Shadow Tag (The Ray Schiller Series - Book 2) (21 page)

“If you won’t listen to me, will you at least listen to him?” Ray said. “I’ll stay with Krista. At the very least, you need to take a break and get something to eat.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Gail, you haven’t had anything to eat since—”

Her body trembled. “I want to be here to—”

“To what?” Ray asked. “There’s nothing either
of us can do. You ought to go home—have something to eat there—lie down in your own bed—get some sleep.”

“I’ve got to go,” Meier told them. “Your husband’s right, Mrs. Schiller. I suggest you take his advice.” He walked away, leaving Ray to deal with the situation.

“You heard him.”

“I can’t, Ray. I wouldn’t be able to sleep, anyway.”

He realized he could only push her so hard. “If you can’t sleep, then, at least go to the cafeteria and grab a bite to eat; you’re running on empty.” Following another round of arguments, he walked with Gail to the nearest elevator. “I’ll see you in a few, GAMS.” He saw the look of surprise on her face as the elevator doors slid shut between them. GAMS—Gail Arabella McKenzie Schiller. More than an acronym, it was the nickname he used to compliment Gail on her great legs. That and all terms of endearment had died sudden deaths when he’d walked out. Its resurrection must have surprised her as much as it did him.

Ray returned to Krista’s room and caressed her hand as though it might break. He bent low and kissed her forehead. “Okay, where were we, sweetheart? What was Horton up to? Never mind, I remember.”

25

Morning came. Each passing hour became more agonizing than the last. Gail had fallen asleep on a waiting room couch, scrunched up like a wadded piece of paper, Bleary-eyed, Ray looked at his watch, checking the second hand to be sure it was moving. They had called the Clarks to speak with Laurie again. While Ray assured her of a good outcome for Krista, sick at heart, he feared it was a promise which might not be kept.

He stretched and headed down the west corridor toward a group of vending machines. More queasy than hungry, he passed them by for a public phone farther down the hall. Even if Waverly had nothing new to report on the Paul Davis case, the call would provide a temporary diversion. With an underlying sense of urgency, he punched in the numbers.

“Waverly.”

“Dick, it’s Ray.”

“Hey, what’s happening there?”

Ray kept his report concise.

“Everybody here wishes you the best, buddy. Hang in there.”

“Thank them for me.”

“I will.” There was a brief silence, then something to make Ray smile. “I’ve got nothing new on the case, but I’ll tell you this much, buddy: you can be glad you’re out of the office. Hanratty’s been eating those damn bean burritos again. He cut loose with a five-second C-flat fart in the john yesterday that would have wilted the flowers on wallpaper. I swear to God.”

The laugh felt good.

“Seriously,” Waverly said, “somebody ought to turn that guy in to the EPA.” So it went for as long as Waverly could come up with any chitchat that might, even temporarily, lighten his partner’s load.

Ray returned to the waiting room and found Gail as he had left her—eyes closed, her legs tucked up on the couch, her head bent at an awkward angle. He sat beside her and slipped a shoulder under her head for support. She woke with a start.

“Sorry. You looked uncomfortable; I thought a shoulder might help.”

She forced herself upright. “That’s all right, thanks.” Her dark eyes had lost their luster, but she struggled to keep them open.

Like old times, he slid closer, offering himself as a resting place. Gail leaned against him, laying her head on his chest as he slipped an arm around her. She was so much a part of him it felt like having a limb reattached, “I just called my partner,” he said. “I feel shitty about sticking him with our entire workload.”

Gail spoke through a yawn. “It’s not like you had a choice. He’s not complaining, is he?”

“Waverly? Hell, no—not a word. He’s a good guy, but that only makes me feel worse.”

Too exhausted to talk any longer, she tossed her auburn hair back, laid her head on his chest and fell into another fitful sleep. Minutes later, exhaustion overtook Ray as well.

Two hours later, Gail woke him, shaking his shoulder. “Ray, you’ve got an outside call. The nurse says you can take it at their station.”

