Terminal (A Lomax & Biggs Mystery Book 5) (2 page)

Bruce knelt down in the grass next to the body. “I’m sorry,” he said, first to the broken, bloodied man on the ground, and then again to the dog.

“The police will be here in three minutes,” Claire yelled, getting out of the car and walking toward him. “Is he okay? Please tell me he’s okay.”

“I don’t know,” Bruce yelled back. “Hold on.” He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and turned on the flashlight. Yancy’s eyes were glazed over, locked in the thousand-yard stare.

Bruce made the official pronouncement. “He’s dead.”

“Are you sure?” Claire said, real tears streaming down her cheeks. “Maybe he’s still breathing.”

She dropped to her knees and pressed an ear to the dead man’s chest.

A wet, gurgling moan erupted from Yancy’s throat. Claire bolted backwards and screamed.

Yancy struggled to speak. “Call…nine…one…one,” he implored.

She didn’t have to. She could already hear the sirens in the distance.

TWO

“I CAN PRACTICALLY
hear the wheels turning inside that head of yours,” Claire said. “What are you thinking about?”

“I was just doing the math,” Bruce said.

They were sitting on the back step of LAFD Rescue Ambulance 71. The paramedics had taken their vitals, determined they were well enough to be detained at the scene, and had run down the road to join the cops and firefighters congregating around Wade Yancy.

Despite the fact that no one could possibly hear her, Claire whispered. “The math? Honey, there’s fifty thousand in the bank in the Caymans, and by this time tomorrow, there’ll be another four fifty. Even I can figure that out.”

“Not that math,” Bruce said. “I’m trying to calculate what it’s costing the city of Los Angeles to respond to the accident. LAPD sent four patrol units and a T car; LAFD has two engines, an ALS and a BLS rescue ambulance; there’s a team from SID taking pictures, the ME just arrived, plus the DOT has a crew detouring traffic at both ends of Comstock Avenue—all for one simple Vehicle versus Ped.”

“For God’s sake, Bruce,” she said in a harsh whisper. “Lose the cop lingo, or somebody will hear you and figure out that you researched every inch of this investigation a week before the accident happened.”

He shook his head. “This is why I love you. I was sitting here quietly, but you had to know what I was thinking. I tell you, and I get yelled at.”

“I just don’t want you to screw it up.”

“I haven’t screwed anything up yet—probably because I did all that research. And just a reminder—you’re the one crashing the party here. You’re not supposed to even know what I’m doing, much less be a part of it. It’s totally against their rules.”

“
Their
rules? What about Thou Shalt Not Kill? They have no problem if you break that rule. What are they going to do if they find out I was with you—ask me for their money back?”

Bruce shrugged. “I don’t know what they’ll do, but whatever it is, that’ll be the new guy’s problem.”

“What new guy?”

“You’re young, you’re beautiful, you’ll have a nice little nest egg—trust me, there’s going to be a new guy.”

“I don’t think so, Bruce. Thirty-one years of living on the edge with a wild and crazy high-flying accountant is all the excitement I can handle in one lifetime.”

He laughed. “Oh yeah—that’s me—the Evel Knievel of CPAs.”

“That cop is coming back,” Claire said. “Try to act like you’re in shock.”

“I am in shock,” Bruce said. “I can’t believe I earned a half-million dollars for a couple of hours work.”

Officer Matt McCormick had stepped out of the circle surrounding Wade Yancy and was walking up the road to the ambulance.

“How are you folks holding up?” he said gently. He was only three years on the job, but he had a natural gift for bringing calm to the chaos of a sudden and violent traffic accident.

Claire smiled. “Thank you, Officer McCormick. We’re doing better.”

“Mr. Bower,” McCormick said, “the paramedic told me your
BP was high, but that’s normal in situations like this. I’d like you to take me through the accident, but if you don’t feel well, the ambulance can take you to UCLA Med.”

“I’m okay for now,” Bruce said. “But EMS has been here awhile, and he’s still lying there, so I guess he’s…”

“Yes sir, I’m sorry to tell you that the victim has expired. If it’s any consolation, the coroner is pretty sure he never suffered. He died on impact.”

“On impact,” Bruce repeated. “I guess that’s some kind of a blessing.”

“Does he have a family?” Claire asked.

“A wife and two teenage daughters.”

“I heard screaming,” Claire said.

