Outsider (The Ashport Mender Series Book 1) Page 4

  Sure enough. As we ran into the alley, guns ready, we could see the opening to the left. We could also hear muffled cries of help. Except for a couple of Dumpsters and a lot of trash on the ground, there was nothing much around us. The Dumpsters would give no cover as we rounded the corner.

  What we saw there made us identify ourselves immediately. A dark-haired woman was being dragged by a large man into a white van. The sliding door was open behind them, the woman struggling hard to get loose. The man must have had at least a hundred pounds on her. No way was she getting loose by twisting.

  He didn’t pay us any heed, which I for one short moment thought strange before another man’s upper body became visible by the sliding door of the van. He popped out so quickly we barely had time to react. The shots were fired with no hesitation on his part. The loud pops reverberating between the walls of the large buildings that loomed over us.

  McAllen and I retreated back where we came from, not firing, fearing we’d hit the woman. Problem was, she’d been hauled kicking and screaming into the van. At this point, we both fired back, trying to hit the car, a tire, something that would hinder their escape.

  I heard, somehow despite the noise of gunfire, McAllen give a grunt beside me. As we reached the corner of the buildings, a mere step from cover, I saw him fall backward. At the same time, the shooter withdrew into the van and pulled the door shut as the vehicle skidded to a start and drove off. It went out the back way between the buildings.

  I looked over at McAllen, fear almost paralyzing me a moment. He lay sprawled on the ground, eyes open, gun in hand still, blood pouring from where he’d been hit. I can’t remember any clear thoughts at that moment. I knew he needed help, and the only person there was me.

  I ran over to him, went down on my knees next to him, and grabbed the radio from his belt, calling it in as I checked the damage. Two bullet holes. One in the chest. The other in his stomach—that was the one that was bleeding the most. His shirt and jacket were already soaked. I pulled off my own jacket and pressed it against the wounds hoping it would at least slow the bleeding.

  And then I could do nothing but wait. I checked his pulse, it came in weak beats, his skin pallid. His eyes closed, and despite the calm, I could not get the thought of his family out of my head. This couldn’t be it.

  A noise to my left made me whip my head around. I’d thought they’d left. It wasn’t the van come back, though. No, it was worse. I watched with wide eyes, as I sat there up to my elbows in my friend’s blood, as Evans stumbled into view almost where the van had been. She grabbed something from the ground, a purse, I thought, before turning and running away, the same way the van had driven.

  At the same time, I heard the sirens, and felt a surge of relief, knowing that someone would be there to help me. I looked down at McAllen. “It’s going to be fine,” I said, nodding to assure myself, the first thing I had said in the minutes after he’d been hit. “This is nothing. It’ll be fine.”

  Chapter 7

  The hours in the hospital ticked by so slow. The smell of disinfectant became unnoticeable in the same way you can’t smell food in your home when you’re making it. Hospital workers milled around in their never-ending errands. Cops, friends, and his family came and went. Rosita and her sister, Laura, remained a constant. My clothes were still stained with blood, though I had somehow managed to wash my hands before they arrived. It was bad enough they saw me, and I was thankful all the kids weren’t there. They were staying with Rosita’s brother and his wife for the time being.

  So, we sat waiting, staring at nothing, Laura sometimes getting coffee that we never really drank. The hospital didn’t have the staff for this kind of thing. Sure, people got shot now and then, but the severity of McAllen’s injuries was so bad they had called in a surgeon from Ashdale. They had not dared to move him. All I could think of was the blood. I was surprised there was still any left in him by the time they got him to the hospital. Stomach wounds could be bad…and the blood had flowed…and the look of despair on Rosita’s face as she’d come storming into the waiting area. Like her world had crashed. It had, hadn’t it?

  At some point, I gave a statement to Detective Kaye, my voice coming out in a near monotone, trying to remember, to give them something to go on. I’d been offered to do it somewhere else but declined. Rosita deserved to hear it all, as detailed as could be this time. It must have been downright awful to listen to. I knew she and McAllen discussed their jobs, but that was not the same as hearing how your husband got shot in an alley.

