Pete Malloy climbed out of the squad car and paused before closing the
driver's side door. Flowering dogwoods and trimmed shrubbery sprinkled the
immaculate grounds. Revered buildings placed alongside each other created
a little community all its own. He'd always thought the college campus was
a picturesque place, but right now something seemed odd, hinky even. Then
again, except for a couple of classes, he'd never spent a lot of time here.
“You coming or what?” Jim Reed stood on the sidewalk, waiting
for the other officer to join him.
“I'm just looking, partner.”
Reed grinned as the two men walked in tandem toward the double doors of
Sonneman Hall.
“Pete, if you're looking for pretty coeds, it's the wrong time of
year.”
Malloy stopped dead in his tracks and narrowed his eyes at the younger
man. “For your information, I was not looking for...pretty coeds.
I was surveying the scene of an alleged crime.”
“Oh.” The grin disappeared and Jim's face fell just a fraction.
They entered the building, pausing when they reached the elevator. Pete
scanned the directory for the right floor as the doors opened. Jim entered
the elevator and punched a button, then motioned to Pete. “That's
alright, I know where it is.”
Pete Malloy shrugged and followed his partner inside. Standing side by
side, each looked up at the floor numbers.
“So what do you mean by it's the wrong time of year?” Pete's
words disappeared behind the closing doors.
**************
The elevator jerked to a stop on the fourth floor and reluctantly released
its passengers. Malloy sighed as Jim continued his enthusiastic endorsement
of academia.
“I'm telling ya, Pete, the time to be on campus is when classes
first begin, not when they're almost over. It's really exciting.”
“What's the matter, Reed? Being a cop too boring for you?”
Malloy raised an eyebrow at Jim as they approached an office door that was
slightly ajar.
Jim Reed opened his mouth to reply but was interrupted by a white-haired
woman, who yanked the door open. This woman's crinkled eyes flashed at them
through wire-framed glasses. Good grief, she looks just like my old high
school math teacher!
“So there you are! I thought I was going to have to guard this
place by myself all day!”
“Ma'am?” Pete asked, nonplussed but keeping his tone polite.
“Come on, come on in.” She waved them into the office as
if she were herding cattle. Her crow-like hands waved them into the office
as if she were herding cattle. The woman's black pointy shoes were clicking
across the smooth floor as she paced anxiously around the two officers.
“I've never seen anything like it. Of all the nerve....”
Pete wondered if she was talking about them or something else. “I'm
Officer Malloy and this is my partner, Officer Reed. Can you be a little
more specific, ma'am?”
Jim pulled out his note pad and pen, ready to jot down specifics.
“Yes, yes, of course. I'm Norma Battersley. I'm the secretary for
the Chemistry Department.” She hesitated a moment, staring at their
blue uniforms, “Wait a minute. You're not the college police! You're
city police, aren't you?”
“Yes, ma'am,” Jim answered, “They're short-handed this
week. We're helping them out on some of the more serious calls. Now, you
reported a break-in?”
“I most certainly did! Follow me!” She led the two men into
a large supply closet and, with a shaky hand, pointed to a nearby wall.
“Have you ever seen such a thing?”
Malloy and Reed stared at the stark white surface. Dirty footprints
started at the ceiling and ran all the way down to a bright blue counter
top. Bits of dried mud left an diminishing trail on the floor.
“Well, no, I haven't. What do you think?” Pete turned to
his partner, waiting to hear his response.
Jim smiled and replied, “Looks like a size 10E.”
Norma Battersley, hands on hips, scrunched her face up at him. “Is
this funny to you, young man?”
“No, ma'am,” Jim replied, glancing at Pete. He let me
step right into that one!
“Look, Mrs. Battersley, is anything missing? Have you checked the
entire office?” Pete Malloy asked, his voice soothing and patient.
“Of course I have. And no, nothing is missing. But that's not
for lack of trying.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that they tried to steal the final exams from the file cabinets
last night.”
“Final exams?”
“That's right. But we had them all locked up . . . they just weren't
smart enough to jimmy the locks. Or maybe the perpetrators were afraid
they were going to get caught and decided to split.”
Malloy looked at Reed, wondering just how many cop shows the old gal had
watched on t.v. “It appears that someone came over the cement wall
and through the ceiling tiles from the outside hallway. That's quite a
risk just to steal some tests.”
“Did I saytests, young man? Finalexams
! There's a difference! But even if they had gotten their hands on them,
they would have been in for a big surprise.”
“How's that, Mrs. Battersley?”
“We always have a different set hidden away just in case. Same
questions--different order.” She didn't bother to hide her contempt,
as she continued, “I almost wish they HAD gotten the exams. Would
have served them right!”
“Yes, ma'am. We'll file a report and make sure that your own campus
security is alerted.”
“What? That's all?”
“Mrs. Battersley, that's all we can do for now. Nothing was stolen
and there's no evidence to identify the guilty party.”
“No evidence? What about those footprints? Aren't you going to
take a cast of them or something?”
“You mean a plaster cast? Uh . . . no ma'am, that doesn't work
with brick walls.”
Mrs. Battersley sighed loudly, crossed her arms and looked squarely at
both men. “You would think modern police procedures would accomplish
more in this day and age. But I shouldn't be surprised. After all, look
at all the rampant crime on this campus!” Shaking her head, she walked
over to the office door, followed by Malloy and Reed.
“Mrs. Battersley, it may be nothing more than a college prank."
"Hmmpfff!"
"If you have any more problems, please be sure and contact the college
police. Like I said, we'll follow up with them.” Pete fervently hoped
that nothing else would happen to warrant another visit to the campus, at
least not to this same location.
“Yes, yes, I know. For all the good it'll do....”
She closed the door behind them, barely giving them time to reach the
hallway. The glass panel vibrated with indignation and threatened to slip
out of its casing.
Pete shook his head in wonder, remembering the times when he thought he'd
seen and heard it all. He looked over at Jim, who was suppressing a grin.
“I noticed that you didn't have much to say in there,” Pete
elbowed his partner.
“Are you kidding? Thanks to you, she already had me pegged as a
troublemaker. I wasn't gonna make it worse.”
“Me?” Pete asked innocently, “What did I do? You were
the one with the commentary on the wall-walker.”
“And you set me up . . .” Jim started to reply, but his attention
was diverted as a gangly man with thinning blonde hair approached them anxiously.
Jim smiled as recognition sparked in his eyes. “Professor Jernigan.”
“James Reed? That is you, isn't it?” Relief mixed with genuine
affection lit the man's face as he reached out to shake Jim's hand.
“Yes, sir. Professor Alex Jernigan, I'd like you to meet my partner,
Pete Malloy.”
Pete nodded and grasped the professor's hand in greeting. He received
a gracious smile but detected a hint of nervousness behind it. He watched
the professor, noting that Jernigan clutched his books and papers close
to his body as he spoke to Jim.
“James Reed,” he repeated, almost in awe, “So you're
a police officer now.”
“Yes, sir,” Jim grinned, turning to Pete, “Professor
Jernigan was my advisor, Pete. He really looked out for me all through college.”
Pete chuckled, “Well, I'm glad someone did.”
“How are you, Professor?
“Please, James, I think you can get away with calling me Alex by
now. And things are . . . fine . . . just fine. You know, students come
and students go. But I always remember the best and the brightest.”
Slightly abashed, Jim blushed. “Thank you, Professor . . . Alex.
I appreciate that.” He gestured toward Pete, “Now if you could
just convince my partner.”
Malloy rolled his eyes in response, but the effect was lost on the professor.
He was blinking rapidly and looking over his shoulders as though expecting
someone. Pete knew agitation when he saw it; however, it was usually something
he observed in the behavior of a suspect or a victim of a crime. Not in
a man running into a favored former student.
“Alex?”
Jim had noticed it, too. "Good boy," Pete thought.
“Yes? I'm sorry. You know us old college professors . . . always
a little eccentric.”
“Are you all right? Is there anything we can do for you?”
The briefest shadow of alarm crossed Jernigan's face, then disappeared.
“No, everything's fine. But I really must take care of some administrative
paperwork. You understand.”
“Sure. Maybe we could get together for lunch sometime?” Jim
asked, trying to offer friendly encouragement.
Dr. Jernigan nodded, still somewhat distracted, “That would be nice,
James. I'd like to know how you're doing. Really though, I'm already late.”
He turned, then stopped and looked at Pete thoughtfully, “Officer
Malloy? I guess you're looking out for him now.”
Pete threw a wry smile in Jim's direction and replied, “Yes, sir.”
Jernigan nodded again, then waved before walking rather briskly down another
hallway and exiting into a stairwell.
Jim Reed stared as the heavy door slowly closed with a resounding metal
click. He then moved toward the elevator and silently pressed the down
button.
“You okay?” Pete asked, concerned with his friend's silence.
“Sure,” Jim answered quickly. “I'm just not sure if
he is.”
“I just met him . . . but, to be honest, he did seem like something
was bothering him."
Jim stepped into the elevator and looked at his partner, “Yeah,
I thought so, too. Maybe we'll have that lunch and I'll find out.”
“Maybe.”
They left the historic red-brick building without incident and reported
their status to the dispatcher. No calls waited so they returned to their
routine patrol.
It turned out that their early morning call was the most exciting one
of the day. One speeding violation, a false alarm and a minor fender-bender
rounded out the day. And, of course, the attempted burglary follow-up.
Both men left the station weary and glad to see the end of the watch.
**************
Jim awoke with a start as the phone at his bedside rang. He hurried to
answer before the too-loud ring woke Jean up as well.
“Hello?” His voice was rough with sleep, but he was instantly
alert. Middle of the night calls rarely brought good news.
“James Reed?” The caller's voice was just a whisper, but the
urgency and fear behind the voice simultaneously came through the line.
“Professor? Alex?” Jim instantly recognized Jernigan's and
looked at the alarm clock. One am.
“James. Listen to me. I need your help,” Jernigan pleaded,
keeping his tone low.
Jim sat up, swung his feet onto the floor and pulled the phone cord as
far as it could go. He flipped on a small lamp in the corner of the room.
“What's wrong? Where are you?”
“You must meet me . . . I'm at my office. Do you remember where
it is?”
“It's still in Sonneman Hall, right? But what's going on? If you
need police, let me call it in . . .”
“No! No! Don't do that!” Jernigan spoke rapidly, panic rising.
“Okay, okay, take it easy. I'll be right there.”
“Please hurry, I don't know what to do. When I saw you today, it
seemed like a sign. Suddenly, I knew you could help me. I knew I could
trust James Reed. But just you, no one else, or . . . .” Jernigan's
voice seemed a little calmer, as though simply talking to Jim made him feel
better. Maybe a friend was all he really needed--one that just happened
to be a cop.
“Just stay there, Alex. I'm on my way,” Jim hung up the phone,
stood and turned to see his wife watching him.
“You're going somewhere at this hour?” Jean asked. Will
I ever stop being afraid for him?
“Just helping an old friend, honey. Don't worry. I won't be long.
Go back to sleep.” Jim smiled, bent over and gave her a light kiss.
He dressed quickly, grabbed the car keys and stopped at the oak wardrobe
they shared. As quietly as possible, he unlocked the top drawer, pulled
out his .38, and clipped it to his belt. He glanced one last time at Jean,
who'd gone back to sleep, then closed the door behind him.
Jean opened her eyes and turned her head to stare at the wardrobe.
Jim paused with one hand on the knob as he opened the front door. The
phone in the living room was illuminated by the stream of light coming from
the front step.
“But just you, no one else.” Alex's words kept repeating
in his brain, both warning or pleading. Pete's phone number was his only
other thought. His training told him to do one thing. A friend's trust
in him told him to do another. He had to make a decision in the next few
seconds. He hoped it would be one he could live with.
****************
Moments later, Pete's phone rang, waking him from a deep sleep. No,
I know I haven't been asleep that long! He rolled over and irritably
yanked the receiver from the base, mumbling semi-coherently. When he heard
Jean's worried voice, he was instantly wide awake.
