Busted (34 page)

"Busy driving here," Steve snapped as he cut off a green SUV.

Chris spent the next fifteen minutes worrying. There wasn't any point in pressing Steve for information – that was something he'd figured out years ago. He was a good partner, but he had a bad habit of clamming up when he was distracted.

His first thought was that Toby was hurt, but that didn't seem likely. Mary would have called him, not Steve. If their killer had struck again Steve would have told Chris. The only thing he could think of was that Mary or one of Steve's kids were hurt.

Steve pulled into one of the reserved spots in front of the emergency room entrance. He flipped off the lights, grabbed his keys, and almost ran out of the car. Chris just followed. He'd find out soon enough what was wrong.

"Detective Russell," said the nurse at the admitting desk. "Exam room seven."

"Thanks, Sheila," Steve said as he pushed through the doors into the care area. He and Chris had been here dozens of times before, mostly as cops, occasionally as patients. They knew most of the emergency room staff on a first name basis. St. Mary's was the closest hospital, and where you ended up if you didn't need specialty care from Yale New Haven or one of the Hartford hospitals.

"Steve, what the fu—” Chris started to say, before a shout from an exam room cut him off.

"Aaaah! Goddamn fucking son of a bitch!"

Chris' head shot up. That was Joe's voice. Steve was already standing in the doorway of the exam room. He looked relieved and amused. Past him Chris could see Joe propped up on an exam bed. His chest was bare, his skin was paler than normal, and he was swearing quietly. Chris couldn't see what was going on. Dave, one of the ER nurses, was standing in the way.

"I'm sorry," Dave said. "The locals don't work too well."

"I know. Just finish it," Joe snarled. He was gritting his teeth hard enough that Chris could almost hear them grind together.

"What happened?" Steve asked.

"Got aaah! Stabbed, dammit."

Chris pushed past Steve to stand next to Joe's bed, and got a good look at the injury. His left shoulder had a line of stitches almost six inches long. The wound was red and ugly. A little higher and it would have been dangerously close to his neck. Chris' throat caught. He reached down to take Joe's hand in his.

"There, you're all done," Dave said. "You sure you can't take any painkillers?"

"I wish," Joe said. His voice was tight with pain. "I hallucinate. Nothing narcotic."

"Then this is going to hurt," Dave said. "You can't have any NSAIDs for a while, not until things start healing enough that you won't bleed. The doctor will fill you in, but it'll be Tylenol and Bactine for you for a while."

"Swell," Joe said. He lay back and squeezed Chris' hand. His eyes were closed and he was panting.

"I can give you some Novocane. That'll at least deaden the pain for now."

"Hey, Joe. You look like crap," said Steve. His voice was disconcertingly chipper.

"Good," Joe said. His eyes were still closed, his teeth still clenched. "I've gotten better."

"What happened? Needed some embroidery to go with the tattoo?" Steve asked.

"He almost got buttons, but I didn't have anything that matched his complexion," Dave remarked. He had a syringe ready and gave Joe four quick shots around the wound.

"Very funny. Some nutcase came into the apartment and tried to kill me. Ah, hell, there's probably blood all over the carpet now. That'll kill my cleaning deposit."

“I’m all done,” Dave said as he cleaned up the syringe and suture tray. He glanced down and saw Chris holding Joe’s hand. “A doctor will be along in a bit to be pompous at you. Don’t get the stitches wet, watch out for guys with knives, and no enthusiastic sex.”

"Thanks, Dave," Chris said absently. His fingers were stroking Joe's hand. He wasn't paying much attention. Steve was, and he caught the wry smile the nurse had.

"So what happened?" Steve asked. He'd pulled out a notebook and pen. "Why'd you get carved up?"

Something flared inside Chris. He was feeling suddenly very protective. Joe had been hurt, when he wasn't there to protect him. He was there now, and nothing else was going to hurt Joe, not if he could help it.

"Steve," Chris snapped. "Not now."

"Yes now," Steve shot back. "You know the drill. Just 'cause you're jumping the victim doesn't mean we put this off."

"It can wait, dammit. And hey, I’m not—"

“He only wishes he was jumping me,” Joe said. He took a deep breath and found the shots Dave had given him had started working. "It's okay, Chris," Joe said. "My shoulder's numb, and I'd rather get this over with."

"Are you sure?" Chris asked. He was worried about Joe. Going over the details of crimes was tough, especially attacks like this. They'd had more than one person break down trying. Joe had already gone through enough.

