Glassford Girl: Boxed Set (Complete Series) (Time Jumper Series)

by Jay J. Falconer

  She finished her read the very next instant. “Duane?”

  “Red? Is that you?”

  “Y—yes, Duane. It’s me. I need your help. Again.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  September 27, 2014

  2:01 p.m.

  Jim hated the antiseptic smell of hospitals. His hospital room was too white, too noisy, and always too cold. The AC bills in these places must be astronomical, he thought.

  The early afternoon sun was overhead, leaving the room in a shadow. He preferred mornings, when the sun hit the window at a low angle and sent a stream of warmth over his bed. He’d been in and out of consciousness for a couple of days, but he woke up feeling pretty good that morning, all things considered.

  One of the veteran female nurses wearing multicolored scrubs stuck her head through the door. “Mr. Miller?”

  “What’s up, Nurse Stella?”

  “A detective is here asking to speak with you. It seems urgent,” she said with a long, drawn expression on her face. She seemed to be a tireless worker, but the years of stress hadn’t been kind to her fading looks, or her personality, if you could call it that. Jim figured the stubborn, humorless woman was pushing sixty and close to retirement.

  “What did you tell him?”

  “That you had a sketchy day yesterday and needed your rest.”

  “Did he leave?”

  “No, he’s hovering around the nurses’ station, slurping his coffee with a toothpick in his mouth, watching everyone like a hawk.”

  A vision flashed in Jim’s mind. “Is he a tall, goofy-looking guy with a crazy mop of hair? Like a clown? All gray?”

  “That’s him. You know this man?”

  “Yes. He’s harmless. Sort of.”

  “I can tell him to come back later, if you’d like.”

  “No. Don’t bother. He’s never going to leave. Go ahead and let him through. I might as well get this over with.”

  A few minutes later, a familiar figure walked through the door of the hospital room with a big, toothy grin on his face.

  “Millsy,” began the male detective. “Hey, brother.”

  Jim’s heart lit up. “Alice, you ugly sonofabitch. ‘Bout time you showed up.”

  “How ya feelin’, old man?”

  “I’ve been worse.”

  “I’m not so sure about that,” his friend said, scanning the equipment in the room. He lifted the hospital sheet and took a look underneath. “Damn, it’s hard to tell where you end and the machines begin, all these tubes coming out of you.”

  “Better than you looked after Kirkuk, that’s for sure.”

  “Yeah, no shit. My face was hamburger.”

  “Hate to tell you, jarhead, but it still is.”

  “Yeah, fuck you, too,” Alice said, wearing a smile, showing off his dimpled cheeks and the coffee stains tarnishing his teeth.

  The two ex-Marines waited in silence for a moment, giving their joint memory the time and respect it deserved. Jim had saved Alison’s life that day, dragging him to a medevac slick after an insurgent’s mortar round had landed only yards from their forward observation position.

  “Look, Jim. I just want to start out by saying that the first thing I care about is that you’re okay. I can’t tell you how fucked it is that you made it through eleven months in the sandbox without getting so much as a case of crotch rot, then twenty years later you get hit by friendly fire on the streets of your own home town. You’re a decorated veteran, and this is what society gives you in return. It’s a damned shame. As a patriot, I’m embarrassed. As a citizen of this great state, I’m appalled. As your friend, I’m sorry. You know I’ve got your back. I know that whatever you did, it was justified. Got me?”

  “Thanks, Alice,” Jim said, seeing the look on his pal’s face change.

  “However, as a member of the Phoenix Police Department, you know that I must follow procedure and investigate. You left a pile of bodies on the street that night. It was carnage from the word go.”

  “Agreed.”

  “Before we get into the particulars, I want to ask about the redhead. Do you have any idea who she is, or what she was doing there that night? She’s starting to show up on our radar just a little too much for all of this to be simply coincidence. First, it was those restaurant shootings, then a grand theft auto and assault on a cab driver. Then the other night with you. She’s like a rash all over our computers. Any ideas? Any idea why she was there, or why she was naked?”