  And so, the hours ticked by as we waited. Every footstep making us look up, hoping for news. The sun set outside, the sounds in the hospital lessened. Even in there, some people at least went home at night.

  It was late when the doctor finally came, letting us know that McAllen had, in fact, pulled through, though only barely. Despite the blood loss from the stomach wound, it was the chest wound that had been the more serious. We were escorted to another room, where Rosita could go in while Laura and I waited on some uncomfortable plastic chairs outside. At least he was out of surgery. That had to be good, I tried convincing myself. The door opened and the nurse left, leaving Rosita alone with her husband. Laura and I sat in silence. There was really nothing to talk about. Nothing to do but wait.

  The door opened sometime later, Rosita standing there, looking tired and numb as she asked me to come in. I did as I was told, not sure I wanted to, not able to say no.

  I walked into the room, which was dimly lit compared to the hallway. McAllen lay in a bed, unconscious, tubes sticking out of him, a machine helping him breathe. His wounds were covered with large white bandages, which had yellowed from the rubbing alcohol, no doubt. It was odd, seeing something that looked like oversized band-aids covering such serious wounds. I knew they had to have been stitched up underneath, but it all looked so fragile.

  “I’m so sorry, Rosita,” I said, my voice low as if trying not to wake the guy in a coma.

  She sat down in a chair placed next to the bed and took her husband’s hand in hers. “I know you are, Nate, but you did what you could.”

  The words hit me stronger than I had expected as I drew breath. I hadn’t realized until now that I feared she might blame me. I did. I was the one who had noticed the woman being chased in that alley. But would we have simply walked on? No, of course not. Neither I nor McAllen would have done that. I knew that as I thought it through, looking at the scene in front of me, something I did not want to see. It didn’t help with the guilt, though.

  “That woman…” Rosita began, “the one who was kidnapped?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I think you should try and find her. It’s what Bill would want.”

  Her unspoken words hung in the room. So this wouldn’t have been for nothing.

  I nodded slowly, something she didn’t see as her eyes were fastened on her husband. The rhythmic and steady sound of the respirator breathing for him, the only sound in the room. Her request made me feel like he was going to die, and I didn’t want to cope with that. But I swallowed hard and said, “okay,” loud enough for her to hear and acknowledge.

  Chapter 8

  I went home and was greeted by a happy Kona, who shied away from me immediately as she smelled the blood. A shower and a change of clothes later, I was ready to go to work. As I grabbed my keys, I noticed the clock on the living-room wall. Four in the morning. I dropped the keys. I hadn’t had any idea how late it was despite sitting in a stifling and silent waiting-room all day. No point in going to work yet, though. I didn’t feel tired, so I ended up on the couch instead, turning on the TV. I had a vague memory of seeing something about how orcas hunt in the wild before warm air floated across my face. I awoke with a jerk, startling Kona, who’d been standing next to the couch staring at me, probably wondering why I hadn’t gotten up at the usual time. The sun was out, promising a beautiful day, which made me angry. It seemed an insult when your friend was in the hospital fighting for his life. My sti
ff neck from resting my head on the armrest was the only thing that seemed fitting that morning.

  I got in to work an hour late but realized no one had expected me there anyway. I was met with sympathetic nods and comments as I passed people, McAllen’s shooting affecting everyone. I sat down at my desk, seeing McAllen’s empty desk and sighed. I had no idea what to do next. Sure, I had open cases, but a bout of apathy took over. Thankfully, Detective Kaye stopped at my desk, distracting me from indecision.

  “How you holding up?” she asked.

  I shrugged. “I don’t have any bullet holes in me…so peachy.”

  “Should you even be here? I’m sure you can take a day off.” She gave me a skeptical look, actually towering over me at the moment, as she was about my own height. I guess that’s what similar genes do. Her light brown hair framed a heart-shaped face that was usually ready with a smile.

