Guilty as Sin (8 page)

She gave him the same look she had given thick-headed boys in high school and kept on pacing.

The only other person in the waiting area, Father Tom McCoy, rose from a square armchair that was too low for him and stretched a kink out of his back. Having grown up Episcopalian, Ellen knew him only in passing and by reputation. Barry Fitzgerald he was not. Tom McCoy was tall and handsome with an athlete's build and kind blue eyes behind a pair of gold-rimmed glasses. He had come to the hospital wearing faded blue jeans and a flannel shirt that gave him more resemblance to a lumberjack than a priest.

He gave Ellen a questioning look as he fished some change out of his pocket. "Coffee?"

"No, thanks, Father. I've had too much already."

"Me, too," he admitted. "What I really need is a drink, but I don't think the cafeteria has a machine that dispenses good Irish whiskey."

As McCoy walked away, Wilhelm cocked his head. "He's not like any priest I ever knew. Where's his collar?"

Ellen gave him The Look again. "Father Tom is a nonconformist."

"So I gathered. What did you think of his deacon—Albert Fletcher?"

"I didn't know Albert Fletcher. Obviously, he was a very disturbed individual."

Fletcher had fallen under suspicion regarding the kidnapping because of his ties to Josh through the Church as Josh's instructor for religion class and as an altar boy. Obsessed with the Church, Fletcher had crossed the line from zealot to madman, unnoticed until he'd attacked Father Tom and Hannah early Friday morning as they'd sat talking in St. Elysius Catholic Church. He had given Father Tom a concussion with a brass candlestick. Later that morning the mummified remains of Fletcher's long-dead wife had been discovered in his garage. The incident had sparked a manhunt that had ended in tragedy during Saturday evening Mass, where Fletcher, ranting and wild-eyed, had fallen to his death from the balcony railing. Whether or not there would be further investigation into Doris Fletcher's demise had yet to be determined.

So much that was bad had happened in so little time. Kidnapping, nicide, madness, scandal. It seemed as if a hidden seam in the fabric of life ad given way, allowing evil to pour into Deer Lake from some dark nderworld. And if they didn't figure out how to close it up, it would continue on, poisoning everything and everyone it touched. The thought gave Ellen a chill.

The hospital was quiet, the halls dimly lit. Word of Josh's return had one out on a need-to-know basis. What staff was on duty at this time of night hovered around the main desk, talking in low tones and casting worried glances down the hall toward the examination room Hannah and Josh had disappeared into with Mitch and Dr. Ulrich.

Reaching for the can of warm soda she had set on an end table, Ellen froze midgesture as the examination-room door swung open and Mitch merged. She hustled to meet him.

"Did he name Wright?" she asked.

Crossing his arms over his chest, Mitch propped a shoulder against the rail. "He didn't name anybody. He isn't talking."

"At all?"

"Not a word."

Ellen's sinking feeling was the sure-thing conviction sliding away. An istinctive response that had nothing to do with her sense of compassion. They were separate entities—the lawyer in her and the woman. The lawyer thought in terms of evidence; the woman thought about a small boy who had been through God-only-knew what hell in the past two weeks.

"How is he?"

"Physically, he seems pretty good. No signs of sexual abuse."

"Thank God."

"He may have been drugged or had blood taken from him. His blood had to get on that sheet some way, and he had no injuries to speak of. We'll know more when the lab results are in."

"We'll know what?" Wilhelm demanded, rushing up, his proper paisley necktie flipped over his shoulder.

Mitch frowned at him. "We'll meet in my office at seven and I'll go over it all with both of you."

"What about questioning the boy?" Wilhelm blurted, looking as if he had come all the way to the North Pole only to find out Santa wouldn't grant him an audience.

"It'll wait."

"But the mother—"

"Is an emotional wreck," Mitch snapped. "She didn't see anyone, didn't see a car. All she knows is she has her little boy back.You can talk to her in the morning."

Wilhelm's dark eyes shone bright with temper even though his trademark boyish grin still stretched across his face. "Now look, Chief, you can't shut me out of this. I have the power—"

"You don't have jack shit here, Marty," Mitch said. "Do you understand me? I don't care if the BCA sent you down here with a golden crown and scepter. You try to push me on this and I'll squash you like a bug. Nobody sees Hannah or Josh until they've had some rest."

"But—"

Marty's protest was cut off as the emergency-room doors to the street swept back and Paul Kirkwood stormed into the lobby with a pair of uniformed officers at his heels. His brown hair was windbbwn. back from his lean, angular face. Cold and excitement rouged his cheeks. His deep-set eyes fixed on Mitch as he strode down the hallway.

"I want to see my son."

"Hannah and Josh are being settled in a room."

"Hannah?" he said peevishly. "What's wrong with her?"

"Nothing having Josh back won't cure. She's just a little rattled, that's all."

"And what about me? You think I'm not rattled?"

"I don't know what you are, Paul," Mitch said wearily. "Other than late, that is. Where the hell have you been?" His gaze strayed to the officers who stood behind Josh's father.

"We caught him coming back to his office, Chief."

"Caught me? Am I under arrest here?" Paul's voice was sharp with indignation. "Should I be calling my attorney?"

"Of course not, Mr. Kirkwood," Ellen intervened, trying to break the mounting tension between the men. "We wanted to make you aware Josh had been returned, that's all. We also thought you might want to be with your son during the physical examination."

