Polly Iyer - Diana Racine 03 - Backlash (18 page)

A Long, Long Nap

L
ucier
felt like shit. He’d forced the doctor to check him out of the hospital too early, but he’d be doing there what he was doing at Diana’s, resting, only she served better food. His thoughts were confirmed when the doorbell rang and he had to strain to get off the sofa to see who was there. When he peeked through the window and Beecher’s face smiled back at him, he opened the door.

“They sent you to babysit me?” Lucier asked. At Beecher’s discomfort, Lucier knew he’d hit the nail on the head.

“No, I came for the beef stew. Adele is going shopping with her sister tonight.”

“Uh-huh.” Smirking, he hobbled back to the sofa. “Did you stay long enough to see what Diana came up with?”

“No. I figured she’d call if she found anything. Besides, I’m hungry.”

“Help yourself, but don’t bullshit me. Who put you here, Diana or the captain?”

“Diana, though the captain knows. He said fine as long as I’m on call.”

“Diana was worried I was in danger, right?” He could hear Beecher in the kitchen, removing the cover from the pot and spooning out the stew. “And she sent you over to make sure no one finished the job.”

“You can’t blame her,” Beecher said, his mouth full of Diana’s one-pot meal. “You’re not in the best physical condition. And don’t say you were safe because the door was locked. You didn’t turn the deadbolt. I could have picked that lock in thirty seconds.”

“Shades of your youth?”

“Shades of a lock-picking class.” Beecher shoveled another spoonful in his mouth. “You need to take this seriously, Ernie. Someone’s ordered a hit on you twice. They mean business, if you haven’t figured that out.”

“What I haven’t figured out is who the hell is behind this. What about alibis for the night Chenault and Alba were killed?”

“All the remaining card players checked out, and they weren’t covering each other.”

“Hodge, Michel,
and
Rickett?”

“Yup.”

“Lightner?”

Beecher did a double take. “You think Lightner’s involved? He’s a commander.”

Lucier exhaled slowly. “Most of my prospective suspects are in his district, and he was awfully interested in our investigation.”

“Tell me someone who isn’t. That little weasel reporter, Jake Griffin, already wrote on the revenge killings and the two cop murders even before we made them public.”

“I’d love to get my hands on that sleazebag and slap him with an obstruction charge,” Lucier said.

“Personally, I’d rather just slap him around, but that would only get me an assault charge.”

“There have to be others involved. Someone’s feeding Griffin information. The only other link is Kitty’s Kabaret. Cops are in there all the time. Kitty knows everything that’s going on in town, and Emile is buddy-buddy with a few too.” Lucier thought of Emile and Chenault. “Did you check them out?”

“Emile and Kitty were at the club until two. Cothran said the victims died between eight and two. Besides, I can’t see either Kitty or Emile as the shooter, can you?”

“No, but I’m not counting anyone out. We had contact with them about the case, and someone’s trying to kill me. If I’m getting too close, too close to whom?”

Beecher shrugged. Mumbled something with his mouth full.

This case was making Lucier crazy. In his heart, he believed cops were involved, but forcing the issue without proof would bring him up against the solid blue wall. On top of that, all he wanted to do right now was sleep. Maybe a nap would refresh his thinking.

“Since you’ve been assigned to babysit me, make yourself at home. I’m going to the bedroom to get a little shuteye. I haven’t had much sleep in the last few days.”

“You need any help?”

“Yeah, you can get me that bottle of painkillers on the kitchen counter and a glass of water.”

Beecher complied. Lucier took one pill, thanked Beecher, and shuffled to the guest bedroom.

“I brought the case file,” Beecher said. “I’ve gone over the damn thing a dozen times. Maybe one more pass will jog something in my mind.”

“Hope so. I’m out of it for now. When Diana gets back with Cash or if she calls, wake me. I’m turning off my phone. See you in a couple of hours.”

Diana had insisted he sleep alone so she wouldn’t disturb him. He didn’t argue. She was too much of a temptation, and he didn’t need the exercise right now. What he needed was to heal and stop the killings. He didn’t want Diana to be the next victim.

The sheets smelled fresh and clean, and he crawled into them and shut his eyes.

D
iana
called Lucier’s phone three times on the way back to her house, with no answer. Cash tried Beecher. He didn’t answer either.

“Come on, answer, Ernie.” She stomped her foot on the floorboard, willing the car to accelerate. “I don’t like this, Willy.”

“Neither do I. Beecher always answers.” He turned on his flashers and floored the gas pedal. While driving, he punched in Halloran on speed dial and put the conversation on speakerphone. “Have you heard from Beecher or the boss?”

“Not since he told me he was going to Diana’s and I should head back to the district. Why?”