  “Would you take a day off if Rick was shot?” I asked, but she looked over at her partner sitting at his desk a few feet away.

  “Well, yeah,” she said, looking back at me. “But that’s because he’d likely get shot in the ass, and I’d have to listen to him complain about it.”

  At least she got me to smile. That was something. “So, how are you getting on, Mel?” I asked. She and Detective Bowman had after all been assigned to McAllen’s case. I listened attentively as she laid out what they had gathered so far. The descriptions I’d given of the two men had not panned out. No one had seen them. The kidnappers had shot McAllen with a Glock. The van had been spotted by a couple of surveillance cameras heading out of town, but they’d lost track of it. None of this was particularly uplifting.

  “The license plate was indeed a New York plate as you said, but it belongs to a stolen Toyota from said state,” she said.

  “Stolen plates,” I murmured and nodded. It was a good idea if you were going to kidnap someone. “And the woman?” Instantly, I saw her in my head, screaming into her kidnapper’s hand, trying to kick and twist in desperation, to no avail.

  “Well, that’s the weird thing,” Kaye said, running a hand through her hair. “We can’t seem to find any missing woman fitting that description. No one’s reported a woman missing since yesterday. It’s like no one knows who she is.”

  “She might have been passing through town and gotten unlucky,” I said, but I didn’t like the sound of this. I knew without asking that Kaye and Bowman had checked the local hotels for a woman matching the description I’d given. How could nobody know if she was missing or not? She had not looked like she lived on the street.

  “Maybe,” Kaye said. “Or hopefully someone will report her missing soon. Whoever she is. Then we’ll have something more to go on. Meanwhile, we now have the FBI snooping around our case.”

  “Really?” I said. “So soon?”

  “Yeah, apparently he was nearby. An Agent Larkin. Since we don’t know too much about this at the moment, he’s agreed to stand back a little.”

  Which was a nice way to put it in case I had been mistaken. Which was a nicer way of saying I had lied about the events in the alley. I didn’t take it personally. I knew they had to check everything, especially since I was the only witness at the moment. But I knew these people. I knew they would investigate properly. That was all I could ask. Still, the FBI standing back a little didn’t sound like them at all, and I said so.

  “Yeah, that freaked me out, too,” Kaye said. “But, I’ve never been one to throw a present away.”

  She got me wondering, though. After she went back to her own desk, I started thinking back, hoping for some additional information I could have seen but forgotten in the chaos. I sat still, staring down at a random case file, reading nothing, focusing on details. The woman had been in her late twenties, brown hair pulled back in a pony-tail. She was pretty, at least I thought so, as I hadn’t been able to see her whole face what with it being covered by a large hand. She had been dressed in dark blue jeans, a dark top, and a gray blazer. Okay. Her kidnapper then. He was a big one. He must have been around two-hundred-and-forty pounds, maybe more. Big and brawny, a belly that couldn’t be hidden by the skinny woman he held in front of him. He was bald, with small eyes in a wide face. Dressed in a white thin sweater, blue jeans. And the guy who had popped out and shot at us? He was more difficult, but I could see a smaller man, thin, some sort of dark shirt, blue maybe? Dark hair, tan skin. His arms stretched toward us as he fired.

  I blinked and looked up, but everyone around me was going on with their business. I stared down at the file again but could remember nothing more, especially nothing additional to what I’d already told Kaye. There had likely been three kidnappers. The van had started and driven too fast for any of the two in the back to move up front and drive. I’d fired six shots myself without it doing anything to help the woman. I had no idea how many McAllen had fired. Then I’d heard him as he’d been shot the one time, but couldn’t be sure if it was the first or second bullet that had hit him. It had been chaotic. No surprise there. And then there was the business with Evans. Had I even seen her? I hadn’t thought much about it afterward as the ambulance had thankfully arrived soon after, the paramedics having eaten lunch at Danny’s as well. Thank Heaven for the good food at that place. Had I been seeing things, though? I had been in a fairly stressed situation, and that was putting it mildly. What had I actually seen? A sound had drawn my attention. Footsteps, I thought. The van had driven off. I had called in the shooting. There wasn’t much noise in the alley after that. No one wanted to go in there after hearing the gunshots. The buildings shut out most of the traffic from the blue street. Footsteps. That was it. I had turned and seen her. She had been looking unsteady on her feet, but I didn’t think she’d been drunk. What had she looked like? Dark jeans, dark jacket, gray shirt. Hair in disarray. Something had been off with her. I squinted my eyes trying to remember, staring at the word alleged without really seeing it. Something on her face. Something red. There had been blood on the side of her face.

