Robert Walker - Scalpers

Dean considered every possibility. A strong desire tugged at him to go on with his plans, his life. Hadn't he a right to that much? But an equally strong professional sense of determination tugged the other way.

"I think, Frank, I'm going to my hotel, freshen up, get some rest before I make any decisions, okay?"

Dyer nodded. “Sure, sure, Doc, I understand."

"Need a lift, stranger?” came a female voice from behind him, and Dean turned to face Peggy.

"I can catch a cab, Peggy."

"You trying to dodge me, Doctor?"

"No, no ... just very tired."

"Then let me drive you."

"All right, we need to talk anyway."

"Just my feeling exactly."

Behind him, as they went for Peggy's personal car, Dean heard Dyer say, “I know whatever you decide, Dr. Grant, will be the right choice."

Dean wasn't so sure anymore.

Peggy, on their way to the Hilton, tired of the silence, reached across the seat and squeezed his hand. “Been a tough time for you, I know."

"For you, too. I understand you're suspended from active duty, pending—"

"Pending, yes. Internal Affairs been all over my ... my behind."

He nodded and breathed in a deep whiff of her perfume, and it reminded him of their intimate encounter. “I.A.D. can do that, drive you to even look guilty as well as feel guilty—but don't let them. Forensics has already cleared you of the murder, Peggy. It was them, the Scalpers."

She let out a pent-up breath of air. “I was hoping you'd give me some idea what's going on. You're the man with the answers around here."

"I wish it were so!"

"I'll put my money on you.” She was silent for a while, then. “Makes people do crazy things, being out of control."

Dean was trying to formulate what he wanted to tell her, what he must keep from her, as he and Sid had agreed, for the sake of the case, to release no details. His silence made her go on. “There wasn't ever much between Park and me. Two nights, that's all ... two nights, and he was so cold and uncommunicative, well ... I decided he wasn't worth the extra effort, not at all like you. It happened before you arrived—"

"You don't have to explain anything to me, kid."

"Kid? Don't start talking to me like I'm your baby sister!"

"You could be."

"With my skin color, not hardly. Dean, don't shut me out. All right, maybe you've had second thoughts about us, and understandably, but is that a reason to stonewall me on the case? Christ, who has more right to know what's going on than me? Look at this!” She tilted her officer's cap back and displayed the scar at her forehead.

"We know you were drugged, Peggy."

"Drugged?"

"I can't say anymore than that at the moment."

"You've said enough."

"Absolutely."

She breathed deeply. “Good ... good."

"I was going to get on a plane this afternoon and leave, Peggy—"

"Without a word?"

"No, I planned to say good-bye."

"And now what?"

"Now ... now, I don't know."

The car pulled into the Hilton parking lot and Dean got out. “Dean,” she said from where she remained sitting, “I'm sorry if ... you know, if I broke faith with you. You're a good and decent man—"

Dean put up a hand to her, smiling across at her. “Hey, Officer! Ease up on Peggy Carson, will you? She's got as much a right to happiness as anybody, I promise you.” He was getting his things from the back seat when she said, “Anybody ever tell you, Grant, you've got a heart of gold?"

"Go, get outa here."

"You're sure?” Her smile was an inviting at this moment as the first time Dean had met her, and again he wanted to hold her close and bury himself in her, but he knew now that it could only lead to greater problems.

"Yeah, Peggy, I'm sure."

"Friends then."

"Always, always."

Dean watched her drive away.

TWELVE

A shower, a shave, and a phone call from Jackie changed Dean's outlook decidedly, and helped him to decide his next course of action. Jackie was in much better spirits, due in large part to her learning that the shadow she felt following her for some time now was only a policeman assigned by Ken Kelso to watch her. The fact meant a lot, and she was grateful to Dean for passing it along. Like Dean, she was angry with Ken for having done such a thing without either her or Dean's knowledge.

"I don't know when I'll speak to him again,” she had said.

Like Dean, Jackie was feeling terribly lonely and lost without her partner, but they reaffirmed their love for one another over the telephone, and she reaffirmed her faith in him by telling him to remain in Florida to complete his work, to do what he had gone to Orlando to do.

"There's more to do than you know,” he protested.

"Any less, and I'd say you were sluffing off."

"It could go another month, things are in such disarray here."

"Sid's work is that bad?"

"It's not just Sid ... it's the whole homicide division. One of the cops we were working closely with has ... well, he's dead."

"Dead?" Her one-word reply had a definite tremor to it. "How?"

"The killers got to him. He was working alone, a real maverick, and they got to him first."

She was silent for a moment. Dean pictured her in his mind's eye, tall and lovely, energetic, filled with opinion and dedication, and committed to her work as head nurse in pediatrics at Rush-Presbyterian Hospital. “You will be careful, won't you?"

"Absolutely. I'm no hero."

"I couldn't stand to lose you."

"I love you, darling."

"I love you too, very much."

"And as soon as I can—"

"Hurry home, yes...."

Now Dean was alone with his thoughts, the fatigue held at bay by the shower and a short nap. He paced about his room, mentally going over the evidence gathered to date. It created a pattern in miniature of the killers. It implicated someone, if they could only link it all to the individuals responsible for this horror.

The phone rang, shattering his concentration. It was Frank Dyer.

"Dyer, where are you?"

"Mercy Hospital, glad I caught you. I got a doctor here who says he saw Mrs. Jimenez, the dead woman, talking to a guy who was driving a Mercedes just before she died."

"Mercedes? You get plate numbers?"

"Dream on. But this guy says he's seen the car at the hospital before."

"Does he know whose car it is?"

"He's not sure. Lot of doctors here drive expensive cars. Our boy's an intern, drives a Honda cycle."

"Still, there are only a limited number of Mercedes that can be in that staff lot at any given time."

"Exactly, and I'm on it. What about you, doctor? You still on the case?"

"Yeah, for now I am."

"Great ... great. I'll let you know what I find out. Once I get a list of names to work with and possibles, I'll get back to you."

It might pan out to nothing, or Dyer's rundown of the Mercedes could lead to a break in the case. They were due for some luck. A number of clues already pointed to at least one of the killers being a medical man, or at least in close proximity to medical supplies, capable of moving in and out of medical settings without unduly disturbing anyone.

Dean went downstairs to the lobby of the Hilton to the Hertz rental booth. He was soon pocketing a key, and with his medical bag in hand he started for the car, which was somewhere in the depths of an underground lot, a section numbered C-17. The lot was empty and silent. Dean was unable to find the car or anything like a marker for a moment, until he saw, far off, the yellow Hertz banner. Suddenly he heard the sound of a motor behind him. He glanced over his shoulder and saw that it was a Mercedes. He stared hard to see the driver, but like many Florida cars, the glass was so darkly tinted it was impossible to see within. Dean's heart skipped a beat as he mentally took down the plate number, a New York license. The car had eerily crept up on his heels, as if following Dean, like some obedient dog. Dean thought of the many ways he could die, thought of how Park had had the killers suddenly turn on him as he was about to close in on them, and the thoughts caused beads of perspiration to turn into watery rivlets dripping down his face. Finally, having had enough, he felt for the .38 he had strapped on at the last moment before leaving his room, the gun which Ken Kelso had advised he carry with him at all times.