Sleep Like a Baby

  He ended the call. “Roe, he says no one has turned it in at the hospital. He was just about to review the security footage to see if someone was caught on camera leaving with your bag. If he sees something interesting he’ll call you in to look at it.” Robin seemed a little miffed at being anticipated by the policeman.

  “That’s the best we could hope for. I guess.” I told Sophie, “Get used to it, little one. You have to be tough in this world.”

  I was surprised when Robin’s phone rang fifteen minutes later.

  “You’re not going to believe this, but he has someone on camera,” Robin said. “Let’s go.”

  The second Sophie finished and we’d changed her diaper, we were on our way back to the hospital with the slightly less-wonderful baby bag, hastily stocked, on my shoulder.

  I wasn’t able to take Robin directly to the little office (I took a wrong turn at Radiology), but I only had to repeat a little part of the route. The door was open. Officer Rodenheiser was seated at the console … and Detective Cathy Trumble stood behind him. She wore her usual tailored pants (this time a navy blue), a blue and green floral blouse, and a green jacket, which almost covered the badge and gun she clipped to her belt. Dressed for business as usual.

  I was not glad to see her.

  “Brad here called me,” she said by way of greeting. “He remembered you were involved in the Tracy Beal case.”

  “It happened on our property,” I said. “That’s the extent of our involvement.”

  Cathy ignored my protest. “I’ve reviewed the footage very quickly,” she said. “Brad pointed out this one, and I agree this is the most interesting.” She pointed from her position behind the seated Officer Rodenheiser.

  We scooted behind the console so we could watch. There were two computer screens, each showing four separate areas in the building. The pictures were black-and-white, but the definition was good. Cathy pointed to the upper right-hand quarter of the left screen.

  We were watching a series of people walking in and out of the main entrance. A couple involved in an intense discussion came in. A very old man with a cane made his way out very slowly, followed by a woman in jeans and a plaid shirt pushing a child in a wheelchair. A man in a suit and tie walked into the lobby briskly, obviously deep in his own thoughts. Then two nurses in animated conversation left, followed right on their heels by a tall dark man in scrubs with a bag over his shoulder—a striped bag.

  I clutched Robin’s arm. “That may be the man I saw in the ICU unit,” I said. “He was sitting in the carrel where the doctors write their notes, or whatever it is they do.”

  “What did he look like?” Cathy was poised to pounce.

  “Like the footage. I only saw his back.”

  “Well, that’s something. We know the person who took your bag is about an inch over six feet, African American male, and he owns a set of scrubs.”

  “And he knows how to blend in,” Robin offered.

  “Why would he want my diaper bag?” I was not thinking very swiftly today.

  “It was the only bag you had.” I didn’t get Cathy’s implication.

  “I’m sure he thought it was your purse,” Robin said.

  “No one else in the ICU is missing a bag?” I had a strong feeling I already knew the answer.

  “No,” Cathy said. “Only your bag was taken. What was in it?”

  “Diapers. Because it’s a diaper bag,” I said, exasperated. “Baby wipes. A shawl to cover me if I have to feed Sophie in public. A spit-up rag. An extra sleeper. A plastic toy. Maybe a bib. And today, worse luck, I put my license in the outer pocket because I didn’t want to carry my purse as well.”

  “What was he after?” Cathy asked … apparently herself, because she was looking into space. Then she fixed her eyes on me. “Come down to the station,” she said abruptly.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Why?” I was taken aback.

  “There’s some pictures you could look at. See if you could spot your fake doctor.”

  I took a deep breath. “I don’t know how else to say this, Cathy. I didn’t see his face. I saw his back. I’m not going to accuse someone on the basis of his back.”

  Robin held Sophie pressed against his shoulder. She was asleep. That was one good thing. “Up to you,” he said. He wasn’t any happier than I was, but he let the decision be mine.

  “Cathy,” I protested. “You know I can’t identify him.” Knowing that, why did she want me to go through this charade? I could only figure she believed one of the pictures would spark a memory.

