The waiting room was as drab and joyless as the hospital building. I sat alone on a chair, my legs outstretched and crossed at the ankles, my arms folded, my chin resting on my chest. Heavenly’s wicker bag was next to me. I had removed it from the Mustang after parking in the near-empty lot across the street. I searched her wallet for a health insurance card and found only a Wisconsin driver’s license and credit card, both in the name of Caroline Kaminsky. That’s the name I gave to the admitting nurse. I also told her that I would be responsible for all hospital costs; I signed a paper to prove it.
I had never been in a hospital so quiet. There were no announcements made over the PA system, no paging of hospital personnel, no soothing music piped in. I could hear the pages being turned on the magazine the receptionist was reading. They sounded to me like pistol shots.
Twice I asked the receptionist for news. Twice she said she’d tell me when someone told her.
I knew guys who punched walls in moments of frustration—major league pitchers risking their careers, for God’s sake—guys who would throw cell phones through windows, smash perfectly innocent HDTVs. Not me. I’m the guy who sits down and carefully runs revenge scenarios through his head, starting with the most violent and ending with the most satisfying, although sometimes they were the same.
That’s what I was doing when the doctor with the ponytail rounded the reception desk—and a deputy wearing the uniform of the Bayfield County Sheriff’s Department came in through the front door. I stood up. They both reached me at the same time.
“Are you McKenzie?” the deputy asked.
His hand was resting on his Glock.
“Yes,” I said.
“I’m Dr. Rockman,” the medic said. “Daniel Rockman. Caroline asked me to give you a message. She told me to call her Caroline.”
“Are you armed?” the deputy said.
I reached behind my back and pulled the SIG Sauer. I handed it to the deputy butt first. If the doctor was surprised, he didn’t show it.
“What did Caroline say?” I asked.
“She said—sorry about making a mess of your car,” Dr. Rockman said.
The things women worry about, my inner voice said.
“How is she?” I asked aloud.
“You’re coming with me,” the deputy said.
I raised my hand, showing him the palm, letting him know that he was second on my list of priorities at the moment.
“How is Caroline, Doctor?” I asked.
“Lucky,” he said. “There was no major injury to her subclavian artery or vein, and the hematoma is not expanding. Chest X-rays were negative. There’s no fluid building up in her lungs; it’s all good.”
“It’s all good? Doctor, pretend that you’re talking to a complete moron.”
“All right. The patient was shot in the upper chest, left side. The bullet entered”—he put his finger against his own collarbone—“and chipped the clavicle, causing a hairline fracture. It continued behind the clavicle, where it transected a branch of the subclavian artery. A CTA indicated that the transected artery had already retracted and clotted; it stopped bleeding on its own. The vessel is, for all practical purposes, starting to heal itself. Basic lab work indicates that the patient’s hemoglobin is ten, so we’re not giving her blood. We’ll continue checking her hemoglobin every six hours to make sure it doesn’t start trending downward.”
“Wait,” I said. “But she lost a lot of blood.”
“We estimate a pint, perhaps a pint and a half. But at this level, it’s like giving blood at the Red Cross. The body will take care of itself. What else? BUN testing indicates that her kidneys are functioning properly—”
“What about the bullet?”
“We left the bullet where it is.”
“What?” the deputy said.
“We rarely go after the bullet if we don’t need to. We can cause much more damage, more injury, more bleeding by looking for the bullet. First, do no harm.”
“We need it for evidence,” the deputy said.
“Tough.”
“You’re leaving the bullet inside her?” I said.
“Best place for it.”
I’ll be damned, my inner voice said.
“She was concerned about the scar,” I said aloud.
“The bullet left a mark; what can I say?”
“Can I see her?”
“No. She’s lost a lot of blood, as you said. I gave her something to help her sleep. You can speak to her in the morning. We’ll contact you when she wakes. Where will you be?”
“Bayfield Sheriff’s Department,” the deputy said.
“Right here,” I said.
“It’ll be a long night,” the doctor said.
Not as long as the last ninety minutes, my inner voice told me.
“You’re coming with me,” the deputy said.
“Were you instructed to arrest me?” I asked.
