MULTIPLE MOTIVES (The Kate Huntington mystery series Book 1) (29 page)

“Maybe the dumbass can’t think how to set up a meet, without setting himself up to get caught,” Rose said.

“Could be,” Kate said, “or if it’s Shirley, the personality that’s behind all this may be a kid or teenager who isn’t savvy enough to figure out how to do that.”

The same would apply to Jim, she realized. Maybe she’d been too hasty bumping him out of the likelies. Fifteen-year-old Steve might be at a loss as to how to proceed at this point.

Skip was looking confused. “Is the pregnant woman schizophrenic?”

“Yes and no,” Kate said. “That’s a common misconception. Schizophrenia’s a totally different disorder from multiple personalities. Schizophrenics are out of touch with reality, talk to themselves, hear voices. But, yes, I believe Shirley has multiple personalities.”

Skip nodded.

“Anything else before we call it a night?” Kate asked.

“I’m a little concerned that the perp hasn’t tried anything in awhile,” Rose said. “If he or she has figured out that this is our base… Calvin Young’s on duty out front tonight but I’m thinking somebody needs to be out back.”

Skip said, “I was thinking the same thing. Flip ya for the first shift.”

Rose nodded.

“None of our top four owns a truck,” Liz reported from the computer desk.

“Check Jim,” Kate said. “I mean Joe. Oh, you know who the hell I mean.”

A soft chuckle from Liz as she turned back to her computer.

“Truck’s probably stolen. I’ll check the auto theft reports tomorrow,” Rose said.

“Nope,” Liz said, “Jim/Joe drives a Mazda. No truck in his name.”

She grabbed her crutch and struggled to her feet. “I figure we’ve got enough food left to feed this crew through breakfast,” she said to Kate. “Tomorrow somebody needs to go shopping.”

~~~~~~~~

Rose and Skip walked over to the slider. As he was digging a quarter out of his pocket, Rose said in a low growl, “That bastard Phillips! If he’d had the area canvassed first thing Wednesday morning, we would’ve had that lead on the truck and could’ve put out an APB before the bozo had time to ditch it or change the tags again.”

“Is there any way to get an APB out now?” Skip also kept his voice low.

“Have to give that some thought. Might just go over his head to the lieutenant.”

He frowned. He knew how police hierarchies worked. A rookie going over a detective’s head would not be well received. “More likely to get yourself in trouble than him.”

Rose shrugged. “Not sure I care at this point, if it means we get Rob back safe.”

“Call it, Rose.” He flipped the quarter in the air.

Skip lost the toss.

~~~~~~~~

Early Sunday morning, when the other drunks were waking up–some clamoring to be let out ’cause they didn’t do nothin’ wrong, just had a few beers on a Saturday night, and the others holding their heads and telling the first bunch to shut up–the big guy with no shirt or shoes was still out cold.

The guard was getting nervous. The guy could be in a diabetic coma or something, even if he didn’t have a medical alert bracelet. Might have lost that the same place he lost half his clothes. So the guard called for a paramedic to check the guy out.

The paramedics quickly realized the man was seriously dehydrated. They wrestled him onto their gurney and hustled him out the door of the jail to the waiting ambulance.

The emergency room at St. Agnes Hospital was having a slow morning–the residents had even been able to snatch a couple hours of sleep after a busy Saturday night. Dr. Abbott took his time while examining the dehydrated John Doe. As the nurse adjusted the IV, the young resident started at the top of the guy’s head and worked down. Face kind of bruised up but no signs of head injury. Filthy dirty, stank of urine and sweat, but no injuries on his chest or stomach. Abbott had the nurse help roll the man onto his side. His left shoulder and that side of his back were covered with scabbed over scratches that looked to be a few days old. There was some gravel or dirt in some of them that needed cleaning out.

The nurse had moved down to clean the fresh cuts and scraps on the guy’s feet. Abbott started examining the man’s arms. When he got to the swollen thumb, he stopped. The wound was showing signs of infection.

