by J. P. Bowie
“Doc,” he whispered, letting himself be pulled into the other man’s embrace. He sensed rather than felt the bullet that missed the back of his skull by a mere millimeter. Even as he put his arms around Norman, he heard the scream of a man behind him, and the off-key whine of the pipes as the startled piper ran for cover. And then pandemonium broke out. A deafening crack of thunder shook the cemetery and, for a moment, drowned out the screams and shouts of the people that rose from almost every throat, as they realized just what had happened.
Sheets of torrential rain lashed down on the crowd, adding to the confusion as some of them dived to get out of the way of any other bullets, and others fought to restore order. Nick grabbed both his sister and Norman and pushed them behind the trunk of a giant chestnut tree.
“Wait here,” he said, then ran to where Captain Fitzpatrick was trying to organize a search party. “The shot came from over there,” he yelled, pointing toward a small rise covered in marble and granite tombstones.
“Get over there!” Fitzpatrick ordered the men who had gathered around him. He grabbed Nick’s arm. “Not you!” He shook his head to free his eyes of the rain. “That shot was meant for you, boyo. You’ll stay close to me—”
But Nick pulled himself free and sprinted toward where he was sure the shooter had been positioned. He reached the group of off-duty cops as they searched the area at the top of the rise.
“Here,” Nick yelled, wiping the rain from his face. “He was here.” He indicated the footprints left in the mud behind one of the tombstones.
“Looks like he went that way.” One of the cops pointed back toward where the mourners were now attending to the wounded man.
“He couldn’t have,” someone else said. “He’d be seen and apprehended.”
Nick looked sharply back to the graveside, a horrible realization dawning on him. “Damn him,” he muttered. “He’s even more clever than I thought. Garcia!” he yelled at the top of his lungs. “Where are you, you bastard?”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Fitzpatrick barked at him. “Are you mad? Garcia’s on his way to the state pen.”
Nick gave him a long, hard look. “I will bet you everything I have that the man you’re holding is not Garcia.”
Fitzpatrick gaped at him. “Not Garcia? What crap is this?”
“This has Garcia’s trademark stamped all over it,” Nick replied, his eyes locked on Fitzpatrick’s. “For sheer nerve you can’t beat him. He most likely disappeared into that crowd and got away in the confusion—just like he did when he killed Andy.” He paused for a moment, thinking. “It could be that he thought he’d got me. That downpour might have prevented him from seeing that he missed me.”
“Check out the parking lot,” Fitzpatrick growled at his men. “And one of you call the station. Find out just who we have being transported to the penitentiary.” He threw Nick a dark look. “If you’re right, the media will crucify the Department. I may as well resign today!”
Nick shrugged and walked slowly back down the hill to where Norman and Doreen were anxiously waiting. The downpour that had drenched the cemetery earlier had dissipated, leaving only a fine drizzle, but the sky remained a leaden gray and low growls of thunder could be heard in the distance.
He took Norman’s hand and held it in both of his. “You saved my life, Doc. Thank you.” He turned to look at his sister. “What’s happening over there?” he asked her.
“They’re waiting for an ambulance to come for the poor guy that got shot.” She looked across to where Margo and her family stood talking with the minister. “He took a bullet in the chest.”
Nick walked over to where the injured man lay, his head cradled in the arm of one of the other officers. “How is he?” he asked.
“Not good. We need the medics here right now. He’s losing a lot of blood.”
“What’s his name?”
“Officer Williams, Grant Williams. He’s only been on the force a year.”
Nick knelt by the young officer’s side and stayed with him until the paramedics arrived. He watched as they did their best to stabilize Williams’ vitals before carrying him to the waiting ambulance.
“How do you feel?” Norman asked, touching Nick’s arm.
“Okay, I guess—and damned lucky.”
He paused as Fitzpatrick approached. “No sign of him anywhere,” the captain seethed. “He must have had a car waiting in the parking lot. Son-of-a-bitch!” He glared around him. “We’ve radioed the van that’s supposed to have Garcia in it. They’re headed back to the station—then we’ll find out what in hell is going on.”
“Looks like the minister is trying to get the service going again,” Doreen said.
“Yeah, let’s get over there.” Nick steered his sister and Norman back to the graveside where Margo stood, ghostly pale, holding her children close to her side. A now smaller group of mourners bowed their heads as the minister concluded the service. Nick went over and put his arms around Andy’s widow, holding her while she sobbed against his chest.
“I’m so…sorry, Nick,” she stammered, looking up at him with tear-filled eyes.
“Hush, Margo,” he whispered. He knew that what she was feeling at that moment was guilt mingled with her grief. “You couldn’t have known that was going to happen.”
“I know…but I feel I wished it on you somehow, Nick. Thank God you’re all right.”
Over the top of Margo’s head, Nick’s eyes met those of his sister, who looked slightly stunned by what she had just heard.