He stumbled over his answer.
“I’m not going to answer any questions until Chief Neville arrives anyway,” I said. “I’m sitting right here. You can sit over there and watch me sitting right here. There’s coffee.” I gestured at the setup in the corner. “I don’t recommend it.”
The doctor said, “Neither do I.”
“I’m in your debt,” I told him.
“Not at all,” he said.
He patted my upper arm and walked back behind the reception desk. I sat down. The deputy stood in the middle of the room looking confused. He spoke into the mic attached to his shirt, seeking instructions. I didn’t hear what his superiors told him, but a moment later he sat down across from me. He set the SIG on the chair next to him.
I thought about calling Nina. It was nearly 1:30 A.M., which meant she was probably just getting home from the club. Except I didn’t want to make a call in front of the deputy, making him anxious about whom I was talking to and why. Instead, I closed my eyes …
* * *
“McKenzie.”
My eyes snapped open and I saw Chief Neville hovering above me. He didn’t look happy.
I stretched myself awake, no sudden movements. A gray light was pouring through the windows. The deputy was still in the chair across from me, his elbow on the armrest, his head propped in his hand. If he had slept, he didn’t show it.
“Chief,” I said. “What time is it?”
“Why? Do you have a date?”
I glanced at my own watch—5:45 A.M.
“I expected to see you sooner,” I said.
“I’ve been busy. Do you know the last time there was a shooting in Bayfield? Never. It’s one of the reasons I decided to retire here.”
“It wasn’t my fault.”
Dammit, my inner voice said. You sound just like the Maestro.
“You told me that you weren’t carrying a gun,” the chief said.
“It was true when I said it.”
The chief sat next to me.
“Start talking,” he said.
I told him I left the Lakeside Tavern with Caroline …
“Her name is Heavenly Petryk,” the chief said.
“Who told you that?”
“Keep talking.”
I did, finished with driving Heavenly to the hospital.
“No disrespect,” I added. “I just couldn’t wait for you or an ambulance.”
“That’s it? You’re not going to tell me about Curtis Shanklin and his posse on Madeline Island trying to hold you up? How ’bout the kid in the tavern that you chased off when he hit on Petryk. Did you forget him, too? And the man in the sportcoat?”
“You have been busy.”
“I have two eyewitnesses at the scene. They confirm your account of the shooting. They were watching every step you took since you left Lakeside; or rather I should say they were watching Petryk. Something about the way she moved in those tight jeans and boots. They couldn’t identify the shooter, unfortunately. Phil Speegle told me about the kid; he was inside the tavern drinking beer with his friends when the shooting took place. Speegle also said you were concerned about some guy in a sportcoat, but he didn’t know whom you meant.”
“I have no idea who he is, either, but he keeps popping up everywhere I go.”
“Uh-huh. Speegle told me you were spending time with Jack Westlund and a blonde. I went to see him on his boat. Westlund told me the story about Madeline Island. I checked. Shanklin and his pals were still on the island when the shooting took place. They missed the last ferry and were staying at a motel near the landing. They denied everything, by the way. Westlund also told me about Maryanne Altavilla; said he walked her to the Bayfield Inn and left her there after she turned down his invite for a nightcap. I interviewed her, too. You like to surround yourself with pretty girls, don’t you, McKenzie? Altavilla said that she didn’t know anything about the shooting until I told her. She also said that you were not working with her insurance company. She was quite adamant about that.”
“I never said I was.”
“Something else, which caught me a little by surprise. She seemed genuinely concerned about your welfare.”
“My welfare? Not Heavenly’s?”
“I think the lady has a crush on you.”
“Yeah, that must be it.”
“Now it’s your turn.”
“My turn?”
“You’re going to answer my questions. You’re not going to give me any Fifth Amendment bullshit. You’re not going to lawyer up. You’re not going to lie. If you do, I will arrest you for carrying a concealed weapon without a permit, discharging a weapon illegally within the city limits, and felony assault. I won’t be able to make the last charge stick. Add that to the others, though, and I can keep you off the street for a few days, and you don’t want to be off the street for a few days, do you?”
“You’re not going to like it.”
“Try me.”
