Sacred Sins (36 page)

From the car Ben studied the building. It had seen better days. Much better days. There were a couple of broken windows with newspapers clogging the holes.

Graffiti was splashed lavishly on the east wall. Cans and broken bottles were in more profusion than grass.

“He's in 303. Fire escape's on the third floor. If he bolts, I don't want to chase him all over his own territory.”

Ed dug a dime out of his pocket. “We flip to see who goes in and who covers the back.”

“Fine. Heads I go in, tails I climb up the fire escape and cover the window. Oh, no, not in here.” Ben put a hand on Ed's arm before his partner could flip the coin. “Last time you flipped in here I ended up having bean sprouts for lunch. We do it outside, where we've got some room.”

In agreement, they got out and stood on the sidewalk. Ed took off his gloves, pocketing them before he flipped the coin.

“Heads,” he announced, showing the coin. “Give me time to get in position.”

“Let's go.” Ben kicked the glass neck of a beer bottle out of his way and started into the building. Inside it smelled like baby puke and old whiskey. Ben unzipped his jacket as he climbed to the third floor. He took a long, slow look up and down the hall before he knocked on 303.

The door was opened a crack by a teenager with matted hair and a missing front tooth. Even before he got the first whiff of pot, Ben saw by his eyes that he was high. “Amos Reeder?”

“Who wants him?”

Ben flipped open his badge.

“Amos ain't here. He's out looking for work.”

“Okay. I'll talk to you.”

“Man, you got a warrant or something?”

“We can talk in the hall, inside, or downtown. You got a name?”

“I don't have to tell you nothing. I'm in here minding my own business.”

“Yeah, and I smell enough grass coming through this door to show probable cause. Want me to come in and take a look around? Vice is having a special this week. For every ounce of pot I turn in, I get a free T-shirt.”

“Kevin Danneville.” Ben saw sweat begin to pearl on the kid's forehead. “Look, I got rights. I don't have to talk to no cops.”

“You look nervous, Kevin.” Ben pressed a hand to the door to keep the crack open. “How old are you?”

“I'm eighteen, if it's any of your fucking business.” “Eighteen? You look more like sixteen to me, and you're not in school. I might have to take you down to juvie. Why don't you tell me about a little girl whose daddy had a coin collection?”

It was the shifting of Kevin's eyes that saved Ben's life. He saw the change of expression, and on instinct whirled. The knife came down, but instead of severing his jugular, made a long slice through his arm as he fell against the door and crashed into the apartment.

“Christ, Amos, he's a cop. You can't kill a cop.” Kevin, rushing to get out of the way, crashed into a table and sent a lamp shattering to the floor.

Reeder, flying on the PCP he'd just scored, only grinned. “I'm going to cut the motherfucker's heart out.”

Ben had time enough to see that his assailant was barely old enough to be out of high school before the knife swung toward him again. He dodged, fighting to free his weapon with his left hand as blood poured out of the right. Kevin scooted over the floor like a crab and whimpered. Behind them the window crashed in.

“Police.” Ed stood outside the window, legs spread, revolver level. “Drop the knife or I'll shoot.”

Spittle ran out of the side of Amos's mouth as he focused on Ben. Incredibly, he giggled. “Gonna slice you up. Slice you into little pieces, man.” Hefting the knife over his head, he made a leap. The.38 caliber, blunt-nosed wadcutter caught him in the chest and jerked his body back. For a moment he stood, eyes wide, blood pumping out of the hole in his chest. Ed kept his finger wrapped around the trigger guard. Then Reeder went down, taking a folding table with him. The knife slipped out of his hand with a quiet clatter. He died without a sound.

Ben stumbled and went down to his knees. By the time Ed climbed through the broken window, he'd managed to free his gun. “Flinch,” Ben said between gritted teeth as he aimed his service revolver at Kevin. “Just one good flinch is considered resisting arrest.”

“Amos did it. Amos did all of them,” Kevin said as he began to blubber. “I just watched. I swear, I just watched, that's all.”

