Killer Physique

by G. A. McKevett

  Just behind Savannah was Waycross, standing his own post. When they had first arrived at the hospital Waycross had refused to be examined or have his own wounds tended, because he wouldn’t leave Tammy and Savannah.

  Finally, when Tammy was taken in for X-rays, Savannah insisted that he allow them to stitch a particularly bad cut on his arm. But the moment Tammy had been placed in ICU, he was there, right with Savannah, and neither of them had left Tammy’s side, not even to go to the restroom.

  Dora stood to the left of the bed, where she busied herself, checking the IV, reading Tammy’s chart, adjusting her oxygen mask, and mostly just keeping a close eye on her latest patient.

  A few steps away, near the window, Ryan and John sat in a couple of uncomfortable, plastic chairs. They had tried to get Savannah and Waycross to sit down, but they had refused. So Ryan and John were performing their vigil, watching and waiting for the moment when they could be helpful, and yet staying out of the way.

  Ryan leaned over and whispered something in John’s ear, and John nodded.

  “May I fetch us all some coffee?” John asked, as he stood and walked over to the bed. “Perhaps a bite to eat, as well?”

  Savannah started to refuse, then thought better of it. “I don’t want anything to eat,” she said. “But coffee would probably help.”

  “Yes, sir,” Waycross said, “I’d be much obliged. Black please, if you don’t mind.”

  John nodded graciously, then silently slipped from the room.

  As though for the first time, Savannah became aware of Waycross standing behind her. She forced herself to release Tammy’s hand, turned around, and pulled her brother into the spot where she had been standing. “I’m sorry, sweetie,” she said. “You stand here for a while.”

  He wasted no time at all stepping up to the bed and taking his girl’s hand. Leaning over, he placed a kiss on her forehead.

  Tears welled in Savannah’s eyes. And rather than let her brother see them, she walked over to the window near Ryan and stood quietly, looking out.

  The sun had risen, and San Carmelita was coming to life.

  Her fellow townspeople were driving by in their vehicles, rushing to their various destinations. Others walked the sidewalks, crossed streets, bopped in and out of the diner and drugstore nearby.

  A surge of anger swept through Savannah. What the hell’s wrong with them? she thought. They’re going about their business like it’s a normal day. As if one of the best people in the world isn’t lying there unconscious on that bed.

  The unshed tears of exhaustion, fury, and fear burned her eyelids, and she knew she had to push down all of these terrible feelings or she would explode then and there.

  And she didn’t have that luxury. Her family needed her strength, even as she needed theirs.

  She thought of Dirk and the distraught, conflicted look on his face when he had left her a few hours ago to take Nico to the police station for booking.

  “Are you sure, Van?” he’d asked her. “I can stay here if you want me to. I’ll call a radio car to take him in.”

  “No, you need to question him. Put him in the box and sweat him. Find out what this is all about.”

  He had hugged her to him, long and hard. Then, as he released her, he said, “If you need me, you call. I mean it. I can get over here in five minutes.”

  If I need you? she thought as she looked out the window toward the direction of the station house. Of course I need you. You’re my husband now. I’ll always need you.

  She felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to see Ryan looking down at her, his green eyes full of concern.

  “She’s going to be okay,” he told her. “I know she is.”

  Savannah didn’t reply. She couldn’t. How many times had she uttered those exact words to people in the same type of situation? She, of all people, knew how meaningless they were. The only purpose they served was to get people through horrible, stressful times as they clutched at any form of hope they could find.

  Ryan had no idea whether Tammy was going to be okay or not. At this point, even the physicians who had examined and treated her didn’t know.

  “She’s not out of the woods yet,” they had said. “We’ll know more in twenty-four hours.”

  They didn’t know. Ryan didn’t know. Nobody knew whether their Tammy would ever return to them, would ever be her sweet, bubbly self again.

  “Thank you,” she told Ryan, trying hard to sound like she meant it, whether she did or not.

  “You should go home,” he said, “and get some rest. You were in a bad car wreck. And now all the stress about her. You need to take care of yourself, too.”