I told him about Officer Pilhofer. The chief sat quietly for a few moments.
“Tell me,” he said. “What would you have done if Maggie Pilhofer hadn’t come along and poked you with her stick?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you think Brian is protecting Heather Voight?”
“I’m just telling you what the Ghost Lady told me.”
“You’re right, McKenzie. I don’t like it.”
He asked more questions. I answered truthfully. Through it all, though, I could tell there was a question nagging the chief that I couldn’t answer—where was his officer when the shooting took place?
Finally, the chief stood and crossed the waiting room to the reception desk. The same woman was sitting there as before; for all I knew she was reading the same magazine. The chief said something, and the receptionist picked up a phone. Apparently, she was willing to give the chief more cooperation than she gave me. A few moments later, a plump woman wearing a white coat over blue scrubs appeared. She was smiling.
When I stood, the deputy got to his feet as well. He didn’t interfere, though, when I crossed the room. The chief saw me coming.
“This is McKenzie,” he said.
The woman extended her hand.
“I’m Dr. Sauer,” she said. “I have relieved Dr. Rockman. You’re the one who brought Caroline in, am I right?”
“Yes. May I see her?”
“No. As I was telling the chief here, Caroline is still asleep, and I have no intention of waking her. Once she wakes on her own, then you can see her.”
“When will that be?” the chief asked.
“I don’t know. Personally, I like to sleep in when I get a chance.”
“Candy. It’s important.”
Candy?
“I never said it wasn’t,” the doctor said. “I’ll call you when she wakes.”
The doctor left the room, leaving us standing there. We both glanced at our watches at the same time.
* * *
Four hours later, Dr. Candy Sauer returned. By then the receptionist had been switched out and the deputy had been sent on his way. He gave the chief my nine-millimeter before he left. The chief bounced it in his hand for a bit before giving me a spot-on Sean Connery impersonation. They pull a knife, you pull a gun. They send one of yours to the hospital, you send one of his to the morgue. That’s the Chicago way.
“Nice,” I said.
“Are you from Chicago, McKenzie?”
I flashed on a few of the revenge scenarios I had run through my head earlier.
“No,” I said.
“I’m going to keep your gun anyway.”
You can always get another, my inner voice told me.
When the doctor arrived, Chief Neville slipped the nine into his pocket.
“You can see her now,” she said.
We stood together. The chief placed a hand on my chest.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“To see Heavenly.”
“When I’m done questioning her.”
I might have argued, except I knew there was no way to win.
* * *
Chief Neville was twenty minutes with her. When he emerged from Heavenly’s room, he had an odd sort of grin on his face.
“Interesting woman,” he said. “I can see why you like her so much.”
“Who said I liked her?”
“How long have you been sitting in the waiting room? We’ll talk again, McKenzie. Soon.”
The chief left, and I walked down the wide corridor to Heavenly’s room—the hospital had only one floor. She was sitting up, dressed in an off-white hospital gown, her left arm in a sling, and eating breakfast. She wasn’t wearing makeup, yet her golden hair had been brushed. I was shocked by how healthy she appeared.
“They serve Jell-O here.” Heavenly pointed at a slot on her tray with a plastic utensil that combined a spoon with a fork. “I haven’t had Jell-O in years.”
“You seem awfully chipper for a woman who was shot less than twelve hours ago.”
“What can I say? Another day in the life…”
I set her wicker bag on the bed next to her, and she began rummaging through it with her right hand.
“Heavenly, is there anyone I should call? Family?”
She pulled a smartphone from the bag that was twice the size of mine.
“No,” she said. “I’ve got it. My God, McKenzie. You look like hell. Were you here all night? You were, weren’t you? That is so sweet.”
Dr. Sauer entered talking. “Let’s take another look beneath that bandage … Oh, I’m sorry, you have a visitor.”
“This is my good and true friend McKenzie,” Heavenly said. “McKenzie, have you met Dr. Sauer?”
“Yes,” I said.
Dr. Sauer came toward me anyway to shake my hand. The smile on her face suggested that her opinion of me had improved exponentially based on Heavenly’s endorsement.
“If you care to step out of the room for a few minutes,” she said.
