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  John kept an eye on the bar door, waiting for the burly redheaded cop to come out. Soon, three officers emerged, and John’s target was among them. He caught the cop’s attention, who then waited for John at the bar door while the others went to their vehicles. John strode across the parking lot toward the officer, who nodded and spoke first. “Hey. How’s it going?”

  “I just finished cleaning up the bouncer; he went home with his girlfriend. He must have had a good story for you guys not to hold him.”

  The officer swatted a mosquito away and muttered, “Damn things,” then turned to look at John full on. “We have corroborating stories from at least six sober witnesses, plus the security video. A bar fight breaks out, someone thinks someone has a gun, and then the bouncer, Mr. Rimer, gets involved. He takes one to the head, spins around, and defends himself. Pretty clear-cut case. We contacted the DA’s office on this. They advised us to take a sworn statement and send him home.”

  John nodded and raised his eyebrows as he approached the question he really wanted answered. He knew he didn’t have the right to ask, at least not until the next of kin was notified.

  “What about the victim?”

  “Unlucky bastard. Hell of a way to die. His name’s…” The cop reached into his breast pocket and took out a small notebook, flipped through a few pages, and squinted in the dim light. “Bill Fahy.”

  “Notified the family yet?”

  “No. We’re trying to track them down now,” the cop said.

  John scratched the back of his head. “The weird thing is that I just talked to Fahy yesterday at the university labs.”

  “Really? What for?” the cop said, clearly interested.

  “He works…worked in a lab there. My partner and I were responding to a call about a collapsed woman. Turned out to be Dr. Aida Doxiphus, the lab director, and this guy was her lab tech.”

  “What happened to her?” The cop had his notebook out again, pencil hovering over the paper.

  “We couldn’t really tell. Some sort of AMS—that’s altered mental state—possibly a seizure. Anyway, this guy, Bill was there, acting squirrelly, like he was scared.”

  “Did he say what he was afraid of?” The pencil was scratching across the page.

  “No, he didn’t say. He just went pale. My partner had to sit him down to keep him from keeling over. I think there was more going on, because the whole situation was…well, it just didn’t make sense. The way we found Dr. Doxiphus, with her arms and legs straight and at her sides, like she had just lain down. And the timing of his story didn’t add up. He said he called 911 at 8:15, but we didn’t get toned out till 8:25, and 911 never takes more than a minute to roll a medic unit.”

  “So you think he was involved somehow?” The pencil had stopped scratching; the cop’s icy-blue eyes transfixed John.

  “I don’t see how,” John replied, breaking the uncomfortable eye contact.

  The cop looked back down at his notebook and began writing again. Without looking up he asked, “Have you told anyone else this?”

  “Yeah, I did, at the end of my shift yesterday. I was at University Hospital, and I needed to report this to the doctors and family.” John gave a sudden jerk, and his right hand went up to his left shoulder. “What the…? Felt like someone pinched me.” He looked around, but there was no one else there besides the two of them. “Must be some damn big mosquito.”

  The cop was silent and still, though his eyes raked the parking lot. “You told the family about this before reporting it to the police?”

  Hearing the accusation in the officer’s voice, John hesitated. What had started out as a professional conversation had taken an unpleasant turn. “Campus security was there, as well as University City police. We were there to take care of the patient, not run an investigation. That’s your job.” John chewed out the last words; he didn’t respond well to being muscled.

  “You know what? You’re right. Sorry,” the cop said in a more congenial tone, then tucked his notebook away. “Anything else? How’s she now?”

  A feeling of unease had settled on John in the past few seconds after that pinch. “I don’t know. I can’t really find out. I’m not family…patient confidentiality and all that.”

  “Sure, of course.” The cop gave a smile that didn’t move beyond his mouth. “Gimme a minute. I need to talk to the shift commander about this. What’s your name?”

  He felt that sickening feeling he always got on roller coasters when they went through a negative G turn. Damn! He couldn’t refuse to answer, and the police could get his name with a single call to dispatch anyway. “John Holden. I gotta get back to my unit and pick up my partner.”