"Boy, are you whipped," Steve remarked. He sounded amused.

"Fuck you," Chris shot back.

"Not my job, man," Steve said.

"Can we just do this?" Joe grumbled. He was tired and achy and barely holding himself together. He wanted to get his things, go home, and curl up on the couch.

"I don't think—" Chris started.

"No shit, Gagnon," came a voice from the doorway. There was an older man standing in it. Solid, worn, and graying, his hair in a buzz cut. He was wearing a white shirt and grey dress slacks. The shirt was open, his red tie hanging loose, and the smell of unsmoked tobacco hung around him. “Not your goddamn strong suit.” He gave a glance at Chris’ fingers on Joe’s hand and frowned.

Joe saw the glance, and the frown. "Back off," he snapped. Having a target for his hanger was, right then, a very welcome thing.

The man scowled at Joe. "Who the fuck are you?" he asked, turning his attention to Joe.

"I'm the guy in the hospital bed, asshole."

The man raised an eyebrow. He clearly wasn't used to people arguing with him. "Someone piss in your corn flakes this morning, sunshine?"

"Uh, Joe?" Steve said. He was looking a little nervous.

"Yeah, a psycho with a knife. What's your excuse? Run out of kittens to kick?"

"Joe…" Steve tried to get Joe's attention again. It wasn't working. Neither of them were paying attention to anyone else. Chris was looking shocked.

"Can't imagine why someone would want to stab you," the man observed. He almost sounded amused.

“Probably one of your fan club. Got tired of waiting in line.”

"Joe!" Steve had to resort to shouting. "Jeez, down boy. He's not normally this bad, Captain," Steve said.

"Captain?" Joe snorted. "What, Captain Crunch?"

"Captain Davidson. Our boss," Steve said. He shot a meaningful glare at Chris, who’d watched the exchange in open-mouthed surprise.

"Oh," Joe said.

"Yeah, oh," Captain Davidson said. He gave Joe a hard stare, and Joe stared back.

There was a long pause.

"You gonna apologize?" Davidson asked, breaking the silence.

Joe snorted. "You gonna stop being an asshole?"

"Never happen," Davidson said.

"Well, there you go, then," Joe replied.

"Um, we didn't expect to see you here," Steve said. He wasn't sure he wanted to get between the two, but they'd at least stopped snapping at each other. Distracting them seemed like a good idea.

"My grandson broke his damn arm playing Superman in the back yard. You here for Gagnon's goddamn boyfriend?"

That caught Chris' attention. He snatched his hand away from Joe like he'd been burned.

"He's not my boyfriend," he stammered.

“He only wishes,” Joe said at the same time.

“Yeah, I bet,” Davidson said. “You girls get his fucking statement and get back to work, or I’ll put you in here myself.” With that statement he stomped out of the room.

There was a moment of quiet before Joe said “You work with that bastard?”

“Every single fucking day,” Chris said with a growl in his voice.

“Sucks to be you, then,” Joe said.

Steve gave him a hard look. “It’s not like you’re doing any better right now,” he said.

Joe just deflated when he said that. “Yeah, I know. It’s been a really crap day.”

“Getting stabbed isn’t any fun,” Chris said.

“I only wish that was the worst thing that happened,” Joe muttered. Chris looked at him in surprise but didn’t say anything.

“Right, children,” Steve said as he pulled out a chair and sat down. “Statement time. Tell us everything, Joe. Don’t worry about whether something’s important, we’ll sort that out later. You were doing okay last I saw you.”

Chris took out his notepad, a pen, and his pocket recorder. He set the recorder down next to Joe and just watched for reactions. That was his plan, at least, the pale, creamy skin of Joe’s chest and the freckles that dusted across it distracted him more than he was comfortable with. Shifting his gaze didn’t help, as he just ended up staring at the angry red gash across Joe’s shoulder and the ragged line of stitches holding it together.

“Last I saw you I was feeling like shit, Steve,” Joe said, unaware of Chris’ thoughts.

“But with all your blood still inside you,” Steve said. “How’d that change?”

“I went home after work,” Joe said slowly. “They’d replaced the door and I guess it didn’t shut right, because when I went to clean up the mess they’d left this guy… he attacked me," Joe said. "Came right into my apartment and went at me with a knife."

"Did you get a good look at him?" Steve asked.