“No, it’s okay,” Heavenly said. “I want him to stay.”
The smile never left the doctor’s face as she spun toward her patient. She pushed away the cart that held Heavenly’s breakfast tray above the bed. Heavenly leaned forward; her face tightened with pain. The doctor untied the thin cords behind her neck and back that kept Heavenly’s hospital gown closed. I turned and stared out the window. The sun was climbing in the sky, and I had a good view of the empty fields that surrounded the hospital.
“This is going to hurt,” Dr. Sauer said.
Heavenly hissed. “It did,” she said.
“That doesn’t look too bad at all. Dr. Rockman does nice work.”
“It’s going to leave an awful scar.”
“Plastic surgery will help. I know a doctor; he helps patients that have undergone mastectomies. He’s very good.”
“When can I leave?”
“First, we need to make sure your hemoglobin is stable. During the night it dropped to nine. We want to make sure it was caused by the IV fluids that we gave you and not because you’re bleeding internally. We’ll give you another chest X-ray—make sure blood isn’t going somewhere we can’t see, into the chest cavity, for example. We need to transition you to oral pain medication, too; make sure you’re okay with that before we send you home.”
“None of what you just said answers my question.”
“Tomorrow. You can leave tomorrow. You can turn around now, Mr. McKenzie.”
I did, just in time to see Dr. Sauer finish retying Heavenly’s gown.
“Thank you for your concern, Doctor,” Heavenly said. “I’m leaving today.”
To prove it, she attempted to swing her legs off the bed. She stopped abruptly; a sudden inhale followed by a slow exhale hinted at the distress the movement caused her. Heavenly’s eyes became wet and shiny.
“Also, you need to be fitted with the correct sling,” Dr. Sauer said. “Something that’ll restrict your movements, prevent you from moving your arm in a way that’ll cause you pain—like right now. We can’t put a cast on a fractured collarbone. The best we can do is stabilize it. You’re going to experience a great deal of discomfort for several weeks, young lady.”
“Give me some pills and I’ll be on my way,” Heavenly said.
“What are you going to wear?” I asked. “Your sweater and jeans have been destroyed, haven’t they, Doctor?”
“’Fraid so,” Dr. Sauer said.
I gestured at the wicker bag.
“Your bikini?”
Heavenly’s eyes narrowed and her nostrils flared. If she’d had a gun, I would have been in fear for my life.
Wait, she does have a gun.
“Do what the doctor tells you,” I said. “I’ll bring your clothes tomorrow. I’ll take you wherever you want to go.”
Dr. Sauer patted Heavenly’s knee.
“See you before my shift ends,” she said. She nodded her head in my direction. “Mr. McKenzie.”
The door closed silently behind her.
“Daniel Rockman and Candy Sauer,” I said. “Sounds like a couple of porn stars. The doctors will see you now.”
“Don’t try to make me smile. I’m angry.”
“Okay.”
I stared at her. She stared at me. She smiled.
“Dammit, McKenzie,” Heavenly said. “I’d thank you for saving my life, but I’m not sure you did. The chief seems to think that you were the target last night and that I just got in the way.”
“We both know that’s not true.”
“We do?”
“I’m the one with the money. You never shoot the guy with the money. Besides, Caroline, you’re the one who’s on the lam.”
“On the lam? Who talks like that? You watch way too many black-and-white movies.”
“Heavenly, why won’t you tell me the truth? What’s the problem?”
“I don’t have a problem except that I sometimes stand too close to you. You can be detrimental to a girl’s health.”
“Swear to God, sometimes looking at you is like looking at a reflection in a fun-house mirror, so many levels of deception.”
“That’s a terrible thing to say to someone on her sickbed.”
Heavenly brought her fist to her mouth and fake-coughed into it. I pointed at the wicker bag.
“Your Colt .380 auto is beneath your bikini,” I said. “If I’m not mistaken, you only have three rounds left.”
“You should take it. You’re the one people are shooting at.”
“You’re very good at keeping your secrets, but you have to know—eventually I’ll figure it out. I always do. And if you don’t have an exceptional reason for holding out on me, I’m going to kick your ass.”
“Promises, promises.”