Ten Plagues (24 page)

He had never heard of Melody Fredericks. He’d never met her. He’d never seen her. He’d never eaten at her restaurant. The mission had never gotten a contribution from her.

Nothing.

When he wasn’t being questioned, he was poring over his old cases.

Keren filed her incident report and had a long talk with her lieutenant. She came out quiet, her blue-gray eyes more ghostly than usual.

“How’d it go?”

She sat down at her desk. “Later. I want to go over these files again.”

His interrogation, her interrogation, endless paperwork to comb, and through it all he kept thinking,
Pestis ex culex. Plague of gnats
. Then,
Pestis ex rana. Plague of frogs
. He could still feel those frogs crawling around inside his shirt.

He kept in touch with the hospital by phone. Every time he called he felt more detached from LaToya and his work as a pastor and more attached and comfortable as a cop. The drive to solve this crime and save Melody Fredericks overcame any need he felt to sit with LaToya. She was unconscious. She needed
someone
there, maybe. The doctors said talking to her might help. But why him? He’d forgotten how important police work was. All those years since his wife and daughter had died, he’d battered himself about how he’d put his job first. But back then he’d had a child who needed him. Now he had no one except the people he could save by catching a killer.

Anyone could sit at the bedside of an unconscious woman. Only he knew his cases and his people from the mission well enough to cross-reference the two groups and find the killer.

He didn’t get back to the hospital all day and it didn’t matter, because LaToya didn’t wake up. They returned to the ICU waiting area at ten o’clock that night. Paul glanced at Keren walking beside him. She must think she was doing guard duty. As she strode along, even her walk screamed cop—impressive, considering the argument she lost just last night with a sedan. Purposeful, fast, long strides, going somewhere. Paul was walking just like her.

Rosita was waiting in the intensive care lounge.

“How many hours have you spent here today?” Paul settled into a utilitarian gray chair in the waiting room and caught himself fidgeting, impatient with the long, wasted night ahead. Giving himself a mental shake, he groped around for peace, and it proved elusive.

“I didn’t count.” Rosita rose from the chair where she’d sat reading.

His conscience pinged. “I didn’t mean for you to end up sitting here all day.”

“It don’t matter.” Rosita frowned. “LaToya is still unconscious.”

Paul leaned forward in the chair beside Rosita. “I’m not worrying about LaToya—well, that’s not true, I am—but I’m talking about you. I don’t want you to feel like you’re being taken advantage of.”

Rosita waved a book in the air. “C’mon, Pastor P, I been sittin’ readin’ all day. Closest I ever come to a vacation. It was great.”

Paul relaxed. “I really appreciate it. I just don’t want her to wake up and be all alone.”

“I know how it is to be alone. I’m glad to do it.” Rosita stood and began to pull on a jacket that lay in a chair nearby.

“You’re not going home alone, are you?” Paul stood, ready to hold her there by force if necessary.

“She’s not if that’s Manny.” Keren pointed toward the exit.

Rosita looked down the long hospital hallway and lit up when she saw a man standing at the end. “Manny said he’d come and sit with me when he got done with work today.”

Paul waved at the silhouette, and Rosita hurried off with a wide grin on her face.

“You’re a nice man, Pastor P.” Keren settled into a chair beside him.

Paul sank back and tried to let go of the driving need to be doing something. “I don’t feel very nice lately. “He looked sideways at Keren. “I wanted that gun from you last night.”

Keren shrugged.

“I wanted to hurt that guy. Kill him.” Paul wanted Keren to admit she was shocked and disappointed in him.

“There’s always a tug-of-war inside a person.” Keren shrugged her brown suit jacket off and began rolling up the sleeves of her yellow button-down shirt.

Paul noticed her scraped-up hands and saw her move her aching joints gingerly. He still wanted some time alone with Pravus.