"I was out driving around." Paul's mouth turned in apetulant curve. "I haven't been having a lot of success sleeping lately. How is Josh? What did that animal do to him?"

"He's fine," Mitch said, then amended the overstatement for the sake of his conscience. "He seems fine, physically. I'll walk with you to his room, fill you in."

As they started down the hall, Wilhelm started after them. Ellen snagged him by the shirtsleeve and held him back. The BCA agent wheeled on her.

"I'd like to hear a better explanation of where he was tonight."

"So would I. We'll hear it in the morning."

"What if he's involved? What if he's the one who took Josh home? He could skip."

"Don't be stupid," Ellen said impatiently. "If he wanted to skip, do you think he would drop off the son he kidnapped, then drive around own for two hours, then go back to his office, then run?"

Wilhelm wagged a finger in her face. "He owned that van."

"That van that yielded us nothing."

"I think we should take Mr. Kirkwood downtown and discuss his whereabouts tonight."

"Then you feel free to express that opinion to Chief Holt. Push him far enough, and you'll be able to question Dr. Ulrich while he tries to set he broken bones in your face. Personally, I've seen enough of this hospital for one night."

Wright's bond hearing was less than eight hours away. Garrett Wright, who would be charged with the abduction of Josh Kirkwood. Josh Kirkwood, who had been returned home safe while Garrett Wright sat in a cell in the city jail.

Hannah refused the offer of a patient's gown to sleep in. She ignored the cot that had been set up for her next to Josh's bed. She pulled her boots off and climbed onto the bed with her son.

Josh played with the control switch, slowly raising and lowering the head of the bed, the foot of the bed, bending it in two in the middle, The ride was not unlike the one Hannah's emotions had been on for the past two weeks. The ride they were still on now. The idea that Josh was back safe was a giddy high. The fear of what had been done to him mentally was a crashing, black low. The feelings chased each other inside her, around and around, up and down as the bed went up and own.

She slipped her arm around Josh and settled her hand over the control. "That's enough, sweetheart. You're making me seasick," she murmured. She smiled softly as one of his sandy-brown curls tickled her nose. "Remember the time we went out on Grandpa's boat and Uncle Tim got seasick after he teased us about being landlubbers?"

She waited for him to roll over and grin at her, eyes bright, giggles bubbling just behind his smile. He would laugh and tell her the whole story, complete with sound effects, and she would feel the most incredible swelling, brilliant, warm rush of love and relief and joy. But he

didn 't roll over and he didn't laugh. He didn't move. He didn't speak. He just went still. The rush of love was an ache. The joy was tangled in anguish.

The door swung open and Paul stepped into the room looking anxious and hesitant at once. Hannah bit down on the questions she wanted to snap at him. Where had he been? Why hadn't he been here for Josh? How like him to leave the worst moments for her to deal with, then walk in after the fact. And what a sad commentary on their relationship that in this moment that should have been so happy for them both, the first thing she wanted to do was attack him.

He rushed into the room, his gaze fixed on their son.

"Oh, God," he whispered, struggling visibly with a knot of emotions—disbelief, joy, uncertainty. "Josh."

Josh sat up and stared at him, unsmiling.

"I tried to call you," Hannah said softly. "I tried your office—-"

"I was out," Paul said shortly, not taking his eyes off his son. He mustered a smile, reaching out slowly. "Josh, son—"

Josh hurled the bed control at him and flung himself at Hannah.

"Josh!" Hannah cried. Her expression of surprise was directed at Paul.

"Josh, it's me, Dad," Paul said, confusion furrowing his brow.

He sat on the edge of the bed, reaching out again to touch his son's shoulder. The gesture was batted away. Josh's legs kicked out as if he were trying to run.

"I don't understand this," Paul said. "Josh, what's the matter? Don't you know me?"

His only answer was a frightened squeal as Paul tried once more to turn Josh toward him. The boy surged against Hannah, pushing her backward.

"Paul, don't try to touch him!" she snapped. "Can't you see you're only making it worse?"

"But I haven't done anything!" Paul stepped back from the bed just the same. "He's my son, for God's sake! I want to see him!"

"No!" Josh's shout was muffled against his mother's body. "No! No! No!"

"Hush, sweetheart," Hannah murmured against the top of his head. Panic rose inside her.

"What's going on in here?" Dr. Ulrich demanded as he strode in from the hall.

"I wish I knew," Paul muttered.

"What did you do that upset him?"

"Nothing! He's my son!"

Ulrich raised a hand. "Just calm down, Paul. I'm not accusing you of anything," he said quietly, turning his back to Josh and Hannah, working his way between them and Paul. "But I think it would be a good idea if you go now and come back in the morning, after Josh has had some time to rest and get his bearings."

"You're throwing me out?" Paul yelled, incredulous. "I don't believe this! After everything I've done to try to get my son back. After everything I've gone through—"

"This isn't about you, Paul," Ulrich said, his voice low. "I'm sure this is upsetting to you, but you know we have to put Josh first. We have to realize it's going to take some time to sort out what happened to him and how he feels about it. Let's you and I go down to the cafeteria and have a talk."

Paul knew a brush-off when he heard one. Ulrich was slowly backing him toward the door, away from Josh and Hannah. Shutting him out. Wasn't that the story of his life? Everything went to Hannah—the glory, the pity . . . their son.

"Jesus, Hannah," he said, "you could help a little here."

"What am I supposed to do?" She looked at him as if he were a stranger, someone to be wary of, someone to keep at bay. Anger burned inside him.