Backfire (30 page)

San Francisco General Hospital

Saturday morning

Dr. Kardak straightened over Ramsey and nodded, looking, truth be told, very pleased with himself. “You’re healing very nicely, Judge. Your tube tract is closed and your lung sounds good, barely a crackle or two left. You’re very lucky that bullet didn’t wreck your lung, or worse. I see you’ve cut back on your pain meds, and you’re smiling. I couldn’t ask for more. Our chef said you were eating more of his wonderful meals.

“All in all, you keep improving like this, and you’re going to have a front-row seat at Emma’s performance next Wednesday.” Maybe not front and center, Dr. Kardak thought, though he didn’t say it aloud. With any luck at all, Ramsey should be able to sit upright for an hour or so.

Ramsey heard a cheer from the guards at the window as Dr. Kardak left. He grinned over at them. Both of them spent Thanksgiving here; in fact, they had both been with him for more than a week now, and he’d been cogent for at least four of those days. He knew just about everything important about all the people who were taking care of him and was wondering how he could pay them back. SFPD Officer Gavin Hendricks and Nurse Natalie were really hitting it off, and maybe he’d played some part in that. They made a nice couple.

He felt clearheaded again, he felt in control. He was able to think in a straight line without having to deal with pain trying to jerk him off the path. And his thoughts led him right to Father Sonny Dickerson’s mom. Her name was Charlene Cartwright, and she had to be in her sixties. What kind of a person that age could hatch a plot like this and execute it? He tried to imagine her motoring a Zodiac to his beach, being a good enough shot with a sniper rifle to have killed him dead if he hadn’t turned, and then using that sling shot with that absurd photo of Judge Dredd attached to it. Harder still to imagine her climbing down on the roof of the elevator, pulling up the ceiling hatch and firing down at him and escaping—she must have kept herself in very good shape in prison. Her audacity amazed him, even as a mother avenging her son. Father Sonny was a son who didn’t deserve even a passing thought, much less a full-blown vendetta. Didn’t she know full well that he’d been an obsessive insane pedophile? The fruit must not have fallen far from the tree, he thought. Charlene had to be as crazy as her son in her own way. He opened his laptop and began researching Charlene Cartwright’s criminal record. He wanted to know everything about her, her murdered husband, and her children.

She’d planned and plotted for five years. Amazing. Thank the good Lord she’d failed. At least until now.

San Francisco General Hospital

Saturday morning

Sherlock sat in Dr. Kardak’s small office on the fifth floor, waiting for him to come back from morning rounds and give her a final check. Thankfully, she didn’t have to worry about having the stitches snipped out of her head, since he’d told her they would resorb by themselves. She’d sent Dillon on to see Ramsey, saying, “I’ll be fine. There’s no reason for us to sit here and twiddle our thumbs together. You’ve got a lot on your plate—go deal with it. Send up a guard if someone’s bored; otherwise, I’ll come to Ramsey’s room when I’m done.”

Savich had gently lifted her hair and lightly touched his fingertip to the small bandage. “I’ll send a guard. You will not go anyplace without someone covering you like a blanket.” He’d stared at her for a moment, kissed her hard, and left.

Sherlock knew he was still reliving those moments when he’d thought she was dead, but what could she say? She refused to think what she’d feel and do if Dillon had been the one shot. She pulled out her cell and called Ruth, who was in Maestro, Virginia, with her husband, Dix, and her two stepsons on this fine Saturday morning.

Ruth said, “You guys have sure got yourselves in the middle of a big curdling mess out there. You swear to me you’re all right, Sherlock?”

“Yes, don’t worry, it was only a little tap on the head. Talk to me, Ruth, about Charlene Cartwright. What do you know?”

“Dane flew to Baton Rouge last night, then drove to the Louisiana Correctional Institute for Women in Saint Gabriel this morning. He said the warden was goggle-eyed to hear what sweet, good-natured Charlene had done. He had to admit that yes, it was true, Charlene had worked out in the gym like a trouper for the past five years or so, and was in excellent shape for any age, really, and remarkable for someone ready for Medicare. Dane didn’t tell the warden she’d styled herself the Hammer. He should be about through with his interview with an inmate who was supposedly Charlene’s best bud, so you should call him in a couple of minutes. You swear you’re okay?”