  “This’ll only take a few minutes. Can you come with me, please?” Though it was phrased as a request, John knew it wasn’t. The cop held the door open for him, and the two of them went back into The Jester. The bulky man made his way over to the shift commander. He was the only officer in the room not in uniform; his polo shirt partially covered the badge and gun on his belt. John took a seat at a table about six feet away, close enough to hear but far enough away to allow the illusion of privacy.

  “Sir? Has next of kin been located?” the redheaded cop began.

  “Not yet. Why? You have something?”

  “Yessir, actually I do. The responding medic ID’d the deceased as a lab tech over at the university. He knew the deceased from a call he had there yesterday. Turns out it was for the deceased’s boss, Dr. Aida Doxiphus. She’s in the hospital, and I thought I could go over and notify the family of tonight’s events and try to get a statement from the family, since they knew him.”

  “Thanks, but not your job tonight. I want a senior detective to handle the doctors and university. I think Fitzsimmons is on tomorrow. Tell you what, though…you can ride along with Fitzsimmons since you came up with this.”

  “Well, thank you, sir,” the cop managed with a modicum of sincerity.

  At least I’m not going to be arrested tonight, John thought. He heard the officer snap off another “yessir,” and then he turned toward John, his face slightly red from the vote of no confidence his boss had given him. He walked the few feet over to where John sat.

  “Shift commander says you’re free to go, and to thank you for bringing this to our attention.”

  John was puzzled at the lack of forthrightness on the part of the officer to his superior, but at this point he just wanted to get out of there. “No problem. Glad to help,” he said, and wondered if he was lying.

  As he walked back to Medic 82, he still felt the weight of the man’s eyes on him. That didn’t go as expected. As he climbed back into the unit and closed the door, Natalia’s face leapt unbidden to the front of his mind along with the urge to check on her and make sure she and her family were okay. Somehow he felt he had just put them all in danger.

  “Shit! What did I just do?” Frustrated with himself, he started Medic 82 and pulled out of the parking lot.

  The redheaded cop stood in front of The Jester and watched the ambulance pull out. He didn’t move for a good minute or so before going to his patrol car. He checked to make sure his radio was off and the dash cam was powered down as well. Touching a finger to his ear, he said, “The problem has been eliminated as planned. Holden, the medic, noticed the sloppiness of the first job. Unfortunately, he was also on the scene tonight and made the connection between Fahy and Doxiphus. This risk needs to be mitigated.” He paused, still holding his hand to his ear, and said, “Acknowledged. I’ll report back in about an hour.” He started his unit and pulled out of the lot, following the route of Medic 82.

  7 Messages

  I lluminated by the copper glow of a single sodium-vapor streetlight, the one- and two-story brick storefronts from nearly a century ago stood around a potholed intersection in mute testimony of unrelenting decay. John knew this part of town well, and though his eyes saw the blanched colors of the red and brown buildings and the summer green leaves sapped of their vitality by the l
ight from the lamp, his mind filled in the normal daytime image it was more familiar and comfortable with.

  Medic 82 was stopped at the deserted intersection, waiting for the light to change. Fifteen blocks ahead was University Hospital. Catercorner from him, a dim yellow light shone through steel bars that covered the grimy windows of a packaged goods store, the only business that had survived here.

  Why am I waiting? No one else is here. ’Cuz it’s the law, he answered himself. He didn’t feel like tempting fate, not after that almost run-in with the cop at The Jester thirty minutes ago. So he sat, focused on the holes in the street where the blacktop had worn away, exposing the original paving bricks, while, to his left, a figure slowly approached from the shadows. He reached over to rub the spot on his left shoulder where he had been…pinched—that was the only word he could think of. What the hell was that, anyway? The shadowed figure was about five steps from the driver’s-side window. It swiftly raised an arm, pointing at John.

  John blinked. There in front of him, and off to the right of Medic 82, stood a white lab-coated Aida Doxiphus. She was mouthing words and moving her arms frantically, as if pushing something down to her left.

