I took a deep breath. “I don’t know how else to say this, Cathy. I didn’t see his face. I saw his back. I’m not going to accuse someone on the basis of his back.”
Robin held Sophie pressed against his shoulder. She was asleep. That was one good thing. “Up to you,” he said. He wasn’t any happier than I was, but he let the decision be mine.
“Cathy,” I protested. “You know I can’t identify him.” Knowing that, why did she want me to go through this charade? I could only figure she believed one of the pictures would spark a memory.
Brad Rodenheiser looked from Cathy, to me, to Robin. He seemed highly entertained. Watching people come and go on four screens and/or answering an occasional call from some location in the hospital must offer limited entertainment.
I was tired of being questioned, tired of being at the beck and call of the police, and most of all, unhappy that the problem still existed. I wanted the murderer to be caught. I wanted to see Virginia, know she was safe.
I realized that in the grand scheme of things, I had little to complain about. After all, Sophie and I were safe. Gossip might nip at Robin’s heels, but he could not be considered a serious suspect in Tracy’s murder.
“All right,” I said abruptly. No matter what Cathy’s scheme might be, I had to do everything I could to resolve the situation. “Robin, can you take Sophie home? Phillip texted me a minute ago, so I know he’s there. Then you can come to the law enforcement complex to bring me home. This shouldn’t take long.” I gave Cathy a pointed look.
“You sure you want to do this?” Robin said, doubt heavy in his voice.
I wasn’t sure, not at all, but if doing what Cathy wanted would get us closer to the truth, I would oblige. “See you in a few.”
Robin bent to kiss me, and I patted Sophie’s bottom very gently. Then they left, with the backup diaper bag. I watched them go, already regretting my decision. While I thought my own thoughts, Cathy watched the man walk out of the hospital over and over.
Cathy left the room to make a phone call, she said, and while I waited for her I had an unexpected conversation with Brad Rodenheiser.
“She’s a little thorny now,” he said, nodding his head at the doorway Cathy had gone through.
“What’s wrong with her? She’s so different,” I said in as low a voice as I could manage.
He looked a little surprised. “You don’t know about her sister?”
“No.” I was at sea.
“Annette’s in the psych ward here, had a breakdown.”
But then Cathy came back in, looked at us suspiciously, and snapped, “I think we’re ready to go now.”
“Sure,” I said, and trotted out of the hospital in her wake after thanking Officer Rodenheiser.
“He was just doing his job,” Cathy said over her shoulder as we made our way to the main entrance. “You don’t have to thank him for that.”
I didn’t respond because I simply didn’t need to justify myself to Cathy Trumble. When had she turned from a friendly acquaintance to a cranky, secretive grouch? I could not understand what had happened to make her change so drastically. There was no way I was going to ask her, not while she was so touchy. Having a sick sister simply didn’t seem likely to have effected this personality alteration.
It felt very strange to walk outside with empty hands. I didn’t think I’d done it in years. I was always carrying something—a purse, grocery bags, books, a diaper bag, a baby. I found it liberating.
We walked around the fountain. Its central statue was supposed to represent the first female doctor in Lawrenceton, which accounted for its location close to the entrance. There were the usual rows of parking, and around the perimeter was a fringe of side-by-side parking spaces that encircled the whole lot. Cathy’s car was parked in one of those spaces, nosed into a stand of scrub and trees. Directly behind the trees were long-established smaller homes. Since the garages of these bungalows were one-car, the streets were often crowded with vehicles.
It was midafternoon now. A lot of people were still at work.
Cathy’s car was not a black-and-white patrol unit, but an unmarked blue SUV, conspicuously clean. I went to the passenger’s side, waiting to hear the thunk of the lock going up. When it didn’t happen, I peered across the hood at Cathy. She was staring back the way we’d come.
Of course, I turned to look, too. A very old man with a cane was making his slow way toward us, holding a green-and-white-striped bag in his free hand. He looked vaguely familiar, and I thought I’d seen him in the ICU.
The bag did not have its pleasing cylindrical shape any longer. It was clearly empty.
“Young lady,” he said, when he got close enough, “is this yours?”
Cathy muttered some words I’d never heard out loud. I hoped the old gentleman hadn’t heard them.
“Yes, sir,” I said, delighted. “Where did you find it?”
“It was down on the ground by my car. I saw the name Teagarden in it, and I knew that must be you, because you are the spitting image of your grandmother. I seen you in the ICU. Didn’t cost me nothing to come over here and ask.”
“People tell me I’m like my grandmother pretty often,” I said, smiling. “I’m Aurora.”
“Carter Redding,” he said, extending his blue-veined hand to mine to hand over the bag.
Cathy snatched it as he was handing it over. “I’ll have to print that zipper,” she said.
“Can you just check that outside pocket to see if my driver’s license is still there?”
“That’s not the most important thing here,” Cathy said.
Mr. Redding gave her an indignant look before he turned back to me. “Was it stole from you?” he said.
“Yes, sir, it was, while I was visiting my mother’s husband in the ICU,” I said.
“My daughter’s up there,” he said. “She’s got the cancer.”
I opened my mouth to tell him I was sorry, but several things happened in an instant.
I heard two loud cracks. I was looking around in bewilderment when Carter Redding grabbed my elbow and said “Get down!” in a no-nonsense voice.
Cathy pulled her gun.
She crouched at the rear bumper of the SUV, and pointed down with an emphatic finger. “Stay there, behind the engine block,” she ordered us. “Don’t move.”
I was baffled, but I was obedient.
She pulled her radio off her belt. “Shots fired, shots fired. North side of the hospital parking lot. Code SOS, Brad.”
“Instituting Code SOS,” replied Brad Rodenheiser calmly.
… and I was still thinking, What?
I heard multiple voices raised in panic. I realized I was huddling with my hands protecting my head—a foolish posture if there ever was one.
There was another shot, followed instantly by a shrill scream of pain.
“Someone’s down,” said Mr. Redding grimly.
And finally I understood.
I was too frightened to speak. I spared a second to think how glad I was that Robin and Sophie had gone home. Mr. Redding was shaking like a leaf, but he was keeping himself together.