  Brad Rodenheiser looked from Cathy, to me, to Robin. He seemed highly entertained. Watching people come and go on four screens and/or answering an occasional call from some location in the hospital must offer limited entertainment.

  I was tired of being questioned, tired of being at the beck and call of the police, and most of all, unhappy that the problem still existed. I wanted the murderer to be caught. I wanted to see Virginia, know she was safe.

  I realized that in the grand scheme of things, I had little to complain about. After all, Sophie and I were safe. Gossip might nip at Robin’s heels, but he could not be considered a serious suspect in Tracy’s murder.

  “All right,” I said abruptly. No matter what Cathy’s scheme might be, I had to do everything I could to resolve the situation. “Robin, can you take Sophie home? Phillip texted me a minute ago, so I know he’s there. Then you can come to the law enforcement complex to bring me home. This shouldn’t take long.” I gave Cathy a pointed look.

  “You sure you want to do this?” Robin said, doubt heavy in his voice.

  I wasn’t sure, not at all, but if doing what Cathy wanted would get us closer to the truth, I would oblige. “See you in a few.”

  Robin bent to kiss me, and I patted Sophie’s bottom very gently. Then they left, with the backup diaper bag. I watched them go, already regretting my decision. While I thought my own thoughts, Cathy watched the man walk out of the hospital over and over.

  Cathy left the room to make a phone call, she said, and while I waited for her I had an unexpected conversation with Brad Rodenheiser.

  “She’s a little thorny now,” he said, nodding his head at the doorway Cathy had gone through.

  “What’s wrong with her? She’s so different,” I said in as low a voice as I could manage.

  He looked a little surprised. “You don’t know about her sister?”

  “No.” I was at sea.

  “Annette’s in the psych ward here, had a breakdown.”

  But then Cathy came back in, looked at us suspiciously, and snapped, “I think we’re ready to go now.”

  “Sure,” I said, and trotted out of the hospital in her wake after thanking Officer Rodenheiser.

  “He was just doing his job,” Cathy said over her shoulder as we made our way to the main entrance. “You don’t have to thank him for that.”

  I didn’t respond because I simply didn’t need to justify myself to Cathy Trumble. When had she turned from a friendly acquaintance to a cranky, secretive grouch? I could not understand what had happened to make her change so drastically. There was no way I was going to ask her, not while she was so touchy. Having a sick sister simply didn’t seem likely to have effected this personality alteration.

  It felt very strange to walk outside with empty hands. I didn’t think I’d done it in years. I was always carrying something—a purse, grocery bags, books, a diaper bag, a baby. I found it liberating.

  We walked around the fountain. Its central statue was supposed to represent the first female doctor in Lawrenceton, which accounted for its location close to the entrance. There were the usual rows of parking, and around the perimeter was a fringe of side-by-side parking spaces that encircled the whole lot. Cathy’s car was parked in one of those spaces, nosed into a stand of scrub and trees. Directly behind the trees were long-established smaller homes. Since the garages of these bungalows were one-car, the streets were often crowded with vehicles.

/>   It was midafternoon now. A lot of people were still at work.

  Cathy’s car was not a black-and-white patrol unit, but an unmarked blue SUV, conspicuously clean. I went to the passenger’s side, waiting to hear the thunk of the lock going up. When it didn’t happen, I peered across the hood at Cathy. She was staring back the way we’d come.

  Of course, I turned to look, too. A very old man with a cane was making his slow way toward us, holding a green-and-white-striped bag in his free hand. He looked vaguely familiar, and I thought I’d seen him in the ICU.

  The bag did not have its pleasing cylindrical shape any longer. It was clearly empty.

  “Young lady,” he said, when he got close enough, “is this yours?”

  Cathy muttered some words I’d never heard out loud. I hoped the old gentleman hadn’t heard them.

  “Yes, sir,” I said, delighted. “Where did you find it?”

  “It was down on the ground by my car. I saw the name Teagarden in it, and I knew that must be you, because you are the spitting image of your grandmother. I seen you in the ICU. Didn’t cost me nothing to come over here and ask.”

