Requite (20 page)

“I should be good.”

“Alright, you just holler if you need something.”

He nodded.

Tom sliced off the first piece of meat and gave it a look. The steak was bright red in the center with a drip of pink juice dangling from the bottom. Tom licked the droplet before placing the slice in his mouth. His teeth sunk into the tender meat. He chewed, swallowed and washed it down with a swig of beer.

In between mouthfuls he watched the television behind the bar. The weather channel flashed the local five day forecast. It looked nice, but he wouldn’t be around to enjoy it. The weatherman began going over a storm in the northern part of the country. Tom stared at the screen, deep in thought. He was finished and almost home free. Justice may have failed Claire, but he didn’t. The people who deserved to be punished for their crimes, for her death, had been. He scooped a mountain of mashed potatoes onto his fork and shoveled it into his mouth.

After discussing our plan with the hospital’s chief of staff, we were a go. We had the nurses move Jake to a secure room in the lower levels of the hospital. We would need to serve up Jake’s location on a silver platter and hope for two things—that Spearman saw the broadcast and that he’d be determined enough to try to finish the job. It was a long shot, but there was a chance it could lure him out.

The camera crews from the various television stations were getting setup outside of Jake’s old room. We made sure the room door was closed and the room number was visible to the cameras. We had one of the hospital’s podiums brought up and placed to the side of the door.

I wanted to spend a couple minutes discussing how I wanted the Richwoods to do the press release. I called them over.

“So what exactly do you want us to say here?” Roger asked.

“Well, pretty much what we discussed in the phone call. First I want you to ask for the public’s help in finding Spearman.”

Helen Richwood interrupted, “I spoke with your station’s public relations guy, I was thinking of offering a reward for information,” Helen said.

“Well, that’s up to you. We would, of course, look into any lead that comes in.”

She looked to her husband for approval, he nodded. “So after asking for help?”

Well, we set the podium up so there is a clear view of the room number. I’d also like you to mention how thankful you are to all the staff on the fourth floor of the Tampa General Hospital. Make sure you say the hospital’s name and floor.”

“OK. What else?”

“Just share how he is doing, like you did on the phone with me earlier. It’s important that you mention that he is recovering from his injuries.”

“Is that it? How long should we be?”

“I’d try to keep it brief. We’ll need to get you and all the media off this floor as soon as we’re done.”

“OK.”

Sam James let us know that the press was ready and I let them get started. Hank, the captain and I took a spot behind the reporters in the hall and watched the show. Jake’s mother got choked up talking about her son’s injuries. Jake’s father thanked all the staff for their help. They finished in a little over five minutes. It went perfect.

We cleared the floor of all the media and began getting our officers dressed in scrubs. If Spearman showed, the plan was to get him into Jake’s old room. Inside, he’d be trapped and there would be minimum harm to any staff, patients or visitors. We installed five SWAT trained officers in hospital attire into the lobby. They would be our first line. On sight, they’d report Spearman to the additional five SWAT members on the fourth floor. Upon the call, the team would get all the nurses and doctors into rooms on the other side of the wing. The fourth floor would be kept at the bare minimum of staff members required to attend to the patients. It was the best plan I could come up with on short notice. We’d give it a few hours before downsizing.

The last slice of meat hung from Tom’s fork. He wanted to savor it. He took a drink of his beer and then placed the meat in his mouth. Tom chewed slow, enjoying each second of the flavor. He wiped his mouth with his napkin and tossed it on the cleaned plate.

Tom caught the waitress out of the corner of his eye and waved her over.

She stood to the side of his booth. “How was everything?”

“Real good. Best I’ll have in a while.”

“Good. Get you anything else?”

“Just the bill.”

She pulled three black padded folders from her apron and looked through them. She found Tom’s and sat it on the edge of the table.

“Whenever you’re ready,” she said.

“I’ll take care of it now.”