“Just one good flinch, you little sonofabitch, and I'll blow your balls off before you learn how to use them.”

Ed made a routine and unnecessary check of Amos before he crouched beside Ben. “How bad's the arm?”

The pain was incredibly hot and had already made a trip into his stomach to trigger nausea. “I had to pick heads. Next time I toss.”

“Fine. Let's have a look.”

“Just call someone in to clean up this mess, and get me to the hospital.”

“Didn't hit an artery or you'd be gushing out A Positive.”

“Oh, that's okay then.” He sucked in his breath as Ed revealed the wound. “How about a round of golf?”

“Just keep this on it, hold the pressure steady.”

Ed took Ben's gun then clamped his hand onto the bandanna he'd put on the gash. The smell of his own
blood drifted up to him. Where he sat, his feet were only inches from Amos's. “Thanks.”

“It's okay, it's an old bandanna.”

“Ed.” Ben spared a glance at Kevin, who'd curled into the fetal position with his hands over his ears. “He's got a picture of Charles Manson over the bed.”

“I saw it.”

B
EN
sat on the edge of the table in Emergency and counted nurses to keep his mind off the needle going in and out of his flesh. The doctor who stitched him up chatted amiably about the Redskins' chances against the Cowboys on Sunday. In the curtained enclosure beside them a doctor and two nurses worked on a nineteen-year-old girl fighting off a crack overdose. Ben listened to her sobbing and wished for a cigarette.

“I hate hospitals,” he muttered.

“Most people do.” The doctor sewed as neatly as a maiden aunt. “The defensive line's like a brick wall. If we keep it on the ground, Dallas is going to be standing around sucking their thumbs by the third quarter.”

“Not a pretty sight.” Ben's concentration wavered long enough for him to feel the pull and tug on his flesh. He focused his attention on the sounds behind the curtain. The kid was hyperventilating. A sharp, authoritative voice was ordering her to breathe into a paper bag. “You get many like her in here?”

“More every day.” The doctor knotted off another suture. “We put them back on their feet, if they're lucky, so they can go to the first street corner and buy another vial. There, that's a very nice seam, if I say so myself. What do you think?”

“I'll take your word for it.”

Tess rushed through the automatic glass doors of Emergency. After a quick glance around the waiting area,
she headed toward the examining rooms. She stopped, staring blankly as an orderly wheeled away a gurney with a shrouded figure on top. Her blood drained down to her feet. A nurse came out of a curtained area and took her by the arm.

“I'm sorry, miss, you don't belong back here.”

“Detective Paris. Stabbing.”

“He's getting his arm stitched up back there.” The nurse kept her grip firm. “Now, why don't you go back to the waiting room and—”

“I'm his doctor,” Tess managed, and tore her arm away. She didn't run. There was enough control left so that she walked steadily enough past a broken arm, a second-degree burn, and a mild concussion. An old woman lay on a gurney in the hall, trying miserably to sleep. Tess passed the last curtained area and found him.

“Why, Tess.” The doctor looked over, pleased and surprised. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh. John. Hello.”

“Hello yourself. It's not often I get beautiful women to visit me at the office,” he began, then saw the way she looked at his patient. “Oh, I see.” His considerable ego took only a slight bruise. “I take it you two know each other.”

Ben shifted on the table and would have stood if the doctor hadn't held him still. “What are you doing in here?”

“Ed called me at the clinic.”

“He shouldn't have.”

Now that her images of him bleeding to death were put to rest, her knees went weak. “He thought I might be concerned, and didn't want me to hear about it on a news bulletin. John, how bad is it?”

“It's no big deal,” Ben answered.

“Ten stitches,” the doctor added as he secured the bandage. “No apparent muscle damage, some blood
loss but nothing major. To quote the Duke, it's just a scratch.”

“The guy had a goddamn butcher knife,” Ben muttered, annoyed at having someone else downplay his injury.

“Fortunately,” John went on as he turned to the tray beside him, “the detective's jacket and fancy footwork prevented the wound from being any deeper. Without it, we'd have been stitching up both sides of his arm. This will sting a bit.”

