Courting Murder

by Bill Hopkins

check into a motel. You can seal the house until you get more help if you don’t think you’ve done a thorough enough job.”

  “Let me do it and I’ll tell you what I decide when I finish.”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  Frizz searched the kitchen. Nothing unusual there except that Rosswell’s fingertip test revealed that the countertop by the sink wasn’t as clean as normal. There were knives, but nothing that any other kitchen in the whole nation wouldn’t have. As expected, no guns. The only gun Rosswell owned resided in the desk of his bench in the courtroom at the courthouse.

  Next, Frizz prospected the living room. He found nothing until he knelt and peered under the couch. Without turning around or standing up, he said, “You need to make reservations at a motel.”

  As if Frizz’s words had called down an Old Testament sign from the Lord, a lightning bolt struck nearby, filling the air with ozone and damn near deafening Rosswell. Coldness prickled his skin. He felt nausea rising and his vision blurring. Something itchy ran up and down his spine.

  Rosswell said, “What is it?”

  With the barrel of his gun, Frizz teased out the object under the couch.

  A knife that had to be a foot long, covered with blood and gore.

  “This knife,” Frizz said, “is a polycarbonate quasi-resin.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “It’s a super tough plastic that’s extremely sharp and a metal detector can’t find it. Terrorists love them.”

  “Terrorists? Are you telling me that terrorists attacked me in my own house?”

  “I don’t know who attacked you.”

  “Of course you do. Candy. When she tried shooting Tina and me, she couldn’t pull off a kill shot because it was dark. After we got carried off to the hospital and everyone cleared the scene, she came back and planted that knife. It’s a message that she cut the throat of that poor guy out at the park. Then she probably shot the woman. After that, she killed Hermie, which makes three. I’m going to the hospital to make sure it’s not four.”

  “I’ve put a twenty-four hour guard on Tina,” Frizz reminded Rosswell. “Candy is after Tina. And me.”

  “Candy never mentioned one word about trying to shoot you two. Her confession is so full of holes it looks like a hunk of Swiss cheese after Ollie the rat got through with it. Why would she confess to two murders but forget about two attempted murders? It doesn’t make sense.”

  “It doesn’t have to make sense to Candy. She’s nuts.”

  “If there had been trouble at the hospital, we’d already know about it. Rosswell, you act like I don’t have a stake in Tina being safe. She’s going to be fine.”

  “I’ll call you if you’re wrong.”

  The ugly stick, sitting on duty behind the desk of the nurses’ station, didn’t greet Rosswell’s appearance with streamers and confetti. Instead, she glanced up from her People magazine, giving him a glare that would’ve killed Samson before he got his haircut. Her portable television was tuned to The Price Is Right. On the small screen, people cheered and clapped.

  “Judge, do you want me to call security?”

  Rosswell, on the drive over, decided the non-cautious approach would be the best. Where else would Candy go?

  “Yes, immediately.” Rosswell galloped past Priscilla. “Tell them to get here on the double. And call Frizz, too.”

  “What?” She sprang from her chair, knocking a plastic bottle of Diet Coke to the floor where it thunked and spewed. “Wait. Don’t go in there.”

  Junior threw down an X-Men comic book he’d been looking at and said, “Judge, what the hell’s going on?”

  When Rosswell reached Tina’s door, he turned and faced the cop and the nurse. “Call security. Tell them it’s an emergency. Tell them to get here right now.”

  Junior said, “There’s no emergency. I’ve been here the whole time.”

  The stick gasped an unprofessionally loud gasp when she followed Rosswell into Tina’s room where they discovered Candy roosting on a high stool by his sweetie’s bedside. Candy, draped over a sleeping Tina, was tangled in the tube going from a hanging bag into Tina’s arm. If Candy moved the wrong way, the needle in Tina’s arm could be torn loose. Above Tina, all the machines purred, giving no sign that there was distress in the room. For that small favor, Rosswell was thankful.

  “How did you get in here?” the nurse asked Candy. “Who are you?” Rosswell said, “Candy, you have to leave right now.”

  Junior said, “Lady, you’re under arrest.”

  Rosswell said, “How the hell did she get in here?” Neither the nurse nor the cop seemed to know. Rosswell suspected Candy had slipped up the stairwell and sneaked in when she saw Junior take a break. Candy was crazy, not stupid.

  Candy didn’t budge.

  The nurse said, “Candy?” Then, to Candy, she said, “He’s right. Get out of here.”

