David Rosenfelt - New Tricks

“That I don’t know; I hadn’t gotten briefed yet. And you know I couldn’t tell you if I did know.”

“Understood,” I say. If she doesn’t know anything, there’s no sense trying to cajole her into revealing more.

It’s only when we get off the phone that I realize exactly what she said. If I cost her the assignment, then the bureau’s task force is still in existence, even after Timmerman’s death, because I obviously got involved well after the murder.

It’s not that the bureau “was” investigating Walter Timmerman. It’s that the bureau “is” investigating Walter Timmerman.

The question is why.

AT FIVE O’CLOCK the nurse comes in to speak to me.

It’s really just an update; she doesn’t have any new information to share. She reaffirms the doctor’s comments that the shorter the coma lasts, the better the prognosis is for future recovery, though she won’t come close to committing to specific time frames.

What’s encouraging to me is her focus on Laurie’s chances for recovery, rather than survival. As the doctor said, one step at a time.

Richard Wallace calls me to express his concern for Laurie, whom he knows fairly well. He apologizes for not having called earlier, but he was in court all day.

“Andy, if you need to ask for a continuance on Timmerman, I certainly won’t contest it. Take all the time you need.”

“Thanks, Richard. I appreciate that. Right now Kevin’s working on it while I figure things out.”

“Kevin’s a great lawyer. Much better than you,” he says, trying to lighten the mood.

“Right,” is my clever retort. While Laurie is down the hall in a coma, I am resistant to any mood lightening. “By the way, Richard, why is the FBI on Timmerman?”

“What does that mean?”

“They have a goddamn task force investigating Timmerman.”

He is silent for a few moments. “I didn’t know that.”

This doesn’t seem possible. “No idea?”

“No idea, Andy. Are you sure about this?”

“I’m sure, though please do not reveal where you heard it. Do you have a guess as to why they might care about him?”

“You’ve got all the information I’ve got, Andy. Nothing has come up that should interest the feds.”

Coming from certain other prosecutors, I would suspect that they were dissembling, or outright lying. Coming from Richard, I’m sure that he really is in the dark. I’m also sure that he must be pissed off about it.

I call Willie Miller to make sure that Tara and Waggy are okay, and he assures me that they are. He also wants to help in the search for Laurie’s assailant, but when I tell him that Marcus is on the case, he backs off some. Willie knows that Marcus is usually sufficient, in the same way that a marine battalion is usually sufficient.

I go down to the hospital cafeteria to have dinner, after telling virtually every employee of the hospital where I’ll be should there be any change in Laurie’s condition.

The food is set up in self-serve-buffet style, and I choose what appears to be either very dark-colored chicken or very light-colored meat loaf. The first few bites don’t shed much light on the question, so I decide just to shovel it in quickly and get back upstairs.

I’m almost finished when I look up and see Pete Stanton, who was just upstairs looking for me and inquiring about Laurie’s condition. “You up for talking about the case?” he asks.

“Sure,” I say, somewhat reluctantly. I desperately want the shooter to be caught and punished, but I also have this need for my mind to be focused on Laurie’s recovery. It’s stupid, I know, but it feels like if I relax my concentration on her and her condition, she could suffer for it. I know better, but I feel on some level as if my power of thought is helpful to her.

“Our feeling is that the shooter was a pro,” Pete says. “He used a Luger thirty-eight, not exactly your gangbanger’s weapon of choice. And he only took one shot, which means he was confident it was all he’d need.”

“But he pretty much missed,” I say. “He couldn’t have wanted to shoot her in the leg. If it hadn’t hit an artery, she’d be out jogging by now.”

“Right. But your neighbor said that just before the shot, she was kneeling down in front of one of the dogs, petting it. The neighbor called to her and she stood up, just as the shot was fired. It could be that the shooter was aiming low, and missed because she stood up.”

It’s certainly possible, though at this point unknowable. “So if it was a pro, then it wasn’t random, and it wasn’t cheap. Whoever was gunning for Laurie had the money to hire help.”

“Right,” he says. “You got any idea who that might be?”

“She’s a chief of police, Pete. She could have made a lot of enemies.”

“I called her second in command in Findlay, a Captain Blair. He says that the whole town is praying for Laurie; they’ve organized a candlelight vigil.”

“Did he say she’s a fighter?” I ask.

“Yeah… how’d you know that?”

“Never mind.”

“He’s going through all the files and talking to everybody in the department, but he doubts the shooter had anything to do with Findlay. I tend to think he’s right.”

“Why?”

“It doesn’t make sense. Why come here to do it, when they could have done it there, probably easier? It wasn’t like she was leaving there forever; she had a job, so they would know she’d be back.”

“She was also a cop here, Pete. And an investigator after that. That should give you a long list of possibilities.”

He nods. “And we’re checking them out. I was just wondering if it could be a result of any case she worked on for you.”

“Off the top of my head, no. But I’ll give it some thought.”

“Good,” he says, standing up. “You feel like coming down to Charlie’s for a beer? Might do you good, and they’ll call you if there’s any news.”

I shake my head. “I’d rather stay here.”

He nods. “Vince said you’d say that. You speak to him?”

“This morning,” I say.

“I’ve never seen him this upset. He got his paper to offer a reward.”

“He’s a better guy than he lets on,” I say.

Pete grins. “I won’t tell him you said that.”

A NURSE WAKES ME at three o’clock in the morning.

I experience an instant wave of panic, which is just as quickly relieved by the fact that the nurse looks excited and pleased. “Mr. Carpenter, come with me. Your wife is responding to stimuli.”

I throw off the covers and rush out into the hall before the laughing nurse makes me realize that I’m in my underwear. I go back to the room and put on my pants, since the last thing I need is a floorful of sexually aroused nurses, ogling me. I’m still zipping up as I go back into the hall.

They let me in Laurie’s room for the first time, and I am disappointed to see that she is still unconscious. The head nurse is there, and she tells me that they put patients like Laurie through a regimen of stimuli four times a day, things like pressing a sharp item onto her feet, legs, and arms. For the first time since she’s been there, she has had a slight reaction.

“Talk to her,” the nurse says. “Take her hand and talk to her. If she’s going to respond to verbal stimuli, it will most likely be a voice she knows.”

I take Laurie’s left hand. It feels warm but lifeless, and I have to fight off a need to cry. That’s been happening to me a lot lately, if I’m not careful I could forfeit my membership in Macho Men International.