  “I’m sorry, I never saw a naked girl.”

  “You have to know something. I can see it in your eyes.”

  “I told you, I don’t know anything about a naked girl. Why are you badgering me about it? Why don’t you ask her yourself?”

  “I’d like to, but that’s not an option.”

  “Why? Did something happen to her?”

  “We took her into custody, but she disappeared on the way to booking.”

  “Disappeared? You mean escaped?”

  “We’re not sure.”

  “How can you not be sure? Either she escaped or she didn’t.”

  “Nobody actually saw her escape so we’re calling it a disappearance for lack of a better term. Though she may have had help.”

  “Someone bust her out?”

  “No, another suspect was secured in the van with her. Some former gangbanger we had detained earlier, but it was related to a different matter. Then the call came in about your little dust-up.”

  Jim didn’t respond, feeling that Alice had more to say. He was right.

  “It’s more like she vanished from the back of the wagon under, well, let’s just say, what could only be called . . . unusual circumstances.”

  Jim listened to Alison recount the details of Emily’s disappearance, but his cautious nature told him to keep the earlier meeting at the café with Emily to himself.

  “Sounds like a total cluster fuck to me,” Jim said. “Two suspects vanish and you can’t find either of them.”

  “Yeah, the press is sniffing around, and you know as well as I do that we’re skating on thin ice already with the Citizens Oversight Committee. The captain is riding everyone’s ass. Heads are going to roll on this one, I tell ya. He’s tasked me with the initial investigation before IA gets involved.”

  “I feel for you. Does he know we served together?”

  “Subject never came up. I don’t see a reason to add it to the mix now, do you?”

  “Wouldn’t be my first choice, no. Just don’t want you to be accused of bias. Conflict of interest type thing.”

  “I know you’re just watching out for my six, but let me worry about that. You have your hands full already. Just get through this recovery, already.”

  “I’m trying, bud.”

  “But regardless, I have to ask, Jim. Why were you there? How did you get involved in all of this?”

  “I met a friend for a late dinner at my restaurant. When I went to lock up, I was ambushed by four West Side Locos and held at gunpoint. Fortunately, a carload of Gatos showed up and started spraying and praying. Gave me the chance to get the upper hand. That’s when I snatched two of their automatics and took care of business. But there was no naked girl, I can assure you of that.”

  Alice seemed satisfied, and folded his notebook and slipped it into his pocket, along with the pen that he was using to take notes.

  The conversation turned to reminiscing about their time in combat together and continued for another half-hour before the nurse swooped in and gave Alison the boot.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  September 27, 2014

  2:26 p.m.

  Derek walked through the front door of St. Joseph’s Hospital as if he owned the place. He located the information desk and gave the old woman seated behind it a friendly smile. She was at least sixty with keen eyes, blue hair, and a gentle way about her. Everything about her screamed Grandma.

  “Excuse me, ma’am. My uncle Jim is a patient here, recovering from multiple gunshot woun
ds. I was wondering if you might be able to tell me which room he’s in?”

  “I’m sorry to hear that, young man. If you could tell me his full name, I might be able to help you.”

  “His name is James Miller. He was brought in two nights ago.”

  Derek waited while she tapped at the computer terminal in front of her, then picked up the phone and had a brief conversation with someone. She hung up the phone, then looked up from behind the counter and grinned.

  “You’re in luck, son. He regained consciousness only this morning. He’s in room 312. Third floor. I’ve cleared it with Nurse Stella. She and I go way back.”

  She pointed to her right. “Elevators are down on the left. When you’re on three, just follow the overhead signs that say Radiology, but turn right when you see the large waiting area with the row of vending machines. If you see Pediatrics, then you’ve gone too far.”

  “Thanks for your help. I appreciate it.”

  “You’re very welcome. I hope everything turns out well for your uncle.”