  “People tell me I’m like my grandmother pretty often,” I said, smiling. “I’m Aurora.”

  “Carter Redding,” he said, extending his blue-veined hand to mine to hand over the bag.

  Cathy snatched it as he was handing it over. “I’ll have to print that zipper,” she said.

  “Can you just check that outside pocket to see if my driver’s license is still there?”

  “That’s not the most important thing here,” Cathy said.

  Mr. Redding gave her an indignant look before he turned back to me. “Was it stole from you?” he said.

  “Yes, sir, it was, while I was visiting my mother’s husband in the ICU,” I said.

  “My daughter’s up there,” he said. “She’s got the cancer.”

  I opened my mouth to tell him I was sorry, but several things happened in an instant.

  I heard two loud cracks. I was looking around in bewilderment when Carter Redding grabbed my elbow and said “Get down!” in a no-nonsense voice.

  Cathy pulled her gun.

  She crouched at the rear bumper of the SUV, and pointed down with an emphatic finger. “Stay there, behind the engine block,” she ordered us. “Don’t move.”

  I was baffled, but I was obedient.

  She pulled her radio off her belt. “Shots fired, shots fired. North side of the hospital parking lot. Code SOS, Brad.”

  “Instituting Code SOS,” replied Brad Rodenheiser calmly.

  … and I was still thinking, What?

  I heard multiple voices raised in panic. I realized I was huddling with my hands protecting my head—a foolish posture if there ever was one.

  There was another shot, followed instantly by a shrill scream of pain.

  “Someone’s down,” said Mr. Redding grimly.

  And finally I understood.

  I was too frightened to speak. I spared a second to think how glad I was that Robin and Sophie had gone home. Mr. Redding was shaking like a leaf, but he was keeping himself together.

  If it hadn’t been for Mr. Redding, I might still have been standing up and looking around in confusion. “Thanks,” I said, but my voice came out in a gasp.

  “Been a long time, but you don’t forget that sound,” he said. Obviously, crouching was painful for the elderly man, and the shock had not been good for him. His breathing was harsh.

  “I need to get back in to my daughter,” Mr. Redding said, and began to pull up on the door handle of the SUV, struggling to stand. His cane lay on the ground, forgotten.

  “No sir,” Cathy said. “The hospital is locked down now, no one in or out. Your daughter’s much safer than we are.”

  I tried to regain control of myself.

  Cathy had clipped her radio to her belt. She held her gun with both hands. I couldn’t see anyone else moving. A car alarm went off. The persistent honk was maddening. When it stopped, I let out a deep breath. After that, the parking lot, which had been full of people coming and going minutes earlier, fell still.

  There was another crack! It seemed to echo in the silence.

  Then a woman began screaming, screaming as if she would never stop. Mr. Redding’s color had worsened. He did not seem to be completely in the here and now. “I have to get back to Kathleen,” he mumbled.

  “Mr. Redding, we’re going to stay here for now,” I said, in as low a voice as I could manage. I don’t know who I thought would hear me—the big bad wolf?—but I felt the strong conviction I should stay as small and still as possible. This must be how a rabbit felt when it heard a fox in the woods. Or a wolf.

  Now, sporadically, voices were coming over the radio. Cathy, looking to her right around the back of the SUV, was trying to answer the incoming law.

  “On scene,” said a new voice calmly. “Moving west to intercept. Status?”

  Cathy responded, “Shots came from close to the entrance. I’m behind my car with two citizens. Possible victims, screaming heard, location unknown.”

  The wail of sirens grew closer.

  From where I crouched I could only see a little to the northeast. I caught movement from the corner of my eye. Susan Crawford, in uniform, was duckwalking from car to car, a little awkwardly because she was pregnant. She had her radio in her left hand, her handgun in her right. She did not hesitate. She didn’t acknowledge our presence, but I was sure she knew we were there. After peering from behind a Ford Fiesta, she moved right behind a midsize red car, maybe a Nissan. I saw her lips move, and over Cathy’s radio I heard Susan say, “I see him. Suspect’s behind the Dr. Brennan statue. White male, teens, blond, blue shirt, brown pants, maybe five foot eight. Moving into position.”