"Pete? It's Jean."
"Jean? What's wrong?"
"I'm not sure, maybe nothing."
Pete heard the apprehension that she was trying to hide.
"Where's Jim?"
"He got a phone call just a few minutes ago. He said an old friend needed
his help. Jim told me not to worry, Pete . . . he said he'd be right back."
"So, why are you worried, Jean?"
"Pete," she paused, her voice shaking. "He took his gun. He thought
I was asleep but I saw him take it."
"Okay, Jean, calm down. Did he say anything else?"
"Sonneman Hall. That's one of the buildings on campus."
"Yeah, I know where it is. Jean, don't worry, okay?" Pete said, gently.
Telling her not to worry about Jim was like telling her not to breathe.
"Thank you," she whispered, then hung up the phone.
It took Pete less than two minutes to get dressed, grab his revolver and
keys, and head out to his car. Jean was scared. Maybe she was overreacting.
Maybe not. Pete felt better playing it safe. Calling it in was another
matter. What would he be calling in? He presumed that Jim had taken his
gun as the habit of a cautious, off-duty cop. I bet I know who that
old friend is and where he might be right now. I told Jean not to worry.
Wish I could do the same.
**************
Jim pulled his car into a parking space near the corner of the building.
No need to attract attention with a suspicious looking illegally parked
vehicle.Maybe the administration should look into providing more
lights for the campus--it's way too dark here.
He slipped into the side stairwell entrance, which he knew was open, even
in the late hours of the night. Students accessed so many of these buildings
that it was becoming a problem for security. Something else for the
administration to consider in the future. But right now, he had 5 flights
of steps to climb . . . and fast.
The door opened easily and with very little noise. Jim stopped inside,
listening as muffled voices echoed down the stairwell. He started climbing,
taking the steps two and three at a time in his eagerness to reach the fifth
floor. The speakers' words weren't clear, but he could identify the emotion
behind them. Rage. Insistence. He recognized one of the voices as Jernigan's.
His had the persistant tone to it. The anger belonged to the stranger.
Words became clear as Jim neared the fourth floor landing. He slowed
his ascent, not wanting to alarm the men above. He reached for his gun
and grasped it firmly as he softly creptforward. He caught his breath and
swallowed hard, fervently wishing that he had made the phone call to Pete.
Stupid. Reckless. Can't think about that now.
". . . and I told you, Professor, it's none of your business!"
"I'm trying to help you . . . you're the one who's in over his head!"
Jim realized that he was directly underneath them now. One wrong move
and it could all go wrong. He didn't know what he was dealing with--one
of the most dangerous scenarios possible. That's what Pete had always told
him. Suddenly the commotion above him turned into the sounds of thudding
and scuffling, and outcries of pain. Jim grabbed the railing and pulled
himself up another set of steps, but stopped abruptly when his eye caught
a blur of motion. A human body tumbled down the hard concrete stairs toward
him.
***************
A dark figure slouched behind the steering wheel of a car parked crookedly
near Sonneman Hall. The rugged face wore a shadow caused by both the limited
light and the failure to shave in recent days. Jerry Barstow was beginning
to regret letting his young protegee try to take care of a potential threat
to his business. He looked down and held his arm at an angle, trying to
read the hands on his watch.
"Damn," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. It was taking too
long. The kid had done everything he'd been told to do so far, but Barstow
realized he should have taken care of this himself. Too big. Too important.
Too much at stake.
Still grumbling to himself, he jerked the door open and resisted the urge
to slam it.
After scanning the parking lot and surrounding area, he felt confident
that everything was normal. Nobody was around to see anything, just as it
should be. He reached under his jacket and felt for the .45 hidden on his
left side. Drawing his fingertips across the smooth metal always gave him
an extra boost. He didn't need it. But he liked it.
He crossed over to the loading dock, then moved behind bushes and through
vines with the ease of a man who had done it a million times. He had purposely
parked around the far side of the building. It wasn't convenient to the
open side door but he hadn't wanted his car to be seen near the only late
night access. The risk was increasing with every minute that passed. Barstow's
silhouette followed him around a corner and disappeared.
***********
Jim stood in stunned silence as the crumpled form of Professor Jernigan
came to rest awkwardly on the landing between the fourth and fifth floor.
His right arm was flung out above his head and the left one was bent unnaturally
behind his back. Strangely paralleled, his right leg was stretched straight
up the stairs on which he'd fallen and the left one pointed toward the landing.
Jim stared at Jernigan for a brief second before comprehending that the
professor was actually conscious and meeting his gaze. The professor's lips
moved slightly but no sound came out.
A sound above him reminded Jim that there was another person in the stairwell.
That spurred the officer into action. He raised his gun, bracing it with
both hands, and pivoted against the railing to aim at the assailant.
"Freeze! Police!" Jim yelled, searching with his eyes.
It was too late. The door was swinging closed, its metal handle clanking
against the latch mechanism.
Jim exhaled and lowered his revolver cautiously as he bent down closer
to Alex. A disturbing amount of bright red blood had already pooled beneath
his head. But his eyes were still looking directly at Jim.
"Alex. Listen to me. I'm going to call for help."
"James," the professor gasped, "I . . . just . . ."
"Don't try to talk, okay?" Jim implored, lightly touching Alex's free
hand. "Stay still. I'm gonna get help."
"Just . . . trying to look out for him . . ." Jernigan struggled as each
breath made a harsh wheezing sound.
Jim knew pursuit of the assailant was out of the question. He wanted
to stay with Alex, but was afraid that it would do no good if he couldn't
get real help. He would call for an ambulance, then come right back and
do what he could. The professor's office and a phone were only a few doors
down the hallway. That was the same direction that the dark figure had taken.
I don't have any choice.
Jim glanced down at his former mentor and regret clouded his thoughts.
"How many mistakes have I made tonight," he wondered. Steeling himself,
Jim dashed up to the stairwell door, paused and drew out his gun again.
He pressed down on the door handle and pulled it open with slow deliberation,
not sure what might be behind it. Edging his head around the door jam,
he scanned the hallway and was relieved to find nothing suspicious. He
led with his gun, sweeping the area as he, neared Jernigan's office. The
door was wide open. Cautiously, Jim entered the room.
Soft light spread from an overturned floor lamp. Papers and files were
scattered everywhere. Most of the space was taken up with bookcases, filing
cabinets and the professor's oversized desk. After making sure that no
one could be hiding within the confines of the office, Jim searched for
the telephone and found it spilled onto the floor. His mouth tightened
as he examined what was left of the phone cord. It had been torn from the
wall outlet and was now totally useless.
Jim had seen a pay phone near the entrance when he and Pete had been here
that morning. "God," he thought, "had it only been that morning?" It felt
more like days.
Jim knew that the elevators were automatically stationed on the second
floor but pressed the button anyway. It would be faster than running back
down to either end of the hall, scrambling down all those stairs and then
facing another long hallway. He was right--the elevator doors opened in
less than ten seconds.
***********
Barstow thought he heard something as he clamored up the stairs. He looked
up and didn't see anything, but decided to take it fast and quiet. He was
slightly out of breath by the time he reached the fourth floor. As he turned
to continue, he saw Jernigan lying broken, bloodied and very, very still
on the floor.
A twisted smile formed on Barstow's face. Well, whaddya know, the college
boy actually pulled it off. And he even managed to make it look like an
accident. I'm won't have to worry about that teacher mouthing off to anyone.
I can keep my lab up and running and, even better, I have something to hold
over the kid in case he gets cold feet later on. Barstow casually stepped
over the body. Pleased as he was, he now wondered where Tony Scott had
gone. The kid wasn't in the stairwell, so he must have gone back to
the prof's office. Stupid kid, why didn't he just come back to the car
like I told him?
Jerry Barstow relaxed and maneuvered down the hallway and into the only
open room. Baffled, he looked around for some sign of Tony, then returned
to the hall.
"Jerry?"
Barstow turned, barely able to hear the whispered voice.
"Tony? Where the hell are you?" he asked, growing annoyed.
A narrow door across from the professor's office opened timidly and a
young man's face peered out. Relief flooded the clean-cut features as he
exited a custodial closet. He rushed over to Barstow, sighing loudly and
grabbing the other's arm.
"Whew! Am I glad to see you! I thought he was going to find me for sure,"
Tony exclaimed, bending over and taking a deep breath.
"The professor? Kid, don't worry," Barstow smiled indulgently, "No way
is he gettin' up again."
Tony swallowed, the scared look coming back to his face. "Oh. You mean
Professor Jernigan. He fell. I mean, I did push him . . . but I didn't
expect . . ."
"It don't matter how you did it. It's done and we're back in business.
Now let's get out of here."
"But . . . the other guy . . . " Tony stammered, blinking at the floor.
Jerry Barstow grabbed the kid's face hard and jerked it upwards, freezing
him with an icy stare. "What other guy?" he demanded, his voice dropping
lower.
"He was there, below in the stairwell . . . when it happened. I think
he saw me . . . I'm not sure," Tony replied uneasily, biting his lower lip.
Barstow ground his teeth, a boiling fury starting to build inside his
head. "Did you see him?"
"No. But I heard him. Jerry . . . I think he's a cop."
**********
Jim had one hand splayed across the inside of the elevator doors, waiting
to reach the second floor lobby. As they parted, he propelled himself to
one side in an effort to get out faster. He spotted the phone immediately
picked up the receiver and dialed the operator. He listened as the other
end rang several times.
"Come on, come on, " he whispered, tapping the top of the phone impatiently.
"Operator," a droning female voice responded.
"This is Police Officer Jim Reed, Badge #2430. I need emergency assistance
at Sonneman Hall. I have . . ."
"Sir, this is the university operator. There's a penalty for using the
phone service for fraudulent purposes."
"What? No, no, you don't understand, operator. I am a LAPD Officer and
. . . "
"The university has its own police force and they always let us know when
they need to use the line for official business. Now please hang up," she
said curtly, then disconnected the call.
Jim stared incredulously at the phone in his hand. I can't believe
it! She hung up!
**********
Barstow twisted Tony's collar tight in one fist, the other automatically
reaching for his gun. If there was a cop around, then there was a good
chance that he'd need it.
"Jerry?" Tony croaked, struggling to breathe. Both hands ineffectively
tried to loosen Jerry's vise-like hold on his neck.
Barstow's eyes darted back and forth, anticipating the arrival of a blue
uniformed figure. As the normal quiet of the night continued, he drew
his gaze back to the squirming kid.
"You're sure it was a cop?" he murmured quietly.
"Uh-huh."
Barstow abruptly released his hold and pushed Tony roughly into the wall.
The kid managed to stay standing but his eyes were wide with growing terror
as he inhaled deeply.
"Where did he go? Did you watch him while you were hiding in the broom
closet? Or were you just too chicken to look?"
"Yeah, I mean, no! I was really careful, Jerry. I think he was looking
for a phone, but I ripped out the one in Professor Jernigan's office." Tony
leaped on the opportunity to provide helpful information that might appease
Jerry.
"Damn! Then he's probably already left the building."
"There's a pay phone down in the lobby! He got in the elevator. I bet
he went there!"
For a few seconds Jerry Barstow's eyes grew dark as his mind began piecing
together possible plans of action. If that cop's callin' for help, there's
not much time. Keep the kid with me, find the cop and burn him. Hell,
maybe the kid can do that one, too! Once the pigs get here, a few dead
bodies is all they're gonna find. But they won't find JerryBarstow! They
won't even know he was here.
"Hurry up, kid. Just do what I say," he grabbed Tony's shirt again and
pulled him toward the closest stairwell.
"Whaaa?" Tony tripped over his own feet, trying to keep up with the other
man.
They rushed down the five flights of stairs as though the police were
already on their trail. Jerry stopped abruptly when they reached the second
floor landing. He opened the door warily, hoping that the hinges wouldn't
tip off the cop, if he was still around.