“I can’t raise either of them. Beecher went to Diana’s house to stay with the lieutenant. I have a good idea where Feldman’s kid is. Not exactly, but one of a few places.”

“Did you call the captain?” Halloran asked.

“No. Touch base with him, will ya? Tell him about the lieutenant. We’re on the way to Diana’s house.”

“Gotcha.”

Diana always thought Willy Cash, the youngest of Lucier’s team, somewhat naïve. She saw a different side of him now, and his take-charge attitude gave her comfort, though not enough to erase her fear of what they’d find at her house. Her heart thumped a wild beat. “Hurry, Willy.” She wanted to kick herself for saying that, because he was driving way past the speed limit. She blessed him for not getting angry with her.

He veered onto her street on three wheels and screeched to a stop behind Beecher’s car. The door to the house was wide open.

Cash drew his gun. “Lock yourself in the car.”

“No. I’m going with you.”

He blew out a breath and checked the load in his gun. “Okay, but stay close.”

They ran toward the door.
Please, Ernie. Be all right. Please.

L
ucier
heard muffled voices in his dreams. But were they dreams? Slowly, he opened his eyes. The room circled. He was so dizzy he closed them again. Even then, everything swirled in the dark. His chest throbbed. His whole body hurt. He forced his eyes open again, blinked a few times, and waited for the spinning to stop. It slowed but didn’t stop. One fact was clear: he wasn’t at Diana’s house.

Wherever he was, he didn’t remember getting there. The last thing he recalled was sliding between the freshly laundered sheets in Diana’s guestroom. Could the pill he’d taken have knocked him out so solidly that he wouldn’t wake when someone moved him?

He looked around. The dimmed room measured about ten by ten, covered in cheap veneer paneling. Unimaginative discount store pictures hung on the walls. Everything else was standard room furnishings: single bed, lamp, side table, and one chair.

Not only was he in pain, when he tried to lift himself off the bed, his body felt like it weighed a thousand pounds.
What the hell?

The voices still hummed in the background, echolike. He listened hard but could determine neither the words nor the speakers. Two, possibly three men, but definitely two. He ran his hand over a sore spot on his arm. Rolling up his sleeve, he tried to focus on where he hurt, but he was still too woozy to see clearly. He rested his eyes until they stopped burning, and when he looked again, he saw a needle puncture marked the skin. They’d injected him with a drug. What kind of drug? Didn’t matter right now. He was alive. If they’d wanted to kill him, he’d be dead.

Panic set in. Diana’s face emerged in his barely conscious mind. Had she and Cash come home before whoever took him arrived? Was she here too? Had they hurt her? The thought of her in danger boosted his strength, and he pushed himself up. Pain wrenched his side, and the room went around in circles. A million questions tumbled through his brain, fleeting thoughts he couldn’t quite grasp.

And what about Beecher? Had they drugged him too, or worse? Slowly, the last few days crystalized. The attempt on his life. Feldman and his abducted son. Had Diana found him?

He called out, but his voice croaked hollow from his parched throat. A pitcher of water and a glass he hadn’t noticed sat on the side table. He lifted the pitcher. The damn thing weighed more than a sack of bricks, but he managed to tip some into the glass and drink. Water never tasted so good.

Within minutes, the room started spinning again. He called out, “Hey, whoever’s out there, show yourself.” Did they hear him? “Cowards.” The word trailed off.

He was so tired, he fell back until his head hit the pillow again.

So tired
.

* * * * *

H
ot
lights beamed down on Diana as she pranced across the stage in high heels, wearing a clingy white top and slinky black skirt. Laughing, she teased the audience, drawing them into her mystical world. Lucier couldn’t decipher her words, but the crowd cheered her on, clapping and waving their hands in the air, begging her to choose them for her next reading. She laughed, her black curls bouncing.

Then a deafening crack broke the frivolity.

People froze in their seats.

Everything stopped.

A red stain appeared on Diana’s blouse, spreading over her torso in slow motion. She looked down, her expression questioning. Her hand turned crimson when she touched her chest, and blood dripped onto the stage, puddling around Diana’s shoes.

“Why?” she asked, falling to her knees. “Why?”

Blood poured from her chest. She toppled over, face first, and lay in an ever-expanding pool of red, legs splayed awkwardly behind her.

“Why?” Lucier bolted upright. “Why?” he screamed. “Why, why, why?” Panting to catch his breath, he fell back hard onto the bed. Bad dream, he told himself.
Not real.

The door burst open. Lucier tried to focus, but the room was a murky blur. A dark hooded figure rushed toward him.

“Who are you? Why are you doing this?”

Get up. Fight
. Lucier struggled to get to his feet. He couldn’t make anything work.
Fight
.