“What will?” Automatically Ben shot out a hand to grab the doctor's wrist.

“Just a little tetanus shot,” John said soothingly. “After all, we don't know where that knife has been. Come on now, bite the bullet.”

He started to protest again, but Tess took his hand. The sting in his arm came, then dulled.

“There now.” John left the tray for a nurse to deal with. “That ties things up. Forgive the pun. No tennis or sumo wrestling for a couple of weeks, Detective. Keep the area dry and come back for a return visit the end of next week. I'll yank those stitches out for you.”

“Thanks a lot.”

“Your good health and medical insurance are thanks enough. Nice seeing you, Tess. Give me a call the next time you're in the mood for saki and sea urchin.”

“Bye, John.”

“John, huh?” Ben eased himself off the table. “Did you ever date anyone but doctors?”

“Whatever for?” A light answer seemed best when she'd spotted the blood-soaked linen on the tray. “Here's your shirt. Let me help you.”

“I can do it.” But his arm was stiff and painful. He managed one sleeve.

“It's all right. You're entitled to be cranky after ten stitches.”

“Cranky?” He shut his eyes as she eased his shirt on. “Jesus Christ. Four-year-olds are cranky if they don't have a nap.”

“Yes, I know. Here, I'll button it.” She intended to. She told herself she would button his shirt, keep the conversation brisk. She'd nearly done two before she dropped her forehead on his chest.

“Tess?” He brought his hand to her hair. “What is it?”

“Nothing.” She drew herself away and with her head bent finished buttoning his shirt.

“Tess.” With a hand under her chin, he lifted her face. Tears swam in her eyes. He brushed one from her lashes with his thumb. “Don't.”

“I'm not going to.” But her breath hitched before she pressed her cheek to his. “Just a minute, okay?”

“Yeah.” He put his good arm around her and absorbed the basic pleasure of being cared about. Some women had been turned on by his job, others repulsed by it, but he wasn't sure he'd ever had anyone who just cared.

“I was scared,” she admitted, her voice muffled against him.

“Me too.”

“Later, will you tell me about it?”

“If I have to. A guy hates to admit to his woman that he was a jerk.”

“Were you?”

“I was sure the little sonofabitch was inside. Ed had the window, I had the door. Very simple.” When he drew away, he saw her gaze go to his ripped and bloodstained shirt. “You think this is bad, you should see my jacket. I just bought it two months ago.”

In control again, she took his arm and led him down the hall. “Well, maybe Santa will bring you a new one for Christmas. Do you want me to drive you home?”

“No, thanks. I've got a report to file. And if the other kid hasn't spilled his guts by now, I want to be in on the interrogation.”

“So there were two.”

“There's only one now.”

She thought of the shrouded figure on the gurney. Because she could smell the dried blood on Ben's shirt, Tess said nothing. “There's Ed.”

“Oh, God, he's reading.”

Ed glanced up, gave his partner a quick but very thorough study, then smiled at Tess. “Hi, Dr. Court. I must have missed you when you came in.” He didn't mention the fact that when she'd arrived, he'd been donating a pint of blood. Both he and Ben were A Positive. Setting the magazine aside, he gave Ben his jacket and holster. “Too bad about the coat. It should only take the department till April to process the papers and replace it.”

“Ain't it the truth?” With Ed's help Ben managed to heft on his holster and the damaged jacket.

“You know, I just read this fascinating article about kidneys.”

“Save it,” Ben advised, and turned to Tess. “You going back to the clinic?”

“Yes, I left in the middle of a session.” It wasn't until that moment that Tess fully realized she had put him ahead of a patient. “Speaking as a doctor, I'd advise you to go home and rest after you've filed your report. I'll be home around six-thirty, and could probably be persuaded to pamper you.”

“Define pamper.”

Ignoring him, she turned to Ed. “Why don't you come to dinner, Ed?”

Initially he looked perplexed by the invitation, then pleased. “Well, I—Thanks.”