  The message was clear: “Get down!”

  He looked at her in stunned silence. Then he caught a flicker of movement on his left, and alarms went off in his head. He threw himself down on his right side, the arm of the seat digging into his ribs as shattered glass sprayed him and the unmistakable staccato popping of gunfire reverberated through the cab. The first shot had taken out the glass. Two more followed a second later.

  “Go!”

  Lying stunned in the dark cab, John slammed his foot on the gas. The sudden acceleration pushed him backward as the roaring engine and screaming tires blocked out the sound of any other shots. With one hand on the wheel, he pulled himself upright. Shards of shattered glass cut him as they slid under his shirt. Ignoring the pain, he glanced in the right-side mirror, looking for the woman in the white lab coat who couldn’t possibly have been there but had been. He stood up on the brakes. He couldn’t leave her there in the street with the shooter feet away. He threw the vehicle into park and jumped out into the live fire zone. It wasn’t the first time he had done this, but it was never a smart thing to do.

  Go, go, go! Moving targets are harder to hit than stationary ones, yelled the drill sergeant in his head. He rounded the back end of Medic 82. Off to his left, he caught a dark flash of movement heading into an alleyway on the far side of the unit. After scanning the intersection for the white lab coat, he went to the passenger side of the vehicle and up to the front bumper. The woman wasn’t in the street or in any of the doorways. Where the hell did she go? John circled around the front of the unit and got back in the driver’s seat, the broken glass from the window crunching under his feet. He sat there for a few seconds trying to make sense of all this. She can’t be here—she’s lying in a hospital bed.

  His eyes ping-ponged between the two side mirrors, but he saw nothing other than empty intersection. Unless the shooter could fly, he or she was nearby. John’s best bet was to get clear of the area as quickly as possible and head to the hospital, where Aida Doxiphus had to be.

  Lights, sirens, radio! He ordered himself as the speedometer rocketed past fifty-five. The hospital was about ten blocks away now. As he hurtled toward the next traffic light, his brain seized on the traffic that was crossing. Shit! He slammed on the brakes, the tires screaming against the pavement. Medic 82 jerked to a stop, throwing John against his seat belt and then back in his seat.

  He grabbed the handset. “Medic 82 to KEA571. I’ve just been fired at. Corner of Claremont and Thirty-Third Street.”

  “Medic 82, are you injured?”

  “No, I’m about ten blocks from University Hospital. I’m heading there. Have any units meet me at the ER entrance.” He killed the lights and sirens, which looked odd on an ambulance that had just come to a screeching stop at a traffic light.

  “Acknowledged, Medic 82.”

  John’s head was on a swivel, scanning ahead, right, left, in the rearview mirror, hunting for any more threats. Now that he was closer to the university, the lighting was better, and the traffic, both foot and vehicle, were heavier. All he saw were college kids bar hopping, a street musician on the corner, a line outside a club, and people eating at a sidewalk café. All eyes stared at him in amazement through the shot-out window.

  A normal summer night, my ass! John’s brain was wrestling with the impossible. He had just seen someone he knew—knew—he couldn’t have, and someone had just tried to kill him.

  Okay, the immediate threat has passed. You’re okay…now get to the hospital. Get back to reality.

  He was six blocks from the hospital now; the large blue-and-white backlit letters on the central tower of the medical complex grew in his field of vision. Get there. Get to safety. And then another thought crept into the spotlight of his attention. Alarm ran through him again, and his hand shot to his shirt pocket. The glass from the bullet-shattered window cut his fingers as he fished around for his phone.

  He hit speed dial 3.

  “University Hospital,” the operator intoned.

  “My name’s John Holden. I’m a University City medic. I need to talk to Dr. Gregorio Doxiphus. It’s urgent.”

  “I can take your number and have him contact you, or would you like to leave a message?”

  “No! I don’t wanna leave a damn mess—” He bit off the rest of his words and paused for a beat before continuing. “Sorry. Can you put me through to his mobile number? I’m on route to the hospital now. This really is an emergency. It’s regarding his wife.”