Barstow padded down the hallway, He heard the cop talking on the phone
and that excited him. He almost laughed when he realized that whoever was
on the other end wasn't paying any attention to the officer. This was it.
He had to make his move now. He glanced back at Tony, crooked his finger
at him, then silently peered around the corner. He aimed his gun at the
man's back.
"Okay, pig. Don't move or I'll blow your head off." Barstow smirked,
reveling in the power of those words.
**********
Jim froze, his right hand still poised to redial the operator. He mentally
kicked himself for assuming that the professor's assailant had fled the
building.
"Hands up. Now turn around. Slow," the harsh voice ordered him.
Jim did as he was told, halting as he came face to face with two men instead
of the one he'd expected. The older man held a .45 revolver and was as
tall as Jim. The pallor of his skin suggested that he spent all of his
time indoors. His murky brown eyes were arrogant and dead, like the eyes
of a shark. Jim was almost used to seeing contempt from a total stranger.
The other man, a boy actually, was waiting expectantly. Young, nicely
dressed, couldn't possibly be a day over nineteen. Had to be a student.
What in the world is he doing with this guy?
"Tony," the older man nodded toward Jim. "Get his gun. And don't try
to pull anything, cop."
Tony walked tentatively towards Jim, reaching out just enough to make
contact with his gun holster and detach it from his belt. With the .45
trained on him from roughly ten feet away, Jim knew he wouldn't be able
to make a move fast enough. But he also knew that once a suspect had a
cop's gun, the odds quickly moved against him in favor of the suspect.
Once again, he regretted that he hadn't made that call to his partner.
********
Pete looked at the back side of the building he had been in less than
18 hours earlier. It looked much more inviting in the daylight. Now, a
solitary street lamp tried to provide illumination for a wide area and failed
miserably. Walking through the parking lot, he stopped when he saw a light-colored
Chevy Impala parked at an odd angle at the back. He squinted, automatically
noting the license plate number when he realized that it didn't have the
authorized stickers that were the norm for campus. Then he started his search
for an entrance that would be open at this time of the night.
The structure was U-shaped with two additional straight wings running
east and west. Built on an incline, the lobby entrance was on the the second
floor, opposite side of the building. Pete now faced the first floor on
the back side and debated on which direction to take.
Pete had no idea what doors might be open but figured that there had to
be at least one if Jim planned on meeting the professor in his office.
He walked to the closest entrance sign and grasped the heavy handle. He
pulled it firmly, but the thing didn't even budge. He picked up his pace
and walked further into the paved lot to try the door near the loading dock.
Pete scrambled up three small steps, crossing his fingers that this one
would surrender to his efforts. He sighed in relief when the door creaked
open to reveal a dimly lit stairwell. He didn't know where Jernigan's office
was, so he headed toward the lobby for a quick look at the directory.
Time's running out.
**********
Jim's eyes followed the kid as he backed away, holding Jim's .38 with
hands that were shaking. Tony was breathing rapidly, his eyes were wide
and he kept licking his lips. Jim wasn't sure whether it was from anxiety
or exhilaration. Maybe it was both.
"Jerry, I got it!" the young man said excitedly.
"That's good, kid."
Jim looked back at Jerry, saw the man's murderous intent and realized
that he could very possibly die in the next few minutes. Suddenly his own
fear threatened to wash over him, allowing only deep emotions to surface.
I want to see Jean and Jimmy one more time. Why didn't I take one
last look at Jimmy's face before I left ? Why didn't I call Pete? Pete.
What would Pete do if it were him? Jim ignored the little voice that
reminded him that Pete wouldn't be in this situation and tried to get his
brain back in gear.
"Look, you don't want to do this," Jim said, trying to slow his own breathing.
He dropped his hands a few inches without getting any adverse reaction.
He watched both men and focused on getting through to the more impressionable
boy. He knew that Jerry was committed to whatever plan he'd come up with.
There was little chance of changing the mind of somebody like that.
"Tony, come over here." Jerry kept his gun leveled at Jim as he urged
Tony closer.
As Tony eagerly stepped over, Jim shifted his weight from one foot to
the other and inched closer to the elevator call button. If he could lean
back, he might be able to activate it without them noticing anything. He
hoped the opening doors might distract their attention for a couple of seconds.
Then he'd have to use those precious seconds to disarm Jerry and hope to
God that the kid would be too stunned to react. It wasn't much of a plan
but it was all he had. He couldn't stand there and let them execute him.
***********
Pete neared the door on the second floor landing and gripped the handle.
If Jim or the Professor was nearby, he didn't want to spook either one
of them by popping out like the clown in a jack-in-the box . He pressed
down slowly on the lever and pulled the door open a few inches, stopping
when he heard voices. The metal joints had creaked and he inserted the tip
of his shoe into the space to keep it ajar. Leaning in as close as he could,
he strained to hear what was being said and by whom.
"Shut up, cop! You're gonna die, no matter what."
Pete's eyes flashed at the the words. He didn't care who was saying them,
but he knew who they were talking about. Jim. His partner. His friend.
Quickly, he edged his foot forward and moved the door open a bit more.
He winced and froze as another squeak magnified itself ten times over.
He had hoped to try and get a visual on Jim's position before taking action.
It looked like that wasn't going to happen. He braced himself against the
wall, pulled out his gun and clutched it in both hands. "Please, God, get
Jim out of harm's way," he prayed silently.
He hesitated when he heard Jim's voice, trying to gauge the distance between
all of the players. It was nearly impossible, but as he inched his body
closer, he tried to see whether his partner would be to his right or left
as he came out of the hallway. Pete entered the hallway on the other side
of the lobby and saw his partner standing close to the elevator with his
hands held up in submission.
**********
Tony stood next to his mentor, waiting for instructions.
"You've got his gun, kid. You go ahead and take care of him. Then we've
gotta get outta here . . . before anyone finds him or the dead guy upstairs."
Jim started at his words, hoping that he was lying make Tony feel like
there was nothing to lose.
"Tony, aren't you curious as to why he wants you to kill me?" Jim interrupted.
"And with my gun, not his?"
"Huh?" Tony said, his expression one of confusion.
"Don't be stupid, kid," Jerry said, glowering but never taking his eyes
away from his prisoner. Rotten cop. “He's just tryin' to
save his own skin.”
Jim needed to drop his arms a more few inches before he could reach his
elbow into the call button. So close.
"Tony, why do you have to do it? Why not him? Maybe because he has no
intention of letting you leave either."
Startled, Tony turned slightly and gaped at Jerry, momentarily forgetting
that the other man had a gun as well.
"What? That's not true, is it, Jerry?" his voice seemed to raise an octave
as he thoughtlessly lowered the .38 in his hand.
"Tony, if they think you did it, then they won't be looking for your buddy
here, would they?" Jim persisted.
"Shut up, pig," Jerry growled, "You're gonna die, no matter what."
Tony started to back away from Jerry, pointing Jim's .38 at a new target.
"You said we were partners! We were going to be rich. I believed you!"
Tony cried out, his hands shaking violently.
The seasoned criminal eyed the kid with outright disgust. "Stupid idiot.
I knew you didn't have the guts for this business."
As Reed saw Jerry's finger tighten on the trigger, he nudged the elevator
button. Instantly, the doors opened with a jerk, causing all four men to
react simultaneously. A split second. An opportunity. A last chance.
Jim threw out his left arm, pulling the kid to the side and back with
him into the elevator. A shot rang out, then another. Was that Pete's
voice? Still clutching the kid, Jim hit the floor and the back wall.
The fluorescent lights in the ceiling of the elevator shattered as at least
one bullet crashed through them. Electrical sparks sizzled overhead like
miniature fireworks. The doors automatically started to close. but not
before one more slug tore through them. It embedded itself in the wall,
leaving a sizable hole and narrowly missing the head of the boy cowering
near Jim's feet.
The doors snapped shut, temporarily protecting them in the small, dim
chamber. Jim pushed himself to his knees and leaned his right hand hard
on the fifth floor button. He let up on it only after feeling the upward
motion and took a deep breath. It was then that he felt searing pain seize
his left arm. Looking down, he tried to flex his fingers and was astonished
to see blood trailing into the palm of his hand.
"So Jerry ended up shooting you after all, huh, cop?"
Jim turned his head and looked at the young man now sitting across from
him on the floor. Incredibly, Tony had managed to retain his hold on the
gun during the melee. It was cradled between both of his hands, pointing
at Jim.
"Yeah, I guess," Jim replied, unable to resist a look at the damaged wall.
He must've gotten hit by a ricochet from the first shot that exploded most
of the lights. Otherwise, his whole arm could have been ripped apart.
He was grateful that it was still there. But it hurt like hell.
"Tony, why don't you give me the gun?" Jim asked, holding out his right
hand, palm up.
A bell sounded and the elevator came to a halt. As the doors opened,
Tony aimed his gun at the entrance. The hallway was empty. Tony stuck
his foot in the passageway to keep the doors from closing.
"This is where it ends," Tony said quietly.
***********
"Freeze! Police! Drop your weapons!" Pete barked at the two men possessing
guns. His warning echoed through the empty foyer as he positioned himself
against the wall, taking aim at the more threatening figure.
But hell was already breaking loose.
Jim and the kid flew backwards and disappeared into the open elevator.
Pete tightened his finger on the trigger and pulled it as the man with the
gun fired in Jim's direction, then took cover behind the corner. Malloy's
bullet skidded against the brick siding and sent a cloud of mortar dust
into the air. He heard another shot blast through something hard.
"I said freeze, mister!" Pete yelled again, diving behind a very worn-looking
sofa. Still in a crouch, he listened for any indication of the man's location.
He cautiously peered around the furniture and heard rapid footsteps fading
away. One of those heavy doors opened noisily and Pete rushed to the other
hallway in time to see it click shut.
He turned back to the pay phone, grabbed the receiver and dialed zero.
Still trying to watch every direction, his attention fixated to the sizable
black hole in the elevator door.
"Damn," Pete swore softly, trying not to think of the damage on the other
side.
"Operator," a distracted voice answered on the first ring.
"This is Officer Pete Malloy, Badge Number 744. Operator, I need you
to . . . "
"Not you again! Didn't I tell you to stop calling in false alarms, young
man?"
"Listen, lady, I am a police officer with the L.A.P.D. There's been an
officer involved shooting in Sonneman Hall and you better connect me with
Dispatch at Central Division. Now!"
"Er, uh, well . . . you mean this is real?"
"Yes, it's real," he answered, impatiently. Too real. He heard
several clicks as the connection went through. A glance at the lights above
the elevator told him that it had stopped on five and hadn't moved yet.
"Dispatch," a familiar and professional voice answered him this time.
"Officer Peter Malloy, Badge Number 744...this is an off-duty emergency.
I've got a 417 on campus at Sonneman Hall, officer involved shooting.
Be advised the suspect has fled on foot. Request backup at this location,
code 3.
"Confirmed, a 417, code 3. Do you have a description of the suspect?"
"Male, Caucasian, approximately 6', 190 pounds, dark hair, wearing light
colored pants and dark jacket," Pete answered. "Can you connect me to the
Watch Commander?"
"Roger, patching through."
Pete continued with his surveillance of every hallway and opening, gun
still drawn and ready. It was bad enough that he hadn't been able to catch
the suspect but what really bothered him was not knowing Jim's situation.
"Pete? What's going on?" Sergeant Benjamin Cordell's voice snapped on
the line a few seconds later.
"Ben, listen. Something's gone down on campus. Reed's involved."
"Do you need an ambulance?" Pete detected just a hint of worry in Sergeant
Cordell's voice.
"I don't know . . . I hope not. But you better send one anyway. Dispatch
has a description of one suspect but there's at least another civilian on
the scene. I'm going to search the building. Make sure the backup units
know that neither one of us are in uniform."
"Dispatch has already informed 1-ADAM-14 of your status and they're on
their way."