“Wanting to catch Pravus is the right instinct. Your human side also wants revenge. That’s perfectly normal. The part of you that is ruled by God actually goes against human nature. So, yes, you wanted my gun. Yes, you saw yourself making Pravus pay for the harm he’d done, but God has a nice firm grip on you. You’d have done the right thing in the end.”

Paul eyed the nasty bruise on her forehead, almost covered by the hair that had escaped her barrette, and felt himself sink deeper into cop mode. “How’d it go with the investigation into the discharged weapon?”

“I told my story, told the truth.” Keren exhaled slowly, maybe with relief. Maybe her ribs hurt. “But I didn’t tell all of it. I can’t decide if I feel right about it. Am I denying God when I deny this gift?”

Paul tried to shift into pastor gear. This would be an excellent time for that. All he could do was remember how badly he’d wanted that gun. “You did right. They wouldn’t have understood if you’d talked about discerning spirits.”

“But there’s no
law
that allows me to shoot at a person I can’t see, can’t identify, but ‘know’ in some spiritual way is the right man. “

“Tell that to Spiderman.”

She slugged him but there was no force behind it. There was an extended silence before she added, “They seemed to accept my story and be okay with it. They didn’t take me off the case, so that’s a good sign. But it’s by no means settled.”

“If I were still on the force I’d probably be making an example of you right now.”

Keren scowled at him, and he smiled right into her bared teeth. She couldn’t sustain any true anger, but Paul suspected that was mainly because she was tired.

“You know, that’s the first time I’ve ever pulled the trigger on my gun outside a shooting range.”

Keren ran her hands through the wild curls that rioted, trying to escape the bun on her head. She rescued her barrette and replaced it with graceful efficiency.

Paul wanted to offer to help. Having his hands in her hair was very tempting.

“Part of me feels like a failure because I didn’t stop him. But then, the other part of me is horrified that I could have killed a human being. The part of me that’s horrified seems like the Christian part, but I’m not sure it is. We have to stop this guy. I may have no choice except to kill him before this is over.” She had her hair back under control long before Paul had himself under control. She leaned forward, forearms on her knees, and turned to look at him.

“I shot a man while I was a cop.” Paul remembered the price he’d paid.

“Killed him?” Keren asked, watching him closely, like a good little investigator.

Paul matched her pose and noticed his face was really close to hers. Well within kissing distance. Talking about killing someone put a damper on his wayward thoughts, though. “It was my third year on patrol. I don’t think, even now, that I had a choice. He was out of control, unloading his gun in every direction. He’d already hit a couple of bystanders. He put a bullet into me before he was done.” Paul rubbed his shoulder and felt the old scar under his T-shirt. “Of course, I acted like it was nothing. I was at my very macho best. I never admitted to anyone how torn up I was inside. I’d only been married about a year when it happened. I didn’t talk to my wife without biting her head off for six months. I got drunk every Friday night for a year. That was the first time she left me.”

“Didn’t you go to the department shrink?”

“Yeah, they required it. I went and didn’t tell the poor woman anything. I was too tough to even admit to myself how scarring it was to take a life.”

“You’re talking about it now,” Keren said.

“Yeah, I am.” Paul leaned toward her slightly, just to see if she’d stay put or move away. “I like talking to you, Detective Collins.”

“I like talking to you, too, Pastor P.” She didn’t move much, but a little, and definitely in the right direction.

Before Paul could close the last few inches, a nurse came out of the IC unit. “I can let one of you go in for five minutes this half hour and the other go in next half hour. You can do that all night if you want to. Like I told the other lady who was here, don’t ask her questions about the attack. Even in the coma it could be upsetting to her, but go ahead and talk to her. It definitely helps our patients to hear a familiar voice.”

Keren never took her turn—since Paul’s was the only familiar voice—but she stayed. He never suggested she go home. She might not be safe at home. She never suggested abandoning him. Instead, she stretched out on a hard vinyl sofa and slept.