After reassuring Ruth about herself and Judge Hunt and how he and his family were holding up, Sherlock dialed Dane, who answered on the third ring. “Hi, Sherlock. I just finished up a very informative interview with Charlene’s confidant, Maria Conchas, so your timing is perfect. Let me search out a private place.” He came back on a couple minutes later. “I’m in a supervisor’s office. Maria’s a piece of work, in prison now for eight years for shooting her neighbor for looking in at her sleeping through her bedroom window, or so she claimed. ‘And I was naked, the nasty peeper!’ Quote/unquote. Maria put the guy in a wheelchair for life with a bullet in his spine. Her punishment is another two years, after which she can waltz out of here on two strong legs.

“Moving right along. Maria and Charlene spent long hours discussing life and men and how the Big Bad brought you down until you took charge and decided to do something about it. Maria said Charlene wasn’t shy at all, in fact, enjoyed talking about what she was going to do to FBI Agent Dillon Savich when she got out. She called him ‘hateful bastard,’ the one who was responsible for her boy’s death, namely, Sonny Dickerson. Do you know she made Maria call her the Hammer? Said Charlene could turn so mean it scared her to death, but never in front of the guards.

“Now, I wondered why Maria was so eager to tell me everything about Charlene’s plans, since she had been, supposedly, her best friend. Maria told me she looked up Father Sonny Dickerson in their newspaper files and found out what he’d done five years ago before he’d died, well, before he’d been murdered.
Good riddance,
she’d thought. She couldn’t believe Charlene wanted revenge for that ‘crazy pervert,’ as Maria called him, even if Charlene was his mother. She told me she knew to her gut after reading about Sonny and what he’d done that Charlene had to be mad as a hatter to want to avenge him. Charlene said this to Maria, and I wrote this down, ‘I’m going to get it done. I blew off that vicious jerk’s head who made my son the way he was, didn’t I?’ She was talking about her husband. Maria said she believed her and we should, too.

“I asked her if she knew about the note Charlene sent to Savich. She laughed, said Charlene worked on different wordings for three months before she was happy. Maria recited the note in a dramatic voice,
For what you did you deserve this.
Maria said she even tried her hand at some variations, but Charlene didn’t like anything she came up with. Maria shook her head and said to me, ‘I mean, who would take that idiot threat seriously? Talk about sappy.’”

Sherlock said, “So she said Ramsey’s name?”

“Yes, Maria said Charlene told her about some ‘nasty bugger’ judge she was going to kill, too.”

“Was there anyone else on her hit list after she killed Ramsey? Had to be someone close. I mean, to make Dillon pay a stiff price, this person had to be close, right?”

“I’d say so,” Dane said, “since it was you, Sherlock. I know we were all hoping it was random, that any FBI agent would have filled the bill—but it wasn’t random, and I doubt you really thought that for a minute, not really.

“Charlene wanted you dead because you’re Savich’s wife, the most important person in his world, just as Sonny was to Charlene.

“Yes, I know it doesn’t make much sense, since Savich was three thousand miles away when Father Sonny was killed, but Charlene didn’t care. If not for Savich and his fancy technology, her precious boy would never have been caught. She thought Sonny would still be flying high and free, and she would be there with him, together again.”

Sherlock said, “Dane, even if there hadn’t been a match in the facial-recognition program, Father Sonny wouldn’t have cut his losses, disappeared, and flown free. He’d have done just what he did do—gone after Emma again, and that’s why he was caught. Identifying him through the sketch was only a shortcut, and not a very important one.”

“Didn’t matter. Maria said when she pointed out to Charlene that Sonny had to get caught sooner or later, Charlene threw a ten-pound free weight at her. Maria gave me a manic grin, said she’d never argued with Charlene again after that. I wanted to ask her why she hadn’t figured out sooner that Charlene was off her rocker, but I didn’t, since Maria’s train isn’t exactly running on the tracks, either.”

Sherlock said, “But that whole deal at the Fairmont; how could she possibly have found out I’d be there?” She paused, added, “I just gave myself a head slap. She was following me, of course.”

“Yep, probably for a couple of days, waiting for her chance. She must have thought God was in her corner when you leaped out of that FBI van and took off after Xu. I’ll bet she was already in position and she took her shot.”

“I never saw her, Dane, never noticed. How good an agent does that make me?”

“Have you forgotten that no one even considered there was another shooter besides Xu out there, and certainly not an older woman? You know Charlene was very careful. She knew you were in the surveillance van, knew something was going down at the Fairmont.”

“How long was she out of prison before she shot Ramsey, Dane?”

“Nearly six months. Maria told me Charlene planned to rob a couple of stores to get herself a big enough stake, then she was going to take shooting lessons. This probably all went down close to Saint Gabriel, but far enough away not to connect her. When she was ready, she skipped out on parole. I’d have to say she got good at the firing range, but not good enough to kill you.”