Pete afforded himself a hint of a smile as he realized that Ben had already
seen to the call going out himself.
"Hang on, Pete," Ben said. "And be careful."
"Always, Sarge."
******
Stalled on the fifth floor, the elevator doors kept sliding together only
to bounce back each time they hit Tony's foot. The doors whined in response
to the obstacle in their path.
"Tony, give me the gun." Jim kept his command simple.
"But Jerry'll come back and kill me! I know he will!" Tony shrieked,
a rosy flush covering his youthful cheeks.
The kid swiftly rose to his feet, leaned out and pointed the gun in every
direction. His earlier excitement was now being replaced by frenzied terror.
Jim wasn't sure which emotion was proving to be the most dangerous. He
stood on unsteady limbs, bracing himself against the wall for a second.
There, that wasn't too bad. Just a little dizzy from getting up too fast.
"Jerry's not going to kill you, Tony. I'll make sure of that." Jim hoped
he sounded more confident than he felt. He closed his right hand over the
gun, urging Tony to let it go. The young man was shaking but he released
his hold and Jim took possession of his personal .38 once again. He felt
a small degree of control return with it.
"We're going to go back and check on Professor Jernigan," Jim said, gripping
his gun and nodding to the south stairwell.
Tony nodded silently, hung his head, and walked alongside the officer.
Jim kept looking back as they approached the door to the stairs. He didn't
want to be caught in an ambush if Jerry was still in the building. The
guy could be anywhere by now.
Gun poised, Jim leaned the right side of his body against the door and
pushed outward. He could feel Tony's eyes on him, waiting for some direction.
Jim glanced up and then quickly scanned the hallway. There wasn't movement,
suspicious or otherwise. A lump formed in his throat when he realized that
applied to Alex as well. The still form of his former teacher sprawled
below them, in the exact position he'd left him earlier. He took the steps
carefully, using the wall for support and balance.
"Alex?" Jim whispered, feeling little hope as he stared at the professor's
vacant blue eyes. He started to bend down to check for a pulse, staggered,
and caught himself on the railing. He could see that Alex wasn't breathing.
The blue eyes stared, dull and unseeing, toward the ceiling. The young
officer had seen violent death before but never that of a friend . . .
never like this. I shouldn't have left him alone to die.
"I . . . I didn't mean to hurt him," Tony mumbled from somewhere.
Jim looked up and saw the boy standing above him, arms wrapped around
himself protectively. Tony's chin quivered like a child's as he gawked
at the final outcome of his struggle with Professor Jernigan. Jim couldn't
let himself forget that this big kid was responsible for Alex's death, accidental
or otherwise. And he had also been holding Jim's own gun on him a very short
time ago. Tony would have to face the consequences of his actions just like
anyone else. Jim gritted his teeth as a hot current of pain suddenly flared
in his left shoulder.
"Come on. We have to get out of here," Jim said, looking at Tony.
Jim wasn't sure how he got to his feet, but he did. He nodded at Tony
to join him on the landing. The boy reluctantly moved closer to the body,
then over it to cross down to the next level of steps. Jim swallowed hard
as he did the same, still hugging the wall and railing to keep from losing
his balance. From below, the sound of a hallway entrance door opening echoed
toward them up the stairwell.
Tony gasped and froze in his tracks. "It's him!" he whispered, forgetting
his earlier partnership with Jerry. He made small whimpering sounds as
he edged backwards.
"Tony," Jim said quietly, "Come on back and we'll take another way out
of here."
Tony whipped his head around and his ever-changing face took on the look
of a trapped animal. His eyes blazed as he made a desperate grab for Jim's
gun. Panic drove his strength as his fingers clawed and attempted to curl
around the barrel of the .38. He shoved Jim against the wall hard, leaving
Jim gasping for breath and nearly reeling from the force. He held his revolver
up and away from Tony's reach, but it was increasingly difficult using only
his right arm. The left arm hung useless in a shirt sleeve wet with blood.
Tony seemed to remember that as well and abruptly changed tactics, throwing
his body into the officer's injured side. His size was no match for Jim's
and Tony clumsily stumbled back to his knees on the next landing. Jim's
vision darken as he crumpled over in pain, faltering on the hard step beneath
him. He wasn't sure what frightened him more--having this crazed kid in
possession of his gun again, or accidentally shooting a nineteen year old
boy while trying to keep that very thing from happening.
Jim looked up and saw that Tony was already on his feet and ready to lunge
at him again. A surge of adrenaline rushed through him and he leaned into
his hurt side, nearly prone on the steps, and kicked out with his right
leg. It caught the boy in the solar plexus and hurled him straight back
into the cement wall where his head smacked against the surface. Dazed,
he slid down the wall, groaning and holding his midsection.
Jim shivered , the last of his energy spent . . . until he heard a noise
on the stairs below. He raised his gun weakly, arm shaking from the strain,
and aimed it at the empty space.
**********
Pete heard the activity as he climbed the stairs. Distant voices, not
really clear, followed by the too familiar sounds of brawl. He was getting
closer. Then he heard something definitely hit the wall, followed by low
groaning. He was nearly there. He tensed, then readied his gun and rounded
the next corner.
"Police! Drop your weapon!" he yelled at the two men in the stairwell.
Pete liked to think he was prepared for a lot of possibilities but he
wasn't ready for the sight before him. The kid he'd seen earlier was there,
lying in a heap like a rag doll. A little farther up the steps lay his
partner . . . pointing a gun at him.
"Jim . . . it's okay, partner, it's me."
"Pete?" Jim's voice was hoarse. Relieved, he lowered his gun, which slipped
from his fingers.
Pete rushed up and knelt beside him. He glanced up and saw Jernigan's
body. He didn't have to look long to know that the professor was dead.
What a shame. He seemed like a nice guy.
"Sorry, Pete." Jim frowned slightly, "Wasn't . . . sure who it was. There's
another . . . "
"It's okay. You did the right thing," Pete answered, noting Jim's rapid
breathing and pale skin. Then he saw the blood on his shirt sleeve, with
more of it on the step underneath his arm. Jim struggled to sit up, all
the while watching the kid below them.
"Hold on, let me take a look." Pete reached over and helped him sit up.
"M'okay, Pete. It's just my shoulder."
"Then you'll let me look at it. Or do I have to make that an order?"
An amused smile appeared on Jim's face, briefly replacing the tightness
of his features. "You would, too, wouldn't you?"
"You bet."
Jim maintained a watch on the boy and both ends of the stairwell. Pete
worked quickly, knowing that they were still vulnerable at this location.
He gently pulled the fabric away from the entrance wound, disturbed that
he couldn't find an exit wound, which meant the bullet was still in there.
The bleeding wasn't profuse but he was still losing it… The bullet
might have nicked a vein. He took off the light jacket he had thrown on
and held it by the tail ends of each sleeve, twirling it until it was narrow
enough to wrap around the arm. He pulled it tight enough to staunch the
flow of blood with direct pressure, but not so tight that it would completely
cut off circulation. Pete grimaced when he heard Jim's sharp intake of breath.
"There. That'll do for now."
Jim looked down at the bulky handiwork through slightly glazed eyes.
A weak sound that might have been a laugh came from his throat. "Pete.
That's the worst looking bandage I've ever seen."
"Save the complaints for later. I want to get you out of here. Can you
stand?" Pete asked, already knowing the answer.
"Yeah. But I might . . . need a hand."
"That's why I'm here, partner," Pete replied, reaching over and pulling
Jim's right arm over his own shoulders. While they weren't even in height,
he still knew how to maintain enough leverage to give the younger man assistance.
He could also tell that Jim wasn't letting him take on much either.
"I've got you," Pete said firmly, assuming that Jim was trying to take
it easy on him.
"I know, Pete. But I better do what I can." Jim paused, "While I can."
Pete Malloy knew what it took for Jim to admit that much. He nodded,
hoping the situation wouldn't worsen more than it already had. He clipped
Jim's gun back to his belt, not wanting him to be totally unarmed if they
ran into the second suspect. As he stood there, holding onto his partner,
he stared at the boy on the floor. He just plain didn't like him.
"You," he almost barked, "Get up now."
Tony crawled to his feet, seemingly afraid to look at either officer.
"I don't have any handcuffs with me," Pete continued, nailing the kid
with the iciest glare he could muster. "But I've got some colleagues waiting
for us and they'll definitely have a pair with your name on them. So don't
get cute. Now move it."
With the boy a few feet ahead, Pete watched him carefully as the three
of them made the difficult journey downward. He had holstered his own gun
while helping Jim but now had it back in his hand, prepared for any surprises
might be in store for them.
"Are they really waiting?" Jim looked at Pete earnestly.
"Who? Our colleagues?" Pete answered, with a half smile and raised eyebrow.
"Backup should be here by now. And an ambulance."
"How?"
"The old biddy operator. What'd she do, hang up on you?"
Jim coughed once and tried to hold back a second one, but was unsuccessful.
He nodded instead.
"I guess she finally figured out that two callers claiming to be LAPD
in less than an hour just might be the real thing. Just wish she'd been
a little brighter to begin with . . ." Pete explained. He didn't add that
he would make sure that a full investigation was made of the campus security
protocol. Her refusal to assist a police officer could very well have
made all the difference in that officer's survival. Just thinking about
it made his stomach churn.
Jim's weight suddenly shifted forward, threatening to throw them both
off balance. Pete nearly lost his grip, stopping in mid-step and quickly
recovering their position.
"Slipped . . . sorry," Jim said feebly.
"Don't worry about it," Pete replied, again noticing how labored Jim's
breathing was.
"How much . . . further?"
"We're almost there," Pete informed him, noting how tough it seemed to
be for Jim to hold his head up. "Hey, you sound like my godson's gonna sound
when you and Jean start taking him on those family vacations."
"Yeah," Jim responded, another fleeting hint of a smile touching his ashen
face.
They were now on the last level of steps leading to the rear exit door.
Tony stopped, then scooted into the corner, reluctant to go beyond the
barrier of the building.
Pete knew that he couldn't send the kid out first, without knowing who
might really be waiting out there. He didn't want to drag his partner out
into the unknown with him either. The other suspect could have doubled back
and be right behind the door. There really weren't any good choices.
"Look, I'm going to let you down right here while I open the door and
make sure that we can see our backup from this here." Pete carefully maneuvered
his partner to the bottom step and leaned him against the wall, deathly
afraid that Jim might lose consciousness and keel over.
Jim looked up and nodded. "Go," he whispered painfully.
Pete took a deep breath, glanced again at the young offender nearby.
It was a tricky move, keeping one eye on his partner's condition, one on
the kid trying to melt into the brick wall, and yet another to scope the
outside once he opened the exit. As a cop, though, it wasn't the first
time he'd needed three eyes. And it probably wouldn't be the last.
Wary of the possibilities, he readied his pistol and very slowly pressed
the door outward. The sliver of light from the stairwell stretched out
into the darkness. A light spring rain was falling onto the sidewalk.
It was murky and quiet, except for the mist hitting the foliage. In only
a few seconds Pete knew that the other suspect was not waiting for them.
He also knew that backup was nowhere in sight. He returned his gaze to
Jim, who was still watching him with eyes he was very obviously struggling
to keep open.
**********
A few minutes earlier Barstow had burst through the second floor door
and sprinted wildly down the steps. When the exit door came into view,
he made the decision to cut his losses. He nearly collided with the wall
as he skidded to a stop and checked for signs of pursuit. He could hear
no sounds above him. Unable to wait any longer, he slung the door open and
escaped the confines of the building.
Now as he stopped to breathe in the moist night air, he eased his gun
back into his jacket and walked briskly to his car. Still no unusual sounds.
Especially sirens. He regretted that he hadn't had the chance to whack
those cops, especially the first one, who'd loused up all his plans. But
he knew when the odds were against him. At least for now. Pigs have
a funny way of multiplying when you least expected it. He could always
set up somewhere new. At least the kid didn't know his real name--that was
something, at least.