  “I’m not going home,” she replied. Her voice sounded bitter and angry, even to herself. “If I were going anywhere, I’d go to the police station and pick up where Dirk left off—beating the shit outta that yayhoo that did this to her.”

  No one said anything. Ryan, Dora, and Waycross just stood there with mixtures of surprise, sadness, and agreement on their faces.

  Finally, Dora left Tammy and walked over to Savannah. She placed her hands on Savannah’s shoulders and looked directly into her eyes.

  The older woman radiated strength, wisdom, and confidence. She wasn’t the chattering, bossy, annoying nitwit she had appeared to be when Savannah had first met her. Now she was a nurse, a woman who had saved lives, who had healed sick and injured people more than half of her adult life.

  “Leave. Go to the police station,” she said. “You won’t beat anybody up—though I’m sure you’ll want to. You’ll help Dirk, like you have for years. You guys are a team, and he needs you.”

  “But Tammy,” she protested.

  “I’ll take care of your friend, Savannah. It’s what I do best.” She placed her hand on Savannah’s cheek and gave it an affectionate pat. “Go do what you do best.”

  “How goz it?” Savannah texted to Dirk’s phone as soon as she pulled into the parking lot of the police station.

  “Sux. He 8nt talkn,” came the almost instant, Dirk-code reply.

  Her thumbs flew over her phone pad. “Comin in. Don’t believe NE thing I say.”

  “OK.”

  She hurried into the station, by way of the back door. The chief of police, whom she loathed, along with the rest of the brass who had been instrumental in her firing, usually came and went through the front or side doors.

  There was no point in announcing her presence.

  Once inside the building, she headed down a narrow, depressing, dark hallway that led to the Box—or so she and Dirk liked to call Interrogation Room #1.

  Dirk would be in there with Nico. No doubt about it. When Dirk was questioning a suspect, he was like a camel in the desert. He didn’t even need to drink or pee. It was as though his entire digestive system just shut down. She’d never seen anything like it.

  If only he’d been able to do that on stakeouts.

  Sure enough, there was a sign hanging on the door of the Box: INTERVIEW IN PROGRESS.

  She knocked lightly, then pushed the door open and stepped inside.

  When she saw only Dirk and Nico sitting at the table, she was greatly relieved. No attorney.

  Good.

  Nico had been too stupid to lawyer up.

  But he did seem to have enough sense to be scared when she walked through the door. In spite of the fact that he had a body like a bull, Nico radiated the confidence and courage of a barnyard chicken.

  Like most of the criminals Savannah had met, Nico hadn’t committed his crimes because he had the fortitude to pay for his misdeeds if he were ever brought to justice. No, Nico wasn’t brave or tough. He was stupid, thinking that he would never have to pay.

  She walked to the table and stood beside Dirk, her hands on her hips. “I thought I should let you know, Detective, that your suspect here is now facing a first-degree murder rap. The girl in the hospital—she just died.”

  The moment the words left her mouth, Savannah felt a deep stab of conscienc
e. In her line of work, she lied all the time. But she was just superstitious enough to be uncomfortable even uttering something like that.

  Dirk glared at Nico across the table. “That’s bad news for you, my man. First-degree murder. That’s a tough one, even for a lifelong career criminal like you.”

  “First degree?” Nico asked, looking like he was about to burst into tears or wet his pants or both. “How can it be first-degree murder when it was just a car accident? I never meant to kill that girl. I never meant to hurt any of you.”

  “That’s not what your boss, Fabio, just told me,” Savannah said. “He confessed to it all. Said he paid you to run us off the road and kill us.”

  She walked over and stood behind Nico’s chair. She leaned over, literally breathing down his neck, and added, “Murder for hire. That’s one of those special circumstances. Buddy, I wouldn’t wanna be you for anything. The way I see it, you killing a pretty young girl like that, there’s a needle somewhere with your name on it.”

  “Can’t we make some kind of a deal?” Nico pleaded, his chin quivering like a kindergartner begging for dessert.