But it wasn’t safe to give the man a tetanus shot and antibiotics without knowing his history. In his weakened state, an allergic reaction could be fatal. But also in his weakened state, the infection could send him into septic shock.

~~~~~~~~

Abbott’s supervisor, Dr. Walters, concurred with the resident’s concerns.

“Should we ask the police to try to find out who he is?” Abbott asked.

That would normally be the procedure, but Amy Walters suspected that identifying a John Doe from the drunk tank who had an infected thumb would not rate as a high priority with the overworked police force. She thought for a moment.

“Yes, call missing persons. But I’ve got another idea, as well.” She picked up the phone on the ER desk and dialed the home number of her friend who worked in the hospital’s public relations office.

“Cindy, it’s Amy. Sorry to bother you so early, but we’ve got a John Doe in the ER who’s in bad shape. We need to identify him before we can treat him properly. Do you think you could get the TV stations to put out a bulletin with his picture? We might get lucky. And it would be some good exposure for the hospital too–going above and beyond to make sure every patient gets the care they need, et cetera… Thanks, you’re a love! I owe you a lunch.”

Cindy chuckled on the other end of the line. “Amy dear, for dragging me in there on a Sunday, you owe me a week’s worth of lunches.”

Dr. Walters grinned as she hung up the phone.

She stared for a moment at the unconscious man’s gaunt, bruised face, covered with several days’ worth of beard growth. She couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that she’d seen this guy before. But where? At one of the college functions her professor husband dragged her to periodically? Or had he been a patient here before?

She shook her head and turned to the resident. “Let’s take a chance on the tetanus. Not too many people are allergic to that. But we’ll hold off on the antibiotics for awhile. Get him admitted, get his back cleaned up, and keep a close eye on that thumb for now. Actually I want him in the ICU. We need to watch him for renal failure.”

Abbott’s eyes went wide. “Dr. Walters,” he said, in a with-all-due-respect-ma’am voice, “is it likely there’s someone out there who cares about a homeless dude and will recognize him on TV?”

She resisted the urge to scowl at the resident. “This guy’s got plenty of muscle, some middle-aged fat and no tan. And he came in wearing nothing but dress slacks. Who knows how he got into this state, but I doubt he’s homeless.”

She hid her smile until she was out of sight.

That’ll teach you to question your elders, you young whippersnapper
.

~~~~~~~~

When Kate came downstairs Sunday morning, the others were already gathered around the big table in the family room for breakfast. Her stomach growled at the sight and smell of eggs and bacon. The next moment she was fighting down nausea.

Does Rob have anything to eat this morning? Is he even still alive to feel hunger?

She swallowed hard, blinking back tears, as she sat down at the table.

A familiar ring tone sounded, coming from her father’s pocket. He took it out and answered, while the others held their breath.

“It’s Mac.” He handed the phone to her.

“First thing this mornin’,” Mac said, with his usual lack of preamble, “this guy comes out with a woman. Couple a kids. All dressed up. Followed ’em to a church few blocks away.”

“What’s she look like?”

He described the woman.

“Sounds like the wife,” Kate said. “She dropped out of therapy shortly after the trial. Come on back and get some breakfast.”

She told the others the gist of Mac’s report.

“So either the wife caved and took him back,” Liz said, “or he
is
getting counseling and they’re doing okay.”

“Most likely the former,” Kate said. “But either way, he’s got his family back so he’s unlikely to still be harboring a grudge against Rob and me.”

Everyone nodded and reapplied themselves to their breakfast. With the grumbling in her stomach threatening to erupt into full-blown morning sickness, Kate picked at her food. She caught Skip looking her way and tried to give him a reassuring smile. He didn’t look reassured.

Rose sat back and patted her stomach. “Liz, I want to be
you
when I grow up.” Dan chuckled.

Kate pushed away her half-empty plate. “Lou, you’re going to be with Liz and me again today.”

“Sure thing, Miss Kate.” She’d encouraged him to call her Kate but Lou had resisted. He’d come up with Miss Kate instead.

“We need to discuss some things that are confidential so since you won’t need to know them…” Lou was still looking expectantly at her. Skip was right. No subtleties here, totally literal. “I’m afraid I have to banish you to the kitchen again.”

“Okay, Miss Kate.” Lou scooped a second helping of eggs onto his plate, then stood up. “Anybody ’sides Skip want more bacon?”

“Leave some for Mac,” Kate said. The others shook their heads.

Lou eyeballed the bacon, meticulously separated out one third of the remaining slices to put on his plate, and then headed for the kitchen.

