Touch of Evil (26 page)

“You two hit? You all right?” she asked her men.

“Fine,” Paul said between gasps, “but Fleming…Can’t find his pulse.”

Larry nodded jerkily, then lurched toward the kitchen sink to vomit noisily.

Flinching at the sound, which somehow bothered her more than the carnage, Justine said, “We’ve got an ER doctor on scene. Let me get him.”

As she turned, she told the deputy behind her, “Baker, call an ambulance. Then tell Rose what we have going; have her call Vaughn in to do evidence. Soon as you finish, go help Jacobs control the crowd, or we’ll have ’em peeping in the windows any minute.”

As Baker stepped outside, Justine met Ross and Laney by the front door.

“Is it Kenneth?” Ross asked.

Nodding, she gestured toward the kitchen. “You’d better come in—hurry. Laney, you stay right here—I can’t let you—”

“I need to see him,” Laney pleaded as Ross made his way farther into the house. “Please let me go, before he—”

“I’m sorry,” Justine told her. She felt Laney’s grief but couldn’t let her contaminate the scene or get in the way of Ross’s efforts at resuscitation. As bad as Fleming looked, there might still be hope.

After parking Laney on the sofa, Justine returned to the
kitchen to find Larry Crane, eyes averted, clutching the sink for dear life while Ross, now on his knees across from Miller, said, “Help me roll him over, quick. Let’s see what we’ve got.”

“He raised the gun, pointed it right at us,” Miller said as he moved to help. “I had to shoot him.”

“It’s all right,” Justine said, though she knew there would be an investigation into the shooting. “Are you okay? Do you need—”

“I’ve got a family, three kids and a sweet wife,” Miller went on, too keyed up to stop talking. “And Larry, too. He and Marianne—they’ll have a baby of their own soon. So I had to shoot—for both of us.”

Justine looked at Larry. “I thought you said…It wasn’t both of you?”

Crane wouldn’t meet her gaze, and in that moment she understood that he’d lied to her initially, embarrassed by the fact that he’d frozen.

Ross and Miller rolled over Fleming’s limp form to expose a front side so bloody, it was hard to see—

“Two, no three GSWs—chest and abdomen,” Ross announced, still scanning the body as he rose up over Fleming to start CPR. “And damn it—here’s another through the cheekbone.”

She watched the two men work, watched the blood pour out of Fleming with every chest compression. But unlike her second in command, who stood still as a statue as he stared out a window, she didn’t pause in her work, no more than Paul and Ross could quit their obviously doomed effort.

She used her cell phone’s camera to snap a series of photos, and afterward, she talked to Laney in the next room while they waited for an ambulance to do a transport better suited to a hearse.

Short drop or suspension hanging is, at least initially, likely to be very painful as the person struggles for air against the compression of the noose and against the weight of their own body, being supported entirely by the neck and jaw…While 1 to 3 minutes before unconsciousness sets in may not sound a long time it must feel like an eternity to the suspended and struggling prisoner…

An Iranian man identified only as Niazali, was hanged in February 1996 but survived after the victim’s relatives pardoned him. He told the Iranian daily newspaper “Kayhan” what it had felt like. “That first second lasted like a thousand years. I felt my arms and legs jerking out of control. Up on the gallows in the dark, I was trying to fill my lungs with air, but they were crumpled up like plastic bags.” Niazali’s hanging reportedly lasted 20 minutes.

—Richard Clark, from “Hanged by the Neck Until Dead! The Processes and Physiology of Judicial Hanging” (www.capitalpunishmentuk.org)

With Kenneth en route to the hospital and two deputies working on evidence collection while Laney was transported to the sheriff’s office, Justine found Larry Crane standing in the Fleming front yard, his hands stuffed in his pockets. Probably to hide their shaking. “We need to talk, Deputy.”

Deliberately, she didn’t use his brand-new title.

He caught on in an instant, his gaze snapping to hers, his expression apprehensive. “So you’re demoting me? For this?”

“I’m not saying that.” She searched for some way to ease him through the moment. “It’s a big thing, shooting down another human being. Not everybody’s wired right to do it.”

But a law enforcer had to be prepared, she thought, sickened by what might have happened to both of her men had Paul Miller missed or been disabled.

“It happened so fast. And Miller was a little quicker, that’s all.”

Miller had gotten off four shots, at least, Justine knew. That, combined with Larry’s attempt to make her think he’d fired, gave her plenty to chew over. “Both of you need to go through crisis counseling and stick to desk duty until we finish an investigation.”

“You’re going to demote me,” Larry repeated, looking so certain of disaster, she was reminded of the “Ichabod” she’d known so long.

“I haven’t thought it through yet,” she admitted. But she knew already her men would never follow a second in command who went catatonic in a crisis. And she couldn’t blame them. She wouldn’t trust him backing her up either. “Maybe once you see the counselor…”

She kept the statement carefully noncommittal, but she saw defeat in his expression, and bitter understanding that the harder, tougher men who’d made his life a misery were better suited to the profession than any amount of counseling could ever make him.