He stood with a slight wobble. “Where?” he asked.

“Over there.” Gail pointed him in the right direction.

Still groggy, he picked up the handset and accessed the outside line. “Ray Schiller,” he said.

“It’s me, Ray…Dick.”

He cleared the sleep sand from his eyes. “What’s up?”

“Listen, buddy, are you sitting down? I’ve got news. You’re not going to like it, but keep in mind it’s not entirely bad.”

“Geezus, Dick, would you just get on with it?”

“Yeah, okay. I got a call from the lab. Hold onto your britches, buddy.” Waverly cleared his throat. “The bullet that killed Paul Davis did
not
come from Michael Johnson’s gun.”

“What?”

“One of the techs screwed up.”

“What the...?” Ray heard a massive sigh on the other end of the line.

“The lab’s been swamped for months. The natural assumption was that the bullet in Davis’s head came from the gun in his hand. Going on that assumption, someone over there put the ballistics test on the back burner. They didn’t get around to checking until now, and the results show the gun and bullet don’t match. Where the actual murder weapon is, I’ve got no frickin’ idea.”

“What the hell kind of fly-by-night operation are they running?”

“Hey, every now and then things get crazy; the workload gets hectic and mistakes get made.”

“That’s a crock of shit.”

“Well, face it, buddy, sometimes shit happens. This screw-up is just bigger than most.”

“No damn fooling.”

“Anyway, let’s just be glad we’re on top of the situation now. We’re looking for a 9 mm semi-automatic. And it’s like we thought; Johnson’s got to be covering for Jillian Wirth. The bullet we got out of the ash stand…? That one came from Johnson’s pearl-handled revolver.”

“We should’ve had that information from the start.”

“But we didn’t; those are the breaks. By the way,” Waverly said, “Johnson’s still claiming he did it.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“No, I swear to God.”

Ray gripped the phone tighter. “I wish I could be there to help.”

“Don’t worry about it. You’ve got enough on your plate right now. Tell ya what, though—if you get the chance, think about where we should start looking for that 9mm. Captain Roth’s looking for somebody’s ass to chew and it looks like my butt’s on the buffet. If I can keep him at bay for a while, maybe he’ll lose his appetite by the time he finishes feeding on the forensic guys. Hey, I gotta go, buddy.”

“Stay in touch, Dick.”

“Count on it.”

26

Stable.
The word began to grate. The occasional updates from the nurses were welcome, but there’d been no word of improvement. Tension mounted, leaving Ray with a dwindling supply of resilience.

He returned from another brief visit with Laurie in desperate need of good news. His first sight of Gail told him there was none. She managed a weak smile as he sat beside her. Ray slung an arm around her and kissed her gingerly on the cheek. “That’s from Laurie,” he said. Retelling every detail of the visit felt like a chore, but he shared all of it.

Gail gave way to the building stress and buried her face in her hands.

“Look at yourself; you’re falling apart. I don’t need you hospitalized, too. Get out of here and go home for a while, Gail.”

“Ray, I can’t.”

He took Gail by the arm and lifted her to her feet. “Stop arguing.” He grabbed the purse she’d left hanging over the back of a chair and handed it to her. “Go. If there’s any change, I’ll let you know.”

She looked at him through a haze of exhaustion, too tired to argue anymore. “Do I have your word, Ray?”

“Yes. Now go home and get some rest.”

Around 9:00 p.m. Ray forced down an egg salad sandwich on whole wheat. Not a favorite, at least it would help keep his strength up. Reading a magazine, he found himself unable to get past the first paragraph. He resorted to rifling through his mental files on the Davis case, testing theory after theory. It was the distraction he needed.

The forensics lab had thrown them a major curve, but Waverly was right; it looked like the case against Jillian Wirth was gaining strength. Knowing she hadn’t used her stepfather’s gun to kill Davis gave Ray a small degree of comfort. As a cop, maintaining faith in the human race could be hard enough without dealing with someone who was willing to set up a family member on a murder charge.