Jerry Barstow wrestled himself behind the steering wheel, started the
engine and left the parking lot without turning on the headlights. When
he hit the street, he took a last look behind him and shifted in his seat.
The rain was making it more difficult to see without lights. The cheap
wipers he'd bought last month weren't helping, either. Jerry popped the
car lights on at the first stop sign and fumbled around in the glove compartment,
looking for a cigarette. His search turned up only two empty packs. He
threw them down on the floorboard and swore out loud, picking up speed as
he fled down the empty street.
**********
"They're not there . . . are they?" Jim winced as he pulled his injured
arm closer to his side.
Pete tensed as he watched his partner's pain. Dammit!Where
's 1-ADAM-14? What's keeping them?
"You mean nobody's out there?" The high-pitched voice sounded hopeful.
Tony, the boy wonder. Pete knew he'd be glad when that kid was in
lock-up where he belonged.
"Then why can't you just let me go? This wasn't my fault. I'm not even
21!" Tony's plea fell on deaf ears as Pete pointedly ignored him, except
to make sure he didn't make any move from his spot on the wall. At that
moment, the kid looked like he was getting ready to throw a tantrum.
"You're not going anywhere. Sit!" Pete commanded, his voice harsh.
Let someone else feel sorry for him. All he knew right now was that
Jim had obviously been defending himself in a brawl of some kind with the
kid. He wasn't sure when Jim had been shot, whether it had been earlier
or just now, but it didn't matter. Anyone who would attack another human
being who was already hurt rated pretty low in Pete's book. He glanced back
at Jim whose head seemed to be dropping lower.
Pete heard a noise outside and his attention turned back to the scene
in front of him. The beam of a flashlight wavered near the corner of the
building. Pete suspected it was their backup, but couldn't be sure. He
held the door open with one arm and held his gun pointed upward and ready.
Then he backed up as close to the edge of the door jam as he could get
without losing his grip on the door itself. A shimmering momentary flash
caught his eye and he recognized the reflection of light on a badge. In
the same instant, the uniformed police officer raised his gun and started
to issue a warning. He stopped in mid-sentence.
"Pete Malloy?"
Pete squinted through the charcoal night, not recognizing the voice.
"Yeah, it's Malloy."
"Guttierez. 1-ADAM-14. We're your backup," the dark-haired officer approached
and motioned to someone Pete still couldn't see.
Pete took a deep breath and let it out. "Where the hell have you guys
been?" It was a struggle to keep his tone even.
"Sorry, we didn't know what part of the building you were in. We came
in from the back street," Guttierez explained, then gestured to another officer
who joined them. "This is my partner, Will Jamison."
The tall black man nodded in response, then remained silent.
"What do you have, Malloy?" Guettierez asked.
"My partner's been injured. Is the ambulance in back, too?"
"No. But it should be here any minute and it'll probably take the main
street to the front. We should see and hear it from here." As though on
cue, the faint but sharp melody of an ambulance siren swelled, becoming
louder with every second.
"I'll go wave it down," Jamison volunteered.
Guttierez stepped closer to Pete and leaned in, looking over at Jim on
the steps and Tony, still bunched up in the corner on the floor. "How bad?"
he whispered.
"Don't know. Bad enough. Bullet to the shoulder."
"How about the kid? He do it?"
"Don't know that either. There was another suspect, armed. He could
still be on campus. I want you to take him in for assault on a police officer.
They were involved in an altercation as I arrived on the scene."
The officer walked over to Tony and pulled him to his feet. After frisking
Tony, he placed him against the wall and snapped on handcuffs in a blink
of an eye. Guttierez read him his rights as he accompanied him outside and
handed him over to his partner.
Pete quickly moved to Jim's side, determined to get him the help he needed.
Kneeling in front of him, Pete slipped his arm around his good shoulder,
then managed to get him standing again.
"Whaa?" Jim responded, swaying a bit and sounding confused.
"Easy, partner. Help's here."
Outside, the ambulance pulled over and backed up, driving over the sidewalk
to get close to the building. The flashing lights atop the vehicle added
a disquieting visual. Two attendants jumped out, jerked open the back door
of their vehicle and quickly pulled out a gurney. The men weren't able
to get it into the stairwell, so they left it near the door and marched
inside to take possession of their patient.
Already almost to the exit, Pete wasn't ready to hand Jim over to the
brusque administration of strangers just yet.
"I've got him," he growled, as one of the white-coated men reached to
take over Pete's spot next to Jim. We got this far. I think
we can manage to get a few more feet. Besides, why waste precious time
and cause Jim more pain doing a switch mid-stream?
Once outside, Pete allowed the attendants to help get Jim down onto the
gurney. That's not an easy thing to do with a guy his height. The
men obviously knew their job and carefully eased Jim into a comfortable
position.
Guettierez stood by Pete as he watched the transition. "You'll probably
be going in with him, right?"
"What? Oh, right," Pete replied, trying to divide his concentration.
"Do you have anything else to add? Any more information? We've got an
additional unit on its way."
"Good. No . . . you've got the description," Pete answered, then hesitated
as a thought hit him. "You said you guys came in from the back street?
Through the parking lot, right?"
"Right." Guettierez looked at him quizzically.
"Did you notice a light-colored Impala parked close to the building, near
the bushes?"
"No, that's about where we parked the squad. So unless we're sitting
on top of it, it's gone."
"Then we have a possible. Get it on the air. It may be '64 Chevy Impala,
possibly tan or yellow, license plate Ocean-Ida-Robert 267."
"Got it. Anything else?" Guttierez glanced over at his partner and their
prisoner.
Pete shook his head, changed his mind and paused, "Yeah. Let's find this
guy."
Jim was now secured in the ambulance with one of the attendants. The other
was about to seal the back when Pete bolted forward to catch him. "Wait.
I'm going with him." He jumped inside and the door closed behind him.
The driver ran to the front, slamming his own door. The wail of the siren
returned and joined the blazing light show as the vehicle started its journey
to the hospital.
**********
For Pete Malloy, the world outside the ambulance was temporarily suspended.
A man accustomed to being in the driver's seat and in control, he now watched
helplessly as the attendant made sure that Jim was secure and someone else
drove the ambulance. He wished there was something more he could have done.
Even now, three able men were sitting by while en route to the hospital.
He knew that they had to wait for professional care. But he had also
seen more than his share of victims die before they even reached a hospital,
sometimes from injuries that didn't seem that serious. There should be
something more he could do.
They hit a bump in the road and Pete automatically stretched out his hand
to steady the gurney. He glanced down as the guy in his white jacket reached
over and took Jim's pulse. His own heart racing, Pete waited expectantly
then leaned over. "Well?"
The man hesitated, then replied, "You understand I'm not a doctor or anything.
But I study. So maybe one day I can be more than an emergency taxi service.
His pulse is rapid and . . . what they call 'thready,'" he paused, then
explained, "It's from the loss of blood."
Pete looked down at the makeshift bandage he'd placed on Jim's arm not
that long ago. There was more blood on it now than there had been earlier.
When did it get worse? The white coated guy wrapped another bandage
around Jim's shoulder and applied pressure. Pete knew it was all he could
do right now. Damn! Shouldn't we be there by now? It felt like
an eternity since they'd left the campus. Abruptly, they took a right turn
and the ambulance slowed, turning again, then reversing. That meant they'd
arrived and were almost at the emergency entrance doors.
Jim groaned and tried to raise his head, but failed.
Pete firmly gripped Jim's good wrist to let him know that he was there.
The back door sprung open like a jackknife. Unfamiliar hands and arms
wrested the gurney from the ambulance. Pete bounded out, walking quickly
to keep up. Jim was rolled into a nearby treatment room where an orderly
apologetically held up his hand, barring admission.
"But . . ." Pete began, unwilling to simply stand and wait in the hallway.
The door swung toward him, cutting him off from his partner.
"Get his b.p. stat!"
"Call for x-ray!"
"Start an iv . . ."
The rapid commands were suddenly gone, leaving behind only muffled sounds
of activity. Pete took a step back, then decided that maybe hewould
stand and wait there. Right there. A moment later, the door opened
again and a pretty auburn-haired nurse came out, a questioning look on her
face.
"You're his partner?" she asked.
"Yes, ma'am," Pete answered, uneasily. He took out his badge and held
it out to her for confirmation.
She nodded, held up one finger and mouthed, "Wait."
A few seconds later, she returned and held out her hands to him, palms
flat and turned up. Jim's .38 rested on them, along with his police I.D.
She doesn't even look nervous. Silently, he took possession of both
items. He slipped the badge into his back pocket.
"You might want to go to the Nurses' Desk, " she said, pointing to his
left. "I'm sure they could find a paper bag or something to put that in for
now."
And then she was gone. She turned, the door opened for two seconds, and
then Pete was left staring at the sign that read, "Treatment Room 3." He
sighed and wrapped his hands around the gun, knowing that it wouldn't be
a good idea to walk around the hospital with it. His own gun didn't require
an explanation because his police shield was clipped onto his belt next
to it. But it might make people nervous to see him carrying a second weapon
in plain sight. He trekked down the hallway, asked the first person he
saw for a sack and was relieved when they didn't ask him why he wanted it.
When Pete turned, he saw Sergeant Cordell approaching him. He met him
halfway, glad to have someone from the station there.
"Pete?"
"Ben."
"How is he?" Cordell asked, concerned.
"I don't know. We just got here. I guess they'll come out and tell us
something as soon as they can," Pete replied, not sure who he was trying
to reassure, the sarge or himself.
"Have you called his wife yet?"
"No. I was just getting ready to do that," Pete informed him, feeling
the churn return to his stomach. How in the world am I gonna tell Jean?
She called me for help. She trusted me to be there for Jim. She's waiting
by the phone. Now I'm gonna have to shake her world apart.
"Pete, do you want me to do it?" Ben volunteered, knowing what a difficult
task lay ahead for one of the best officers on the force.
"No. No, I have to do it."
"All right," Ben said, then looked down at the white paper bag in Pete's
hand. "Is that his gun?"
"Yes, sir."
"Why don't you let me take it? You already have your hands full tonight."
Pete hesitated, unwilling to let go of Jim's revolver, but not quite knowing
why. He looked over at the bank of pay phones, recalling what he had to
do next and handed the bag over to the sergeant.
"Thanks, Ben."
Sergeant Cordell watched as Malloy straightened his shoulders and walked
purposefully to the closest phone. He saw him dig into a pocket for change,
tighten his fist around the coin before depositing it, then dial the number.
His head bent as he spoke to Reed's wife and Ben Cordell turned away, his
face showing the weary remembrance of the words Malloy was now saying.
********
There are so many voices. So many hands tugging at me.
Jim had been in a blissfully foggy place until all this commotion started.
He became aware of pain in his left shoulder, dull and throbbing, then
remembered what had happened. Scissors sliced their way through his shirt,
cold air made contact with bare skin. He labored for each breath, fighting
to fill his lungs as quickly as possible. Something was placed on his face,
causing him to feel claustrophobic until he realized that it was oxygen.
"Pe..Pete?" Jim murmured, not sure if anyone heard him.
"Take it easy, officer," a feminine voice wafted through to his brain.
"Your partner's outside waiting. And the doctors are taking care of you."
"Uhh...'kay," he answered, then gasped when it felt like someone was grinding
their fist into his shoulder.
"Sorry, but we need to get a look at this," a male voice spoke to him,
sounding strong and in charge. Jim wanted to tell him to lay off but he was
still trying to convince his eyelids to open.
"Get that portable x-ray in here!"
Eyes finally cooperating, Jim blinked several times to tone down the glaring
overhead lights. It didn't really help diminish the brightness but he could
finally see a blurry face.
"My...arm?" Jim asked hoarsely, worried when he tried moving his left
fingers and couldn't feel them. Is my arm even there? Nobody's answering
me! He tried to shift position but those unfamiliar hands kept pushing
him back. I've gotta file a report . . . Mac will have our hides.