  “So do I. Thanks again,” Derek said, walking away. He headed down the hallway toward the elevators, but he decided not to use them. He didn’t want to run into someone he knew, or someone who was looking for him—like law enforcement. He went past the elevator doors and found the exit door that led him to the stairs.

  It only took a few minutes to work his way up to the third floor. He stepped out of the stairway and scanned for a sign that said Radiology, but only saw plaques that directed him to Oncology and Cafeteria. He went back into the stairway and double checked the sign on the wall next to the door. It said three, so he was on the correct floor. He went back inside, planning to ask someone for directions.

  A mammoth, six-foot-five orderly with long, frizzy hair came walking toward him, pushing a service cart filled with bedpans and dirty linens. He looked to be of Samoan descent. His nametag said Keonie and he appeared to be in a trance; bent over the pushcart with his eyes glazed and fixed on the tile floor in front of him. Keonie couldn’t have been more than thirty, but moved like an eighty-year-old heart patient strapped to a walker.

  Derek waited to make eye contact with him, but the ward assistant never looked up or said anything.

  He decided to take the lead. “Excuse me, sir? Can you tell me where I can find room three-twelve?”

  Keonie didn’t answer, nor did he change his pace or demeanor.

  Dead man walking was the thought that popped into Derek’s head. He moved in front of the cart, stopping the attendant’s progress. “Hey, buddy? You okay?”

  The man snapped out of his daze and gave Derek a piercing look. “What?”

  “Room three-twelve?”

  “How the hell should I know? It’s my first day. Find it your damned self. Now get out of my way before I run you over.”

  Derek threw his hands up and moved to the side. “Peace, brother.”

  Keonie resumed his slow march, talking to himself. “People asking me for directions. What do I look like? A tour guide? . . . God, this crap smells awful . . . They don’t pay me enough. Screw Mila and her dad, making me get a job. She ain’t worth it. First flight out of here and I’m gone.”

  Derek searched the hallway to the left, but found that the room numbers started at three-fifty and went higher from there. He went back to the area by the stairs and tried the other corridor. A couple minutes later, he found the family waiting lounge and a string of vending machines, just as the receptionist had told him.

  A few seconds later, he snuck past the busy nurses’ station to avoid having to answer any questions and found himself standing in front of room three-twelve. He took a deep breath, turned the door handle, and walked inside.

  A disheveled man was lying in the hospital bed. He looked like the person in the photograph from the Internet article, but Derek couldn’t be sure it was Jim Miller, not with only a profile view of his face.

  “What now?” the patient asked, turning his head. He shot an annoyed look at Derek. “Can’t you people read? Cafeteria is to the right, down two more hallways.”

  “Uh, I’m not looking for the cafeteria.”

  “Then what do you want, kid?”

  “Are you Jim Miller? The journalist?”

  “That all depends on who’s asking.”

  “My name’s Derek.”

  “And?”

  “I know this sounds strange, but a friend of mine told me to find you.”

  “Oh, really? And who might this friend be?”

  “Emily Heart.”

  His face lit up. He sat up in bed, adjusting the IV line hanging from his arm. He waved Derek inside. “Emily? Is she okay?”

  Derek walked in and sat in the chair near the foot of the bed. “Last time I saw her, she was fine.”

  “Where is she? Is she here with you?”

  “No, she’s not. I don’t know where she is.”

  “Did she say anything else?”

  “Just that you’re a writer and I’m supposed to tell you everything. Then she just sort of, just . . . vanished.”

  “Holy shit! You’re the kid in the van.”

  “Yes, sir, I am. How do you know about that?”

  “A detective friend of mine from the Corps was just here and started grilling me about Emily. He told me that you helped her escape.”

  Derek shook his head. “I didn’t help her. She did that on her own.”

  “How?”

  “That’s the really weird part. One second she was there, and then the next second she was gone. All I know is she seemed scared, and broke me free from the handcuffs before she left.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Not much else to tell. She pleaded with me to go find you and then disappeared in the blink of an eye.”

