David Handler - The Blood Red Indian Summer

Tyrone came charging across the E.R. toward them with Rondell on his heels. “What in the hell is going on?” he demanded to know. “The doctor won’t tell me. The nurses won’t tell me. I swear, if I don’t get some answers I am going to tear someone’s head off!”

Jamella let out a sob. “Some punk raped my baby sister and got her pregnant, that’s what. She’s going on eight weeks already.”

Rondell let out a gasp. “Oh, my God…”

That vein in Tyrone’s forehead was beginning to throb. Then he let out a lion’s roar of pure rage and drove his giant fist through the door of the supply closet next to Kinitra’s room.

Everyone in the E.R. stopped what they were doing and stared at him. It wasn’t every day that the Incredible Hulk showed up in their work space.

The security guard who was on duty next to the ambulance doors rushed over and said, “Sir, I’ll have to ask you to control yourself.”

Not a chance-Da Beast was loose. He picked the guard up and hurled him bodily against the wall. The man crumpled to the floor, dazed.

“ No, Tyrone!” Jamella cried out.

Now a pair of husky young orderlies rushed over and attempted to subdue him. Good luck with that. Tyrone sent one orderly flying across a nurse’s desk and kicked the other’s legs out from under him. Then, his massive chest heaving, Tyrone whirled and-discovered that his forehead was flush up against the nose of Des’s SIG-Sauer. He froze instantly.

“Are you listening, Tyrone?” Des kept her voice quiet as she stood there holding her weapon to his head.

“I-I’m listening,” he panted.

“Dr. Cindie has her hand on the telephone at this very moment. If she has to call for back up, you will be looking at the business end of a criminal assault investigation-not to mention a lifetime ban from the NFL. Do you understand what I’m saying? Nod your head if you do. I won’t shoot you.”

Slowly, he nodded his head up and down.

“Is that what you want?”

Now he shook his head.

“You’ve got a pregnant wife standing here who has just gotten the shock of her life. Jamella is freaking out right now, okay? She needs for you to be a husband to her.”

“The trooper’s right, big man,” Rondell spoke up nervously. “You don’t want to be upsetting Jamella. Think about your baby.”

Tyrone steadied himself. His breathing returned to normal. The crazed look in his eyes faded away. “You’re right. You’re totally right. I’m okay now,” he told Des. “And I’m sorry.” He went over to the security guard and helped him to his feet. “Hey, man, I’m real sorry. I just got some bad news is all. Are you hurt? You need anything?”

The guard grunted that he was fine. So did the orderlies after Tyrone had helped them up, apologizing profusely. Everyone seemed to be fine. No harm, no foul. Des holstered her weapon. The E.R. returned to normal.

Tyrone put an arm around Jamella, his brow furrowing with concern. “You okay?”

“No, I am not okay,” she answered in a small voice. “My baby girl was attacked last night.”

“By who?”

“She won’t say.”

“Well, was it the same guy who got her pregnant?”

“She won’t say, Tyrone.”

Rondell shook his head in disbelief. “Such a sweet, innocent girl. Who would want to hurt her?”

Tyrone looked at Des. “You don’t suppose this is about me, do you?”

“I don’t suppose anything at this point. What are you suggesting?”

“Some bastard trying to hit me where it hurts. Like that sleaze Plotka.”

“There’s no way he could get onto our property,” Rondell reminded him. “We’ve got that fence all around.”

“Actually, you do have a security problem,” Des informed them. “I intended to phone you about it this morning. There’s a hole in your fence between you and the Joshuas. Mitch discovered it last night when he was escorting Mr. Lash home.”

Rondell frowned at her. “You’re suggesting that someone could have snuck onto our property last night through this hole?”

“Not someone,” Tyrone said tightly. “Plotka.”

“But how did he get into our house?” Rondell wondered. “We have a security system. I checked it personally before I went to sleep.”

Jamella said, “Maybe she went out for a swim like she told us. Maybe the bastard was out there waiting for her.”

“She wasn’t taking any swim when I went to bed,” Rondell countered. “She was in the recording studio.”

“What time was that?” Des asked him.

“I was in my office until well after one o’clock. I couldn’t sleep after all of that commotion.”

“How about you two?” she asked Tyrone and Jamella.

Tyrone said, “We were asleep by twelve, weren’t we, baby?”

“I know I was,” she said. “I’m just so tired all of the time.”

Des mulled this over. “Even if it was Stewart Plotka-and I’m not saying it was-he wasn’t anywhere near Kinitra eight weeks ago, was he?”

“Could be he was,” Tyrone argued. “He did hang out at that Dave amp; Buster’s where him and me got into it. She was there with us a bunch of times. And it’s not far from my place in Glen Cove.”

“He lives in Forest Hills, Queens,” Rondell added. “That isn’t far from Glen Cove either.”

“Are you going to talk to that bastard?” Tyrone demanded. “Because if you don’t, I will.”

“We’ll talk to him,” Des said. “Keep your distance, understand?”

Rondell said, “I’m slightly confused about something. Can’t the doctors simply administer a DNA test to determine who the father is?”

“Yes, they can,” Des affirmed. “But only if Kinitra consents to it. And she’s refusing. She won’t even acknowledge that a crime has taken place. Says she’s been in a consensual relationship.”

“She hasn’t got any man,” Tyrone shot back. “Just her music.”

“That’s what I told the trooper,” Jamella said. “There’s nobody.”

Des looked at Rondell. “How about you? You spend a lot of time around Kinitra. Seem pretty fond of her.”

Little brother cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Of course I’m fond of her. She’s like a sister to me.”

“And how about Clarence?”

“Cee knows I’d break his fool neck if he touched her.” Tyrone glowered at Des. “And don’t you be looking at me. I’m a happily married man, not some animal.”

Des said, “Someone has been sexually assaulting that girl repeatedly for weeks, maybe months. It’s my belief, despite what she told us, that she was assaulted again last night. I believe she had reason to fear for her life. And I believe she’s still afraid. Therefore, I’m going to request the assistance of the Major Crime Squad.”

Jamella looked at her searchingly. “Will your people figure out who did this to my sister?”

“They’re very good at what they do. They’ll get to the bottom of this.” Des mustered a reassuring smile. “Whatever this is.”

“Sa-weet room! ”

“Real glad you like it, Pop.”

Mitch had made sure he booked Chet and Ruth into the Admiral Bramble room of the Frederick House, which had a canopy bed, a private bath with a claw-footed tub and a terrific view of the Lieutenant River. It was the same room that Mitch had stayed in when he’d first shown up in Dorset-highly reluctantly, if he remembered right-on a weekend getaway assignment for his newspaper’s travel section. He’d barely gone out of his apartment in those brutal months after Maisie died, let alone traveled anywhere. Lacy, his editor, had thought he needed a wake-up call. Lacy was very clever that way.

“It’s a charming room, sweetheart,” Ruth said brightly, gazing around at the antique furniture.