Nerves of Steel (19 page)

His subject, Victor Trautman was working the seven to three shift on the Orthopedics ward.  Drake located Trautman's truck in the parking lot.  A two-year-old Ford Ranger, hardly the vehicle of choice among urban drug dealers, but smart if Trautman wanted to keep a low profile.  It was the only vehicle registered to him, but Drake made a mental note to check with the DMV to see if any sisters or mothers were suddenly new registered owners of BMW's or Merc's.

Drake walked in through the ER.  Trautman still had a hour or so left on his shift, might as well change into scrubs and push a broom behind him, see what his routine at work was.  Drake was good at blending into the background so that people treated him like part of the scenery, forgot he was there. 

But he
was
there.  Watching and waiting with a mind that absorbed all the details.  He could remember verbatim conversations that took place years ago.  A useful talent for a cop.  Not so helpful for forgetting the things he would rather forget.  

Like the sounds of Hart's sobs when he walked in on her earlier.  Tiny, swallowed sounds that barely made it past her lips, but spoke of greater pain kept reined tight inside.  Pain so immense he feared it would strangle her if she didn't find a way to release it.

"Hey, Drake!"  He spun around. Ed Castro, the head of the Emergency Department, steamed out of his office.  "Get in here," Castro gestured behind him, "we have to talk."

Drake obeyed before Castro could make a scene.  Did no one here understand "undercover"?  Castro slammed the door behind him, marched over to his desk, but instead of retreating behind it, turned and squared off.  Drake saw his weight was balanced evenly on the balls of his feet, noted the shift of the smaller man's shoulders, and knew the Cuban had done some boxing in his past. 

"What the hell were you thinking, taking Cassie to Fran's autopsy?"  Castro's voice wasn't raised, but the force behind the words made them feel like a shout.  Drake hid his smile; this guy was good.  Jimmy Dolan was the only other person he knew who could do that with his voice.

"I was thinking it was better she went with me than driving herself and going alone," he replied.  Castro stared at him as if debating Drake's veracity, but his posture relaxed.

"She would do that."  Castro collapsed back against his desk.  "What am I going to do with her?"

Drake was still trying to figure that one out himself. 

"I caught her filling out Fran's death certificate, told her to take a few days off, and she jumped all over me."  Castro blew his breath out.  "She did all right, then?  At the post mortem."

Drake leaned against one of the chairs piled high with journals.  "Better than most."  Castro nodded as if he expected no less.  "She's worked here two years?" 

Castro seemed to have a deeper relationship with Hart than employee-boss.  Drake's eyes went to the framed pictures that filled the wall behind Castro's desk.  No vanity photos or glitzy diplomas.  Castro had framed finger-painted portraits, photos of earnest high school and college graduates and an assortment of family gatherings.  Including several with a young Cassandra Hart.

Castro followed Drake's gaze, took a five by seven photo from his desktop, handed it to Drake.  "Cassie and my daughter, Maria."  Two girls waved from a vintage Cadillac convertible, Hart driving, Maria in the passenger seat.  "They're only three months apart.  Cassie's my goddaughter."

Drake looked again at the family photos.  No sign of parental figures except for Castro, a short, buxom woman he assumed was Mrs. Castro, and a fierce looking older woman. 

"That's Rosa, Cassie's grandmother."  Castro shuddered.  "Crazy old witch."  He caught Drake's expression of skepticism and chuckled.  "I mean that literally.  Rosa was a gypsy, from the old country.  She moved here, raised Cassie after Patrick died."

"Cassie's father?"

Castro nodded.  "Patrick and I were roommates in college.  Best men at each other's weddings.  I was there when Cassie was born.  It was a c-section, I scrubbed in with the pediatrician."  He raised his hands, looked at them briefly, then tightened them into fists.  "These were the first hands to touch her.  Her mom died three days later."  He sucked in his breath.  "And I walked her down the aisle on her wedding day, gave her hand away.  Biggest mistake of my life, letting her do that.  She had no one then, Rosa died a few weeks before, just me and Tessa Coleman."

Drake looked up at the name.  "Any relationship to Adeena Coleman?"

"Her great aunt."  Castro raised an eyebrow.  "You've met Adeena, then?"