"Just lay still while we take some pictures."
That sure sounded like an order. Jim ceased moving and something
slid beneath his back. Hard. Metal. Freezing. Oh, God, don't touch
my shoulder again.
He felt a shiver go through his entire body and thought it odd. Jean
was the one who always got cold easily. Jean? Pete probably called her.
Part of him didn't want her there, waiting and worried. She'd have to
bring Jimmy with her unless she could find a babysitter. He'd hate for the
baby to be in the hospital, exposed to sickness, especially since he'd just
gotten over that virus last week.
Jim groaned as he felt himself being lifted and moved again. Why won't
they make it stop hurting? He jerked his right arm as someone stabbed
him with a needle.
"I'm sorry. Try to relax."
It was that woman's soft voice again. What he wouldn't give to see Jean's
face right now. She could always look at him and make him feel better,
no matter what was going on in their lives. Sometimes she would just make
him laugh. And other times. Now she was going to be so mad at him.
"Officer Reed? Can you hear me? I'm Doctor Manetti. We're going to
be taking you to surgery now and repair the damage to your arm."
Officer. I need to find out. What's going on?
Jim forced his eyes open again, only to find that they threatened to
close almost as quickly. Squinting against the lights, he struggled to roll
to one side and encountered a jumble of tubes.
"I hav'ta . . . talk . . . Pete," Jim mumbled, wondering why he wasn't
already standing up. His mouth must've been stuffed with cotton and it was
spreading out to the rest of his body. Except for his arm and shoulder.
The pain was still there, hot and intense.
"Just settle down." A strong hand on his chest gently but firmly pushed
him back down while the voices carried on a conference above him.
"Who's Pete?"
"That's his partner. He's outside, waiting."
"Well, I guess I better talk to him before our patient here walks out
on us. Let's get him upstairs, folks. And don't waste any time."
Jim clung to consciousness as the gurney was wheeled from the treatment
room. He opened his eyes one more time and caught a glimpse of his partner.
Man, he looks tired. And then he was gone. The last of his willpower
spent, Jim allowed his eyes to close and surrendered to the shadowy void.
*******
Pete replaced the phone handset back into its cradle, but didn't immediately
remove his hand. He stared unseeing at the wall and thought about Jean's
reaction to the call. She had picked up the phone as though she'd been
sitting on it. Breathless, anxious. He could hear the hopeful note in
her voice, assuming that it was Jim calling her. But she'd known before
he could get the words out.
Pete offered to pick her up, even though he was selfishly reluctant to
leave the hospital before finding out more about his partner's condition.
Jean spoke quickly, in clipped sentences, telling him that she'd get her
girlfriend next door to watch little Jimmy and get a taxi to the hospital.
She didn't want Pete to leave her husband either, he realized. And then
she hung up. That was that. Pete turned and saw a doctor exiting the treatment
room and looking around expectantly. He hurried over and held up his hand.
"I'm Dr. Manetti. You're his partner? Pete?" the doctor asked.
"Pete Malloy. How is he?" Pete inquired, noticing that Sergeant Cordell
had joined them as well.
"We're taking him up to surgery now. He's lost quite a bit of blood,
so we don't want to waste any time. Once we're in there, we'll evaluate
the damage to the shoulder and arm."
"Damage? Is it bad?"
"Like I said, we'll have to see it first. Definitely tissue damage .
. . that will heal with time. Possible nerve impairment . . ." he paused.
"We'll have the x-rays by then to see if the bullet hit bone."
Overwhelmed by the information, Pete remained silent. Cordell stepped
in with his own question.
"But you think he'll recover, right?"
"Well, he's young and in excellent physical condition. I think," Dr.
Manetti replied guardedly, "barring any complications, that the prognosis
is very good."
The treatment room door opened, allowing hospital personnel to maneuver
Jim into the hallway and past the men waiting there. Pete stared as his
partner was wheeled by quickly, seeming more pale than he had been the last
time Pete had seen him. Tubes were hooked up to him, more gauze and bandages
bound his upper torso, a sheet covered the rest of him. He thought he saw
Jim's eyes flicker in recognition but he wasn't sure.
"It'll be a few hours. Has his family been notified?" Dr. Manetti inquired.
"Yes," Sergeant Cordell responded, looking over at Malloy.
"That's good. The desk nurse can show you where you can wait," Dr. Manetti
nodded and proceeded briskly down the hall, following the same path as his
team.
"That is all we can do for now, Pete. Wait," Cordell said.
"Yeah," Pete answered, feeling like a load of bricks was bearing down
on him.
******
He didn't know what time it was . . . it must be late. Jim groggily opened
his eyes, but they refused to go more than halfway. He settled for that
much and concentrated on trying to focus. Faces wavered. People stood
around him, mostly in white. Talking. Saying things he couldn't understand.
He realized that he didn't really care. Something else had caught his attention.
The brightly lit number 5 above the elevator doors. Fifth floor. Alex.
I have to meet him.
Jim ran down the hall and pushed the door open. Alex was there, arguing
with someone. He looked frightened. Jim grabbed the unknown person by
the shoulder and twisted him around to see the face. It was Pete.
"He needed your help," Pete stated. "Why didn't you call?"
Jim opened his mouth to say something but nothing came out. He looked
for Alex. He was gone. He lay at the bottom of the stairs now. Blood flowed
everywhere, bright-red, trailing endlessly down the steps.
Sickened at the sight, Jim turned back around. "Pete, what are you doing
here?"
"I'm your back-up, remember? Isn't that what partners do?" Pete asked
solemnly.
"Yes. I . . ." Jim replied, confused. A shudder that racked his
entire body and he was suddenly awake. He was in the hospital, on his way
to surgery. It had been a dream. Maybe.
"Officer Reed? Thought you were going to doze through surgery on your
own," someone chuckled. Jim wasn't sure if the person was trying for humor,
but he didn't think it was very funny.
"We're going to be giving you something to knock you out, okay?"
"Don't wanna . . ." Jim began, still groggy.
"What?"
"Go back . . ."
"You go to sleep and when you wake up, you'll be good as new," the voice
evaporated.
Jim wished somebody would keep him from falling back into that black mist.
************
Arms crossed, Pete leaned against the wall outside the waiting room.
He'd tried sitting down for a while, but restlessness got the better of
him. Curious. Never figured myself as the fidgety type.
A petite figure approached him and he opened his arms to Jean Reed. She
hugged him briefly, tightly. When she let go, he could see the puffy red
eyes and the trembling lips. Can't blame her for that. Hell, I feel
like doing the same thing myself.
"Pete," Jean asked, a quiver in her voice. "Where is he? I need to see
him."
"You can't," Pete said gently. "They just took him to surgery."
Jean grasped his hands with a strength he hadn't thought she had. "Tell
me everything."
And Pete did. She deserved to know. She was a cop's wife. They sat
down and he filled her in on what had happened on the scene, Jim's injuries
and what the doctors had said so far.
When Pete finished, Jean sat quietly, clenching her fists in frustration.
Pete knew how she felt about Jim's career choice. He braced himself for
the expected and justified explosion of anger.
"You know what the problem is, don't you, Pete?" Jean said calmly, not
looking at him.
"What, Jean?" Pete asked, surprised by her demeanor.
"He just wants to help," Jean replied, a sad smile touching her face.
"Everyone."
Pete nodded silently in agreement and was glad that Jim had someone like
Jean in his life.
*******
Jim inched toward consciousness, one sensation at a time. He became aware
of his own breathing, feeling it first deep in his chest. Each inhalation
sent a dull twinge of pain into his left shoulder. He did his best to ignore
it. Warmth enveloped most of his skin as well as a sense of constriction.
The scent of medicine and sterile alcohol permeated the air around him.
He thought he could even taste it.
Convincing his eyes to open took a little longer, but they finally gave
in to his brain's commands. A little fuzzy perhaps but he could see. A
wall. Painted chalky yellow. A picture of fruit in a bowl on the wall.
A sliver of sunlight peeked through the blinds and kept the room from being
completely dim.
Crooking his head, he found something that was more pleasing to his eye.
Jean was asleep in a chair near his bed, her head resting against a blanket
that was thrown over the back of it. Her arms were wrapped around herself
as if she were chilled. He wondered if her legs were folded beneath her.
Jim hoped she wouldn't be too stiff and sore from sitting like that. Suddenly
feeling the need to shift his own position, he strained his muscles in order
to find a degree of comfort. Trying to move his left side turned out to
be a mistake. Agony spread like a shockwave. He hissed and gritted his
teeth against the unexpected assault. Instantly, Jean was up and at his
side, holding his hand.
"Sorry . . . woke you . . ." he whispered, his throat strangely parched
and sore.
"Jim, honey. It's alright," Jean said soothingly, "How do you feel?"
"M'okay," Jim assured her, striving for a convincing tone.
"Liar," Jean returned, a teasing smile on her lips. Dark circles beneath
her blue eyes betrayed her."Here, they said you could have some ice when
you woke up." She carefully slipped a spoonful of ice chips into his mouth.
Jim wasn't thrilled with being spoon fed in the same helpless manner as
his child, but he couldn't deny how good the cold moisture felt sliding
down his throat.
"Thanks. That's . . . better."
Jean smoothed his hair back from his forehead, noting the perspiration
on his face. "The doctor said you're going to be fine. You just need to
rest."
Fragmented memories were jumbled in his mind, collapsing on each other
in chaos. Figures and impressions floated in and out. Why was it so difficult
to sort through it all?
"What . .?"
"I said you're going to have to take it easy, sweetheart. Give yourself
a chance to heal."
"No. I mean," Jim swallowed and shook his head when Jean reached for
more ice. "What happened?"
"You don't remember?" Jean asked softly.
"I'm not sure. Alex?"
Jean hesitated, wishing she could put this off. She remembered Professor
Jernigan from college, too. She would have given anything if this night
had never happened.
"We can talk about it later, Jim."
"He's dead, isn't he?" Jim asked, already knowing the answer.
"Yes. I'm sorry," Jean answered, hating that truth. With her fingertips,
she traced the line of his jaw and held his face in her hand. "But you're
alive. And I'm so grateful for that." Her eyes glistened, tears threatening
to spill over. Tears she didn't know she had left in her after last night.
"I'm sorry, too . . . worried you," Jim replied, seeing her distress and
remembering all the times they'd discussed the dangers of his job. But
this was different. Something was different. He was so tired.
If he could just rest for a few minutes.
With relief, Jean saw her husband's eyes close and the deep rhythmic breathing
of normal sleep begin. She gazed at him for a moment. Then she reached
for her purse on the chair, pulled out some tissue and patted the wetness
on her cheeks away. Pete was waiting outside. It would feel good to tell
him that Jim was really going to be okay.
************
Pete Malloy knew it was daylight. Not because he'd been outside where
the sun was shining and the birds were singing. Rather, he had looked at
his watch enough times in the last few hours to mark exactly when the a.m.
shift had started roll call.
Jim had been brought down from recovery less than an hour ago and they'd
allowed Jean into his room. She'd tried to get Pete to wait with her, but
he thought it was better that hers was the face that Jim saw when he woke
up. She promised she would come and get him. No telling how long it might
be, though. He stood, yawned and flexed his arms, weary from lack of sleep
and stress. Cordell had left earlier to check the status of the second
suspect. Pete hoped they'd already caught the bastard and no one else had
been hurt. If they hadn't caught him, then Pete knew what lay ahead.
He noticed a pretty nurse walking toward him and smiled when he realized
it was the same one from the Emergency Room. The one with the beautiful
auburn hair. The one that could calmly hand over a loaded .38 in the midst
of a crisis without blinking an eye. The friendly smile she flashed in his
direction boosted his spirits.
"Hello," she greeted him warmly.
"Hello, Nurse...?"
"Williams. Lisa Williams," she replied, smiling again.