Kate winked at Skip. He flashed her a grin, then nudged her plate back in front of her. She gave him a small smile and took a bite of toast.

They’d begun to sort out surveillance assignments, when her father’s pocket beeped. “It keeps makin’ that noise, Katie, but when I answer it, nobody’s there.”

“That means there’s a message.”

He dug out the phone and handed it to her. The others waited anxiously as she retrieved the message.

Ben’s deep voice rumbled in her ear. Excitement bubbled in her chest. Punching the number to replay the message, she grabbed her napkin. “I need a pen.”

Rose quickly produced one, and Kate jotted an address down on the napkin, then handed her phone back to her father.

“Ben followed Ch…uh, Shirley…oh, screw it, her real name’s Cheryl. He followed her to a house in Baltimore last night. She went in with a bag of groceries and a six pack of water bottles and came out a little while later empty-handed.”

“Could be where she has Rob stashed,” Skip said, as they heard tapping on the slider. He got up to let Mac in.

“Rose, should we call Phillips with the address or check it out ourselves first?” Kate asked.

“I vote for checking it out ourselves,” Skip said from across the room. “Phillips may blow it and get Rob caught up in a hostage situation.”

“So how do we find out if Rob’s there without doing that ourselves?” Rose said.

“What’s goin’ on?” Mac asked. Before anyone could respond, Kate’s cell phone rang again.

Dan answered it. A confused expression on his face, he held the phone out to his daughter. “Tis someone called Pauline who’s yellin’ to turn on the TV.”

Kate grabbed the phone. Pauline was still talking, “…and I could’ve sworn it was Rob.”

“Start over, Pauline!” Kate’s heart was in her throat. She pointed in the direction of the TV, and Skip crossed the room in two long strides to turn it on. He hit mute and started scanning through the channels–a golf tournament, commercials, a religious program, more commercials.

“I was watching to see if they’d have anything on again about Mr. Bennett’s press conference, and then I saw a picture that looked like it could be Rob,” Pauline repeated. “Some kind of special report.”

Kate jumped to her feet. “Did they say where he is?”

“St. Agnes Hospital. Said he was unidentified, and they needed to know who he was to give him the treatment he needs.”

“Pauline, you’re an angel!” Kate punched end and then 411. “Baltimore, Maryland,” she said to the automated voice, then “St. Agnes Hospital.” While the computer looked up the number, she quickly filled the others in on what Pauline had said.

Liz started crying. Dan put his arm around her shoulders.

Kate punched the required button for directory assistance to dial the hospital. “You had a picture on TV a minute ago. We might know who it is… She’s transferring me to public relations,” Kate informed the group. “Yes, can you e-mail a copy of the picture you just had on TV to us. We think we know who it is.”

Kate thrust her phone at Liz. “Give her your e-mail address.” Rose was already at the computer across the room, hitting the power button.

Liz gave the woman her e-mail address while Dan helped her hobble to the computer desk. They clustered around as she opened her e-mail. After a moment that seemed like a year, a new message popped up. Liz clicked on it, then the attachment.

Kate dropped to her knees beside Liz’s chair and stared at Rob’s bruised and stubbled face on the monitor. She’d never seen anything so beautiful. Relief washed through her, leaving her lightheaded and giddy.

Liz turned on her chair and collapsed into her arms. They clung to each other, crying and laughing.

Rose grabbed up Kate’s phone from the computer desk. “We know him. What do you need to know?…Liz, is he allergic to antibiotics or tetanus shots?”

Liz straightened up in her chair. “No. No allergies.” She swiped at her wet cheeks with her fingers.

“No allergies. His name is Robert Franklin,” Rose said into the phone. “I’ll have his wife there in fifteen minutes.”

“St. Agnes is all the way ’round on Wilkens Avenue,” Mac growled at her. “Can’t get there in fifteen minutes.”

Rose flashed him a big smile. “With siren and lights, I can.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

True to her word, Rose got Kate and Liz to St. Agnes Hospital in fourteen and a half minutes. Leaving Lou to guard the house, the men had piled into Skip’s Explorer. With flashers and liberal use of his horn, he was able to keep up in the light Sunday morning traffic on the Baltimore Beltway.

Kate charged up to the information desk in the hospital lobby. “The John Doe who was on TV? Where is he?”