The room went crazy in circles.

“Why?” he managed to ask again.

The silent man grabbed Lucier’s arm. He pulled away. No match. Too strong. He reached for the man’s hood, but his arm flailed in space, unable to make contact.

A syringe.

Lucier fought and twisted, energy draining with every movement, but the man jabbed the needle into his vein. “Ooohh, nooo.”

Body arched, his eyes rolled into his head. Warmth surged through his veins, warm like sunshine. He felt no more pain, just a wave of pleasure.

Come, Diana. Come with me to Paradise.

Come.

B
efore
Diana could plow through the open door, Cash stopped her with an arm across her chest and motioned her to stay outside.

Fat chance
.

Shaking his head at her persistence, and with his gun drawn, he entered cautiously. Beecher lay sprawled behind the door, blood congealed on the side of his head from a nasty gash. Cash swept the room, then disappeared into the back of the house.

Diana wanted to go with him but stooped to place her fingers on Beecher’s neck instead. “He’s alive,” she said when Cash returned. “How’s Ernie?”

“Gone. No blood, no sign of a struggle.” He called to report the break-in and ordered an ambulance.

“How could that be?” Panicked, she ran to the guestroom, then the bedroom. The house wasn’t that big. Lucier wasn’t there. Returning to the guestroom, she searched for some clue, something to tell her where he was or who took him.

“Don’t touch anything, Diana,” Cash said. “You don’t want to mess up any prints.”

Though the bed had been slept in, nothing appeared unusually mussed. Her insides twisted with fright. “Why would they take him? Why?”

“Dunno, but if they wanted him dead, he’d be dead.” He tried to rouse Beecher. “Come on, Sam. Open your eyes. Talk to me.”

“Sam, where’s Ernie?” she said to the unresponsive detective.

“See those little pieces of confetti-looking stuff. That’s from a Taser. Beecher was zapped, then clobbered.”

“Sam wouldn’t let just anyone in. He must have known them.”

“Not if they left him alive.”

“How then, Willy? Ernie wouldn’t have walked out of here without putting up a fight. Yet ―”

“He didn’t walk out of here on his own steam.”

Diana paced in circles. “Oh, God, what the hell is happening?”

Cash put a pillow under Beecher’s feet. “He’s out cold, but his pulse is strong.”

The whir of a siren stopped all conversation, along with an awakening moan from Beecher. Cash hurried outside while Diana tried again to rouse the detective.

“Come on, Sam. Wake up. Tell us what happened.”

Two EMS techs barreled through the door pushing a gurney and went straight to Beecher, nudging Diana out of the way. Beecher moaned again. “Ernie.”

Diana pushed her way back in. “Where is he, Sam? Who took him?”

One tech strapped a blood pressure cuff to Beecher’s arm; the other put an oxygen mask over his mouth and took his pulse. Beecher opened his eyes, but they rolled up into his head.

“That’s a nasty bump on his head. We’d better get him to the ER on the double.” They slid Beecher onto the gurney and rolled him out the door.

“We can’t forget about the Feldman boy, Diana. He’s suffocating somewhere. Beecher’s in good hands. We need to find the kid, then find where they took the lieutenant. I thought of calling the captain, but the lieutenant didn’t want anything leaking. I won’t call. We can get chewed out together.”

Her head felt on the verge of exploding. A boy was dying, and the love of her life was missing.

Cash went into the kitchen to talk, and Diana went back into the guestroom. She touched the bed sheets, held the top sheet to her cheek, concentrated. “Tell me where you are, Ernie.” But Ernie Lucier was beyond her psychic reach, evident from the first day she met him. Once, she tried to read him without telling him, but through some miraculous stroke of fate, he’d been off limits to her. She’d always been grateful for that, until now.

Cash came into the room. “I need access to your computer. Mine’s in the car, but yours will be faster than setting up mine.”

She led him into her office, and he booted up her laptop. “We still need to keep Feldman’s death quiet so whoever took the kid will think they have leverage.”

“But they’ll kill the boy no matter what, won’t they?”

“I don’t see how they can let him go if he can identify them. Maybe they wore hoods or threw a hood over him. Your vision said he’s still alive.” He logged on to Google Earth. “I need to locate landfills.”

“Landfills? You mean dumps? How did you come up with that?”

“Circling birds could mean the carcass of a dead animal anywhere, but a mound and circling birds, now that’s telling. If I’m wrong, and the kid’s as bad off as you said, he’s dead.”

Cash’s fingers danced over the keyboard, zeroing in and out of locations. He kept returning to one site in particular and focused the perspective to match as closely to Diana’s description as possible. “Does this look familiar?”

She studied the picture on the screen. “It could be, maybe from another side.”

