Black Moon Rising

by Ann Simas

“My children. My son is a comedian at four and his little sister, who is two, is an imitator. They are a constant source of enjoyment, entertainment, and inspiration.”

  “I wondered if you had kids.” His expression grew solemn. “Are they the pictures in your wallet?”

  She nodded, wondering where her purse was, if he’d been into her wallet.

  “I get the enjoyment and entertainment, but how do they inspire you?”

  “I write and illustrate children’s books. I use the humorous things my kids do and say to build a story with a life lesson in it. Not like earth-shattering lessons, but simple ones that small children can understand.”

  “Such as?”

  “Like it’s better to tell the truth than a lie, or if someone does something nice for you, then you do something nice for someone else.”

  “Those are good lessons, even for adults.”

  “True.”

  “And what about your husband? If you like to laugh, he probably does, too. You must have a happy household.”

  “Actually, Zach had an amazing sense of humor and all he needed to go into comedian mode was to have an audience of at least two.”

  “You’re speaking in past tense. Are you divorced?”

  Sunny took a deep breath. It was easier to talk about her husband now, but sometimes, it left her emotional. “Zach was a Navy SEAL. His unit was on a Special Ops assignment in Afghanistan when their helicopter started taking insurgent ground fire. They called for an assist, but somebody up the chain didn’t think they needed it. The Chinook went down, surprisingly with only four men injured and no casualties. Zach called for reinforcements again, and a Medivac, but by the time they got there, eight of the team were dead, including Zach.”

  “God, I’m so sorry, Sunny. That’s a terrible loss for you and your family. How long has it been?”

  “Just over two years ago.”

  “I know it’s not much consolation, but I appreciate your husband’s service to our country and the sacrifice he ultimately made for all of us.”

  “You’re right that it’s not much consolation, but it is a comfort to know that people appreciate what Zach lived and died for. Thank you.”

  “Are you getting on okay?”

  “I am now.” She looked down at her bruised wrists. “But I won’t lie to you, the first year was tough. If not for my kids, I don’t know if I could have made it.” She raised her eyes. “And my parents and my sister…they were there for me, too.”

  “What about your husband’s family?”

  She drew in a deep, shuddery breath. “That’s a long story, Detective. Zach’s parents held me responsible for their son’s death. For some reason, they got it into their heads that I had urged him to join the Navy, even though I didn’t even meet him until after he’d enlisted.”

  “That sucks.”

  “It does. Especially since they thought the best course of action after his death was to sue me for custody of the children.”

  “Maybe it’s not my place to say, but that’s weird.”

  “What’s even weirder is that they never kept in contact with Zach. He invited them to the wedding, but they were busy with their friends. He also asked them to spend Carson’s first Christmas with us, but again, they had other plans, so they declined the invitation. He tried again when Maisie was born. Same story.”

  “Are you saying they couldn’t spend one Christmas with their grandchildren?”

  “It’s worse than that,” Sunny said, “they’ve never even met them.”

  . . .

  Luca didn’t know what to make of Sunshine Fyfe. From what he’d gleaned of her so far, she was a woman of obvious strength and character. Della couldn’t stop talking about her and Dr. Madani hovered around her like a guardian angel when he was in the room. What was it about her that instilled loyalty that quickly?

  He looked at his watch. “I should go,” he said. “It’s after midnight. You need to sleep.”

  Her face was so bruised, he couldn’t read her expression well, but he thought he read fear and nervousness in it as she glanced at the door. “Don’t rush away on my account.”

  Luca heard the plea in her words, but he wasn’t quite sure how to respond.

  “Are you sure Boyson is in jail?” she asked.

  “Sure as I can be without going down there and paying him a visit.”

  “Don’t do anything rash,” she joked, her gaze back to the door.

  “Put your music back on,” he said. “I’ll turn out the light and stay until you fall asleep.”

  She gave him what he thought was a grateful look. For the first time, he wondered what she looked like when her face wasn’t all swollen and discolored. He hadn’t done more than glance at the photo on her driver’s license, and being a typical DMV thumbnail shot, he didn’t remember anything extraordinary about it.

