Mitchell, K.A. [Bad in Baltimore #3] Bad attitude

by Bad Attitude [Samhain MM] (mobi)

  Chapter Two

  Waves bobbed him up and down, but Gavin wasn’t in the water anymore, though he couldn’t tell from the cold. Gavin’s teeth clattered together so violently he thought he’d break them, and the shudders of his muscles felt more like epileptic convulsions than shivers. He’d been warmer in the damned river. The foil-style rescue blanket he’d been wrapped in wasn’t doing a thing to help. What he wanted was a gallon of coffee and a month in a sauna. Beach had been hauled in by another rescue boat, and no one could or would tell him if Beach was all right. Gavin’s fingers had been so numb he couldn’t be sure, but he thought Beach might have been bleeding.

  Lights flashed in his eyes, and hands barely warmer than his skin kept checking his pulse. He stared at the face in front of him, trying to focus. Hard eyes. Angry eyes. “C’mon, Gavin. Stay with us.”

  The face floated in all black. A white oval in empty space. Like something from a badly made science-fiction movie. Oh, right. Hood. Dive suit. Still, he looked for something that would make the face seem human. In another flash of light, Gavin found the coppery hairs on the man’s chin, around his lips. Kind of pretty lips.

  Or maybe the hair was only red from the lights. Because they were going to an ambulance. He remembered someone saying that.

  “Gavin.” The fingers on his shoulders gripped tightly. Gavin sensed pressure there, but he couldn’t feel it. His body had been shot with novocaine.

  “Stay awake.”

  But if he was asleep, he wouldn’t be cold. Wouldn’t have to deal with everyone’s disap-pointment and disgust. Simply falling off the Key Bridge had to be against the law. And his father—well, Lily assuredly did not need the added stress at this stage.

  “Pretty little fish you caught there, Donnigan.” Another face appeared out of the black, this one with a sneer and blank, empty eyes. “If it was a girl, would you have thrown it back?”

  There had been someone else. Not a girl. “Beach? David Beauchamp?” Gavin forced the words through his chattering teeth. “He was—”

  “We got him too,” the face with the pretty lips said. “He’s in an ambulance.” The boat—this was a boat, Gavin remembered that much—jolted, and then there were

  a lot of people, a lot of hands. All of them had painfully bright lights and kept yelling his name, but none of them had hot coffee, so Gavin went to sleep.

  Opening his eyes in the hospital proceeded according to form. His brother Chip was there, in his blues, on his way to or from cutting tumors out of kids. His younger sister Honey

  lounged in a chair, legs flopped over one side, boots swinging near Gavin’s head, eyes fixed on her tablet computer.

  She spared Gavin a glance as Chip alerted her to his awareness with a “Hey, Gavin. There you are. I’ll get Father and Lily.” Chip ducked through the curtains.

  Gavin glanced around the cubicle made of dingy, ugly, patterned cotton. Well, he sup-posed the ER wasn’t designed to be cheery. He wasn’t shivering anymore. Not so tired. A little hungover. And he still really wanted a gallon of hot coffee. And the sauna. With a steam room chaser.

  He looked at the IV in his hand. Maybe Chip could swing something for the hangover. “Why’d you jump?” Honey looked up from her tablet. “I didn’t jump.”

  His little sister shrugged. “Chip says they’ll do a psych eval. Maybe lock you up for a bit.”

  “I didn’t jump. My friend Beach…fell and I fell over trying to rescue him.” “Was it a suicide pact?”

  Beach. He needed to know if Beach had made it, and he wasn’t going to feed into Honey’s Psych 101 notions of a suicide pact by asking her if she knew anything about Beach.

  “Gavin.” His father was there. He wasn’t a particularly big guy. All of them were average height, average build, but his father could fill a room in a way that made everything else look dark and flat. If Gavin had a buck for every time one of his friends had said, “Sugar, your dad is a silver fox. I would so do him,” Gavin would be—well, richer than his trust fund already made him.