“That was one of the girls. She’s in shock. They took her back to the house. One of the paramedics is with her now.” He took out a pad. “Mr. Bower, why don’t you tell me what happened.”

“We were home and decided to drive out to Century City for some ice cream,” Bruce said. “We always cut across Comstock from Sunset to Beverly Glen—it’s faster. So I know the road. I wasn’t speeding. And I didn’t have anything to drink. You can test me.”

“That’s okay, sir,” McCormick said. “I can tell.”

“We’re driving on Comstock, and out of the corner of my eye I see this flashing blue light on the other side of the street. Even so, I didn’t look away. Then all of a sudden this man just stands up—he’s right in front of the car, but his back is to me. I never saw him. He never saw me.”

“He probably never heard you either,” McCormick said. “The NHTSA is trying to get laws passed to make these hybrids noisier, but it’s too late for Mr. Yancy.”

“Is that his name?” Claire asked.

“Yes ma’am. Wade Yancy, forty-seven years old,” McCormick said. “Finish your story, Mr. Bower. You say he just stood up in front of you?”

“I don’t understand,” Bruce said. “Where did he come from?”

“The way we pieced it together, it looks like he was squatting on the roadway picking up after his dog and stood up just as you came around the curve. There was an empty wineglass on the shoulder at the point of impact. He must have set it down when he was cleaning up after the dog. I have no doubt that the tox report will show he was drinking.”

Bruce shook his head. “What happens next?” he asked.

“I’ll write up a report stating that the primary collision factor was the pedestrian, probably impaired, in the roadway, and if it hadn’t been for him, there would not have been a collision. A traffic detective will be out here shortly, and if he signs off on it, which I’m confident he will, you’re free to go. Your car is damaged, but one of the uniforms checked it out. It’ll get you home. Are you okay to drive?”

“I’m fine,” Bruce said.

“He’s fine,” Claire said. “But I’m driving.”

“Good call, Mrs. Bower,” McCormick said, giving her a big smile. “Anything else I can do for you while we’re waiting for the detective?”

“Just one question,” she said. “How do you do it?”

“Do what, ma’am?”

“You must see tragedies like this every day. How do you manage to stay so positive, so upbeat?”

“I don’t have a choice. When I get to a scene, people are hurting—physically, emotionally, psychologically. I’m not there to add more pain to the mix. My job is to sort things out and bring comfort wherever I can.”

“Well, you have. I only hope you don’t go home after work and cry yourself to sleep.”

“Don’t worry about that, Mrs. Bower. The one thing you learn on this job is to enjoy life as much you can, because you never know what’s going to sneak up on you and pull the plug on the whole deal.”

His cell phone rang. He checked the caller ID and smiled. “Speaking of fun, it’s my fiancé. Excuse me.”

“The kid’s right,” Bruce said as soon as the cop was out of earshot. “You never know what’s going to sneak up on you and pull the plug on the whole deal.” He paused and smiled. “Like a Stage IV asshole in a Prius.”

PART ONE

DIAGNOSIS

CHAPTER 1

I DID A
quick head count as soon as I walked into the waiting room. Eight people waiting for the doctor. I walked to the receptionist’s desk and printed my name on the sign-in sheet. There were spaces for
Time of Appointment
and
Time of Arrival
. I left them blank.

The glass window slid open, and Nadine smiled up at me. She had blue eyes, silver hair, and a deep whiskey-coated voice. No matter how sick you were when you walked into Dr. Heller’s office, Nadine immediately made you feel better.

“Hello, handsome,” she said. “And how are you today?”

“Fashionably late.”

She looked at her watch. “Honey, an hour and twenty minutes ain’t fashionable—even in LA.”

“I was stuck at a crime scene. I called and left a message with somebody—I didn’t catch her name.”

“I know. Somebody, whose name is Helen, told me you were out fighting crime, and you’d get here when you got here.” She leaned close to the window and whispered. “I think you just didn’t want to come back here for that prostate exam.”

“Doug gave me a complete physical last week. Head to toe.”

“Minus one part,” she said, wiggling a finger in the air.

“Not my fault. He stepped out of the office, I got a call from my lieutenant, and I had to race back to the station. I’m sorry
I couldn’t stick around for Doug to come back, grease up, and work me like a sock puppet.”