Tom looked at the bill. It was thirty-one dollars and change. He slid a hundred from his wallet, placed it inside and handed it back to her. He waited. She came back a few minutes later with his change. Tom left her a ten as a tip, grabbed the pillowcase of booze and walked out.

He glanced at the time on his cell phone. It was still five hours before his flight departed. He looked around. He could head through security and sit as his gate for five hours, but it could look suspicious and he’d have to ditch the bottles of alcohol. Staying intoxicated was the only thing keeping the pain from the gunshot wound at bay.

He looked around some more in search of a place out of the view from the general public—a place where he could sit and pass the time. He spotted an open booth inside the little sports bar. It was the perfect spot. It was off to the side, and away from most of the other guests. The booth was out of view from airport security and cameras.

He walked in and grabbed the seat. The lighting was dim. There were televisions mounted to the walls in each booth. He could kill a few hours there watching sports. The waitress made her way over.

“What can I get you?” she asked.

“A beer I guess. Need to burn some time.”

“Layover?”

“No. I’m just getting ready to head out. Have a little time to burn though.”

She smiled. “Sure. Let me go grab that beer for you and I’ll be right back.”

“Thanks.”

Tom focused his attention to the television on the wall. Sports scores, highlights and commentator analysis rolled across the screen. Customers came and went.

The waitress brought Tom’s beer back and sat it in front of him. “That’s going to be five seventy-five.”

He handed her a twenty.

She gave him back his change. “The remote for the television is on the wall right there.” She nodded to its location. “Watch whatever you’d like.”

“Thanks.”

Tom handed her two bucks as a tip and she went on to her other guests.

He scooped up the remote and sipped his beer. He flipped through the channels. Tom caught the last fifteen minutes of a Tarpon fishing tournament before he began surfing the channels again. He settled on a replay of last weekend’s NASCAR race. It went to commercial. He flipped a few channels before settling on the local news and setting down the remote on the table.

“Need another beer or anything?” the waitress asked.

Tom swished the last few inches of beer in his glass. “Sure, I’ll have another I guess. It looks like my flight just got delayed, so I’ll be here for a while.”

It was an excuse so that he didn’t look out of place while he sat there for the next few hours.

“No problem. I’ll be right back with it.”

Tom drank the last remaining swallow.

The television caught his eye. It was something familiar. It was a photo of him. He fumbled with the remote and changed the channel before anyone saw the photo. The next channel up was also a local news station. The television showed a couple standing at a podium. A banner at the bottom of the screen read
Helen and Roger Richwood
. The man had his arm around his wife. He wore a bright yellow polo shirt. The wife wore a dark dress. Her eyes were red as if she’d been crying. In the top left it said pre-recorded. The original air time was the noon telecast.

Tom stared at the screen. The backdrop was odd. They weren’t at their home or at the police station. It looked like they were in a hospital. He ticked the volume up but kept his finger on the button to change the channel in case the waitress came back.

The noise in the bar made it hard for him to hear what they were saying. He fumbled with the remote looking for a menu to display the text of what they spoke. He clicked the option for the closed captioning. What was being said began displayed across the bottom of the television.

Roger Richwood: “The pain we feel for what transpired is unimaginable. We urge the public to come forward with any information they can provide in the apprehension of Tom Spearman. Our son, and his girlfriend Jessica, were not his only victims. There are more families that share the grief we feel here today.”

Helen Richwood: “Together with my husband, we’ve decided to offer a ten thousand dollar reward for information that leads to the whereabouts and arrest of Tom Spearman.”

Reporter: “Can you comment on your son’s current state?”

Roger Richwood: “The doctors have cautioned us as to his mental capacity in the following months as he continues to recover. He’s showing progress though. My wife and I are remaining hopeful.”

“What!” Tom shouted.

His outburst drew looks from a few neighboring tables. Tom seethed and stared back at the screen.

Helen Richwood: “We’d like to thank all the staff on the fourth floor here at Tampa General Hospital. They have been doing everything they can to help our son and make him comfortable as he recovers.”

