Gregg Hurwitz - Last shot

Tim lowered his head. Took a deep breath. Said, "Sure, I can have the doctor come talk to you about that."

"I wanted to tell you before Kaitlin. She's too emotional."

"I'll make sure she knows what you want."

Sam scratched his shoulder, leaving red tracks through the flaky skin, and drowsed off. The sleeve of his gown stayed shoved up. High on his flimsy biceps, Tim made out a Magic Marker tattoo, days faded. It was an imitation of Walker's-all yin, no yang. The tattoo was not featured on any of the photos of Walker they'd released to the press, nor in any of Walker's files.

Kaitlin was on the bench where Tim had left her, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees. She'd loosed her ponytail, her hair falling in sheets, hiding her face. Between her shoes, a few clear drops blurred the tile. She gripped the pager in both hands, just below the fringe of hair. Another tear tapped the floor.

Tim sat down beside her. "How long have you been in touch with Walker?"

"Just this night."

Not according to Sam's faded Magic Marker tattoo. Tim clenched his jaw, weighing the variables that had collided. He said, "Do not lie to me. I'm your friend here for about five more seconds. Then I'm not."

The anger in his voice snapped Freed's head around up the hall, but Kaitlin kept hers down. Tim counted to five, then pulled the handcuffs out. "Sam needs you right now. But if you won't cooperate, I'll take you out of here." He grabbed her right wrist and cinched metal around it.

"We never wanted any part of it," Kaitlin said quietly. She still hadn't raised her head. Tim keyed the cuff, releasing her wrist. She rubbed it like a weathered con, an instinctive reaction she'd likely picked up from TV. "He never told me anything specific about what he was up to. He broke into the house a few times to root through Tess's stuff, find clues, I guess, like you. He left when he was ready. Finally I told him he couldn't involve me and Sammy. That we never wanted to see him again."

"And tonight?"

"I went there to say good-bye. And to let Sammy do the same. I thought everyone deserves a good-bye."

"He bonded with Sam?"

"Yeah. Despite himself."

"When's the first time you saw him?"

"The morning after he got out."

Tim made a noise and sank back in his chair. "What else do you know? About where he was staying, what he was doing? Anything?"

"I don't know any more than what I saw on the news. He didn't tell me, and I knew better than to ask." Kaitlin spoke in a monotone. "He poked around in Tess's room and wanted revenge on the people he thought had killed her. That's it."

"If you're not being straight-"

"It's the truth." At last she sat up, swept the hair out of her face. She placed the pager on the bench beside her delicately, as if it were made of glass. "So what are you gonna do? Let Sam die alone? Put me in jail?"

"People are dead because you aided and abetted a fugitive."

She clutched her beat-up purse in both hands, as if holding on to it to stay afloat. A label on the worn leather read PURSE. She managed only a whisper. "What are you gonna do to me?"

"The cell phone Walker gave you…?" Tim nodded at her purse, but Kaitlin didn't respond. "We're putting a trace on it."

Kaitlin removed the disposable phone from her purse, snapped off the cheap flip top, and threw it down the hall. It skittered across the tile, past the Mexican family, past Thomas. Freed, stepping out of the elevator, stopped it with a Ferragamo loafer.

Tim looked at her incredulously. "Why?"

"What do you know? How can I explain a thing like that? Why. Because I'm stupid. Because he picked me in a smoky bar with Merle on the jukebox and me with my two beautiful friends and he picked me. And he picked me every day, every day till he didn't. You have to do that. You make a choice every day, and you pick your spouse every day." Her dishwater hair, tired brown streaked with gray at the temples, hung lank. She glanced at Tim's ring. "I'm not sure if you know that or you don't. But that's how it works. Every day. He fought something out there in the desert he shouldn't have fought, and it's not fair, but that's how it is. But he's still my husband, and I still picked him. Every day. Even when he didn't pick me."

"Kaitlin-"

"I knew you'd never understand. You probably have a sweet wife and a quiet life with a bunch of healthy kids and they're great and they jump on you when you get home from work. And it makes sense, your world. There are laws. There are answers. There are solutions. Maybe we're too dumb to figure it out, or maybe we're too busy feeling sorry for ourselves. Me and Tess and Walk. We just can't get the fucking answers right. I had six miscarriages before the doctor told us to stop trying. Six. Every one like a piece of me bleeding away. I tried so hard, but I couldn't. The last one-I knew it would be the last-I went to the bathroom and there was blood everywhere, blood on the toilet and the tile, like today, today with Sam, and I sat on the toilet because I didn't know what else to do. I must've sat four, five hours before Walker came home. He put his hands here"-she gripped Tim's forearms so he faced her, their foreheads almost touching-"and he looked at me. Didn't say anything. And then he got some towels. And he wiped the floor. And he ran the water, ran it warm. And he cleaned me, the blood, from my feet, and my ankles, and here"-she touched the inside of her thigh-"and I sat there and I thought I might be dead, but here was this man on his knees cleaning me, cleaning every part of me. And I knew I wasn't dead. I knew I wasn't dead because of him. And that part of him, that part of him he lost somewhere along the way. And I don't want you to kill him for that."

A nurse went into Sam's room, trailing a fresh saline bag on an IV pole.

Tim shoved down his emotions. He hardened his face. He said, "I'm gonna get you another phone programmed with that number, and I'm gonna get you a warrant, and you're gonna answer it if it rings. If you don't, you'll be leaving Sam on his own and putting yourself in prison. It's my best offer, and it's good for about thirty seconds."

"I never had a good choice. Not in any of this."

He felt a pull in his chest-she was wrong, but only partly. "You put yourself here, Kaitlin."

The door swung open as the nurse left, and they could see Sam. An oxygen tube snaked under his nose. He waved, and the door closed.

"Fine." Tears ran down her cheeks. She looked at her hands. "I'll do it."

Tim put his back against the wall, and they sat side by side. He said, "He showed up at your house. He was controlling, dangerous. He threatened you and Sam if you ratted him out. You were scared. He demanded you show up at the apartment where we found you. You obeyed because you were worried he might hurt you if you didn't."

She kept her gaze on her lap as he rose. In a quiet voice, she said, "That's just how he told it." She fussed with her hands. "Thank you."

He paused over her, staring down at the floor, then kept walking.

Thomas got off the phone as he approached. "What are we doing with the broad?"

"Get her a new cell phone. Get her number transferred. Use Frisk if you have to."

"You think Walker'll call her?"

"Probably not, but we can't afford not to be set up if he does."

"You sure you're not just hunting out something for her to cooperate with to buy her lenience when the prosecutors bring the heat?"

"I'm not that bright. More important, I want you to go up live on the hospital line to Sam's room. Walker cares about that kid more than he's let on. He's gonna be in touch with him."

"Why?"

"Because Sam's gonna die soon. And he saw that in the apartment."

Thomas's mouth dropped, a rare show of emotion. "Days?"

"Maybe less." Tim moistened his lips and tried not to think about the resigned yellow eyes. "I want you at the switchboard, and I want to be patched in, live, before you put any calls through to Sam's room. And secure the floor in case Walker makes a personal appearance."