“With me, that’s true, but with Ramsey—she wouldn’t have failed with Ramsey if he hadn’t been just plain lucky.

“Is there someone else on her make-Dillon-pay list?”

She realized Dane didn’t want to say the name aloud, she could hear it in the pulse of silence. She felt her heart speed up because she knew, of course she knew. She waited. Finally Dane said, “After you, Maria said Charlene was going to kill Sean. ‘An eye for an eye,’ she told Maria. She wanted Savich to suffer as much as she’d suffered. A son for a son. And that’s why I was going to call you right away if you hadn’t called me first.”

Dr. Kardak walked in, smiled and apologized for making her wait, but Sherlock was already on her feet, halfway out the door. “I’m sorry, but I can’t stay. Later, Doctor.” And she ran out of his office.

She heard him call after her, “I guess if you can sprint like that I shouldn’t be too concerned about you.”

—

Two hours later,
Corman and Evelyn Sherlock and grandson Sean were in the Sherlocks’ SUV, headed for a visit to Yosemite National Park.

San Francisco General Hospital

Saturday morning

Harry wasn’t at all surprised to see Eve sitting next to Ramsey’s bed when he arrived at the hospital. He hadn’t had a chance to speak to her since she’d taken off like a launched rocket out his front door that morning. His first thought was that she looked gorgeous wearing her signature red and black, her U.S. Deputy Marshal badge sparkling on her jacket whenever she moved, her blond ponytail swinging. Harry couldn’t seem to remember the last time he’d felt, well, this light, like gravity wasn’t quite pulling him down to the ground. Despite all the scary violence going down around them, despite Eve’s wariness of him and of them that morning, Harry realized he was grinning like a loon at the two guards who’d seconds before looked ready to tear out his throat before they’d realized who he was.

He looked at Molly and Emma sitting on the other side of Judge Hunt’s bed, all their focus on husband and father. The two guards, at ease now, moved again to stand in front of the big window.

Eve, who’d been speaking to Judge Hunt, looked over at Harry, saw him smiling at her, and froze like a deer in the headlights. She rose, her black boots bringing her nearly to his eye level to make herself more of a force, Harry thought, and she snarled at him, “A little late, aren’t you, Agent?” She got a surprised look from Emma.

Harry, all bonhomie, said, “I finally came to see if Judge Hunt is ready to bribe me to take him home.”

“I’ll get my wallet,” Ramsey said, pretending to reach for it. He caught a brief punch of pain in his chest and laid his head back against the pillow again. “Maybe tomorrow morning would be good. I’ll have to make sure Molly doesn’t steal my money, though.”

“I have your wallet along with your vast fortune of about sixty bucks,” Molly said. “You can forget any bribes, no one’d take that pitiful amount of money, not when they’d have to face Eve. And me.”

“Maybe I can pay in favors,” Ramsey said.

“Yeah, yeah,” Eve said, “like anyone in this room is going to end up being tried in front of a federal judge.”

He laughed, regretted it immediately, and felt Emma grasp his hand.

Emma said to Harry over her shoulder, “Dad says he’s going to be at my performance next Wednesday even if they have to helicopter him in.”

“If need be, I’ll fly the helicopter,” Harry said, patted Emma’s shoulder, nodded to Molly, and walked past Eve over to the guards. SFPD Officer Gavin Hendricks and U.S. Deputy Marshal Jimmy Purcell looked alert and serious as a gun barrel staring you in the face. You couldn’t ask for more than that. “Everything quiet?”

“Yeah,” Jimmy said. “Believe me, anything on two legs gets past the two guys outside, we’ll throw them to the floor, strip-search them, male, female, you name the species, we’ll strip it.”

“And search it,” Gavin added.

Harry answered their questions about what was new, what was happening and what wasn’t, took a call from Savich and said to everyone in the room, “I’m doing guard duty for Sherlock while Savich spends some time with you, Ramsey. Then he’s scheduled to call Disneyland East and update Director Mueller.”