Tom scooted closer to the screen to get a better view and then slid back in front of his empty beer glass. He flipped the channel of the television back to the race. He sat in the booth—his eyes locked forward.

Jake is alive.

The waitress slid a fresh beer in front of him. “Did you want to just open a tab?”

He didn’t respond.

“Sir?”

Tom rubbed his eyes. “Sorry, what was that?”

“A tab. Did you want to open a tab?”

“No, that’s OK.” He leaned to the side and removed his wallet. He handed her a ten.

“Let me just go grab you some change.” She took the bill and headed for the bar.

Tom looked down at the beer, stood and walked out.

He found the long escalator that led downstairs and rode it down. At the ground level he looked left and right. He found what he was looking for. He walked to the end of the baggage area, past the doors leading outside, past the belts spinning the checked luggage. A small glass office stood at the back. Tom walked in.

A twenty year old in a blue polo shirt and khakis stood behind a small counter. “Welcome to Car-A-Day rental car. How can I help you?”

Tom pulled out his wallet. “I need a car.”

I sat in the family waiting section on the fourth floor. I looked over at Hank. His nose was buried in a sports magazine. It had been almost three hours since the press conference. With every passing minute, I had more doubts that he’d show. If he killed the judge around midnight, he had a solid fourteen hour lead on us. It brought places as far as Baltimore and Texas into the picture if he drove. If he managed to get out on a flight, he could have been anywhere.

I needed to kick a couple people loose. The officer’s regular patrols still had to be completed and the hospital’s staff had to get back to their normal duties.

“Hey. I’m going to head down by the captain.”

Hank took his face from the magazine. “For?”

“These people need to get back to work—staff and our officers.”

“It’s only been a few hours.”

“I don’t think he’s showing.”

“OK.” Hank went back to reading.

I walked to the elevator and hit the button to take me down. The doors dinged and spread apart. I walked in. They were keeping Jake in one of the rooms by the Emergency Care Center on the first floor. I hit the button for one, and rode down. The elevator jerked. The doors opened, and it kicked me out. Down the hall to the left, I spotted the captain sitting in a chair next to a uniformed officer. I made my way over.

Bostok saw me walk up. He took the newspaper he was reading and folded it back up. “Nothing happening?” he asked.

“No. I’m going to kick a couple of these guys loose to get back to their patrols. I don’t want to keep the hospital staff from their rounds either.”

“Don’t think he’s coming, huh?”

“We’ve been here a few hours. I can’t keep everyone on standby.”

“It was worth a shot. Keep three or four guys here until the end of their shifts. I’ll let you make the call after that.” The captain slid the paper under his arm. “I think I’m going to get back to the station. Ross here can handle watching Jake’s door.”

Officer Ross was an overweight, late forties patrol cop. The crown of his head was bare. He looked to me and grunted.

“Sounds good. I’ll walk you out, Cap.”

We followed the hall back to the lobby. I told the captain I’d see him back at the station later and would call with any updates. The five guys from SWAT that watched the lobby were told they could leave. I headed back up to the fourth floor and released all but two guys from upstairs. Hank and I both borrowed radios from the released SWAT members so we could continue to communicate. I told the hospital’s chief of staff to return everyone to their normal duties.

Besides me, Hank and two members from SWAT were all that remained. I sent the two guys downstairs with the instructions to radio us if they spotted anything. Hank and I took up a spot near the nurse’s station. From our vantage point, we had a clear view of the floor as well as Jake’s old room.

My cell phone buzzed. I took it from my pocket. The caller I.D. said it was Nick Waterman.

“Hey Nick. You get anything?”

“Maybe.”

“I’m listening.”

“Well, a kid down in one of our rental car offices just called me up. He said he saw someone that looked like the guy they have been showing all over the TV.”

“Spearman?”

“The kid is confident it was. The paperwork the guy filled out said his name was Mark Reynolds. Same with the identification he used.”

“Mark Reynolds?” I wrote it down.