  “Nope,” Savannah told him. “Your boss is in the next room right now writing out a formal confession. He made his deal already while you were fartin’ around in here. And now, he’s the lucky one. He’ll be outta jail in five to ten years—about the same time as you’ll spend on death row, before they put you down like an old hound dog.”

  “No! It wasn’t no murder for hire. He didn’t even give me money. He let me have some old weights that he was gonna throw out anyway. And I was just supposed to bang into the back of your car a little bit. You know, shake you up some. My boss just wanted you to know that he wasn’t somebody you should mess with.”

  Savannah looked over at Dirk, whose mouth was slightly open. But his eyes glowed with a grim satisfaction.

  They had their confession.

  Dirk stood, walked over to a small cabinet, and took out a yellow legal pad and pen. He returned to the table and said to Savannah, “Didn’t you just tell us that Garzone’s in there writing out his confession right now?”

  “Yep, he’s just about finished.”

  Dirk slapped the pad and pen down onto the table in front of Nico. “Then I hope you can write fast, boy,” he told him. “First guy to hand in his confession gets the best deal. Maybe there’s still time for you to get yours in before he does.”

  As Nico scribbled frantically, his tongue sticking out the right side of his mouth like a kid who was concentrating on his coloring, Savannah ventured a glance at Dirk and saw that he was looking at her with an expression of humor and adoration on his face.

  Dora had been right; they were a team, and they always worked best together.

  Savannah gave him a wink, pursed her lips, and sent him a silent air kiss.

  Sometimes, it was especially nice to be needed.

  When Savannah pulled the Mustang into the alley behind Garzone’s gym, Richard was in the passenger seat, talking on the phone to Dora.

  Dirk leaned forward from the backseat and whispered, “Tammy? Any change?”

  Richard held the phone away from his mouth for a moment and said, “A few minutes ago, she looked like she was trying to open her eyes.”

  “Excellent,” Savannah said. “Well, maybe not excellent, but encouraging.”

  Dirk sighed and fell back onto the seat. “I just want her to wake up and say something to somebody. I’m gonna feel horrible till I hear she’s talking again. It’s unnatural, the blabbermouth kid not talking.”

  Richard gave his wife a whispered “I love you, too” and hung up.

  They saw a radio car with a couple of uniformed cops pull into the lot near them.

  “Okay. There’s our backup,” Dirk said, checking his weapon. “Let’s rock and roll.”

  For all of his muscles and in spite of his criminal history and lousy attitude, Fabio Garzone wasn’t such a tough guy, after all.

  When he saw Dirk and Savannah and their entourage entering his gym, he folded like an old map that’d been left in somebody’s glove box for twenty-five years.

  It was only a matter of minutes until Dirk was leading him out to the squad car and shoving him into the backseat.

  Fabio had offered no resistance with his muscles, but that didn’t stop him from running his mouth—much to Savannah’s annoyance.

  “What exactly am I being arrested for?” he asked, practically spitting the words at Dirk, who was fastening a seat belt around him.

  “For ordering the killings of me and my family,” Dirk replied, keeping his temper in check, but barely.

  “I never told anybody to kill you or anybody you know—and not Jason Tyrone either.”

  “I’m not arresting you for Jason Tyrone’s murder. Not yet,” Dirk said. “But give me time. I’m not gonna rest until you get absolutely everything that’s comin’ to ya.”

  He slammed the door and turned to Savannah and Richard. “Let’s get back to the hospital and check on our girl, then I’ll run over to the courthouse and get the subpoena to search this guy’s house.”

  Savannah nodded solemnly, glaring through the car window at the monster who had put Tammy in that hospital bed. “Can’t think of anything I’d rather do. Well, actually, I can. But there’re too many witnesses, and you’d have to arrest me, too.”

  Chapter 26

  Savannah was holding a bouquet of daisies and Dirk a handful of balloons when they approached the door of Tammy’s hospital room. Richard brought up the rear with a red, heart-shaped box of chocolates.

  All were filled with dread over what they might find. And none of them really believed Tammy would benefit from their gifts.