  “I know it’s silly, but I keep thinking he’s going to come back and finish what he started.”

  Luca stepped closer to her and put his hand on the only unbruised part of her arm he could see. He gave her a gentle squeeze. “Sunshine, he’ll have to walk over my dead body to hurt you again.”

  A single tear trailed down toward her ear.

  Luca wiped it away with his thumb, suddenly overcome with an urge to take her in his arms and hold her. He shook it off and went toward the door. Once he was certain she had her MP3 back on and that she was situated comfortably in the bed, he turned off the light. He let his eyes adjust to the darkness, lit only by the glow of the various monitors attached to her, then made his way back to the chair situated on the other side of her bed.

  “Thank you,” she whispered after a bit.

  “You’re more than welcome.”

  Chapter 8

  . . .

  The first time the door opened, two hours later, a nurse came in, checked over her patient in the light from the hallway, whispered a few words to Luca about Della, sleeping soundly in the room next door, then went on her way.

  The second time the door opened, Luca was asleep. A rustling sound intruded on his subconscious. Because he was self-trained in the fine art of waking instantly, he kept his eyes closed and his body remained motionless while he listened.

  Were the sounds coming from within the room, or from the hall? Luca kept his breathing even and quiet, straining to hear.

  A snick. A dullish thump. A gentle hiss. No doubts now. In the room.

  His eyes flew open. He was surprised to find someone hovering near the opposite side of the bed. Thanks to the dim glow from the monitors, he was able to discern that the person was a large male. He had a penlight stuck between his teeth, illuminating something. Intent on his task, he remained ignorant of Luca in the shadows on the other side of the bed.

  Luca rose slowly and quietly from the chair, incredulous when he realized the intruder was fiddling with the secondary port on Sunny’s IV.

  No legitimate medical person would sneak into a room and work in virtual darkness on something as critical as intravenous injection. “What are you doing?” Luca asked.

  The man started, dropping the penlight. He dropped something else Luca couldn’t see, then bolted for the door. By the time Luca circled the bed and reached the door, all he could see of the man was the leg of his hospital greens disappearing through the stairwell door.

  Luca was torn. The bastard had obviously been up to no good. Did he pursue him or stay and make sure Sunny was okay? “Nurse!” he hollered, since none were at the nursing station.

  Two came running. He quickly explained what he’d seen and the three of them rushed back into Sunny’s room, hitting all the light switches as they went in. A syringe dangled from the venous catheter at her wrist.

  “Ohmygod!” The charge nurse moved to extract the syringe.

  “Wait!” Luca said, grabbing her wrist before she could touch it. “Fingerprints. Use a tissue or a glove to remove it.”

  “Whass going…on?” Sunny murmured.

  He glanced at her
and noticed immediately that she couldn’t seem to get her eyes open. An instant later, her mouth sagged open. Luca said, “The bastard dropped something besides his mini-light….” He dropped to the floor and crawled under the bed. “Hand me a tissue,” he said to the nurse. A moment later, he surfaced with a microvial and read the label, or tried to: flunitrazepam.

  One of the nurses squeezed in for a look. “Rohypnol.”

  “What the hell?” Luca demanded. “He injected her with the date-rape drug?” He pulled out his smartphone and hit a preset number. He barked at the nurse. “Get on the horn to security and tell them no male leaves this building without me having a look at him.”

  “This better be good!” his partner barked on the other end of the phone line.

  Luca quickly explained what had happened as he ran out of the room toward the stairs. “Get a patrol officer on her door twenty-four/seven and get me a couple of units to help track this asshole down.”

  He pushed open the stairwell door and briefly debated, up or down. Only an idiot would trap himself on an upper level, so Luca flew, two at a time, down the stairs. On the ground level, two security people had several men corralled by the exit. Luca hustled over, his eyes roaming the group. Two had on green scrubs. One was tall and skinny, the other short and more rotund. Both said they were headed outside for a smoke. Another was an older man whose wife was on life support. Another was a doctor who had just delivered a baby. The fifth man fit the overall size and build of the guy who had left a syringe behind in Sunny’s IV port.