"Yeah, we know each other.  She read me the riot act too."  He didn't tell Castro why.  "Seems like Hart has a lot of people looking after her."

"Don't you forget it.  Is Richard King involved in this, in Fran's death?  'Cause so help me, if that bastard ever does anything to hurt Cassie again..." He trailed off, having the good sense not to vow violence in front of a cop.  Drake didn't have the heart to tell him King had already laid a hand on Hart, or that she hadn't done a damned thing about it.

"I don't know," he answered Castro's question.  "If he is, how do you think Hart will feel about it?"  What Drake really wanted to ask was: how would she feel about the man who sent her ex to jail?

Castro thought for a moment.  "Betrayed.  Cassie takes her oath as a physician very seriously, probably why she's such a good doctor, always going above and beyond.  For a man she once loved to be involved in drugs that are killing kids--"

"Would she protect King?"

"God, no.  She'd be the first to want to see justice done.  And to protect patients from King if he is using again."  Castro looked up at Drake.  "So you do think he's involved."

"What makes you think he might be?"

"Nothing more concrete than wistful thinking, I guess."  Castro sighed.  "She doesn't talk to me much now, not after what happened with King.  I think maybe there was some abuse there, physical or otherwise.  She sure as heck didn't tell me," he said with a hint of bitterness.  "Before she died, Rosa gave me a heads up about King, said he had gold around his neck and the devil in his heart."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"That's what I said.  I was so happy Cassie had found someone that I ignored Rosa--big mistake.  Anyway, after, I had my suspicions, but Cassie never said a word to me.  I just had to suck it up, watch her ride that roller coaster, try to help her where I could."

Drake heard regret in the older man's voice.  Castro wanted to protect Hart, to be a surrogate father to her, but she wouldn't allow him into her life.  Stubborn woman--and proud.

They both fell silent for a moment.  "Whatever happened with King," and Drake was certain Castro's suspicions of abuse were correct, "she got herself out of it.  She can take care of herself."

"That's what she keeps telling me.  But she could have been killed last night.  She's no superwoman, can't outrun a speeding bullet."

"She's not stupid enough to put herself in danger again," Drake said, but he had the same thought as Castro.

Castro rolled his eyes.  "Intelligence has nothing to do with it.  Some of it has to do with being raised by a crazy old woman spouting gypsy curses and nonsense.  Mostly, I think she's always trying to repay her parents, feels responsible that she's alive and they're both dead.  The rest--well, you've seen her.  Cassie's not one to let go.

"Believe me, I've raised six kids.  And let me tell you, Cassie Hart has caused me more pain, sleepless nights and heartache than the rest of them put together."

Drake had the sudden feeling Castro knew all about him and Hart.  Maybe raising six kids invested a father with a special ESP, because Castro wasn't looking at him like a cop who was disrupting his ER's routines.  Castro's stare felt heavy, as if he expected Drake to volunteer for dangerous duty.

He cleared his throat, tried not to squirm under the intensity of the older man's gaze.

"Get the bastard before he hurts anyone else, all right?" Castro finally broke the silence.  "And watch out for Cassie, keep her safe."

"Yes sir," Drake said, nodding slowly as if he had just taken a solemn vow.  Castro relaxed, moved behind his desk, dismissing him.  Drake left the office feeling like a schoolboy released from detention.

CHAPTER 33

Armed with Polaroids of Jane Doe, some cash, her Maglight, and most importantly, several bags of burgers and fries, Cassie pulled off Route 51 and into the abandoned industrial complex at the foot of the West End Bridge.  Up ahead, orange PennDOT barrels marked where the road and bridge were closed for repairs.  The construction crews were gone for the day, their demolition equipment casting shadows like those of prehistoric beasts across the jagged field of broken asphalt.

No sign of Adeena's car.  Cassie couldn't believe Adeena came here alone on her outreach visits.  The place spooked the hell out of her—and she had yet to meet the kids who called it home.

They're only kids.  Still, she'd feel better waiting until Adeena arrived.  Not that the slightly over-weight and very out of shape social worker would be much of a help if anything happened.  Cassie grabbed her cell and called Adeena.  "Hey, where are you?"

"Didn't you get my message?" Adeena said.  "I texted you.  We need to re-schedule, I'm having dinner with Fran's parents.  You're invited too."

