Page 102 of Water's Edge

I give Ronnie a look, then a smile.

“A good place, Ronnie. It comes from inside.”

She nods and we drink. The sun will set in an hour and I want to stay right here and watch it, but the case calls to me. I don’t want to talk about the elephant in the room, Captain Marvel, and Ronnie doesn’t bring him up. I could get used to her. Not for long periods. Not like a friend.

A coworker that I didn’t hate would be okay.

We sit quietly like two old friends, comfortable with silence, watching the water, interrupted only by the refreshing of our drinks until the sun goes down. I stand and say, “Want to watch a movie?” I don’t look forward to viewing hours of videotape of people wandering up and down hallways and in and out of doors. It needs to be done. It might turn up the needle in the haystack I’m looking for.

Weare looking for.

We go back inside, and I put my duty weapon on the kitchen counter next to Ronnie’s. It has been pressing into my side and I’ll probably be bruised. We get another drink and I sit on the giant leather couch. Ronnie puts the thumb drive in a port on her big-screen television and sits on the other end with the remote. She fires up the TV and the screen splits into four views. Each is a different camera and they rotate every four seconds. Each quadrant has the date and time in the upper left corner with the camera number. One is of the emergency door from inside looking out. Another is the front entrance from the receptionist desk. Others show hallways and elevators.

The view we want is of the labor and delivery hallway and the nursery, but they aren’t marked as such.

“I called the hospital and talked to the switchboard operator,” Ronnie says. “She has these cameras in her office. She said the elevators on the first and second floors would cover anyone going to or coming from labor and delivery and the nursery on the second floor. And she gave me the camera numbers to watch.”

“Good job.” I’m not excited about doing this now that Captain Marvel is the main suspect. I don’t think the babies were involved except for the fact they were given up by their mothers. He probably wasn’t the father. We may never know who the fathers were. Larry would be more likely than Clay. He lied a lot. This might turn into a drinking session of disappointment, but investigations are like that. If something doesn’t work out, you don’t just give up. Television has promoted the false idea that if a murder isn’t solved in the first twenty-four hours, it’s not likely ever to be solved. That’s bullshit. If I ever gave up that easy, I might as well quit.

We sit back on her comfortable leather couch and I’m almost hypnotized by the camera’s changing vantage point every few seconds. This could give some people seizures. But the time flies by, and when I look at the time on my phone, it’s two o’clock in the morning. I hear Ronnie’s soft snoring. I use the remote and stop the video. I really need to pee. I get up quietly and go to the bathroom. We haven’t seen anything strange or anyone familiar. Jimmy from Little Italy has been at the ER desk or the reception area in a couple of the shots, but he was working. I didn’t see him in any of the hallways or on the second floor. That kind of bugs me. If I were the hospital and had a policeman working security, I would want him taking an occasional stroll, checking all the floors. Jimmy seemed to have his ass glued to the chair. In most of the shots he was on the phone.

I turn the light on in the bathroom and am preparing to sit down. Suddenly I hear a knock at the front door. A chill runs down my spine, and as I hurry to pull my pants up, I hear Ronnie say, “I’ll get it.”

“Ronnie, no!” I try to yell, but the words freeze in my throat. My hand is on the doorknob when I hear her scream.

Fifty

I come to face down on something hard and cold. I try to move but it feels like an elephant on my chest. I lie still and try to sense the rest of my body. My arms are stretched straight out from my sides. My legs are spread apart. Everything seems to be where it should be. I can wiggle my fingers and toes but my head and neck ache like I’ve run into a wall.

My eyes slowly focus, and I see I’m on the floor.

“What the hell?”

I can still speak, but the effort hurts from the center of my chest all the way to my throat. I feel the smooth finish of the hardwood. I lower my arm and feel for my weapon. The gun is gone. Panic rises. My heart is beating hard in my throat. And then I remember the kitchen counter. I put my gun with Ronnie’s on the counter.

Ronnie?Memory starts flooding back. I was in the bathroom. There was a knock at the door. Ronnie screamed. I stepped out in the room. The front door was open. A figure filled it. Ronnie was being pulled up by her hair. A blow landed on her face, and I could feel the air being squeezed out of my lungs. It felt like an elephant slamming into me, rocking me back. And again. Then nothing. I’ve been shot. At least twice.

I listen. He may still be here. Waiting for me. To break my neck like the others. I’m not able to get to my feet anyway. I’m still wearing my clothes. I’m alone.

Ronnie?

I slide my arms up and try to push myself from the floor. Bolts of pain shoot through my chest and stars explode behind my eyes. The pain subsides. I pull my legs together and try again. This time I get to my knees, put one hand on the counter, and pull myself up. I don’t know how long I’ve been down. My thoughts are jumbled. I keep seeing Ronnie being yanked from the floor by her hair. My breathing becomes steadier now that my weight isn’t pressing against the floor.

There are two perfectly round holes to the left of center in my blazer, just over my heart. Unbuttoning my shirt, I find two mushroomed bullets embedded in my body armor. The steel plate I’d shoved in the front pocket protected my heart.Saved my life.It didn’t protect me from the impact force of two large caliber bullets, butI’m alive.

I’m worried about Ronnie.

Looking behind the kitchen counter, I find both duty weapons. He has taken her but left the handguns behind. That was a mistake. I holster my .45 and tuck Ronnie’s under my blazer and into my waistband before looking around the room. The television screen has been smashed. A pool of blood is on the floor. There is more blood on the edge of the door and on the doorframe. A bloody handprint is on the wall by the door.

There’s more blood on the threshold.

I check for the thumb drive. It’s gone. I’m sure now who I saw in the instant he shot me. I know where to look for him and Iwillfind him. I will find Ronnie. If anything has been done to her, God can’t help him.

Fifty-One

Ronnie’s car keys are in the kitchen. Her Smart car is tiny, less noticeable, quieter. I’ll apologize for taking her car after I save her.

I drive to the bay. TheIntegrityis moored right where I knew it would be. The Port Townsend police car is tucked in between two boat trailers. He’s here.

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