Requite (22 page)

I hung up the phone with the front desk of the hospital letting them know the doctor’s location.

Hank, Ross, Brunson, Murray and myself sat behind the doors for the Emergency Center in wait. I watched down the hall through a crack at the side of the door. A man in a doctor’s coat rounded the corner and headed for us. The height and weight were right. I didn’t see any red hair coming from under his hospital scrub hat he wore. The guy had on glasses. He stopped at Jake’s door and looked right to left. When he looked left I recognized his face from the driver’s license photo. His red hair had been shaved off, but it was Spearman. He walked in.

The PA system bellowed:
Internal triage room 104.

“He’s inside. Let’s go,” I said.

We pushed the doors that separated the Emergency Center and the hall open. We stayed low and approached. Our guns were drawn.

The only light came from a pair of dim sconces on the left wall. The sterile smell that all hospitals carry filled the room. A few machines stood lit up at the headboard beside the bed. The television was off. Tom slid the tire iron from his waist band.

He walked further into the room and looked to his right. He got a full view of the hospital bed. The blankets were pulled up half over Jake’s head—leaving just his hair visible. A machine ran tubes under the blankets into Jake. Tom walked to the side of the bed and prodded him with the tire iron.

“Jake,” he whispered.

No response, no movement.

Tom jabbed at him with the tire iron again.

“Jake, wake up.”

There was still no response.

Unconscious
, Tom thought.

He went to the door to see if there was a lock—there wasn’t. Tom needed something to barricade the door. He surveyed the room. If he disconnected the rolling monitors, the nurse’s would be alerted to his presence. The only other thing movable was a green faux leather recliner. It would have to do.

He scooted the large chair over and wedged it beneath the handle. He pulled at the door. The chair slid a bit, but then caught. It would hold for the few minutes he’d be there. Tom walked to the back windows and pulled up the blinds. He looked out. The room faced the back of the hospital complex. A small service road snaked away behind fifty feet of grass. This would be his exit. As soon as he finished, he’d break the window, climb out and disappear.

Tom looked to his watch. He could still catch his flight if he hurried. He went to the side of the bed.

“Bye, bye, Jake.”

He lifted it over his head and brought it down with everything he could. It connected with a hollow crack. He struck again. Another odd noise came from the strike. The third blow further confirmed something was off. The vibration that came back through the tire iron didn’t feel the same as before. Tom ripped the sheets back.

We approached the door.

Officer Brunson, a thin SWAT cop in his early thirties attempted to allow us entry. He pushed the handle of Jake’s door while we covered him. He shook his head. “Barricaded by something,” he said.

I looked at the other officers and Hank. I outweighed each of them by forty pounds or more.

“Let me try,” I said.

I reared back a few steps and did my best front kick into the door. It pushed open a few inches. I gave it another kick with everything I had. It flew open and the chair the blocked it tumbled into the room. My forward momentum took me through the doorway.

I crouched and covered the right side of the room. The two SWAT officers and Hank took up positions behind me. Officer Ross was behind them. The bathroom was to my right. I glanced inside. It was empty.

We continued into the hospital room, the bathroom hallway funneled us into the main room. I caught movement from the hospital bed. I stepped out from the wall aiming my gun at the bed. Tom Spearman stood at the edge. The sheets had been pulled back. He knew it was over.

Spearman turned to us. “Where the hell is he?”

“Drop the weapon!”

Spearman screamed at us. “Where is he?”

“Put it down!” I yelled back.

He shook his head and began pacing back and forth. The sight of five police officers with guns on him did nothing to dissuade him from what he wanted.

“He’s here somewhere! Tell me where he is!”

Spearman lifted a tire iron. “You’re going to tell me.” He came at us.

Hank fired.

The bullet passed through Spearman’s right shoulder. He spun to the ground. The tire iron flew from his hand and bounced off the back wall of the room. He lay still for a second, hunched over facing the wall. He began to move, turning himself around facing us. Tom slid himself against the wall in between the bed and the heart monitor.

“Don’t you move again Spearman,” I said.

