“Is he sitting up?”
“No, I moved him to the floor.”
“Is he blue or cold?”
“A little blue around the mouth.”
“Has he taken any alcohol or drugs?”
“I don’t know. He has a prior record of alcohol abuse, but he wasn’t drinking today.” The faint wail of an ambulance reached his ears. “I hear the ambulance.”
“Good. I’ll stay on the line with you until they arrive.”
Before long, two paramedics and a uniformed police officer rushed through the door with Ms. Leeds trailing. Ethan moved out of the way as a medic dropped a large bag to the floor and knelt beside Scott. “Larry” was stitched on his shirt, and an identification card dangled from his belt loop. He shook Scott. “Hey! Wake up!”
Scott didn’t respond.
“I don’t know what happened. He just collapsed on the couch.” Ethan twisted the ring on his right hand. “I laid him on the floor. I hope that was the right thing to do.”
The men ignored Ethan and worked in tandem on Scott. The other medic knelt beside his still body and felt for a pulse. “Nothing.”
Larry cut away his shirt and set up a cardiac monitor while his partner tilted Scott’s head back and threaded a tube down his throat. Once in place, a ventilator breathed for Scott. Ethan hadn’t expected this much effort to save someone already dead.
The monitor came to life and a straight line scrolled across the screen. “He’s asystole.” Larry’s voice held urgency. “Inject epinephrine and give him 100 percent oxygen.”
The police officer knelt and began compressions as the medic pulled a syringe from the bag and injected the contents into the IV tubing.
The surreal scene unfolded in slow motion. “Scott seemed all right when he arrived,” Ethan said. Why do they keep working on him? He turned to his secretary, who hovered nearby, wringing her hands. “Did he appear all right to you?”
Ms. Leeds couldn’t seem to take her eyes from Scott’s still body. Finally, she found her voice. “Yes,” she said, hunching her shoulders defensively. “He seemed perfectly fine. Not drunk like the last time.”
Thank you, Ms. Leeds.
Larry jerked his head toward the secretary. “He has a problem with alcohol?”
She gulped and nodded, reminding Ethan of a bobblehead doll. “Um, yes sir.”
Ethan cleared his throat. “I don’t think he’s had anything to drink recently. He told me he was getting sober.”
“How about drugs?”
“Prior history with that too.” Ethan added just the right tone of regret.
Suddenly, a short spike appeared. Ethan’s heart almost stopped. He breathed again when the line flattened.
“Come on, son, you can make it.” Larry injected two more syringes into the tubing. Another spike, then another. He pressed his fingers to Scott’s carotid artery. “We have a pulse here! Let’s get him transported!”
Ethan rocked on his heels. No! This isn’t the way it was supposed to be. The plan was falling apart. What if Scott revived and talked? He knew too much. Ethan forced himself to breathe. Act glad. Look relieved. He moistened his lips and tried to sound hopeful. “Is he going to be all right?”
“Your friend isn’t out of the woods yet.” Larry punched a number on his cell phone as Scott was lifted onto a stretcher. Ethan half listened as Larry rattled off a list of procedures and drugs he didn’t understand.
“ETA is twelve minutes.” Larry ended the call and turned to Ethan. “We’re transporting him. Do you know what drugs he might have ingested?”
Ethan lifted his shoulders in a helpless gesture. “He’d only been here maybe ten minutes when he collapsed.”
They rolled the stretcher to the door, and Larry jerked his head toward the policeman. “If you think of anything, tell the officer here. He’ll relay it to us.”
“Do . . . you think he’ll make it?”
“It’s a hard one to call.” Larry’s lips tightened. “Even if he makes it, there may be brain damage.”
Brain damage. Ethan calculated how long Scott had been without oxygen. If he lived, he would be a vegetable. The rush of relief made him almost light-headed. The police officer approached, and he cleared his mind of everything but the story he’d rehearsed earlier.
30
Nick paid the Memphis librarian for the use of the copier. He’d found six stories on James Martin. With the articles from the library in Logan Point, he had a total of eight articles. He’d even found one on Jonathan.