  That last part got the operator’s attention. The news about Aida had traveled quickly across campus.

  “Hold on. I’ll transfer you.”

  ***

  Night again, thought Greg Doxiphus as he lay on a cot in his wife’s hospital room. He had dozed for maybe an hour; then anxiety and discomfort had goaded him back to wakefulness with cruel ease. He sat up and glanced at his wife and saw the gold crucifix slowly rise and fall with each breath. It was an heirloom on her mother’s side of the family from four generations back. Nat, who would be the next recipient of that treasure, was in a recliner, curled up in a blanket with a pillow, her eyes closed.

  Massaging the dull throbbing in his forehead, he lay back down. Through the window he saw the constellation Cygnus rise in the darkening blue sky. It looked to him more like a cross, like Aida’s crucifix. Thank God Nat found that.

  She had called to fill him in on the lab tech and what she had found. He immediately had contacted the office of the president. It wasn’t a pleasant conversation, he recalled.

  “Greg, you’re upset about Aida, and the university will do everything we can in this matter, but I don’t know if we need to involve the police. The situation doesn’t look that suspicious,” Kelley had equivocated over the phone. “It was that man’s job to be there and use that equipment.”

  “I’d hardly call lying about the timing of events open and honest communication, Alvin!” Greg had shot back. “I realize that this is grant-review time, but you must realize I will do whatever must be done to take care of my family.”

  Deneb, the bright star at the tail of the swan, or short end of the cross, blinked at him. He hadn’t needed to finish the statement to Kelley. I guess in the end, he saw that it would be quieter for his office to run this all through security to the police than if I did it myself, Greg thought.

  He closed his eyes again, trying to think, but his mind was in a thick fog and as fluid as cold oatmeal. Soon he started to drift off again.

  “Greg!” he heard Aida call in alarm.

  “Aida?” In a spasm of hope, he shot up from the cot. Nat sat up, her eyes snapping open.

  “Dad! I just heard Mom again. She sounded scared. Is she awake? Is she okay?”

  Greg was hunched over the bed, his eyes switching back and forth from his wife to the EEG. “No…n
o, she’s not awake, but I heard her too. Wait, what do you mean ‘again’?”

  “Yesterday, before you got here, I thought I heard Mom tell me to wake up because Dr. Hernandez was here.”

  Greg paused and looked at his daughter, trying to understand what she had just told him. More important, he was trying to understand what it meant. A loud knock at the door interrupted any questions he might have asked.

  “Dr. Doxiphus?” said a louder-than-normal voice. A hulking redheaded police officer step into the room. The cop looked at Greg, then Aida, then Nat, and gave a suggestion of a smile as he took a few more steps into the room. “Dr. Gregorio Doxiphus?”

  “Yes, how can I help you? Has my wife’s lab tech been found?”

  “Well, yeah, he has, but there’s been an incident. He got mixed up in a fight at a bar a few hours ago. He didn’t start it, and it wasn’t his fault, but in the course of the fight, he was stabbed in the chest and died.”

  “Oh my God!” said Nat, clasping a hand to her mouth.

  “What happened in your lab is—” the cop continued.

  “My wife’s lab,” Greg corrected him.

  The cop moved closer to them now, his voice lowering to a conversational level. “Right, your wife’s lab. This is now part of a police investigation, and I need to ask you both a few questions.” He took out his notebook and pencil while his gaze settled on Aida. “I know this is a difficult time, so I’ll be as quick as I can.” He shifted his considerable weight to his right leg, then slid his left out and settled into a stance. “When was the last time either of you saw Mr. Fahy?”

  “I haven’t seen him in weeks. I’ve been out of town,” said Greg.

  “Today around noon, in my mom’s lab, but campus security knows about that,” Nat interjected. “President Kelley’s office contacted the police, didn’t they?”

  “They did, and we got the full copy of that report, but this has to be for the record now.” The cop looked at Nat over the top of his notebook. He shifted his weight to his left leg and drew in his right, then shifted his left leg out again, resuming his stance. Greg turned his head to follow him.