  “Backup almost there,” said a calm female voice over the radio.

  “Victim bleeding on the ground. I have a clear shot,” Susan said. “I’m taking it.” In one smooth movement, she aimed and she fired. Bam. Bam. There came a howl from closer to the hospital entrance. Susan leaned left to evaluate the damage she’d done.

  Crack.

  Susan sprawled backward, her gun and radio skittering away from her hands. Her shoulder began turning red. I was so shocked I could not draw breath for a long moment.

  “Officer down, officer down,” Cathy said into the radio. She no longer sounded calm.

  “I’m going to help her,” I said, gathering myself to rise.

  “You are not,” Cathy told me. “You are not moving at all. You’re no doctor. You’re no nurse. You’re fodder.”

  It was the most crushing telling-off I’d ever received. And I knew she was right.

  But looking at Susan lying on the pavement, bleeding, reaching her right hand across her chest to stanch the blood spreading in a creeping circle from her left shoulder … it gave me the worst feeling of helplessness I’ve ever had. I wanted to start screaming myself. Mr. Redding was staring at Susan, his mouth wide open, his color gray.

  “Officer is down east of a red Nissan,” Cathy added. “Approach from the east, keep low.”

  “One shooter’s down,” said Brad Rodenheiser. “I can see him from my window. Crawling west, leaving a blood trail.”

  Susan had stopped him.

  “Can anyone verify the location of another shooter?” It was a new voice. “I’m almost there. Safe to approach?”

  Another new voice. “Coming east from the perimeter of the parking lot,” a man said. “No more signs of another shooter. No more signs.”

  “Stop and check everyone trying to exit that parking lot,” said an older man.

  “Searching civilians.”

  I figured out the incoming officers were stopping the fleeing civilians in case one of them was another shooter. This was horrible. I had tears welling out of my eyes. “I’m so scared,” I whispered.

  “Young lady, you’ve never been to war,” Mr. Redding said, and then he fainted.

  “Cathy,” I said. She turned a
little and took in the scene. She spoke into her radio again. All I could do was straighten Mr. Redding out and unbutton his collar and remove his tie.

  “Parking lot secure,” said a disembodied voice.

  “Shooter in custody,” said a voice I’d heard before. “Repeat. He is in custody. Gunshot to the abdomen. Waiting for lockdown to be reversed.”

  “Ten-four,” dispatch radioed.

  There was a pause. Then that first voice said, “Cathy, you need to come in ASAP.”

  Cathy turned completely white. She reholstered her gun in slow motion, and as an EMT crew swarmed over Susan (thank God) Cathy began walking away. I started to ask her what we should do, but I didn’t. It seemed best to keep quiet.

  Then another team of EMTs crowded around Carter Redding, and I told them the little I knew about him and what had happened. Mr. Redding was unresponsive, and they put him on a gurney and began pushing it through the phalanxes of cars to reach help.

  And there I was, alone in a parking lot swarming with police and civilians now trying to reach their cars to get the hell out of this place.

  I was so glad I had my phone. I called Robin and started crying. “Please come get me,” I said. “Please come get me.” He asked me questions, but I could not seem to get enough breath to answer him. I saw a familiar face and headed for it. Officer Rodenheiser looked ten years older than he had an hour before.

  “Did you see what happened?” he asked.

  I shook my head. I had to gasp for enough breath to answer him. “I was with Cathy. I saw Susan get shot. And Mr. Redding passed out.” I had a hard time making sense. I finally managed to give him a narrative that satisfied him.

  “The kid with the gun was Cathy’s nephew?” I asked, finally.

  Brad nodded. “We’d suspected it was Duncan who fired into that house party last Saturday night, but we couldn’t build a case against him. Duncan’s mom, Annette, is Cathy’s sister. Dr. Clifton is the one who put Duncan’s mom in the hospital.”