Hours later at the hospital, Ross slogged through the tasks of showering and donning fresh scrubs after tossing his bloody clothes in the biohazard bin. The afternoon had left him aching with exhaustion, his limbs leaden and his emotions wrung dry.

Four bullets had finally put an end to Kenneth Fleming’s screwups—and to any possibility of redemption in this lifetime. Ross and Tremont and Susan Hartwell, another ER doc on duty, had worked on the limp body as if they’d had a chance. Had worked on him far beyond the possibility that Kenneth might be brought back.

It was Debbie Brown who had finally said what no one else would. “This won’t help. He’s gone, doctors. Dr. Fleming—the patient’s finally at peace.”

Tremont glanced at her sharply before looking at the clock and nodding. Solemnly, he pronounced, “Time of death: five forty-two p.m.”

Finally at peace,
Ross thought, his mind echoing Debbie’s words as he headed for the break room in search of a coffee booster. In those last moments before the deputies had startled him into pointing his gun their way, had Ross’s white lie about Kenneth’s ex-wife offered him peace or the hope of it? Whether or not his dishonesty had been wrong, Ross preferred the thought that his coworker had died filled with something other than terror and self-loathing.

As he poured a mug of coffee, the break room door squeaked and Debbie Brown stuck her head in. “Put down that carafe. It’s poison,” she warned.

Midpour, he hesitated, waiting for an explanation but too damned tired to ask.

“Hours old,” she started. “And caffeine’s hard on the heart. Especially after your exertion.”

“You need to get past that,” Ross told her. “I have. Or do you want a note from my cardiologist?”

He filled his cup with tar-black sludge that smelled burned and bitter. Deliberately took a sip, though it was hot enough to scald.

She came all the way inside and leaned against the door. “Listen, Ross, I’m sorry about Kenneth.”

“Are you? Because you rode him every day he was on duty, never cut him any slack.”

“Don’t be a horse’s ass if you can help it. If I pushed him,” Debbie said, “it’s because I wanted him to be the best doctor possible. And part of the best emergency staff this county’s ever seen. Because that matters to me.”

Ross went to the split-seamed vinyl sofa and sank down to its lumpy surface, his elbows resting on his knees. “I know, Deb. Everyone knows you’re the main reason we’re as good as we are. We appreciate that.”

He felt her sit down beside him, caught a flash of reddish hair in his peripheral vision as she laid her warm hand on his forearm.

“Do
you
appreciate it?” she asked quietly. “Enough to understand I have your best interests at heart, too?”

Surprised by her touch, her words, he looked into her blue eyes. And saw the offer of a relationship far less complicated, far easier than what he’d known with Justine. But as much as Ross liked and respected Debbie, he couldn’t picture himself with her, not even for a moment.

“My shift’s over,” she added. “If you wanted to go somewhere to talk…”

Not wanting to hurt her, he stood and rubbed at his back to disguise his withdrawal from her hand. “You’re a good friend, Debbie,” he said gently. “I’d like to keep it that way.”

Lifting the coffee, which tasted as bad as it smelled, he took another swig before adding, “But don’t expect me to give up all of my bad habits.”

Still on the sofa, Debbie crossed her arms. “I’d settle for just one. That woman.”

“You mean Sheriff Wofford.” None of the women in his life liked Justine, but they didn’t know her. Didn’t see the caring person behind the hard-shelled mask.

“I was…I happened to be driving through your neighborhood,”
Debbie admitted. “Earlier, when you were about to go inside. You had her with you, Ross, and the two of you were—”

“You
happened
by?”

Shaking her head, Debbie stood, something ugly glittering behind her blue eyes. “It’s not like that. I’m just worried, that’s all. I’m
not
like my ex-husband.”

Troubled by her expression, he asked, “What’s going on, Deb? This is the second time you’ve brought him up recently. And you seem…You haven’t been yourself.”

“It’s nothing, nothing really.” Embarrassment stained her face. “It’s just…I’ve seen him around lately.”

“Around here?”

“He’s in the area on business. Probably something shady, if he’s involved with it.”

“Is he bothering you?”

“Oh, no. He’s all about whatever deal he’s working on and whatever woman he’s scamming. It’s just…Well, seeing him’s upset me. He’s not supposed to be here, kicking up bad memories.” She shivered.

Ross didn’t like what he was hearing. Didn’t like it at all. “Who is he?”

She pulled herself together. “Doesn’t matter. We should be thinking about Kenneth’s family right now.”

Ross nodded. “Are they here yet? Did Connie bring the kids? I want to tell them…They should know Kenneth was thinking of them at the end.”

“I heard she’s on her way. Poor woman’s been through so much with that man already…” Debbie shook her head and made for the door. Pausing to look at Ross, she managed a sad smile. “Some people can’t see what’s bad for them…and what would be a whole lot better.”

She opened the door, where Justine was standing, her fist poised to knock.

“He’s inside,” Debbie said coldly, thumbing a gesture over her shoulder before stalking past the sheriff.

Justine slipped inside and closed the door behind her. “Ouch. I think she scorched off a couple layers of my face with that look.”