  His father hugged him. “Gavin,” he said again, his voice almost hoarse. “I didn’t jump.” Gavin wanted to make that immediately clear. “Beach—David

  Beauchamp, he was goofing around, and I fell in trying to stop him.” He peered around his father for his stepmother. She seemed more tired than usual. In the

  heavily curtained but windowless room, he couldn’t tell the time since someone had swiped his Rolex. But it had to be pretty late—or early—and Lily should be resting.

  “You didn’t need to come, Lily. You’re supposed to get lots of rest.” “I’m pregnant, Gavin.” She smiled. “I don’t have the flu.” But she was forty-seven and pregnant. Gavin swallowed another protest. The whole

  unexpected-gift-from-God crap she and Father were spouting didn’t do a thing to convince Gavin that he wasn’t going to have to watch them put another mother in the ground.

  Gavin glanced at Chip. “Any word on Beach?”

  “He’s still unconscious. He had to be resuscitated in the ambulance,” Chip said in the flat tones of a surgeon.

  “Is he—?”

  “There’s an injury to his skull that could have happened any time during the fall. They may decide on a medically induced coma to reduce the swelling, but even if he regains consciousness, the oxygen deprivation his brain suffered may cause permanent damage.”

  Gavin let Chip’s words wash by while studying his brother’s eyes. Chip might be able to BS patients and parents and frame it in the best possible light, but he could see that his brother didn’t hold out much hope for Beach.

  Guilt and shame made a friendship bracelet and wrapped it around Gavin’s insides. What if Gavin’s stupid insistence on putting the top down had made Beach think about swim-ming? What if Gavin had moved a little faster, really believed Beach would do it? Paid attention to something besides himself.

  Gavin lowered his eyes, staring at the IV in his hand. “So can you get me sprung? I just want to—” the medical profession probably wouldn’t file a gallon of hot coffee and a trip to the sauna under best medical practices, “—go home and get some sleep.”

  Chip started to answer, but Father cut him off. “Ah, Gavin, they want to keep you for at least twenty-four hours, for observation.”

  “I didn’t jump,” he repeated. “I was trying to save Beach.” And as happened with everything that really mattered, Gavin had failed and ended up

  labeled a nutcase while Beach was in a coma.

  “By diving off the Key Bridge?” Honey said.

  Gavin leveled a gaze at her boots. “Those are new. Ostrich? How do your friends at PETA like them?” He tried another appeal to the rest of his family. “I tried to grab him. He was falling. I overbalanced and fell.” The fact that he’d overbalanced because he was too high to drive, he left out of the statement, though he was sure a blood panel would make that all too clear. He hadn’t been driving, so at least he was innocent of that recklessness. But of failing to realize how impaired Beach was before they got into the whole mess, Gav-in was utterly guilty.

  Chip seemed to be tuned in to something outside the room. Honey was completely tuned in to her tablet. And Father was looking at everything except Gavin. Right. Because Gavin was more of a stranger to his family than ever.

  “That is quite reassuring. Nice to know what you all think of me.” “Can’t speak for Taisy because she’s not here,” Honey offered with a shrug. “Probably

  had gubernatorial orders to skip any media circus surrounding her brother’s attempted sui-cide.”

  He hadn’t really expected to see his older sister. She’d barely been at the house since her wedding. Some girls wanted to grow up to be president. Taisy had always wanted to grow up to be First Lady.

  “Of course we believe you, Gavin.” Lily was the only one who would look at him. “Thank you.”

  “Yes.” Father’s heartiness would have fooled any outsider. “I’m certain that the invest-igation will prove all of t
he facts.”

  “The number one fact being I didn’t jump. Honey, move your designer-clad butt out of that chair so Lily can sit.”

  “That won’t be necessary. They’re coming to move you,” Chip said. “Move me where?”

  “Don’t worry, Gavin. I’m sure they won’t stick a Montgomery on any old psych ward.” Honey swung herself out of her chair.

  Jamie’s sheets were cold, but his bed was still warmer than the Patapsco. He slid in and stretched out. The forms were all filed with the state police investigator, he was off until tomorrow, and he’d saved someone’s life. If he could just stop thinking about how nice a smoke would be right about now, he’d feel pretty damned good.

  Even without the cigarette, he was drifting in seconds. He’d swear he’d barely blinked before his phone blared to wake him up.