“I don’t think I’ll ever doubt your ability to ‘read’ people again,” Doreen said later, as she, Nick, and Norman walked slowly from the cemetery.
The rain had stopped once more, and a few weak rays of sunshine had managed to break through the dark clouds.
“What did I miss?” Norman asked.
“Nick said he felt Margo resented the fact her husband was killed instead of him. Something about Nick not having a legacy to leave, like Andy did.”
Norman nodded. “I see…”
“You mean you understand what she was saying?”
“It’s a fairly common opinion,” Norman told her. “Those of us who don’t fall into the category they see as the ‘norm,’ most often don’t leave anything of substance behind—like a family. That’s what she probably meant by ‘a legacy.’”
“So we’re expendable, kind of,” Nick said, with a wry chuckle.
“Oh, she didn’t mean that,” Doreen protested.
“Yeah, that’s kinda harsh, Nick,” Norman agreed.
“The truth often is.” Nick looked over his shoulder at the group who accompanied Margo from the cemetery. “I don’t think they’d ever admit it, maybe not even to themselves, but it’s there, nevertheless.”
“You want to get some lunch?” Norman asked, with an abrupt change of subject.
Doreen shook her head. “You guys go. I have to get back home for the kids. They’ll be getting out of school shortly. I think I’ll skip going over to Margo’s. I’ll call her later.” She looked up at her brother, then kissed his cheek. “Stay safe, Nick. We’ll see you at the house later. Nice meeting you, Norman.”
They watched her as she got in her car and drove off, then they walked to where Norman had parked his car.
“So, who do you think took that shot at you earlier?”
“Garcia, without a doubt.” Nick replied. “That guy is just way too clever. When he finds out he shot the wrong guy, he’s going to be on my tail again.”
“Isn’t he taking a helluva chance? I mean, won’t the cops have every escape avenue manned?”
“It didn’t stop him before,” Nick reminded him, shucking off the borrowed raincoat. “He won’t stop until he’s got what he wants—me on a marble slab.”
Norman shuddered. “God, Nick. You need some protection.” He unlocked the car doors and they climbed in. Nick squeezed his friend’s arm as they sat together watching the mourners disperse in their cars.
/> “Thanks again for saving my life, Doc.”
Norman looked at him with glistening eyes. “I’d hold you in my arms forever, if I thought it would protect you from that madman.”
Nick smiled gently. “Let’s get some lunch, and I’ll tell you what’s been happening in my life since I last saw you.”
“Have you met someone?” Norman asked, starting the engine.
“Yeah. His name is Eric, Eric Jamieson. I met him in New York. It’ll be two years this Christmas.”
“That’s great,” Norman said, with a certain lack of enthusiasm.
“You said I’d meet the right guy one day, remember? That last session I had with you. I thought you’d be pleased.”
“Oh, I am.” Norman gave him a rueful glance as he pulled out of the cemetery gates. “I’ve missed you, Nick. It’s been a long time since we’ve talked.”
“Yeah, sorry. That’s my fault. I’ve always been bad about keeping in touch. Just ask Doreen.”
“She seems nice.”
“She is, and her husband, Rich, too. I’m lucky to have them as family.”
“And now you have Eric,” Norman said, looking straight ahead.
Nick sighed. “You seem down, Norman. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, and everything.” Norman laughed at himself before continuing. “I’m tired of what I’m doing; tired of listening to other people’s problems. I’m sick of this city. Sick of so many things.”
“Wow,” Nick muttered. “I’m sorry. I had no idea.”
“How could you have? Like I said, we haven’t talked in a long time. Not that I’d have laid this on you anyway, long distance. It’s just that…seeing you again reminded me how much I wanted something else in my life. You—or someone like you. Crazy, huh?”
Nick was silent as he tried to deal with what Norman had just said. Jeez, he thought, I figured he’d be over me by this time. I thought he’d have met someone, and forgotten all about me long ago.
“Have I scared you with that confession?” Norman asked him, laughing lightly.
“No, of course not. I’m uh…very flattered. I just thought you’d have forgotten about me by this time.”
“Forget you? Are you kidding? There’s no way I could ever forget you, Nick. I have to confess that there were times I wished I had, ’specially when I was trying to get interested in someone and all I could see was your face, instead of the guy sitting opposite me. I pissed off quite a few prospects that way.” He was laughing again and Nick smiled at him, shaking his head.
“God, I’m sorry, Doc.”
“Don’t be.” He pulled into a parking lot outside a restaurant that was unfamiliar to Nick. “This place is pretty new. Like to try it?”
“Fine,” Nick said, anxious to get out of the car. He was at a loss as to how to deal with what he had just been told, and found himself wishing that Norman had kept it as his own little secret. Selfish of me, I know, he thought, as he held the restaurant door open for Norman, but I really wish he had. Thankfully, after they had been seated, Norman did not seem eager to continue with that particular subject.