  “If that’s true, how’d you escape?”

  “I think there was some type of massive electrical discharge before she disappeared, because it left behind a smoking, scorched area where she was lying on the floor. It must have weakened the walls of the van, you know, where they were thinner. I could see light coming through in spots. I kicked the burnt section out and took off when the van stopped. That’s the last time I saw her.”

  Jim’s eyebrows were raised and his mouth hung open. He blinked, then swallowed. “That’s pretty goddamned unbelievable.”

  Derek nodded. “Unbelievable is one way to put it. Totally freaking insane might be another way to put it. Probably a little more accurate, too.”

  “Wait, wait, wait,” Jim said, reaching for his cell phone on the table next to the bed. He picked it up and ran his fingers over the display. He held the unit out for Derek to look at. “I took this from the back seat of a squad car, right after Emily had escaped from it. Is this what you saw?”

  “That’s it exactly! Same charring. Do you know what’s going on?”

  “No clue. Never seen anything like it,” Jim said, putting his cell phone back on the table. “How’d you end up in the van in the first place?”

  Derek didn’t answer.

  “Look. You can trust me, kid. That’s why Emily told you to tell me everything.”

  Derek still wasn’t sure.

  Jim pulled the blanket down, revealing puss-soaked bandages and drain tubes leading to collection bags under the bed. “You see all of this? It happened while I was protecting that girl from rival gangs. I sure as hell wouldn’t have risked my life for her unless I had her best interest at heart, now would I?”

  “That’s true.”

  “If I’m a friend to her, I’m sure she’d tell ya that I’m a friend to you. She comes across as having a unique ability to see people for who they really are. It’s probably how she’s been able to survive this long on the street. I’m sure that’s why she sent you to me, so I could help you. But first, you need to tell me everything.”

  Before Derek could answer, the door to the room opened.

  “Millsy, sorry to bother you again. I know you need your beauty rest, but there’s something I fo
rgot to ask,” the visitor said.

  Derek spun around in the chair and saw a burly man wearing a wrinkled blue suit with a crooked green tie. Not exactly a fashion statement. He knew a cop when he saw one though. He turned to face Jim, moving slowly so as not to arouse suspension. He adjusted the baseball cap, tilting it slightly to conceal his eyes.

  Jim cleared his throat and held out his hand in the direction of Derek. He was looking at the visitor. “This is my young friend, Vincent. He’s here to do a story on me.”

  Jim pointed at the poorly dressed man and looked at Derek. “Vincent, this is Detective Joseph Alison with Phoenix PD. We served together in the Marines. He’s here investigating the shootout that I was involved in.”

  Derek let out the breath that he’d been holding ever since the detective walked into the room. He appreciated Jim’s quick thinking with the cover story and wanted to play along to help sell it. He gave the cop a look over his shoulder and nodded. “Nice to meet you, Detective.”

  The cop’s easygoing expression changed to a look of confusion. “Do I know you? You look familiar.”

  “No. I don’t think so.”

  “Yes. I’m sure of it. I never forget a face.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Emily sat in the front seat of Duane’s pristine Chevy Impala, surfing the Internet on his cell phone as the security guard drove her to St. Joseph’s Hospital to visit Jim. She leaned to the right and pulled the bottom of Duane’s leather coat out from under her butt. He had given it to her before they left the parking lot, wanting her to conceal the sheer top she was wearing.

  She didn’t tell Duane, but the main reason she wanted to use his phone was to see if she was in the news. She found a few stories, but nothing that mentioned her by name. Then she ran a search for Junie. Nothing recent.

  Her mind flashed a short memory clip of Derek. She shut her eyes and drifted inside of the vision, allowing herself a few relaxing moments to enjoy the heart-pounding electricity of his kiss once more. A few seconds later, the projector in her brain changed, showing a stream of vomit leaving her mouth and hitting Derek’s shoes and pants. She snapped out of her blissful state.