  According to his phone, it had in fact been two minutes since he’d dropped it on the nightstand, and it wasn’t an alarm but an incoming call from Precinct 6.

  “Donnigan,” he answered.

  “Please hold for the Chief of Police.”

  Jamie sat up and cleared his throat. He hadn’t done anything…lately. Hadn’t taken a swing, much less landed a punch. Besides, he had Sarge and his own precinct commander if anyone wanted to tear him a new one.

  Five more years. Just five more years and he’d have put in twenty and could pull a pen-sion. If he stayed out of trouble, he might get a bump up in the ranks to retire at a better grade.

  “Officer Donnigan.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Nice work this morning, Officer.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Jamie waited for the other shoe to drop. Yeah, it had been a pretty big fish Jamie had hauled out of the river, but the chief had better things to do than to call up a lowly officer to thank him for doing his job.

  “I understand you’ve filed your report with the state police. I’d like a copy sent directly to me.”

  “Yes, sir.” The staties always handled this kind of thing, unless another crime had been committed before the jump. The sarge had told Jamie to follow procedure.

  “Your precinct commander tells me you and your partner were off your grid when you found Montgomery.”

  “Yes, sir. I heard something, a tapping underwater.” That’s what he’d put in the report. No way was he saying he went off grid on a hunch the jumper had changed his mind about the big sendoff.

  “You have a keen sense of location, Officer.”

  It wasn’t a lie if you didn’t get caught. “Thank you, sir.” Jamie heard a shift on the other side of the phone and sensed that they were about to get

  to the reason for the phone call besides the chief poking holes in his report. “The BCP is handling this investigation. Mr. Montgomery has requested you specifically

  be on hand for the initial statement.”

  “The jumper? I mean—”

  “The elder Mr. Montgomery. Lieutenant Franklin is the detective in charge. He will pick you up in thirty minutes.”

  Jamie knew better than to ask questions. “Yes, sir.” “Officer Donnigan, your precinct commander tells me you don’t play well with others.” Jamie swallowed. There was no right answer here. “Sir?” “Make an exception.” The chief hung up.

  Jamie’s coffee was hot as hell without creamer, and the nicotine gum he ground between his back molars wasn’t helping for shit as he slid into the passenger seat of the Crown Vic. At least there weren’t two detectives, which would have forced Jamie to ride in the perp’s spot. With one glance at the driver, he could see why Franklin had caught the case.

  Suit, shoes, even the fingernails and thin gold band on the hand on the steering wheel were polished, smooth. He’d make the department look good on camera, and there would be cameras. Gauging Franklin’s height from the gap between his tight fade and the car’s ceiling, if they were photographed together, Jamie would look like Franklin’s pet orangutan in cheap polyester.

  Easy enough for Franklin to look camera ready from behind the detective’s barrier of gloves and evidence and interviews. When was the last time he’d frozen his ass off diving next to ice chunks to find a body, or had a drowner puke on him, or a girl bleed on him because her crazy ex had beaten the shit out of her before throwing their baby off the Key Bridge?

  Who knew how much ass kissing he’d done to make lieutenant. Four ranks above Jamie and eight years younger. Jamie could see how this shit was gonna go down. Fuck the sleet pinging the windshield, he’d rather be on the river.

  Other than a barely perceptible nod when Jamie got in, Franklin hadn’t spoken, but as they sped through Fells Point, Franklin decided to let Jamie know how much he was gonna regret finding rich boy on those rocks.

  “I’m saying this once. No one wanted to get involved in this mess. The governor pulled the staties because of the connection. The city says the pylon where you found him is on the county’s side of the border. But I’m going to make this work for me anyway. I’m con-ducting a friendly interview, the family will pay the fines, and after a few days, it will all be over. The old man wants you there, Chief says I’ve got to bring you. Just don’t fuck anything up for me. We clear, Officer?”

  Did the dick actually think Jamie wanted to be there? “Whatever you say, Loo.” “Good. Your first job is to keep the reporters off my ass until after I talk to the family.

  And try not to look stupid.”

  The room where they found Gavin Montgomery looked nicer than any hotel Jamie had ever stayed in, but the smell still said hospital, despite the flowers. So did the rails on the bed and the IV drip.

