Chapter 112
BY EIGHT IN the morning, Val had a room of her own, and Justine and I had seats on either side of her bed. Val looked like she’d done time inside a cement mixer.
The left side of her face was bruised and she had a line of stitches and sutures over her left eyebrow. Both of her wrists were bandaged, and leads went from her body to an array of beeping machines around her.
She looked small and very frail.
It broke my fucking heart.
I touched her arm above the bandages, and Val opened her eyes and looked at me. Recognition spread across her face and she lit up with such happiness, my feelings of remorse and guilt almost dropped me to the floor.
I said, “Val. How are you? How do you feel?”
“I feel like the world’s biggest jerk, since you ask.” Tears filled her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. I was so relieved that she knew me, that she was lucid, speaking in complete sentences, for God’s sake. It was as if sunshine had flooded the hospital room. I squeezed her arm and said, “I’m so glad you’re back.”
“I really blew it,” she said, squinting her bloodshot eyes. “I’m so sorry.”
Justine said, “Val, you were heroic. That’s the truth.”
Val turned and saw Justine gripping the bed rail, looking like she was going to bawl. Val reached out with both arms and Justine hugged her. I found a box of tissues, handed them around, took some for myself.
There was some crying, and then Val collected herself and got very serious. “We have to find Lester Olsen,” she said. “He tried to kill me.”
Justine quickly sketched in the story of Scotty’s night in Aspen, then said, “Olsen and Barbie are guests of the Aspen PD, and Scotty is in a first-class hotel without a scratch on him.”
“That’s the best news I’ve ever heard,” Val said.
I said, “If you’re up to it, Val, what the hell happened?”
“Oh God.” Val sighed. “Yesterday, I think it was yesterday, I went to Lester’s office to pick out my so-called future husband.”
Val told us about the error that gave her away, about Olsen’s stuffing her into his trunk at gunpoint, about the car going into the water, and about the moment when she realized she was going down.
“I couldn’t get my hands free of the zip ties.”
Her voice broke. She looked at her bandaged wrists.
“I kicked through the divider, and then I kind of rolled into the backseat.
“The driver’s-side window was down,” Val said. “Water was flooding in like a dam had broken, and it was pinning me inside the car. But there was a bubble of air at the ceiling, and when the car was underwater, I took a deep breath and swam for the window. I’m a Miami girl, remember. I can swim.”
Val eked out a brave smile, then I asked her to go on.
“I remember cracking my head on the doorframe, Jack. I lost some air when I did that, but I pushed off from the car and got onto my back and just kicked until I surfaced. And that’s the last thing I remember until I woke up here.”
“You’re amazing, Val. No other word for it,” I told her. “I’m sorry this happened. You took a mic and a recorder to a gunfight, and that’s my fault. I should have sent someone to back you up.”
“It wasn’t supposed to be a gunfight, Jack. Or any kind of fight. I was just trying to get the guy to incriminate himself. And now I don’t even have the recorder.”
I said, “You have your life. And we have you. You’re going to be a great investigator, Val. In fact, you should take my job. You’ll do fine.”
“It’s a deal. You heard him, Justine.”
Val had a great smile and a very decent handshake.
I hugged her. “I’m very proud of you,” I said. “You’ve got a gigantic future at Private.”