I walked closer to him as he leaned against the back wall of the room. We had the exit blocked. Five cops stood with gun barrels pointing down on him. He was trapped, shot, and unable to escape.

Spearman’s head rested on his chest. “You’re going to have to kill me,” he said. Tom’s right hand rested on the tire iron. He took it in his hand and used the side of the bed to pull himself to his feet.

“Stop!” I shouted.

“He deserves to die. Where is he?”

“Put it down.”

He turned toward us. His left hand covered the bullet hold Hank just put through his right shoulder. He raised the tire iron and advanced.

I fired.

The bullet from my gun passed through the back of his left wrist that crossed his chest. He dropped to his knees. The tire iron fell to the floor. Hank and I rushed him and put him face down. Hank kicked the tire iron across the floor of the room.

Spearman flipped his head to the left and moaned in pain. The scrub hat he wore fell off. I could see thick scars covering his scalp. Spearman’s moans turned to screams as Hank twisted his right arm behind his back. I got my cuffs from my hip and took his left arm—it was covered in blood. As I pulled it behind his back he slipped it from my grasp. His hand went to his pocket in a blur. It came back with a knife. Spearman jabbed it at his throat. The blade stopped just inches from its intended target. His wrist with the bullet hole was crushed between my knee and the floor. He released his grip on the knife. I slid it across the room with my hand and pulled his bloody arm back behind him. I linked the cuff.

“Not going be that easy,” I said.

Hank and I pulled him by his arms to his feet. Tom screamed in pain. I held him by the chains on the cuffs.

I nodded to Officer Ross. “You can tell Jake’s parents that we got him.”

Hank went to the side of the bed. “He’s messed up pretty bad.”

“Is he going make it?” I asked.

“Head is sunk in.” Hank pulled the CPR dummy from the bed. “I’m sure we can pop it back out though.”

“Where is he?” Spearman’s voice was almost a whisper.

I pushed him over to Brunson and Murray. Hank and I followed them out into the hall. They sat Spearman down. A few medical staff appeared from a patient room.

“Are one of you a nurse or doctor?” I asked.

“I’m Doctor Sann, how can I help? Are any of you officers injured?” he asked.

I shook my head and pointed to Spearman. He was cuffed and hunched over against the wall of the hallway. His face was gray. A puddle of blood was forming beneath him.

“He has multiple GSWs.”

The doctor nodded. He approached Spearman and knelt in front of him, checking his pulse. He looked to one of his nurses. “Jan, get me a stretcher.”

She jogged down the hall and reappeared with a vacant stretcher.

Hank and I gave the doctor and nurses a hand getting Spearman on. We un-cuffed his hands behind his back and cuffed him to the rails on the sides.

“We need to get him into surgery,” the doctor said.

I nodded.

The doctor and nurses rushed Spearman down the hallway.

Hank and I started to follow.

“Kane!”

I turned.

The captain and a handful of patrol officers came from around the corner.

“What the hell happened? You guys OK? You catch Spearman?”

“We got him,” I said.

“Put a few rounds in him. They’re taking him to surgery now,” Hank said.

“And Jake?” Bostok asked.

“Same as he was,” I said.

“Spearman didn’t get to him?”

“He wasn’t in the room. Ross got him out before Spearman ever got there,” I said.

The captain let out a deep breath as he took a seat on the chair at the entrance to Jake’s room. He looked up at the officers that arrived with him.

“You guys go have a look around. Make sure no one else is hurt or injured. Help wherever you can.”

The three uniforms gave him a nod and split up down the hall.

Bostok stared at Hank and I.

“What happened?”

“Doctor Wallace got a call off to my cell phone. It gave us enough time to get Jake to safety, and set the trap.”

“How did he know your cell number?”

I thought about it for a second and remembered what he’d said when we met with him. “Same as his daughter’s, just swapped numbers at the end.”

The captain motioned for me to continue. “Give me the rest.”

“Spearman trapped the doctor in an office. I heard him and Spearman talking. Spearman was trying to get Wallace to lead him past the cop at Jake’s door. Somehow, he knew where Jake’s room was. I had Hank call down to Ross and the SWAT guys to get Jake and his parents out of there. It was Hank’s idea to jam a CPR dummy in the bed. After that, we just waited for Spearman to show up.”

