I gave the kid my phone number and told him to call me on Monday morning. I also made him promise to go straight home and not hack anything else. He did as he was asked, and I believed him. He seemed like a smart kid, just a little misdirected. I can fix that.
I left him to it and headed out toward Hamilton Place and my meeting with Penelope. Ten o’clock, she’d said in her note, but I had no idea what I might be walking into so I intended to get there early.
I ordered a Tall dark roast, found a seat in the corner by the front window with a good view of both Hamilton Place Boulevard and Bams Drive, and settled down to wait. If she came, I’d see her coming and I’d see her park.
As it happened, I didn’t have long to wait. I had no idea what she was driving, but when I saw a black VW Touareg drive slowly onto the lot from Bams Drive, I had a certain feeling that it was her. I watched as she parked the VW and exited the car… and then, for just a moment, my view of her was obscured as a car passed slowly between her and the building. It slowed for a second then gained speed, squealing its tires as it sped out onto Hamilton Place Boulevard and away toward Shallowford Road.
I watched it go then stood and turned toward the door to meet her. As I did, I glanced out of the window and saw her lying on the asphalt beside her car, blood pooling around her head.
I rushed out of the door and knelt down beside her. Her eyes were wide open, her throat pulsing, gulping, pumping blood from the small gunshot wound to her neck and another in her upper left shoulder.
She was dying, and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it. I did what I could. I grabbed her neck between fingers and thumb, my thumb on the bullet wound, trying to stop the flow.
I looked desperately around. The front window of Starbucks was crowded with faces. I waved at the window, making signals for someone to phone for an ambulance, and held on to her, talking to her, telling her she was doing fine, that she was going to be okay, knowing damn well that she wasn’t. I knew it for sure and I’m rarely wrong.
I don’t know how long it was before the ambulance arrived. I know it seemed like hours, but it was probably less than ten minutes. Anyway, whatever, she was still alive when the paramedics took over from me.
I remember a female paramedic grabbing my wrist and pulling me away, and I remember I fell back on my ass and scrambled back out of the way.
I stood and watched as they staunched the bleeding and then loaded her into the ambulance. It was then I realized I still had no idea, other than her first name, Penelope, who she was. I ran to my car, scrambled in behind the wheel, hit the starter and followed the ambulance out onto Shallowford Road and all the way to Erlanger Emergency Center.
I grabbed my iPhone and called Kate.
“Oh shit,” she said. “Thank God, it’s you. I heard the call on the radio, and I knew when I heard Starbucks that it must be you. I’m on my way to Erlanger. Where are you? What happened? Are you okay?”
“It’s okay, Velda. Someone shot Penelope. They got to her in the parking lot. I saw it happen… well, not exactly, but near enough. I’ll explain later. I’ll see you at the hospital, okay?”
“Yes, okay, but please… stop with the Velda. It’s no longer funny.”
Penelope Ross died in the emergency room at Erlanger at ten after eleven that same evening. Cause of death was one of two .22 long-rifle bullets that entered her neck at the left side slicing through the carotid artery, the spinal column between C4 and C5, severing the spinal cord.
“That’s two,” I said, despondently. “Two innocent people dead in two days and all because of me.”
“Death does seem to follow you around, Harry,” Kate said gloomily. “Obviously, someone didn’t want her talking to you, but who?”
We were seated together, side by side, in the waiting room. I shook my head. I was as baffled as she was.
“No one knew I was meeting her.”
“Don’t be stupid, Harry!” The voice was male, and it was right behind me. I swiveled on my chair, my hand instinctively going for my weapon.
“Chief,” I said, standing up and turning to face him. “You shouldn’t creep up on people like that, but why am I not surprised to see you here?”
The man was a bear, taller than me by an inch, and I hated it. Now you know why I never sit with my back to a door, only that time I did. My bad!
“Sit down, Harry, and talk to me. What the hell have you gotten yourself into?”
I said that Chief Wesley Johnston is a bear, and he is. He’s big, brash, a martinet and, to most of the Chattanooga Police Department, intimidating, but not to me. I’d lost count of the run-ins I’d had with the SOB. He was a hands-on administrator, micromanaged his senior staff, and came down hard on those who were unfortunate enough to get on his wrong side. I was one of those. Between him and his version of Igor, Henry Finkle, my ten years on the force had not been... shall we say, easy?
The chief maintained that I wasn’t a team player, which wasn’t true. Kate and I had been one hell of a great team. Our closing rate was second to none. To Johnston, “team player” meant that you did as you were told, always and without question. So in that respect, he was right: I wasn’t a team player.
I was in no mood for him that evening, but him being who he was, I had no choice but to tell him everything… well, almost everything.
He listened without interrupting until I’d finished, then he sat back in his chair, placed his elbows on its arms and steepled his fingers together at his lips and blew gently on them, staring over them at me as he did so.
“You’ve been gone barely two months,” he said, finally, “and you’ve gotten yourself involved in two murders and a kidnapping. What the hell is it with you, Harry?”
“With me? Not a damn thing. This all began with a simple game of poker. Do you really think—”
“No, I don’t,” he interrupted me. “I think it’s about the money. It’s always about the money. Marsh screwed the wrong people. They want their money. It’s that simple… No, it’s not simple at all. What is simple is that you’re no longer a police officer and I want you to stay the hell out of it. You understand?”
“Who’s got the case, Wesley?”
I thought he was going to explode at my use of his first name, but he was right. I wasn’t a cop anymore and didn’t need to use his title… and anyway, screw him.
“Lieutenant Cable, not that it’s any business of yours. I mean it, Harry; stay out of it.”
“No can do, Wes. I’m a private investigator now, and I intend to get the bastard that killed the kid and Penelope Ross, and the piece o’ crap that paid him to do it. And yeah, I know who did it. I saw him kill the kid right in front of me for God’s sake. My word not enough for you?”
“You’re… a PI?” He was dumbfounded. “When the hell did that happen? No matter, I don’t want to know. Nothing’s changed. You stay the hell out of it or I’ll have Cable throw you in the can… James had a cast iron alibi; your word against his and a dozen of his friends. He couldn’t have done it, no matter what you saw. That’s what his lawyer will say.”
“Oh, come on, Chief. You know better than that. Hell, arrest the piece of shit and let’s find out who his lawyer is… Look, I’ll collaborate with Eric Cable, but I’m going to do what I have to do. You know I will, so why don’t you just let me get on with it and leave me alone?”
He stared at me, then at Kate, then at me again, hesitated, then said, “I’ll let Cable know, but it’s his decision… PI my ass.” And with that, he got up and strode away.
“Well,” Kate said, with a smile, “that went well.”
Even though I was in no mood to, I grinned at her, then said, “Better than I thought it would.” I checked my watch. “It’s late. We need to go. You have to work in the morning and I have to… Geez, I have no idea what. Why don’t you go on home? I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” And she did.