Nick hadn’t known Taylor’s uncle performed as a clown, but there he was, along with Ethan Trask, on the inside pages of the Memphis Commercial Appeal. The photo was taken at a benefit for burned children. He tapped the article with his pen. Was Jonathan the clown in Taylor’s dream?
He skimmed over the stories on James Martin. They didn’t paint a picture of someone who would walk out on his family. Kiwanis Club Citizen of the Year, Outstanding Citizen Award by the Big Brothers and Big Sisters of Memphis . . . the list went on. So what happened to Taylor’s father?
The phone vibrated in his shirt pocket, and he slid it out. Allison? He answered.
“Nick, is Taylor with you?” Panic rode her voice.
“No. Isn’t she still with Livy?”
“I don’t know. She promised me she’d be back in three hours. That was five hours ago, and now she doesn’t answer her phone.”
He’d been so focused on searching for the articles, he’d lost track of time. “Have you called Livy?”
“I don’t have her cell number, and when I called the police department, they just say she’s not in.”
“I have Livy’s cell. I’ll call her and get back to you.” Nick scrolled through his contacts. He tapped on Livy’s number, and the call went to voice mail. He clenched his jaw, shooting pain down his neck. “Livy, this is Nick Sinclair. If Taylor is still with you when you get this message, please have her call me . . . or her mother. Thanks.”
Minutes passed and finally his cell vibrated, and a number he didn’t recognize popped up. He punched the green answer button. “Sinclair.”
“Nick?”
Taylor. Relief flowed over him like a refreshing rain. “Where are you? Are you all right?”
“Uh, yeah.” Her voice trembled, and she sounded almost on the verge of tears. “I forgot to charge my cell phone last night. I’m at the Criminal Justice Center. Wilson is dead. Murdered.”
He gripped his cell phone. “What happened?”
“After you left, Livy and I . . .” She took a shuddering breath. “We found him on the floor. He hadn’t been dead long.”
The murderer could’ve still been in the house. Fear coiled around his heart like a python, squeezing his lungs. “Stay there. I’m coming to get you.”
“No. Don’t come. I’m fine.”
“Taylor—”
“No, Nick. I can’t leave right now. I think his murder is connected to my dad’s case. I need answers.”
“At least call your mom. She’s worried to death about you.” His phone beeped in his ear, and he glanced at the caller ID. “Hold on a second. Ethan Trask is calling. Maybe he’s heard from Scott.”
“I’ve got to go. Call me on this number if he knows anything about your brother.”
She hung up on him before he could tell her to wait. He switched over to Ethan. “Hello?”
“Nick? Ethan Trask here. I’m afraid something’s happened to Scott.”
Nick was right. Taylor needed to call her mom. She’d just gotten so caught up in Wilson’s murder that it had slipped her mind. Her mom answered on the first ring.
“Why are you not home? You promised you’d be gone three hours, max.”
Taylor could almost feel the heat from her mom’s voice. “Things didn’t go like I thought they would. I’ll be home as soon as I can.”
Quietness ensued. Taylor imagined her mom counting to ten. “Take care of yourself, Taylor. I worry about you.”
The c
are in her mother’s voice almost did her in. She blinked back tears. “I’ll be all right. And if you need to call me, use the number on your caller ID.”
After telling her mom good-bye, Taylor walked to the interrogation room, where she and Livy had holed up with Mac since returning from the crime scene. The tantalizing aroma of barbeque met her at the door. Evidently, someone had ordered in. Maybe food would revive her. If not, she’d be forced to go home. She eased into a chair across from Livy.
Her friend shoved a Corky’s box toward her. “Are you sure you’re up to this? You don’t look real good.”
“Gee, thanks. Makes me feel so much better.”
“Seriously, if you’re not feeling well, don’t stay,” Mac said.
Taylor fixed her gaze on the to-go container in front of her. “I’m fine. Or I will be when I get some food in me.”
She tore open a ketchup packet and squeezed it over her French fries. “Are the feds still here?”
“Yeah, but after Wilson’s death, they released us to work this case.”