He zoomed out to display the surroundings around the hill of trash. “How about now?”

“I don’t know, Willy. I saw the scene from the boy’s viewpoint. This could be the place, but I don’t see anywhere he could be in the land around here.” Then she closed in on the computer screen. “What’s that tower-like thing?”

“A crane. That’s what you saw, right?”

“Yes, a crane. Of course. A landfill with birds and a crane.”

“Let’s go,” he said. “I know where this is, and it’s not far from the cemetery where you found Chenault and Alba.”

“What about Ernie?”

“Nothing we can do about him right now, but we can save a boy’s life. Hurry.”

Though distraught by Lucier’s disappearance, Diana agreed. The boy depended on them. They raced to the car, and Cash hit the accelerator before she could fasten her seatbelt.

Diana’s thoughts were torn between two people: the boy and Lucier. She prayed for them silently while Cash sped toward the landfill. He navigated traffic with the skill of a stunt driver. She watched him, knowing how pleased Lucier would be at how he was handling the situation. With Halloran taking the new calls normally shared among the three in Lucier’s group, Cash had taken charge of this investigation.

“We’re here,” Cash said. “Now the fun begins. Any idea to the direction?”

She surveyed the area. “There has to be a road, right?”

“Right.” Cash tapped into his phone. “There are two, one on either side. Where was the crane in your vision?”

She closed her eyes, drawing on her memory. “On the back side.” She pointed. “There.”

Cash checked his phone again, then put the car in reverse, backed up, and turned around. He shot forward for about a quarter of a mile before coming to a narrow road. He banked a sharp right and kept going. The landscape on the passenger side was scrubland, but over a rise, Diana saw a scattering of run-down trailers. “There. See them, Willy?”

“I see them. Hold on.”

She didn’t think Cash could go much faster on the rough surface of the country road, but she was wrong. When he bounced over one hump, she thought for sure all four wheels left the road. He slowed when they got to the neglected entrance of a deserted mobile home park. A dozen dilapidated trailers parked helter-skelter sat cramped in the small area. Only four faced the landfill.

“They look abandoned,” Diana said. “No cars, nothing.”

“They are. This is a condemned trailer burial ground.” Cash shut off the car and hit the steering wheel in frustration. “If the kid’s here, I want the son of a bitch who left him to die inside one of these tin cans. I want him bad. Take the left side and start yelling. Try the doors, bang on them. Rip them off the hinges, whatever. Call me if you hear anything.”

Diana took the one nearest her while Cash sprinted to the other end.

“Alan, Alan Feldman.” The first one she went to was on blocks. Mold covered the siding. “Alan. Can you hear me?”

Cash hollered Alan’s name at the other end.

Diana climbed up on the rickety stoop and tried the door. Locked. She peeked inside. “Alan, your mother sent me.” Nothing. She stood on tiptoes to see inside but could detect no one. She dashed to the next one and did the same thing, but again, empty.

Cash ran to meet her. “Nothing, Diana. I didn’t see anything or hear anything.”

Both screamed Alan’s name again. Tears leaked from Diana’s eyes. “I’m sure he was here.” One more scan of the area. “Wait, Willy. That trailer on the other side. See? It faces the landfill with a clear view.”

They both ran to the discarded trailer. Cash climbed on the stoop and looked into the dirty window. “I see something on the floor.” He tried the door but it was locked. Waving his hand, he said, “Get back. I’m going to shoot off the lock.”

Diana hopped down the steps and covered her ears. Cash shielded his eyes, blew off the lock, and wrenched open the door. Hot fetid air blasted out like a furnace, forcing Diana to turn away to suck in fresh air.

Alan Feldman lay curled on a torn, dirty mattress at the back of the trailer in front of the window overlooking the landfill. Cash hurried to him and bent down in front of the boy’s face. “He’s burning up and not sweating. Pulse rapid.”

“What does that mean?” Diana asked.

“Means we’d better get him to a hospital, and fast.”

Cash picked up the limp boy, and they hurried to the car. “We can get him there faster than if we called an ambulance.”

“Poor baby,” Diana said. “I’ll stay in back with him.”

Cash set Alan on the backseat of the car. “Unbutton his shirt.”

Diana climbed in next to him and did what Cash told her to do. She gently lifted his head onto her lap and strapped them both in. The pulse in the boy’s neck was pumping fast. She said a little prayer.
Please, God, keep him safe
. She finger-combed his hair back and stroked his forehead.

“Here’s a bottle of water,” Cash said.

“Great.” She twisted off the cap and sprinkled some on a scarf she had in her purse to rub around the boy’s neck and forehead.

“Hold on tight,” Cash said.

She leaned down and whispered, “You hold on too, Alan. Hold on.”