“What about Doctor Wallace?” the captain asked.

I pointed up the hall. The doctor had two nurses attending to him. “After Spearman walked out Wallace just kept yelling that he was in room 104. I called it into the front desk.”

“Is Spearman going to make it?”

“Doctor got to him pretty quick. We tagged him in the shoulder twice. One went through his wrist on the way there—nothing fatal.”

The captain nodded. “Good work guys.”

We wound things down at the hospital. Hank and I spent a half hour with Jake’s parents and another hour and a half waiting to hear if Spearman was going to make it or not. The doctors said it looked as if he would recover. The captain conducted a brief meeting with the press letting him know that we had the suspect in custody. It was pushing nine o’clock before I made it home.

I walked in and blocked Butch’s escape at the door. He did his best to chew and claw through my pants as I shooed him inside. I headed to the kitchen and hung my suit jacket and shoulder holster over the bar stools. There was a note lying on the breakfast bar. It was from Callie.

Babe,

I had to get to work. If you’re up to it, stop in and say hi. I’m on until close. No big deal if you’re too tired. Send me a text message if you want me to come over later. Love Callie.

P.S. - I made you some lasagna. It’s in the fridge. Eat it.

I looked at the note again. All I saw were the words
love Callie
and
lasagna
. I’d spend the next fifteen minutes eating the one while I thought about the meaning of the other. My brain was too worn out for in depth thinking. I changed and headed out.

Tuesday evening. It had been four days, and a much needed weekend off since we caught Spearman. We still had him under guard at the hospital while he was being treated for his injuries. Hank and I went to interview him Monday morning. He spoke one sentence:
You should have let me finish
. They were his only words before asking for a lawyer. Perhaps we’d hear his reasoning in depth at the trial. The reason he needed to take four lives and attempt to take a fifth. The reason he needed to go back and try to finish off Jake. It gave me some satisfaction knowing he’d never walk the street again, but Spearman being locked up didn’t bring back the lives he took.

Faust came through on the Miller’s cell phone records. I’d gone through them. The records showed multiple calls back and forth between the Millers and the judge. I spoke with the Miller’s son. He didn’t recall his parents ever mentioning a Judge Casey. He never heard of Jake Richwood or the judge’s daughter. We were still trying to find the guy that Casey exchanged the envelope with for questioning. The case would remain open until we had more answers.

There had been two homicides over the weekend that needed our attention. Both appeared to be gang related shootings. We had already begun conducting interviews with local gang members and snitches.

Captain Bostok gave my door a knock. He stood in the doorway.

“Hey, Roger Richwood just called me, Jake is awake. He’s asking to speak with the police.”

“He’s awake?” I asked.

“Yup, guess he woke up around noon and has been in and out of it since.”

“Did his parents tell him about what happened?”

“I don’t know but I told his father that I was sending you two over.”

I tapped my pen up and down on the top of my desk.

“Okay, we’ll head over now.”

“He’s in the Bayshore Pavilion above the Emergency Center. Room 502.”

“Sounds good, Cap.”

Bostok turned from the doorway and walked back to his office. It was almost 5:00 p.m.

Hank and I grabbed separate cars from the lot and made for the hospital. We walked through the front doors of Tampa General and followed the line down the hall to the set of elevators that would take us up to the fifth floor. Hank hit the button to take us upstairs. Muzak played through the elevator’s speakers on the short ride up.

I spotted Roger Richwood at the nurse’s station outside the elevator.

“Lieutenant Kane, Sergeant Rawlings. Your captain told me you’d be coming.”

“Mister Richwood. How is Jake?” I asked.

“Well, he’s up. He started coming around this morning. He saw the footage from what happened on the television before Helen and I could discuss it with him. They had to sedate him. This afternoon, when he came to, he asked if we could get the police in here to talk to him.”

“Does he have something to tell us?” Hank asked.

“I’m not sure. He was sleeping the last time I checked. They’ve been keeping him on a light sedation. I was just heading back to his room. You guys want to follow me over?”