “Yeah, I know that no one pays any attention to it. What’s your real reason?”

  Nora was silent for a moment, and then sat back down in her chair, saying slowly, “Can’t bring a non-Muslim white boy home to Daddy.”

  Wansbrough shook his head. “Girl, what’s the matter with you? You are a grown woman. You gonna tell me you can’t date who you want to date?”

  She raised her chin, almost defiantly. “I can’t and won’t date at all. My family is really close, really conservative, and my dad’s been through a lot. It would kill him.”

  John stared at her, his strong jaw working back and forth. Then he sat down and powered on his laptop.

  “What’s up?” she asked. “Is something wrong? Isn’t Olivia waiting in the car, John?”

  “Look, I feel like I need to tell you something that could change your perspective on all this. I think … I think I’m going to upset you, but eventually you’re going to thank me.”

/>   Nora stared at him. “Upset me how?” she demanded. “What’s this all about, John?” Cold fear was beginning to clutch at her insides.

  His eyes were gentle. “Nora, many of us know your dad’s story. In fact, it was kind of famous around here. Our epic post-9/11 mistake.”

  She was nodding, frowning, trying to follow where her partner was going.

  He turned to his laptop. “Not everyone knew all the details, though. But this was a special case, because so much was in the media about it, and there were so many rumors circulating that tried to explain what happened. How could we have messed up so bad? Arresting an innocent man…”

  Nora sat forward in her chair, looking over John’s shoulder intently. “What details?” she demanded, her heart beating furiously.

  John called up Google Images, then looked at Nora. “It being a terror investigation, we weren’t obliged to relate all of the details to the press. Normally, I wouldn’t know any of this. But this part of the case became common knowledge because the woman involved was very vocal—she’d show up in the lobby even after your dad was released, asking for Schacht, asking for her idea of justice.”

  “John, you’re really scaring me. What details?!”

  “Nora, the anonymous tip that resulted in your dad’s detainment after 9/11 wasn’t anonymous. It was from a woman who.… Well, a woman he knew very well.”

  Nora’s insides crumbled as John told her about the dental hygienist who had worked on Market Street and had been coming regularly to the restaurant for lunch. He told her about her small apartment in South Philly, where her dad would disappear on his way to or returning from the Italian Market for eggplant or tomatoes or lettuce.

  John told her that she had been beside herself when Ragab had refused to leave his wife and children for her. In an act of scorned fury, she had called the FBI and told them that the Egyptian owner of the Cairo Café was plotting to bomb several Market Street skyscrapers, including the one in which she worked.

  Nora listened in complete silence. When her partner was done speaking, she said, working hard to keep an even tone, “Did you go to Google Images to show me a picture of this woman?”