  Damn it. What was going on? I shook my head and concentrated again. She had bent down and grabbed a purse from the ground. A small, black purse with a long strap; her own probably. She’d grabbed it and then bolted, her balance somewhat better.

  I sat back in my chair. I had not imagined that. I had seen her. I was sure of it. I looked over at Kaye and Bowman who were discussing something before Bowman got on the phone. I hadn’t told Kaye about this at the hospital. In honesty, I hadn’t thought much of it, chalking it off as imagining it. But I hadn’t. Evans had been there all right. She was connected to this somehow. I looked over at McAllen’s empty desk but didn’t take much time to consider. I got up and walked around my own desk and knelt at the bottom drawer of McAllen’s. It was locked, but I knew the key was in the old coffee mug he kept pens in, thinking it was a good thing he’d never considered a career as a bank manager or suchlike. In the drawer were several files and I grabbed the one I was looking for, before returning back to my own desk.

  I put the file down before me, shaking my head slightly. I hadn’t looked at it in over a year and a half. Not since we got it. I’d been so suspicious, McAllen had, in the end, agreed to investigate Evans. He hadn’t agreed to us doing it, though. Something about me not being partial. I scoffed at the thought. So we’d gotten an ex-colleague, Vince Collier, who’d gone into private investigation for financial prospects, to do it for us. And he had found out some interesting things about Ms. Evans, one thing among them being that she didn’t seem to be doing much until about five years ago. Yeah, I realized I needed to give the file to Kaye and Bowman. They could then—

  “Interesting read?”

  Startled, I turned and found the Chief staring at me, eyebrow raised. Evans’s name was visible on the file. Damn. We’d never told her we’d had our consultant looked into.

  “Yeah…about this,” I began, indicating the file with my hand, “I think there’s something Kaye and Bowman should know.”

  Mulligan’s eyes widened
a little at this before she drew breath and shook her head. “Come with me,” she said and headed for her office.

  I followed, file in hand, and closed the door behind me as I entered. Glass walls, desk, and chairs; all of it professional. She had accommodations and diplomas on the wall, but what mattered to her was facing her chair. Pictures of her kids and husband.

  “Why do you have a file on Ms. Evans?” She indicated I should sit. “And why are you reading it the day after your partner’s been shot?”

  I slumped into the nearest chair as she sat down behind her desk and told her. I saw no reason not to. Evans had not gotten in the van, so we might get a hold of her. Get her to spill the information we needed.

  Mulligan listened in silence, leaning her head on her hand, two fingers by her temple, jaw on thumb. When I was done, she thought for a moment before straightening up. “You’re not taking this to Kaye and Bowman,” she said matter-of-factly.

  “What?” I blurted.

  “You said it yourself, you might have imagined it.”

  “No, I thought I’d imagined it. Now I know I didn’t.”

  “It’s not a secret that you distrust her, the proof is in your hands,” she added, nodding at the file I held. “I’m surprised McAllen went along with that, though. Must have been to shut you up, I suppose.”

  I said nothing. Mainly because she was spot on.

  “That woman has done nothing but help us when we need it,” Mulligan continued.

  “I know,” I said, “but why, though?” I sat up, not really wanting to ask this, but knowing that now was the time. “I’m sorry if this sounds indelicate, but…does she have something on you, Chief?”