“So, what’s your next move regarding Garcia?” he asked as they looked through the menu.
“I thought I’d go over to Centre Avenue and see what they’ve found out. See if I was right about them having the wrong guy locked up.”
“How could he have managed that?”
“Like I keep saying, he’s a clever son-of-a-bitch. An associate of mine told me that Garcia had gotten himself some kind of disguise. I wouldn’t be surprised if he managed to convince one of his cronies to go along with a disguise that made him look like Garcia.”
“You mean like plastic surgery?”
“He didn’t have time for that, but there are some makeup artists who’re really good at transforming faces with prosthetics and the like. It only had to last long enough for Garcia to carry out his dirty work.”
“What about fingerprints?”
“I’m guessing the police didn’t bother with that when they caught the guy impersonating Garcia. All that was already on file in prison. They probably just threw him in a cell till he was going to be transported to the pen today…” He looked up at the waiter hovering by their table. “I’ll have the chicken Caesar salad and a coffee, thanks.”
“The patty melt and iced tea,” Norman said, handing over his menu. “So, if you’re right about all this, how long d’you think it will it take Garcia to realize he didn’t kill you?”
“Good question,” Nick replied with a grim smile. “I’m hoping he’s on a plane to Puerto Rico before he finds out—and they catch him when he gets there.”
“I share that hope,” Norman said fervently. “When are you flying back to California?”
“Tomorrow.”
“So soon?”
“Yeah. I have a business to run. My partner’s on vacation—and then there’s Eric. He’ll be worried.”
“Of course. I really am happy for you, Nick. You deserve to have someone in your life who cares for you.”
Later, as Nick walked along Centre Avenue toward the police headquarters, he couldn’t help but be concerned about Norman’s attitude. There was no doubt the doctor was depressed, a marked change in someone who had always been so upbeat and positive in his approach when counseling Nick. Now, it could be that the counselor needed counseling. He had promised Norman he would be more in touch in the future, and now he made a vow to keep that promise to the man who had helped him through the dark times of his life. Perhaps having someone to vent to, even if it was just on the phone, would help work off his frustrations.
Fitzpatrick, looking decidedly grim when Nick knocked on his office door, beckoned him inside. “Come on in. Take a pew.” The captain sat back in his chair and leveled a sour look at Nick.
“You were right, goddamn it. The guy we’re holding is Garcia’s cousin, made up to look like Garcia. Fucking clever job too, I have to admit. It helped they’re both the same age, height and coloring. Put them side by side, they could be twins. Made us look like god-damned—well, let’s just say the fallout from this won’t do the department any good.”
“So where’s Garcia now?”
“Still out there. This other guy, his cousin, José Romano, says he’s on his way to Puerto Rico. We’ve alerted airport security at both ends.”
“He’s not going to get on a plane flying to Puerto Rico.”
“Right. He’ll try some roundabout route to throw us off. Don’t worry, we’ve got everything covered.”
Nick tried to feel reassured by Fitzpatrick’s words, but where Garcia was concerned, Nick knew there was always room for doubt.
After he left the station, he called Eric to let him know about the shooting at the cemetery. Loath as he was to worry Eric any more than he had to, he knew Eric was an avid CNN watcher, and if he heard the news on television, he would assume the worst. The police had already omitted giving any names to the media, or the condition of the injured man. If Garcia presumed that it was Nick in the hospital, he might just make another attempt on his life, and the police were ready for just such a possibility. At this point, Nick could only hope that would be enough. He pondered the wisdom of going over to Rich and Doreen’s later for dinner. He hated the idea of putting them in any kind of danger, but when he called Rich and told him of his concern, his brother-in-law insisted they get together.
“It’ll be okay, Nick,” he said. “With all the cops in town looking for him, Garcia’s probably gone to ground. He’s not going to risk getting caught again so soon.”
Of course, the topic of their conversation that night after the kids had gone to bed was Garcia’s deft avoidance of recapture. Rich was again uncharacteristically vocal about, as he put it, “The dumb ass cops, screwing up, once again.”
“Be fair, Rich,” Nick said. “They couldn’t have known it wasn’t Garcia right away when they picked the guy up. His cousin fitted the description to a tee.”
“Yeah, but like
you said, it was too easy. They could at least have checked more closely—fingerprints or something.”
Nick sighed. “Yeah, that was definitely an oversight on their part.”
“What do you suppose he’ll do now?” Doreen asked, giving her brother a worried look.
“I wish I knew.”
“But if you were him,” Doreen pressed.
“I’d go to ground for a time, I guess,” Nick said. “Wait till the smoke cleared then try to get out of the country. It’s not going to be so easy for him now with every police department and the FBI on his tail.”
“Won’t he have some help from his old cronies?” Rich asked.