  Candy, dressed in baggy blue jeans, gray sweatshirt, sunglasses, big bracelets, and a John Deere cap, hummed and rocked back and forth. Her clothes stunk of old sweat. She didn’t speak. Instead, she sat stroking Tina’s hair and whispering to her in sounds that didn’t quite form words. Tina lay in a deep sleep. Rosswell hoped Tina wouldn’t remember anything Candy did or said to her.

  Rosswell said, “Nurse, did you call security and Frizz?”

  Junior found his handcuffs and said, “Judge, I can cuff her right now.”

  Rosswell said, “Let’s try the easy approach first. Candy, you need to move away from Tina. Right now.”

  Candy removed the large sunglasses she had pushed up on her head but otherwise didn’t change position. Her big bracelets clanked when she moved her arms. The ugly stick hustled over, unwound the tubing off Candy, then inserted herself between Candy and Tina. Rosswell regretted his nasty thoughts about Priscilla Brewster after he witnessed her brave devotion to a patient under her care.

  Priscilla punched two buttons on her pager that, he guessed, called security. Rosswell’s eyes never left Candy. As far as he could tell, she had nothing in her hands. If Candy had a weapon on her, it wouldn’t be noticeable in the baggy outfit she wore.

  The nurse said, “I’ve called Father Mike.”

  Rosswell said, “We don’t need a priest. We need security.”

  Priscilla said, “I paged security.”

  Rosswell said, “Junior, radio Frizz.”

  Junior clicked his radio several times. “Battery’s dead.”

  Rosswell said, “Junior, do you know how to use a telephone?”

  Father Mike strolled into the room, not at all hurrying as Rosswell thought he would’ve done had he known the situation he was entering.

  Rosswell said, “Father Mike, call security and Frizz. Tell them we need them right now.”

  “Candy,” Priscilla said, “shouldn’t be here. And I already called security. We’re not going to let anything happen to our patient.”

  “That’s right,” Junior said. “Not on my watch.”

  Father Mike said, “A guard is on her way.”

  Rosswell, at that point, still couldn’t tell if Candy was armed. There was no way of determining if Candy even realized that the priest, nurse, cop, and Rosswell were in the room.

  “Judge,” Father Mike said, “I was a St. Louis City cop until I went into the priesthood at age thirty. I’ve faced down people a lot scarier than a young woman in a running suit.” The priest turned to the cop. “Back me up, Officer Fleming.”

  “Yes, sir,” Junior said.

  The priest wasn’t armed, but his police background would help. He headed for Candy.

  Rosswell said, “After Candy posted bail, she found Hermie Hillsman and killed him.”

  “Candy,” Father Mike said, without the slightest surprise in his voice about Rosswell’s accusation, “did you kill Hermie?”

  Candy said, “Hermie is a bad man.”

  She hadn’t answered the question.

  Candy reached around Priscilla, trying to touch Tina. Pri
scilla slapped Candy’s hands.

  “Candy,” Rosswell said, “you need to come out in the hallway with me.” She didn’t move. Father Mike, Junior, and Priscilla all three stood over Candy. Rosswell hoped the priest would check Candy for weapons. Soon.

  The security guard appeared. She marched into the room, surveyed the situation, then asked Junior,“We can carry her to the sheriff’s station.”

  Father Mike said, “Wait a minute, please.” He asked Candy, “What are you doing here?”

  “Am I my sister’s keeper?” Candy said. “Yes, I am. True religion is helping our brothers and sisters in their time of need.”

  Father Mike and Rosswell exchanged glances. Rosswell said, “You’re the expert in that field.” Rosswell nodded, hoping the priest understood him. Hoping to make it plainer, Rosswell said, “You need to take over here.” Rosswell was part of law enforcement. If he dragged a confession out of Candy without giving her the Miranda warnings or got other evidence from her, everything could be thrown out during her trial. As a former cop, Father Mike should know that.

  Father Mike said to her, “Candy, listen to me.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “We need to leave here right now.”

  Candy said, “Tina needs me to soothe her brain. She’s had a lot of trouble.”

  Father Mike said, “Yes, she has indeed. And what she needs now is sleep and rest.”

  Candy slipped her hand somewhere deep into her outfit and pulled out a slender object. Father Mike bent to see what it was. Rosswell leaned over Candy and screamed, “Knife!” Rosswell pushed Priscilla aside and jumped between Candy and Tina, ready to take the cut himself rather than letting his