“She was in the room when Kenneth…” Ross said, feeling drained enough to go back to the sofa with his coffee. “Pretty tough day on everybody.”

Justine nodded and grabbed a foam cup, then poured herself some of the brew. Wincing as she sipped, she shook her head. “God bless America—and they say cop coffee’s awful. I’d have a mutiny on my hands if we served this battery acid.”

When he didn’t respond, she set the cup on a small table and got down to business. “I wrote down everything I remember, including what I heard Kenneth telling you on the phone. Got Larry’s and Paul’s statements, but I’m going to need yours, too.”

He nodded, looked up at her. “What about my cousin? You question her already?”

“I asked her if she wanted to wait for her lawyer.” Lifting her chin slightly, she added, “Reminded her it would only be a couple hours before he got here. But she wanted to talk, Ross. You expected me to stop her?”

“Damn it, she was in shock, Justine. A good friend of hers was gunned down. She saw all that blood, saw everything when we took him to the ambulance. And you
used
it against her that way?” Disgusted, he looked away from her. “Maybe Debbie’s right about you. You’re all about the job and that’s it.”

“Then maybe you ought to sleep with her instead of me,” Justine snapped, though he saw the pain in her eyes, a stark reminder of how she’d looked when he’d slapped his keys on his bathroom counter and told her to drive herself. “That or go to hell. ’Cause you’re not the only person having a shit day.”

Jaw tightening, Ross looked away and rubbed the back of his neck. How could the two of them have gone from making love to this in the space of a few hours?

“If you’re ready to stop giving me grief and listen,” she said, “I want to tell you your cousin’s story lines up with what I overheard from Fleming. Considering the evidence of sexual assault and doping, there’s no way we’re going forward with charges against her.”

“Do I hear a
yet
in there?”

“You do,” Justine said bluntly. “Because she’s still lying to me about where she was going Thursday. I can’t prove it, but I damned well
know.
”

He turned to face her. “It isn’t what you think.”

“Then tell me right now, Ross. Tell me what it is.” She looked at him expectantly, the weight of her stare convincing Ross that one way or another, she would find out. That it would go better if she did so sooner instead of later.

“Laney’s pregnant,” he said. “When I pushed her on it, she admitted Fleming was the father. That they’d gotten involved not long before Jake’s death. She’s embarrassed, and I’m sure she feels guilty.”

Justine frowned, her expression thoughtful. “Maybe she has reason. Especially if she and Kenneth got together and decided they’d all be better off if her sick boyfriend disappeared.”

Ross shook his head and swore. “If you have to blame someone, try Fleming. Laney’s practically a kid, and he took advantage of her. The guy was already on the edge. It’s not her fault he went off the deep end.”

Justine said nothing, but he could almost hear her thinking, trying to work out how Laney might have played the femme fatale, using sex to give an unstable man a final push. Furious at himself for trying to make Justine understand and merely handing her more ammunition, Ross said, “You know what? You can take that badge of yours and go to hell yourself.”

As she stalked toward the parking lot, Justine kept her head down, her focus fixed straight ahead. She had lost two husbands already, she thought, and had survived. So why should she be upset about the crumbling of a simple affair, especially one she’d known from the start stood absolutely no chance?

Why should she care whether Ross moved on to the nurse-in-waiting, to any of the women, nice women, with far less baggage, who’d be thrilled to give him the children he wanted?

They could freaking have him, and his precious family too…

But as Justine’s temper cooled, the ache inside her deepened. An ache that screamed she was walking in the wrong direction, running from something that was more than worth the fixing.

So turn around, she ordered herself.
Go back and make him understand the way you feel about him.
Then at least he’d know what he was saying “go to hell” to.

She hesitated, memories spooling through her mind of the day he’d told her their relationship “wasn’t working for him,” of the day he’d told her,
You’re a woman who loves hard.

So she was, she thought, and with plenty of good reason. But even if she wanted to, how could she change something so elemental in her nature at this stage? It was as useless as Larry Crane’s attempts to recast himself as a leader after playing the doormat most of his life.

Shaking off her pain, Justine struggled to refocus on her work, to think about sharp pencils filling out her Book of Known Facts.

A flash of motion at her right attracted her attention. An SUV—one of her department’s, with Larry at the wheel.

“I need you to hop in,” he shouted as he cranked down the
window. He looked upset, almost panic-stricken. “We have to get to your house.
Fast.
”

Her heart jammed into overdrive. “What’s happening? Is it…Is it—”

“Noah,” Larry said, confirming her worst fears. “Your dad needs…Just get in. I’ll tell you on the way there.”

Her stomach plunging, Justine ran around the front end of the vehicle on legs that felt suddenly too shaky to support her.
Not Noah,
she prayed.
Please don’t let it be my son…

Because if losing Ross was a risk she couldn’t take, losing Noah was the one she knew would utterly destroy her.

It wasn’t the coffee’s caffeine that got Ross moving but the idea that he’d finally pushed Justine too far, that this time, his need to protect a loved one had made him say the unforgivable. She’d compromised for him, possibly risking her career to do so, while he’d allowed emotion to make him the horse’s ass Debbie had named him…