  A silver-haired man in a peach golf shirt sprang forward to greet them. He ignored Franklin but shook Jamie’s hand vigorously.

  “Officer Donnigan. Thank you. We owe you a tremendous debt for saving our son.” It sounded like the royal we , but a slim pregnant lady with light blonde hair came forward

  and offered Jamie a cool, soft hand. “Yes, thank you very much, Officer Donnigan.” “I was just doing my job, Mr. and Mrs. Montgomery.” Though this couldn’t be Gavin’s

  mom, unless she’d given birth to him at age ten. “They tell me there were thirty men on the river, but you were the one who found him

  and just in time. That makes you a hero in my book.” Montgomery’s slap and firm shake of Jamie’s shoulder landed right on the line between reminding him who was really in charge and a brothers-in-arms friendliness.

  Jamie felt Franklin’s eyes burning into the back of his neck. Jamie didn’t want to be in the spotlight any more than Franklin wanted him there. Ducking and nodding, Jamie backed off to let Franklin do his bullshit.

  While Franklin was trying to make himself sound important in the introductions, Jamie studied the man in the hospital bed.

  When Jamie had found him, he’d been wearing a tuxedo. The hospital gown wasn’t much of an improvement over soggy formal wear. But the rest…maybe people this rich had a beauty salon on call because the guy’s longish hair was swept back in brown waves and he looked ready for a photo shoot barely eight hours after he’d been hauled out of the river. Hazel eyes, heavy on the green side, studied Jamie like there was something on his face, forcing him to raise his hand to wipe at the corner of his mouth, across the parts of his jaw he’d missed with his super-fast shave.

  “Lily, would you please let Mr. Atcherson know that we’re ready for him?” Old Man Montgomery said.

  Gavin Prescott Montgomery, whose information Jamie had entered on enough forms to be able to also recall the guy’s birthday and driver’s license number, stopped staring at Jam-ie long enough to look at the Mrs. “And then will you—”

  “Yes, Gavin, then I will go home and rest.” She gave her husband a quick peck on the cheek. “I’ll send the car back for you.”

  It didn’t take a snobby label queen like Jamie’s friend Terry to tell that the suit on the guy who’d been called in was obviously ten paygrades over the one that made Franklin seem so polished. Mr. Atcher
son oozed expensive lawyer from every pinstripe.

  Franklin’s tense greeting indicated he was pissed, though he had to have expected it. Maybe he was just pissed because in a room full of people this rich, even super hotshot Lieutenant Dick looked schlubby.

  For the first time since he’d hauled it out of the closet, Jamie was glad to be in his patrol uniform. He didn’t need suits or back slaps to establish anything. The uniform put it all out there.

  Montgomery and Atcherson took a chair on either side of Gavin’s hospital bed, leaving Franklin at the foot, Jamie behind his shoulder like an escort.

  He was just fine acting as wallpaper while everyone else compared cojones . When it came down to it, money talked, walked and held everyone by the short hairs. There was no reason for the elder Montgomery to be there. Jamie wanted to see Franklin try to budge him.

  “Why don’t you tell us what happened last night?” Franklin flipped open his notebook. Gavin shrugged. “Where do you want me to start? I was with my stepmother at the Mardi

  Gras fundraiser for—”

  “What time did you leave there?” Franklin asked. I escorted my stepmother to our car at 10:30.”

  “And then where did you go?”

  “I’d run into my friend David Beauchamp at the fundraiser. We decided to go to a house party in Riviera Beach.”

  “How would you describe this house party?” For someone who’d been talking friendly interview, Franklin was coming on strong.

  “It was a party. In a house.” Gavin’s mocking explanation drew a cough from the lawyer and a scowl from Franklin.

  “What time did you and Mr. Beauchamp leave this house party?” “Around two.”

  “Did you have anything to drink?”

  “Yes.”

  “How much?”

  “Enough to know I couldn’t drive. What did my blood screen tell you?” Franklin’s lips thinned. “Your BAC was point one two.” Gavin shrugged. “That’s why I asked Beach to drive.” “Had Mr. Beauchamp also been drinking?”

  “He said he’d only had two beers.”