  Luca okayed the other four leaving. Security flanked him as he approached the remaining male. “Please show me your identification.” How the hell had he discarded the green scrubs so quickly? He must be a helluva quick-change artist.

  The guy shrugged. “I left my wallet in the car.”

  That sounded implausible to Luca. “Your name?”

  “Cameron. Don Cameron.”

  “What’s your business in the hospital at this time of night Mr. Cameron?”

  The big man’s eyes registered irritation, but his extremely deep voice remained neutral, “My mother is in ICU.”

  “And her name?” Luca asked. He’d spent a lot of time in ICU the past couple of days, and he didn’t recognize this guy.

  “Sondra Cameron.”

  Luca hit the number he had preprogrammed for the ICU when Della was admitted. “Detective Amorosi here. You have a patient by the name of Sondra Cameron on the floor?”

  After a moment, the charge nurse said, “Yes.”

  “Relatives?”

  “Hold on.” She shuffled some papers, then said, “Son, Don, daughter, Risa.” She paused a moment. “I can see her son in with her right now.”

  The phony Cameron had a gun on him almost before Luca realized he’d moved. With mental curses flying around in his head over his own damned stupidity, he never heard the double doors swoosh open.

  “Put down your weapon,” Trey’s voice boomed from the doorway. Flanked by two patrol officers who also had their weapons drawn, his partner approached with caution. “Put it down or we blow your fucking head off. Is that what you want?”

  “Go ahead and shoot,” Cameron taunted. “I’ll take this pig with me and he can visit his sister in the afterlife.”

  Luca’s blood ran cold. He’d asked for protection for the Fyfe woman, not Della.

  A movement behind the gun-toting behemoth caught his eye. A hospital custodian tiptoed closer with a mop. He wanted to shout out for her not to try anything stupid. He wanted to catch her eye, to deter her, but the gunman was watching him like a hawk. The last thing they needed was the guy turning his gun on an innocent woman. Luca kept his gaze trained on whoever the hell this guy was and the custodian kept creeping closer on silent feet.

  “Put the gun down,” Trey said again, but in a way that told Luca it was the last warning.

  “Kill me if you want. It won’t stop me from ridding the world of one more lousy cop.”

  The custodian raised her wet mop. At some point before she’d entered the fray, she’d bound the long strands of the mop head with a piece of cording. Gripping the handle in her hands like a bat, she took aim at the gunman’s head. She connected with a solid thunk against his ear, causing him to yelp and curse in surprise. He spun around, his finger on the trigger of his weapon. One shot went wild. Another shot echoed loudly through the lobby. The gunman dropped to the floor in a heap.

  Luca kicked the pistol away from the man’s hand and turned to the custodian. “Are you okay?”

  She nodded, obviously shaken.

  “That was a crazy stunt,” he said, taking the mop from her.

  “Maybe so, but I no want him shoot you. I like police.”

  He peered at her name badge. Vivian Nguyen. “Ms. Nguyen, thank you for—”

  “For save your life?” she cut in. “No problem. Now I clean up blood.”

  “I’m sorry, but you can’t touch anything. The police have to conduct an investigation when someone is shot. Everything has to remain just as it is.”

  “No can clean?” she asked, shocked. “My boss not like that.”

  “Your boss will understand completely,” Luca assured her. “Is there somewhere you can go and wait for a bit, until one of our officers is ready to talk to you?”

  The custodian pointed off to the north. “Janitor supply room there.”

  Luca didn’t like to think that the woman who had just saved his life had to sit around on five-gallon containers or boxes full of cleaning supplies, waiting to be questioned. “I meant somewhere you’ll be comfortable.”

  Her mouth formed a surprised oh. “Must get back to work.”

  Before Luca could tell her that she wasn’t going to get fired for catching her breath after her recent encounter, someone called out, “Vivi! Are you okay?”