She let loose with a lung-butter laugh that sounded like the Roto-Rooter man was unclogging her pipes. People in the waiting room looked up, half smiles on their faces, hoping to be let in on the fun.

“Nadine, serious question,” I said. “How long a wait do I have?”

She put a finger to her lips. I shut up. She picked up a phone. “Brenda, I reserved a table for one—Detective Lomax. Yes, he just strolled in. Come and get him.”

She waved me through the door to the inner sanctum, and I didn’t look back, but I’m sure all eight of the people in the waiting room were thinking,
Who the hell is he?

Brenda, Doug Heller’s senior nurse, met me on the other side. “Hey, Mike, you bolted out of here in a big hurry last week,” she said.

“It’s all part of the glamour of being a cop. This way I get to live in dread of a prostate exam yet a second time.”

She led me into an exam room, took my BP and my pulse, and handed me a gown. “Suit up,” she said. “Dr. Heller will be right in.”

I stripped down, hung up my clothes, set my gun on the counter next to a container of cotton balls, and put on a pale blue, one-size-fits-nobody hospital gown with the wide slit down the back.

There was a knock on the door, and Doug Heller walked in.

“Oh, hi,” I said, struggling to tie the gown in the back. “I was just trying on prom dresses. Do you have anything in a pink taffeta?”

Doug and I have been friends for twenty years, so we start every session with the usual
how’s your family
stuff, or at the very least, some guy banter.

Not this time. “So, Mike,” he said, skipping the foreplay, “how are you feeling?”

“Fine.”

“Fine is not a medical term. You tired? Run down?”

“Overworked. Does that count?”

“Hop on the table.”

I did as told, and he put his fingers on my neck and started pressing. “How about dizzy spells? Shortness of breath?”

“None of the above. What’s going on?”

“I got your blood results from last week, and your white blood count is a little off. That’s why I called you back.”

“I thought it was because I bailed on the prostate exam.”

“You’re forty-three years old. I could have easily let it slide till your next physical,” he said. “But this can’t wait.”

“What is it?”

“Probably nothing, but I’m going to take some more blood and run it through the lab again. Lie down.”

I stretched out, and he began poking my belly.

“What do you mean my white blood count is a little off?” I said.

“Out of range. Nothing to worry about, but it’s worth looking at again.”

“What if I get the same bad numbers on the next blood test?” I said. “Do you have a guess what it could be?”

“Mike, I don’t guess,” he said, still stabbing his finger into my gut. “If you want guesswork, go to the Internet and Google the word
health
. You’ll have millions of choices. Don’t make yourself crazy. If the blood work doesn’t change, I’ll run a few tests. And the best news is they’re free—all paid for by the Los Angeles Police Department. Have you used any steroids recently?”

“Jesus, Doug.”

“Your lymph nodes are good, but your spleen is enlarged. Sit up, and I’ll send Brenda back to draw some blood.”

“So no prostate exam?”

“Almost forgot. Like I said, I wouldn’t have called you back
for it, but now that you’re here and dressed for the occasion, let’s get it done.”

He reached over to the counter, took a latex glove out of a dispenser, and popped the cap off a tube of KY jelly.

“I hate this,” I said, getting on my knees and lowering my shoulders to the table.

“It’s not exactly April in Paris for me either, sweetheart.”

My ass was up in the air when I heard the first gunshot. Instinct kicked in, and I jumped off the table.

“Holy shit,” Doug said. “Was that a gunshot?”

“Yes, get down on the floor and stay there. If you’ve got a cell in your pocket, call 911.”

I dove for the counter and had my hand on my Glock when the second shot rang out. Shotgun blast. And judging from the sound, the shooter was close by, but not in the next room. Doug’s office was one of dozens in the San Vicente Medical Arts Building. I had no idea which one the shots came from.

I opened the exam room door and peered out. Patients and nurses alike were screaming and running toward the waiting room. “LAPD,” I yelled. “Get back to your rooms. They’re safer. Do it. Now. Now.”

A third blast rang out. I could tell by the spacing that it was a pump-action shotgun. My Glock in front of me, and my bare ass hanging out behind me, I ran through the waiting room and headed toward the sound.

CHAPTER 2

I STEPPED INTO
the communal hall. There were six other doctors’ offices on that floor, and the door to every one of them was open. People were stampeding in my direction. Four-alarm panic. Whatever they were trying to get away from, I headed toward.