Cassie stared out the window at the strange shapes of the construction equipment.  That was one message she was glad to have missed—there was no way she could handle an entire evening with Fran's parents.  Give her a bunch of homeless kids to deal with any day.  "That's okay," she told Adeena.  "But I think I'll skip dinner--I haven't gotten much sleep lately."

There was a pause, and she could almost hear the social worker dissecting her words.  "So you're not thinking of going over there alone, right?" Adeena asked.

Not thinking of it, already doing it.  "No big deal, you do it all the time."

"Promise you'll wait for me.  We'll go tomorrow."  A voice in the background distracted Adeena.  "Fran's parents are here.  I have to go.  Sure you won't change your mind?"

"Absolutely sure.  Bye."  She hung up before Adeena could question her further.  The smells of hamburgers and French fries filled the car, leaving the air slick with grease.  No harm dropping off the food—it would be a gesture of good will, even if the kids didn't trust her or talk to her without Adeena there with her.

The closest building was a squat tin-roofed affair, a faded sign above the door proclaiming its former incarnation as a Westinghouse distribution facility.  Cassie rocked open the wide door, allowing the fading sunlight to silhouette her, revealing her lack of threat to those within.

"Anyone hungry?" she called out.  The odor of sweat, urine and rotting food swarmed over her.  She remained in the doorway, not just as a safety precaution, but also to give her fresh air to breathe.  How did these kids stand it?

She hefted the large Burger King bag into the light of the doorway.  At least it had stopped raining, she thought, thankful for the wan February sun.

As her eyes grew accustomed to the darkness inside the warehouse, she began to discriminate a few body-sized masses huddled amidst the debris.  Several stirred, a few even daring eye contact, but no one came close to her.  Then one emaciated young man appeared from out of the darkness, his flat, dark eyes appraising her. 

What caught her attention was the wicked looking butterfly knife he held, ready to attack at the slightest provocation.

"Who're you?" he asked, the sunlight glancing off pale skin wracked with acne.  Both ears were pierced and the spirals of a tattooed serpent traced its way up his arm.

"I'm a doctor from Three Rivers," Cassie told him.

"Here to give us some checkups, doc?  Don't think our HMO will cover it, y'know?"  He grinned at her, his teeth blackened by decay.

She gestured with the bag of food.  He looked over his shoulder and nodded to his comrades.  One of them scurried forward, grabbed the food and returned with it to the others.

"I'm taking care of a young girl, maybe fourteen years old," she went on, holding Jane Doe's photo out to the boy.  "She's in a coma.  We don't know who she is, how to find her family."

"Why should I care?" he asked reasonably, using his left hand to eat a burger one of the others brought to him.  The right hand, the hand with the knife, never wavered.

"We found her down here, under the bridge.  I thought you might be able to help.  She may have been hanging out with someone named T-man."

The boy looked up at that.  "Then she's lucky she's not dead or worse."  He spat a piece of gristle at her feet.  "What's in it for us?  A reward?"

Cassie wasn't stupid enough to waltz in here with a wallet full of money.  She'd brought just enough to bargain with, not enough to tempt violence.  She hoped. 

"No reward.  But," she added when his attention drifted away in disinterest.  "I can give you twenty dollars for helping."

"A hundred," he countered readily.  "Now, in cash.  How's I know you won't get what yunz lookin for and forget about us?"

"Forty."  Cassie pulled two bills from her jeans pocket.  The boy narrowed his eyes.  "If someone can help me."  She closed her fist on the two twenties when he reached for them.

He shrugged and took the photos from her, handing them off to another boy without looking at them.  He and Cassie remained where they were for several minutes until the boy returned and whispered something in his ear.

"Her name's Sarah," he told her as she pocketed the photos.  "From either Ohio or Indiana.  Been hanging 'round here a few weeks, mainly over at the Barn."  He gestured at the next building toward the bridge.  "She's a strawberry, will whore for anything--crack, FX, heroin, Contin, whatever's around."

"Is there anyone at the Barn I should talk to?"  Cassie held the money out of his reach. 

He looked her up and down.  "Depends how much a fool you are.  That's T-man's territory, he holds his parties out of there."

"Is there a party tonight?  Will he be there?"  She looked at her watch; it was almost six o'clock.