Harry was whistling as he left Judge Hunt’s hospital room, but he couldn’t stop himself from looking back. He met Eve’s eyes, smiled at her, and would swear she was looking back at him like he was a big New York steak, and she was starving. That look, he thought, was surely an excellent sign. He spoke to the guards sitting outside the room, and walked toward the stairwell. As he took the stairs two at a time toward Dr. Kardak’s fifth-floor office, he decided the time he was assigned to be with Sherlock was his best shot at being there if something happened, since Sherlock was right at the eye of Charlene’s storm. There was no way she could get to Ramsey, and Sean was safe, on his way to Yosemite. Despite himself, he really wanted a chance at Charlene, then he wanted to haul Eve to Carmel for long walks on the beach, longer nights, and no sleep. Then maybe she’d agree to think about spending lots more time with him, maybe she’d even come around to giving a nod to a future. Why was she wary of him? Because she didn’t see him as a good risk? He would convince her he was. He was reliable, he kept his promises, he wasn’t a pig, and he even knew how to cook. Yes, his work could be dangerous, but Eve understood that, and he would have to worry about her as much as she’d worry about him, since she also carried a gun.

Yeah, he might get an ulcer worrying, but she might get one, too. Only fair. They’d share that worry, like Savich and Sherlock already did right now. Sherlock and Savich were solid, and Eve and Harry could be, too. They even had a little boy, Sean. A kid? Now, that was something to think about.

He raised his hand to knock on the door when Sherlock opened it. “Hi, Harry, I heard you coming. You walk heavy, so I knew it wasn’t Charlene with an ax in her hands. You didn’t see Dillon? No matter. So Dillon volunteered you to stick close.” She shook her head. “Thing is, Dillon’s very protective, but I really don’t think—”

Harry looked at her beautiful serious face and its halo of rioting red hair and raised his finger to touch her mouth. “Stop. I’m here. Think of me as your overcoat. Is Sean safe?”

“Yes. He was so excited about his surprise trip to Yosemite, he was whooping and hollering around the house. Bless my parents. Dad simply called the chief judge and postponed his upcoming drug trial for a couple of days. Sean’s safe.”

Sherlock studied his face. “I apologize for trying to brush you off. Let’s chalk it up to an idiot moment. I’m very glad you’re here. And now that I look at you, Harry, I’d swear you look like you’re about to burst. What’s happened?”

He was that transparent? He shook his head. What was happening between him and Eve was nobody’s business. It was private business, his business, and when he decided the time was right, he would make it Eve’s business too. He said, “Eve is running scared.”

“Not for Ramsey, I hope. He’s better guarded than the president.”

“No, she’s scared about us. Maybe she thinks I’m a sucky risk.”

Sherlock marveled. No matter how grim a situation, people still found each other. It was, she thought, one of the very fine things about being alive. She patted his arm. “Nah, you’re not a sucky risk. Your first wife didn’t have the guts to deal with your job, so you cut her loose. That was the right thing to do. It’s time now you let yourself move on, Harry.

“If anything, Eve’s probably scared her dad and her brothers will freak that she’s allowing a pantywaist FBI special agent to spend quality time with her, as opposed to one of their own—a mighty macho U.S. Marshals Service deputy.”

Harry blinked at her. “You think?”

Sherlock nodded solemnly. “I’d say from the way she’s been looking at you lately, you don’t need to worry.”

And Harry realized his private business was now lying on the floor in front of Sherlock. Why had those words, his own business, popped out of his mouth? Was Sherlock right? He remembered Eve’s snarl in Judge Hunt’s room.

Sherlock lightly touched his arm. “Nice jacket,” she said. “Harry, stop worrying, it’ll work out okay. I’ve seen that look before. All of us pantywaist FBI agents will write you references for her family if you need them. Eve’s something else, isn’t she? She really impressed Dillon in those two Cahill interviews.”

He didn’t want to say anything more, he’d said too much already. His lips were now zipped. He said, “Savich was right, she’s sharp, she’s intuitive. I love her cheerleading ponytail, Sherlock, and her big heart. She’s got a huge heart. Do you know, after my divorce I swore off women for as long as I drew breath, and would you look at what happened? I’m thinking about long walks on the beach a week after first seeing her. Is that insane or what?”

Sherlock wanted to laugh, she really did, but she saw he wasn’t joking. She said calmly, “All I know is both you and Eve are smart and honorable, and that your heart’s as big as hers. You’ve got a lot going for you. She wants you, Harry, and one reason is because you’re sexy. And look at that Shelby you drive, that car’s nearly as sexy as you are. Seriously, Eve will be fine. She just needs some time. Like you said, it’s only been a week. Her family will be ecstatic once they meet you. You know that as well as I do.”

He wasn’t going to say another word, never again was he going to spurt all his thoughts out like a shaken soda bottle. “When I left Judge Hunt’s room, it’s true, she looked at me like I was a steak.”

Sherlock laughed. “Talk about a positive sign. Harry, come sit by me and let me tell you what I’ve found out about Charlene.”