Taylor’s stomach growled, and she picked up her sandwich. “Thanks for getting this.”
As she ate, she mulled over what she’d found in Yates’s file and how his death might be connected to Wilson’s.
The detective had been relieved of duty with extortion charges pending when he was found dead from a bullet wound to the head. The typed suicide note found in the bedroom with the body could’ve been written by anyone.
The two cases had to be linked. Even with an eighteen-year gap, two cops—partners—dying under questionable circumstances couldn’t be a coincidence. She glanced up at Livy. “How many cases did Yates and Wilson investigate together?”
Livy sorted through the papers in front of her. “Ninety, including your father’s. Did you see this? Yates had hired Ethan Trask to defend him on the extortion charges.”
Mac dipped a French fry into his ketchup. “I’m not sure I buy that the two deaths are connected. If the same person killed them both, why did he wait so long?” He waved a sheet of paper. “Besides, there’s been a rash of robberies in Wilson’s neighborhood lately.”
“This time you’re wrong, Mac. There are too many coincidences related to his case. And none of us like coincidences.”
“I agree,” Taylor said. “Think about it, I make an appointment to talk with Wilson about my dad, and he’s killed before I can meet him—right after a newspaper article quotes him as saying the case bothered him and he thought he knew why.”
“And his partner supposedly commits suicide,” Livy added. “And Taylor hadn’t heard from her dad until she starts digging in his case . . . do we need to go on?”
“Okay, okay.” Mac picked up the letter. “If this is from your dad, it means he’s alive. Maybe Yates found that out during the investigation and tried to blackmail him.”
“You’re saying eighteen years ago, my dad killed Yates?”
“It’s a possibility.” Livy cleared her throat. “And maybe he was afraid Wilson knew something as well. The interview with him came out in yesterday’s paper. Could your father be the one who took a shot at you last night?”
“No!” That was impossible. Wasn’t it?
The conference desk phone rang, and after glancing at the ID, Livy handed it to Taylor. “Nick.”
“Maybe he found Scott.” Taylor answered. “Hello.”
“Scott’s in the hospital again.”
She gripped the phone tighter. From the sound of Nick’s voice, it couldn’t be good. “What happened?”
“He collapsed in Ethan Trask’s office, maybe from an overdose.”
Nick’s words caught her off guard. “Did you say Scott overdosed?”
“Yeah,” Nick said softly. “He’s in ICU. I don’t know if he’ll make it. He’s unresponsive.”
31
Scott, if you can hear me, squeeze my hand.”
Nick’s voice massaged Scott’s consciousness, and he struggled to respond, willing his fingers, his eyes, anything to move. Only his chest rose and fell, and Nick’s voice faded as Scott slipped into nothingness once more. The next time he woke, Nick’s voice mingled with another.
“My brother’s going to make it.”
“If we could just figure out what he took, but nothing shows on his toxicology screen. I’ve sent a blood sample to a specialty lab to check for the less common drugs, but that could take twenty-four hours.”
A doctor?
Then he heard Nick’s voice again. “What do we do?”
“We wait. At least he’s breathing on his own now.”
“How long will he be like this?”
“I can’t tell you without knowing what he ingested. Unfortunately, some of these drugs clear the body so quickly we never identify them, even in an autopsy.”
What were they talking about? Autopsy? What happened? Evidently, he was in the hospital again. Did they think he was dying? Lord, I don’t want to die. How long had it been since he’d talked to God? Too many years, not since he started drinking. Lord, get me through this and I’ll never . . . No. He remembered enough from his days in church to know he couldn’t bargain with God.
But he had to get better. He had to figure out what happened. Urgency coursed through his body as he fought the sleepiness that encroached.
The room was quiet when Scott woke again. Empty.
Come back, Nick. Please come back.
Taylor used the walk from the parking garage to the hospital to compose herself. When the elevator doors opened, she stepped out and followed the arrows to the ICU waiting room.
“Taylor?”
She looked over her shoulder and into cool gray eyes. “Ethan?”
“You should be home resting.”