  It was going to have to be a case of “It’s the thought that counts.”

  Already, Savannah had steeled herself against the probability that nothing had changed in her brief absence. And she had tried to convince herself that, in Tammy’s case, status quo was a good thing.

  But it wasn’t working.

  She didn’t have to be a physician to know that unconsciousness was a terribly serious condition, and the longer it lasted, the worse the prognosis. She also knew that once someone had been out for six hours, they could be classified as comatose.

  She didn’t think she could stand it if she had to use the words “coma” and “Tammy” in the same sentence.

  Dirk reached over with his free hand and grasped hers. She was almost grateful that he didn’t give her the “She’ll be fine” line. She’d heard enough lies for one day—even well-meaning ones.

  The three of them crept into the room.

  The first thing Savannah noticed were the voices. Fairly loud voices having a normal-sounding conversation, rather than hushed whispers filled with fear.

  “That’s what I’m seeing, too,” she heard Ryan say. “She’s got an R.O. against him. Wow! Wait till we tell Savannah.”

  “Tell me what?” Savannah said, as she was the first to step around the blue curtain that cordoned off Tammy’s half of the room.

  And there on the other side of that magical divide was the most beautiful sight Savannah had ever seen in her life.

  Tammy, sitting up in bed, fully awake, her face bruised, her eyes swollen nearly closed, her arm in a sling, and the brace still around her neck.

  Savannah had never seen her looking more gorgeous.

  Instantly, Savannah burst into tears. Everything she had been holding back since the collision came pouring out of her heart and her eyes as she rushed across the room to her friend’s bed.

  “Oh, oh, honey!” she shouted. “You’re awake! You’re sitting up!” She glanced down at the electronic tablet that was propped on pillows on Tammy’s lap. “You’re working?”

  Tammy snickered then winced. “Stop it! Nobody’s allowed to say anything funny. My ribs hurt when I laugh.”

  Savannah tossed the flowers onto the foot of the bed and reached for her friend, to hug her. Then she thought better of it and sai
d, “Where can I touch you that it won’t hurt?”

  Tammy took a lengthy inventory of her battered, bruised, and bandaged body. “I think you’d better just blow me a kiss,” she said.

  Standing on the other side of her bed, Waycross smiled and said, “I found a spot right here that’s okay.” He pointed to Tammy’s left cheek.

  Savannah wasted no time in planting one there.

  Dirk did the same. Then he gave her a second one for good measure. “I’m really glad you’re okay, kiddo,” he said. “You had us all worried sick.”

  “Are those balloons for me?” she asked.

  He grinned. “Naw. I brought ’em for Ryan and John. But I guess you can have ’em.”

  He glanced over toward the window, where John and Ryan sat, each holding their own electronic tablets.

  Dora occupied a chair next to theirs and was sipping from a disposable coffee cup. She looked exhausted and, for once, uninterested in adding to the conversation. Richard quietly laid the box of chocolates on the bed next to Savannah’s flowers and went to stand by his wife’s chair.

  Lovingly, he massaged her shoulders.

  “What’s going on here?” Dirk asked Ryan and John, pointing to their tablets. “You guys sitting around with your thumbs in your ears, playing video games?”

  Ryan smiled. “Not at all. In fact, Tammy’s giving us lessons on Internet snooping and cyber-stalking.”

  “Good,” Savannah said, as she carefully sat on the edge of Tammy’s bed, “because we need to nail this Fabio Garzone for everything we can. We’ve got him for setting up the attack on us, but we also wanna nail him for Jason’s murder.”

  “Hell,” Dirk said, “I wanna prove he’s D. B. Cooper and the Zodiac before I’m done with him. Hurt my family and wreck my car . . . He’s lucky I didn’t lock those cuffs around his neck instead of his wrists.”

  John cleared his throat. “Those are lofty ambitions there, lad. You might identify him as the Cooper chap, but you’re going to find it harder to blame him for Jason’s passing.”

  “Why?” Savannah said, somehow dreading the answer.