Dr. Kardak came in ten minutes later to hear Sherlock say, “You wouldn’t believe Sean, Harry. He made his grandparents both promise to let him use their cell phone cameras so he could take lots of photos of El Capitan in Yosemite to show his three girlfriends. Hello, Dr. Kardak. Sorry for the delay.”

“I’d like to meet this pistol,” Dr. Kardak said waving away her apology. “I hope there aren’t any more emergencies, Agent Sherlock, and you won’t be haring out of here again.”

Harry rose to excuse himself, but Sherlock smiled up at him. “Nah, Dr. Kardak won’t make me take off my clothes to see a head wound. Harry, please supervise, make sure he does things right.”

And so Harry watched Dr. Kardak push back Sherlock’s hair, remove the small bandage with a light hand, and probe around the stitches.

He did a quick neurologic exam, asked her a few questions, and pronounced her free of him. He looked down at his watch. “That took all of five minutes, and no emergencies to interrupt either of us. Call me if you have any concerns, Agent Sherlock, and do let me meet that son of yours sometime.”

Sherlock was glad to be done with it all as they walked to the elevators. Done with the medical part, that is. Harry watched everyone, checking out any man or woman who even looked in her direction. They were far from done with the rest of it.

Sherlock said, “The hotline is getting reports of Charlene sightings from Fresno up to Redding and reports of Xu from as far away as Montana. They’re following up on as many leads as they can.

“One thing worries me, though, worries me a lot. We still don’t know who was driving that second car that screeched out of the Skyline Motel Thursday night.”

Harry had fretted over this loose thread as much as Sherlock had. Everyone he knew was thinking about it. “No. We don’t have a clue.”

“According to Maria Conchas, Charlene is a guided missile. My gut says she won’t stop until she’s shot down. Probably she couldn’t call a halt even if she wanted to. She’s got herself hardwired.”

Harry said, “Charlene Cartwright’s crazy. Xu isn’t. I don’t know who’s more dangerous.”

“I guess I’m more afraid of crazy, since Charlene’s the one who shot me and Ramsey.”

Sherlock saw the same tech who’d had the misfortune to come into the CT waiting room on Wednesday walking toward them, whistling. He saw her, saw Harry, who was staring at him as if he was measuring him for a hole in the ground, and stopped in his tracks.

What was his name?
She finally remembered. “Mr. Lempert, it’s okay. This is Agent Christoff. Harry, this is Mr. Lempert. The thing is, Harry, last Wednesday Dillon was a little hard on Terry.” The use of his first name brought him back, and he even managed a tentative smile. He came one step closer to her, shot a glance at Harry, and cleared his throat. “You’re looking good today, Agent Sherlock. You must have come from Dr. Kardak’s office.”

He darted a look at Harry. “I’m not a killer—well, unless I feel threatened, that is.” He cleared his throat when Harry didn’t change expressions. “That was a joke, Agent. Really.”

“And a good one, Terry,” Sherlock said, and patted his arm. “I’ve got to tell you, I sure hope I don’t have to see you again for a while—professionally, that is.”

She spotted a women’s room near the elevator and excused herself. “Harry, maybe you want to message Deputy Marshal Barbieri? See if everything’s okay on the steak front?”

He grinned. “I’ll message Eve after I see you’re safe upstairs.” He stuck his head in the door, didn’t see anyone. He walked in, looking beneath each of the three stalls. He saw two feet in sandals with bright red toenails, young feet. He watched one of the feet tap to the sound of music he couldn’t hear. Okay, then. When he came out he said, “I’ll be right here if you need anything.”

As Sherlock stood at the counter washing her hands, a woman came in. Sherlock automatically went on alert until she got a look at her. She was older, quite heavy, a scrub nurse in a loose green top and pants, down to the green booties covering her shoes. A surgical mask hung by its ties around her neck. She wore a name tag. Harry wouldn’t have let her in otherwise, Sherlock thought. A green scrub hat was perched on her thick black hair. She wore black-framed glasses.

“Hey,” the nurse said, looked around, then walked toward a stall.

The nurse was suddenly behind her. Sherlock felt a gun pressing into the back of her neck. A deep voice hissed hot rage in her ear, “How did you find me, bitch?”

This wasn’t Charlene Cartwright; she knew her photo as well as she knew her own. She willed her fear and her pounding heart to the back of the bus. “Xu, I can’t believe you came here. Why? Are you trying to get your manhood back?” She felt her breath clog in her throat. Was this the way to play him? What would he do?