She wished people would stop telling her that, even if it was true. “Do you know how Scott is?”
Ethan reached ahead of her and opened the waiting room door. “No, I just got here. He almost scared me to death when he collapsed.”
Taylor stepped through the waiting room doors, glancing around. Nick hurried toward them.
“Thanks for coming.” Nick shook Ethan’s hand, but his eyes were on her.
The warmth in his hazel eyes sent her heart spiraling.
“How is Scott?” Ethan asked.
“Not good.” Nick jammed his hands in his pockets. “He’s still in a coma. But at least he’s off the ventilator.”
She followed him to a corner of the sitting room with Ethan right behind her. A game show played on the muted television on the wall, and an operator’s disembodied voice paged a respiratory nurse to room 4210. A half-empty coffee cup sat beside a Gideon Bible. Nick tossed the cup in the garbage before he turned back to Ethan. “Tell me what happened. Why was Scott at your office?”
Taylor sat beside Nick while Ethan took the vinyl chair across from them and crossed his leg over his knee. “To be honest, I really don’t know. One minute we’re talking about his sobriety, and the next minute he collapsed.”
“The doctors said it was an overdose. Did he take anything while he was there?” Nick asked.
“No. Whatever Scott took, he took before he got to my office.” Ethan uncrossed his legs and leaned forward. “Have you talked to him yet? What’s his prognosis?”
“He doesn’t respond, and the doctors are puzzled. He tested negative on the initial drug screen.” Nick rubbed his lip with his fingers. “He just lies sleeping. I don’t know if he can hear me or not, but I talk to him anyway. When I asked him to squeeze my hand . . . he didn’t respond.”
Taylor reached for his arm. “Oh, Nick, I’m so sorry.”
“The doctors said something about running more tests.” He closed his eyes, and his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed. “They asked me if he’s an organ donor.”
Her heart winced. “When can you see him again?”
He glanced at the oversized clock on the wall. “Visitation isn’t for two hours. If his vital signs stabilize, they’ll let me back s
ooner.”
Ethan puffed out a sigh. “I’m so sorry.” Then he stood and glanced at the visiting times posted on the wall. “I have an appointment, but I’ll be here for the four-thirty visit.”
“Good. He’s in room 12,” Nick said and shook the lawyer’s hand again. “I’ll be with him, but I think they allow him two visitors.”
When they were alone, Nick took her hand. “Are you okay?”
She ached all over, but she forced enthusiasm into her voice. “I’m good.”
“Yeah, right.” He squeezed her fingers. “I’m glad you’re here, though.”
“I didn’t want you to be by yourself.” His touch kicked her heart into high gear. She was sure he felt it through her fingertips. “How about you? Are you all right?”
He shrugged. “I’ve been better.”
She stood. “Would you like some coffee?”
“Sure, but let me get it.” When he returned, he held out a cup and a small creamer. “I found this.”
“You’re a good man.” Taylor emptied the creamer in the cup.
“Tell me what happened to Detective Wilson.”
She sipped the coffee and took Nick through finding Wilson. “We canvassed the neighborhood. No luck. Actually, Livy did the canvassing while I rested. No one saw anything.”
Nick’s cell phone rang, and she waited while he answered.
“No, she’s right here. Sure.” He handed her the phone. “It’s your mom.”
She grabbed the phone and tried to make her voice upbeat. “Hey, Mom, what’s going on?”
“You’re not fooling me. Taylor Martin, I expect you to be home within the hour.”
Nick’s phone was a different model than hers, and somehow Taylor had hit the speaker. Her mom’s angry words were loud enough for Nick to hear.
“She’s right,” he mouthed.
She fumbled with the phone, trying to figure out how to get it off the speaker. Finally, she gave up. “I’m at the hospital with Nick . . . Scott’s in ICU.”
“Oh no, what happened?”
Taylor told her what she knew, and her mom was quiet for a moment. “Taylor, I know you want to be there, but you need rest. I’m worried about you. Let me come and get you.”
Shadows of the Past (Logan Point Book #1): A Novel Page 28