Her green eyes caught Pete's attention, almost causing him to stammer.
"I'm Pete Malloy."
She nodded. "I've seen your ID, remember?"
"Ahhh, yes, I do," Pete said, suddenly recalling that detail. "Thank
you for your help last night . . . er, this morning."
"You're welcome. I wanted to stop by and check on your partner after
my shift ended. Working in the ER, I don't always get a chance to see how
things work out."
Pete smiled in response. "I know what you mean."
"How is Officer Reed?"
"Good, I think. Came through surgery with flying colors and the docs
are optimistic."
"I'm glad to hear it. You know, he was quite intent on talking to you
while we were trying to treat him. Pretty tough guy."
"Yeah." Pete replied, softly. You'll get no argument from me, Nurse
Williams.
Pete became aware of the door to Jim's hospital room openng. Jean peered
around it, looking for him.
Nurse Williams saw her at the same time and extended her hand to Pete
as if cued.
"Good luck, Officer Malloy. I'm glad your partner's going to be okay."
Pete shook her hand and looked at her earnestly. "Thank you again."
He would have liked to talk to her more, but he was anxious to see Jim.
She turned to leave and gave him a brief wave with her fingers. He had
a feeling that she understood.
Jean leaned on the door, propping it open with her body. She snagged
his sleeve as he approached. "He woke up, Pete. But it was only for a
moment and then he fell asleep again." she whispered, almost apologetically,
then guided him inside the room.
Pete stepped over to the bed, trying to be as quiet as possible. He remained
there standing and watching.
Jean touched his shoulder lightly. "Pete, I'm going to call and check
on little Jimmy. You'll stay with him, won't you?"
"Sure." Pete wasn't stupid. Jean was certainly going to call her girlfriend
but he knew their was a lot more to her sense of timing. He sat down tentatively,
hearing the door shut behind her.
Pete found himself staring at his partner, sleeping soundly, but looking
damn uncomfortable. Thick gauzy pads were wrapped and taped over his left
shoulder, along with some tubes that disappeared beyond the side railing.
The arm below was bent flat across his chest, bound by more bandages.
Pete knew that was to keep him from moving it inadvertently and causing
more damage. Two i.v.'s were hooked up to his good arm, the pole standing
close by. At least he wasn't as pale as before and he appeared to be in
a deep sleep. That had to be good, right?
Pete pressed his palms against his eyes, trying to squeeze the tension
out of them. It didn't work. He sighed and leaned back, deciding to rest
them instead. He'd wait for Jean to return and then maybe he'd call Mac.
Yeah, that's what I'll do.
************
Unhurried, Jean walked back down the hallway to her husband's room. Little
Jimmy was fine and in capable hands for the time being. While she would
normally rush back to be with Jim, she knew it was important for Pete to
have some time with him as well. She stretched the return trip out as long
as possible without taking a chance at causing undue concern.
She reached the door and pushed, taking only a few steps before stopping
completely. Jean rested her head against the door and gazed at the sight
in front of her. Jim was sleeping undisturbed. And, seated less than a
foot away, so was Pete. He might be dressed in street clothes, but he still
looked like he was on duty. Guard duty. She knew that he'd always
be there for Jim. Just like he was last night. She blinked away the tears
gathering in her eyes, comforted that Jim had someone like Pete in his life.
************
An hour later Pete snapped awake and sat up straight, a little unsure
of his whereabouts. That feeling disappeared in two seconds. He checked
on Jim, relaxing somewhat as he watched him still sleeping without any problem.
He stood, stretched his back and shook out the numbness in his arms.
As he glanced at his watch for what felt like the thousandth time, he wondered
what had happened to Jean. He hadn't meant to conk out like that but the
catnap had helped a little. Pete took another look at the quiet figure
on the bed.
"I'll be back, partner."
He walked softly to the door, taking care not to make any noise. Outside
he saw Jean talking to Mac. Seeing him there brought Pete's spirits up
a notch. Mac looked up and saw him, nodding to Jean, who also turned and
smiled. Mac walked over to Pete and placed a comforting hand on Pete's
shoulder.
"Pete."
"Mac. Glad you're here. I meant to call you."
"That's all right. Ben brought me up to date before roll call started.
I wanted to get here as soon as possible."
"Pete, Sergeant MacDonald," Jean shyly interrupted, "I think I'm going
go sit with Jim."
"Of course." Both men replied, each trying to look reassuring.
They watched her leave and Pete turned back to his supervisor. "Mac,
how's she doing?"
"Fine, Pete. When I arrived , she was sitting here. She was okay."
"Oh, great," Pete replied, irritated at himself. He gestured toward
Jim's room. "I fell asleep. I didn't mean for her to wait on me."
"Don't worry about it," Mac looked at the younger man seriously. "I managed
to talk her into getting a little breakfast in the cafeteria. I think it
did her some good. Besides, she wanted you to have some time with Jim,
too."
Pete crossed his arms, looked down at the floor and sighed heavily.
"Come on, Pete," Mac said, "I think it's your turn to visit the cafeteria."
"Yeah, okay. Just coffee, though. I don't eat hospital food unless I
have to." Pete's nose wrinkled at the thought.
"Okay, coffee it is." Mac smiled, glad to see his friend's sense of humor
return, even briefly. "Let's go."
*********
"So that's everything I know, Mac." Pete said, setting down his third
cup of coffee. He paused, remembering the events of the early morning hours.
"There really wasn't time for me to ask Jim anything."
"I know. I spoke with his doctor before I came up here."
"And?" Pete asked, eyebrows raised in question.
"And he says we might be able to talk to him later today," Mac answered,
his expression softening. "But that's not what you were wondering about,
is it?"
Pete half-smiled in response. "You know me too well, Mac."
"Then let me tell you that the doctor also felt very optimistic about
Jim's recovery. He said that there was no reason that he couldn't regain
full mobility of his left arm. Of course, he's going to have to go through
physical therapy and do what he's supposed to do. But I think he can handle
that, don't you?"
Pete wrapped both hands around his coffee cup, moving it back and forth
between his palms. He stared at it and nodded in silent agreement.
"Look, I do have some other information." Mac's tone suddenly sounded
more official.
Pete's gaze bounced expectantly back to his sergeant. "The other guy?"
"Yes. DMV gave us a name and address for the car you saw in the parking
lot. It's registered to a Jerry Barstow. But we're pretty sure that's
an alias."
"Figures. Did you pick him up?"
"No," Mac cleared his throat. "He'd already skipped out by the time a
unit arrived. But we've got detectives going through the place with a fine
tooth comb. They'll turn up something."
Pete scowled at the news. "So what about the kid? He's no choir boy,
I'm sure of that."
"You're right. He may look the part but he's been in and out of trouble
for a couple of years now. Nothing big and he always managed to get out
of it clean. A psychologist who examined him as a juvenile offender saw
signs of emotional problems."
"That's not an unusual description of a teenager, Mac." Pete replied sharply.
"And not an excuse for the behavior I saw."
"I didn't say it was. Just an indication that maybe something was already
set in motion before last night."
"Sorry. Didn't mean to snap at you."
Mac grinned, easing the younger man's tension. "Well, I won't put you
on report. This time."
"Thanks, Mac." Pete gave him a sheepish smile in return. "I appreciate
that."
"So why don't you go on home and get some sleep?"
Mac saw Pete's hesitation. "I'll let Jean know. Besides, you know it'll
be hours before he wakes up. I'll call you if there are any developments.
Go on."
"All right," Pete replied reluctantly. "I'll be back later, though."
"I know."
*********
The combined effects of anesthesia and exhaustion along with his body's
need to heal kept Jim Reed in a heavy state of sleep. He was reluctant
to rouse even after ten hours and several vitals checks by the floor nurses.
Morning slid into noon. Afternoon drifted slowly into early evening.
He awoke feeling stiff and worn out yet aware of his surroundings. Vaguely
he remembered being poked and prodded but felt like that was all part of
a bad dream. Bouquets of flowers were spread throughout the room, providing
splashes of color and quite a bit of fragrance. Jean stood nearby, fingering
a small card thoughtfully. She brushed away a strand of hair and placed
the card carefully in its holder.
"Jean?"
She turned at the sound of Jim's hoarse voice, barely more than a whisper.
With a smile, she crossed the floor to stand by the side of his bed. She
bent down and touched his lips briefly with her own. "Hey, sleepyhead."
"Guess I've been out a while, huh?"
"A while," she answered, picking up the call button and pressing it.
"The nurse wanted me to let her know when you woke up."
"Oh. You okay?
"Of course. I was just looking at the beautiful flowers. There're so
many people down at the station that care about you. I haven't even met them
all."
"They're good people," he remarked, turning his head awkwardly to look
at his arm.
"Are you in pain?" Jean asked, uncertainty showing on her face.
"No." Jim answered without thinking. "Pete? Is Pete okay?"
Surprised, Jean looked at her husband closely. "Yes, of course he is.
Mac sent him home earlier to get some rest."
Relieved, Jim sighed and saw Jean's questioning expression. "I...just
wasn't sure, that's all."
Padded footsteps at the door caught their attention. A nurse appeared
at the foot of Jim's bed and smiled pleasantly as she checked his chart.
"Well, Mr. Reed. Good to see you awake. How are you feeling?"
"Okay." He started to shrug but quickly changed his mind.
"Mrs. Reed, I hate to ask but would you mind waiting outside for just
a moment?"
"Of course," Jean answered, touching Jim's hand. "I won't be long."
Jim smiled reassuringly and watched as she left the room.
"I'm Nurse Atkins. Now that the Mrs. is gone, why don't you tell me how
you really feel?"
Jim blinked, taken off guard by her unexpected directness. "I'm doing
okay."
"Hmm-mmm."
Nurse Atkins adjusted the dial on his iv, then pressed her fingers to
his wrist as she studied her watch. A thermometer magically appeared in
her hand next and just as quickly slipped into his mouth. She'd only been
in the room a matter of minutes but Jim found himself wishing she would leave.
If this is what he'd been missing while he was asleep, then he was glad
that he'd been out of it. Finally, she scrutinized the temperature reading,
frowned slightly and jotted it down on his chart. He watched as she crossed
to the opposite side of the bed to examine his shoulder. Jim held his breath
as she touched the dressing, moving it slightly.
"Let me know if it hurts," she glanced over at him, then continued with
her assessment. Less than a minute later, she stopped and he started breathing
again.
"We'll have to change that dressing in a little while," she informed him
as she went back to the chart once again. "And Dr. Manetti should be in
at any minute to talk to you."
"Thanks." He had questions but he knew they had to wait for the doctor.
Actually it was only one question. Could he still be a cop? And if the
answer was yes, then the next question would be for Mac. After this,
was he still a cop?
"Mr. Reed?"
"Sorry, I didn't hear you." he replied, startled.
"If you need me, just press the call button. I made sure it was within
your reach."
"Thank you."
Nurse Atkins finally left him and his chart alone. He looked down at
the call button and moved his hand away from it. Surprised to see it shaking
as he lifted it, he ceased the effort and dropped his hand onto his stomach.
Jim looked up as the door opened again. He was relieved to see Jean.
"Is she gone?" she whispered playfully.
"Yeah," he answered, cracking a small grin. "You really should go home
and be with the baby. I'll be all right."
"I'll check on him soon. He misses you, too, you know."
Jim sighed, realizing how long it had been since he had held his child.
"Jim?" Jean said, sounding more serious as she sat carefully beside him
and laid her hand on his. "Mac's outside."
"Okay," he answered, wondering at her hesitation. "Tell him to come on
in."
She shook her head slowly. "I don't think that would be a good idea."
"Jean, it's all right. I can talk to Mac."
"You're not strong enough, Jim," she persisted.
He saw her start to bite her lower lip, a habit she had when she got frustrated.
He gently grasped her fingers. "What is it?"
"Oh, Jim, there are two detectives out there with him. They want to see
you, too. I told them no."