It crossed his mind that Johnson might have shot Davis with one gun and switched his pearl-handled revolver for the murder weapon. He’d have to have known the ballistics test would clear him. Thinking it through, Ray doubted he was either clever or devious enough to have created that red herring.
Red herring
. He wondered where the term came from—not that it mattered. And that was a good thing; he couldn’t stay focused and drifted into a restless sleep.

An hour later Dr. Meier jostled his shoulder. “Wake up. I have good news.”

“What?” Ray came to with a start, trying to clear the cobwebs from his head. For a moment, he feared he was still dreaming. “Good news?”

Meier grasped his shoulder. “Are you with me now?”

“Yeah, I’m awake,” Ray said, rubbing his eyes. “You said good news?”

Meier nodded. “The swelling has been steadily decreasing for the last hour, and your daughter’s vital signs are looking good. She’s doing very well.”

“Thank God. What about brain damage?” Ray asked.

“Once she’s fully alert, we’ll have a better idea, but I feel relatively optimistic.”

“Thank you, Dr. Meier.” Ray pumped Meier’s hand. “Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome. You can go in provided you don’t excite her…but only briefly. Expect her to be groggy; she’s still mildly sedated.”

“I understand.” He started to turn away. “First, I have to phone my wife.”

The doctor stopped him. “She’s not here?”

“No, I finally got her to go home to get some sleep.”

“Good. Then I’d like to make a suggestion: give her the news in person. The more rest your daughter gets, the better—your wife, too. She can see Krista in the morning.”

Ray started to object, but Meier held his hand up, palm out. “As it is, I’m only allowing you a minute or two with her because, frankly, I doubt I could stop you. By morning, your daughter will be better rested and more lucid. I’d prefer to have your wife wait.”

“I understand,” Ray said, “I hope Gail does.”

As he approached Krista’s hospital bed, he felt his heart pounding. She turned her head, her blue eyes struggling to focus. His voice low, Ray squeezed her hand. “Hey, Krista, it’s Daddy.”

Her lips curved in a weak smile. “Hi, Daddy.”

“Hi, yourself, munchkin.” He kissed her cheek. “Are you sleepy?”

Her nod seemed to take a major effort. Eyes closed, she asked, “Where’s Mommy?”

“Mommy wanted to be here, but I made her go home to get a little sleep, honey; she was so tired. She’ll be here first thing in the morning, though. I promise, okay?”

“Okay.” Krista struggled to open her eyes.

Ray smiled down at her. “Laurie’s at the Clark’s house. She and Annie are playing dress-up and stuff.” He struggled to keep it light. “She thinks Annie’s brother, Phil, is kind of a nerd, though.”

“Pete.” Her voice was barely audible.

“What, honey?”

“Pete, Daddy.”

She was correcting him. Correcting him. “You’re right—Pete.” His heart slid into his throat.

“He’s nice.”

“Is he?”

“Mm-hmm.” Her eyelids fluttered.

He kissed the tiny hand he held in his own and laid it back down beside her. “Would you like to go to sleep now?”

Again, the subtle nod.

“Okay, sweetie.” Ray smoothed her covers. “I won’t talk anymore, but I’ll stay right here until you doze off, okay?”

Another nod.

He kissed her cheek. “Daddy loves you, Krista. Sweet dreams, baby.”

With the house engulfed in darkness, Ray hoped Gail might actually be asleep. He wasn’t surprised she’d left no lights on; she hadn’t expected him. Stepping out of the uncomfortable heat, he let himself inside, immediately swallowed by the lightless interior.

Always a light sleeper, even a change in the hallway lighting could wake Gail. He questioned whether he should let her sleep or wake her with the good news. Undecided, he ignored the light switch at the front door. With the aid of an outstretched hand, he side-stepped the furnishings until he reached a lighted hutch, threw the switch and followed the soft glow to the open bedroom door.