  “Boss lady,” the custodian explained. “I fine, Missy Bette.”

  Luca explained what had transpired. “I’d like Ms. Nguyen to go somewhere quiet and relax until the investigating officers are ready to talk to her.”

  “No need,” Vivi protested to Missy Bette. “I not have nerves.”

  Missy Bette, whose name tag read BETTE HAMILTON, HOUSEKEEPING SUPERVISOR – NIGHTS, said, “Well, I do have nerves, Vivi. Come and keep me company.” She looked at Luca. “We’ll be in the staff lounge, second floor. Just call me on the walkie.”

  Luca nodded. He reached over and gave Vivian Nguyen’s arm a squeeze. “Thanks again, Ms. Nguyen.”

  “Just call me Vivi,” the woman said. “You very welcome.”

  Luca heard the double doors open and spun around. Brant Crawford and five other uniforms poured through the opening. “Crawford, Dempsey, you’re with me.” To the others and the security team, he said, “He had on green scrubs earlier. Better start searching every closet and vacant room to see if he harmed someone to get them. Be sure to check inside every trash container. I want those scrubs.”

  He bolted for the stairs, Crawford and Dempsey behind him. The trio came to an abrupt halt when the elevator doors slid open in front of them. They jumped inside and took a quick ride up to the third floor. Luca gave them a fast, but brief overview of the situation.

  Once the doors parted, they ran down the hall toward Della’s room.

  According to the nurse outside her door at the computer station, his sister hadn’t woken, despite the commotion.

  “Tommy, I want you in my sister’s room, not outside the door. You question anyone who comes in, even if they’re claiming to be God, and make sure they’re there doing what they’re supposed to be doing.”

  “Got’cha.

  Chapter 9

  . . .

  “Brant, you follow me.” Luca hightailed it into the Fyfe woman’s room, where a doctor and two nurses stood over her bed. “Did he manage to inject her?”

  “Yes, but we don’t know if the vial was full, and even if it was, we don’t know how many milligrams were dissolved,” the doctor said.


  Luca’s gaze dropped to the man’s name badge. WM. WRIGHT. He didn’t recognize the name or the doctor. “What do you mean ‘dissolved’?”

  “Flunitrazepam comes in tablet form. Someone’s gone to great lengths to mix it with what I believe is saline, and then to get it into this microvial.”

  “It’s black market.”

  “Yes. As I’m sure you know, the sale of Rohypnol is banned in this country but it’s readily available, nonetheless, via the Internet or otherwise.”

  “And you’re sure it’s flunitrazepam?”

  “I’m sure it’s the Rohypnol version of flunitrazepam. It’s now manufactured to tint clear liquids a light blue.” He held the bottle up for inspection with his gloved fingertips. “Light blue, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Shit.”

  “I echo the sentiment.”

  “What are you doing for her?” Luca asked.

  “Right now, we’re monitoring her. She went under quickly, which probably means he injected at least one milligram. If she got more than that, it could be fatal.” His attention went to the various monitors. “Her heart rate is slightly accelerated and her breathing is labored.” His gaze wandered back to Luca. “Did you get the sonofabitch?”

  Luca nodded, giving them an abbreviated version, knowing the full story would already be creeping around the hospital grapevine.

  “This is appalling,” Wright said. “Nothing like this should happen here, particularly in ICU, where everyone has to check in at the front counter.”

  “The guy was wearing hospital scrubs when he entered this room,” Luca said, “and at some point, he must have had a name badge on to get by the nurses. Security and three of our patrol officers are checking to make sure no one’s lying unconscious or dead somewhere.” He turned to the charge nurse. “Do what you can to get an all-accounted-for going, will you?”

  After a moment of horrified silence, she swung toward Wright and said, “Doctor?”

  “Better do it quick, Reggie. Someone may be in need of medical attention.”

  Luca stared down at Sunny. In addition to all the medical devices attached to her body, she now had an oxygen mask over her nose and mouth. “What other kinds of symptoms could she have?”