Keren woke in the first light of dawn as Paul came back from sitting with LaToya. His hair was curling and messy. His clothes looked slept in. He had dark circles under his eyes and he was cradling his arm to his chest, reminding Keren that a building had fallen on him just recently.

“How is she?” Keren sat up on the vinyl couch, aching in every joint from the car wreck and the uncomfortable bed.

“No change. Still in a deep coma. But the nurse said her vitals are strong. They’re really hopeful she’ll wake up and be okay.” Paul’s smile was weak, but it was there.

Keren ran her hands into her hair and realized her barrette was gone. She looked around.

“This what you’re after?” Paul dangled it from two fingers. “It fell out in the night.”

“My barrette never falls out. That’s why I love it.” She stood, suppressed a groan of pain, and snatched it away from him. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “How’d you get it?”

“You really don’t like your hair?”

“Of course not.”

“Because it’s about the most beautiful hair I’ve ever seen.” Paul’s eyes flashed as he studied her corkscrew curls, made more awful by a terrible night’s sleep.

“You have really bad taste.” She began finger-combing her hair into a ponytail. “You probably get all bothered by clown wigs on Halloween.”

Paul laughed. It was a great sound.

Higgins came striding into the waiting room. “Is she awake yet?”

“No, sorry.” Keren looked at Higgins, immaculate as ever. A few nights sitting up with one of his vics might do him a world of good. Might help him remain a human being. “What have you discovered about the people you had up on the wall yesterday?”

“I left a report in triplicate on your desk,” Higgins said.

“Why don’t you just phone next time?” Keren asked. “Save yourself the drive over.”

“It was on my way, and I wanted to make sure Pastor Morris came in early. I’ve got a long list of questions about the people we’re investigating. A few minutes talking with you, Pastor, might save us hours.” Higgins gave the door to the intensive care unit a disgruntled look, like the room was committing a crime by keeping LaToya from him.

“We’re taking a lot of heat over Melody Fredericks. Any second now, the press is going to connect these killings and go ballistic.”

“I’m coming in as soon as someone comes to sit with LaToya. I expect her any minute.”

Higgins glared as if he was tempted to arrest Paul and drag him into the station house. But finally he left, alone.

Keren pulled on her blazer and checked her gun, tucked in a holster at the small of her back. It hadn’t helped with her night’s sleep, and the hospital wasn’t real happy about her wandering around armed, but she wasn’t going anywhere without it.

O’Shea arrived with Rosita. They’d convinced her to wait for O’Shea, rather than take the bus or the El.

“Buddy’s back,” she announced cheerfully. “Louie showed up for his shift just as I was leaving and Murray was already at work on breakfast. They’ll keep things running at the mission so I’m free to be at the hospital.”

“I’m going to get some coffee in the lounge. Anyone else want a cup?” O’Shea rubbed his face, looking like he’d slept about as well as Keren and Paul.

“Is hospital coffee as good as mission coffee?” Rosita asked.

O’Shea shrugged. “Probably about the same.”

Rosie shuddered. “I’ll take a cup.”

Keren and Paul passed. O’Shea wandered off in search of caffeine.

“You haven’t told anyone what you’re doing, have you, Rosita?” Keren asked.

“No. Not too many of them remember LaToya—she’s been off the street for a while. So it’s not like they’d want to take a turn sitting with her. I told them a friend of mine is in the hospital, and that’s not a lie.”

Paul smiled at this former crack whore, who now worried about telling a lie. “Thanks. We’ve got to keep working on catching this maniac.”

“I’m rooting for you, Pastor P. I’m glad to do anything that will get this nut off the streets.”

They walked toward the exit door. Keren said, “I should go to the mission. I’d probably be able to eliminate Murray and Buddy just by meeting them.”

Paul nodded. “And I need to go over those pictures again with Higgins and see what he’s come up with.”

O’Shea came down the hall, handed Rosita her coffee, and headed after Keren and Paul. “Any change in the vie?”