Didn't take them long. He took a deep breath, smiled at Jean encouragingly
and briefly tightened the hold he had on her fingers. "It's standard procedure.
Might as well do it now."
"But the doctor hasn't even been back to see you yet! And Pete's not
here either," she argued.
"I'm just going to lay here and answer some questions, honey." Pete.
Pete was going to be dragged into this.
"They can wait until you feel better. Then everyone can talk as much
as they want."
"I'm okay. Don't worry." He continued to gaze at her, trying to dissuade
her fears for his well-being.
She sighed heavily and stood up, still holding onto his hand. "I hate
this."
Jim nodded silently and watched as his wife left the room.
************
All things considered, Pete Malloy felt a little better than he had several
hours before. A few hours sleep had done the trick. Okay, more than
a few.And a shower. And a change of clothes. Now he walked
back into the hospital, eager to see how his partner was doing. Mac hadn't
called, which he took as a good sign.
As he neared Jim's room, he caught sight of Jean again and wondered when
she was ever going to go home. She had to be exhausted staying up here
all this time. Before he could ask her, Jean saw him and jumped up from
her seat.
"Pete!"
Alarmed, Pete walked faster to meet her in front of Jim's door. "What's
wrong? Is it Jim?"
"No. Yes," Jean shook her head, contradicting herself nervously. "I
mean, it's those men that Mac brought with him."
"What men?"
"Detectives. Please, Pete, go in there."
Pete felt more than mere annoyance at Mac's action. He resolutely pushed
the door, stopping halfway as he heard the conversation going on inside.
"So do you make it a practice to take your own gun with you every time
you meet an old friend, Officer Reed?"
"No, sir."
"But you felt justified taking it with you this time?"
"Alex sounded frightened but wouldn't tell me why. I thought it better
not to take any chances."
"If you felt there was a possibility of violence, why didn't you call
it in?
"Like I told you before, he wouldn't say anything specific. And I was
afraid he'd
spook--he insisted that I had to come alone."
"You even decided against calling your partner?"
Pete thought Jim's voice sounded awfully weak and strained. And now
the detectives seemed to be waiting for an answer to that last question.
It's too soon for this. Pete took matters in his own hands. As
he entered the room, he let the door close behind him and glared at the two
men holding court at the foot of the hospital bed.
"Like he told you . . . Professor Jernigan made that decisionwhen he called
Jim," Pete interjected, fastening a hard stare at both detectives. He didn't
recognize either one of them.
Pete knew he'd become the focus of their attention and that was just fine
with him. He glanced briefly toward Jim and didn't like what he saw.
"Pete," Mac stepped in closer to the three men. "This is Detective Johnson."
Johnson nodded politely at Pete, who thought the elder of the pair looked
like he'd spent too much time behind a desk.
"And this is Detective Brazzell." The younger man barely acknowledged
him with a sideways look. "Gentlemen, this is Reed's partner, Pete Malloy."
"Well, this is good timing, Malloy," Det. Johnson remarked casually.
"We'll be talking to you after we're done here."
"I think you're done now," Pete replied.
"Pete," Mac interrupted, "They've got a job to do. Reed here said he
felt up to it."
Pete briefly felt irritation at his sergeant. Mac knew Jim well enough
to know that he'd never impede an investigation, even at the cost of his
own health. At least Mac was with him when I wasn't.
"Pete. It's okay."
Pete looked at Jim again, taking in his pallor and the dullness reflected
in his eyes. Before he could say anything more, though, the door opened
once again and Jean and Dr. Manetti entered the crowded room.
"Gentlemen, perhaps you could move your conversation outside while I check
on my patient?" Dr. Manetti's tone made it more a statement than a request.
Jean Reed stood beside him, holding the door open and looking more than
a little satisfied. Pete suppressed a smile and invited the detectives
to precede him. They left the room quietly and Pete tipped a conspiratorial
wink to Jean as he passed her on the way out.
Johnson and Brazzell stopped as soon as the door was closed, both staring
intently at Mac and Pete.
"I guess we can get your account of the incident now, Officer Malloy?
I'm sure we can find a place to talk." Detective Johnson still wore an informal,
business-as-usual mask.
"That's fine. But I'd like a word with my sergeant first, if you don't
mind."
"Certainly. We'll be down the hall."
Johnson took a few steps down the hall, while Brazzell lingered for a
few seconds. His eyes concentrated on Jim's door, then came back lazily
to Pete. Pete returned the look unflinchingly until the detective smirked
and walked away to join his partner.
"Well, that was quite a show," Mac said. "What is it with you two?"
"Don't ask me, Mac. Maybe the guy enjoys this part of his job a little
too much for my taste."
"You know as well as I do that there's got to be an investigation, Pete.
A civilian died on the scene with an officer present. There're questions
that have to be asked."
"Couldn't it wait until tomorrow? Good grief, I come back to check on
my partner and what do I find? Those two hovering over Jim like vultures
and him looking like hell."
Mac folded his arms and inhaled deeply before answering. "To be honest,
I wasn't too keen on letting them talk to Reed this soon either. But they'd
already talked to the doctor and gotten tentative permission. And they
don't mess around, Pete.” He leaned closer and lowered his voice.
“I got a phone call right in the middle of trying to get them to wait.
Pressure from the brass. Someone on the Board of Trustees at the college
spoke to the Chief. They want a full investigation and they want it now.
I guess the professor was pretty well thought of on campus."
"Or they want to make sure the University's reputation doesn't get dirty."
"Well, whatever the reason, those two have full access to everyone involved.
And that includes you. We'd better get a move on."
Pete acknowledged his sergeant's recommendation with a nod, wondering
how many times he and Jim would have to relive last night's nightmare.
**********
Jean Reed drew the blinds across the window, effectively shutting out
the brilliance of the late-setting sun. She then sat down in another visitor's
chair and attempted to look composed as Dr. Manetti retrieved Jim's chart.
"Jim," he said, "Do you remember me?"
"Huhh, I think so. Doctor....?" Jim tried to think back, his memory still
foggy.
"Manetti. I operated on your shoulder early this morning after they brought
you into the ER."
"Thank you," Jim paused, swallowing with some difficulty. "What's the
verdict?"
Dr. Manetti poured a small cup of water and handed it to him. "As I told
your wife, you're very lucky. The damage was minimal, considering."
"Considering?"
"The bullet that penetrated your shoulder must have either traveled some
distance or encountered resistance before final impact. A large caliber
bullet like this usually does a lot more damage. It's a good thing this
one was probably halfway spent or you'd be looking at a different prognosis."
The doctor's words brought the memory back like a wave crashing into Jim.
The boom of gunfire, bullets tearing through the elevator doors, the eruption
of sparks and smoke. "It ricocheted.” He said finally.
"Well, as I said, it's a good thing. I found the slug resting next to
the left scapula near the joint," Dr. Manetti indicated the location on his
own shoulder. "There''s also a hairline fracture where it hit the bone.
It's going to take some time to heal. That goes for the penetrating wound
as well. You've got quite a few stitches inside and out."
Jim allowed himself a wry grin. "Feels like it."
"I bet. You're due for pain medication." Dr. Manetti replied, smiling
at Jim's admission and looking back down at the chart in his hand. "Nurse
Atkins will be back in to redress the wound and take care of any drainage.
I want to keep a close watch on it. Looks like you've got a bit of a fever,
too."
"A fever?" Jean asked, apprehensively.
"It's not unusual for post-op patients," Dr. Manetti answered, attempting
to reassure her. "Your husband's already being given an antibiotic."
"What about visitors, Doctor?" Jean asked.
"Jean." Jim knew what was coming.
Dr. Manetti looked at her, then Jim, before answering. "I have to apologize
for allowing that little group in here to see you."
"No. You don't. I'm a cop and that's part of the job."
"Well, you see, I'm a doctor and looking out for the welfare of my patient
is part of the job. I just wasn't aware that your official visit would
be . . . so official. I'm afraid they're just going to have to wait until
tomorrow to talk to you again.” He paused. “At the earliest.”
Jim wanted to argue but stopped himself. He just didn't have the strength
right now. Maybe the doc had a point, at least for tonight.
Dr. Manetti finished writing notes on the chart, slipped it under his
arm and dropped his pen into his pocket. "We'll be talking about your physical
therapy later on when you feel up to it," he said, turning to leave. "But
for now, let the nurse do HER job and get some rest."
"He will, Doctor Manetti. Thank you," Jean replied, catching the door.
She was back at his side within seconds, placing a soft hand on his forehead.
"You are warm. Jim, I wish there was something I could do to make
you feel better."
"Jean, you are. You always do. Now stop your worrying, Sweetheart."
"Mr. Reed?"
Nurse Atkins had returned, carrying a small tray. Jim cringed inwardly,
remembering what Dr. Manetti had said a few minutes earlier. He looked
at Jean and gave her a wan smile, "Jean, go home and get a good night's
sleep. I promise I'll do the same. And kiss little Jimmy for me."
"Okay," she hesitated. "But I'll see you in the morning."
"Okay."
"Miss you already."
"Me, too."
Jean picked up her purse and the sweater that had been laying on the visitor's
chair near the window, then blew him a kiss as she left. Nurse Atkins remained
at the door until she was gone, then approached the bed.
Nurse Atkins deposited her tray next to the bed and picked up a syringe.
At Jim's cringe, she winked. “This goes into the port.” She
swabbed the port on the I.V. at his wrist, then injected the medication.
After removing the needle, she swabbed the port again, then deposited the
empty syringe on the tray. The she opened new packages of gauze.
"I'll do this as quickly as I can, Mr. Reed. Just bear with me, all right?"
"Yeah," Jim answered, turning his head away to face the wall. Wishing
he'd gotten his pain medication a little earlier, he steeled himself for the
contact that he knew was going to hurt. He thought about his son, heard the
boy's giggles in his head and smiled to himself. He kept the smile as long
as possible even when it twisted into a grimace.
"Just about done."
Nurse Atkins was still there. Jim wished he wasn't.
**************
The session with Johnson and Brazzell took place in a doctor's lounge
just off the surgery corridor. Pete wondered if the detectives had gotten
consent to use it or if they'd just taken it over for their own purposes.
He'd seen their style and had a pretty good idea of the answer to that
one.
He spent at least twenty minutes recounting the events of the early morning
hours beginning with the Jean's phone call. Every detail was written down,
and probably a few other things, ending with their arrival at the hospital.
Neither detective made any attempt to interrupt, which surprised him.
He should have known better.
"Didn't you think it was odd that your partner's wife called you in the
middle of the night?" Detective Johnson inquired.
"She called because she was worried about her husband. I don't think
that's odd. Do you?"
"We're not here to answer questions, Officer Malloy. You are." It was
Brazzell, the one with the personality of a Gestapo agent.
"Gentlemen, let's keep this professional, shall we?" Mac urged, looking
at all three of them.
"Of course, Sergeant," Johnson offered a bland smile, then leaned forward
to continue his questioning. "What we're trying to ascertain here is Officer
Reed's state of mind during a critical situation."
"And his handling of that . . .situation." Brazzell added, "He's only
been on the force a couple of years. He's still pretty green, isn't he?"
Pete clenched one fist on the table between them, keeping the other one
close to his side. "You have no reason to question his state of mind.
He's a good cop. One of the best. And how he handles any situation is
beyond reproach."
"Well, that's all very well and good coming from his partner," Johnson
said, "But you have to admit that what happened wasn't routine, was it?"
"Very little of what we encounter on the job is routine, Detective Johnson.
You should know that." Pete felt his patience wearing thin again.
"Okay, let's just cut to the chase, Officer Malloy."
"Yeah, why don't we do that, Detective Brazzell?" Pete sat back and crossed
his arms, wondering what else was in store.
"Right now, the kid you arrested is in custody. His parents are out of
town but have been contacted and should be here tomorrow. He's screaming
that he's innocence, he's already got a lawyer and we're betting it won't
