She Who Watches (13 page)

Dana noticed the green light on the police radio flashing on and off, indicating there were several transmissions going out over the radio. She turned up the volume to hear the troopers giving out locations and asking for updates. “Sounds like some sort of emergency.” She instinctively picked up speed.

The sirens and frantic talk on the radio set Mac on edge, shoving his adrenaline into high gear. “Something big is going down. Can you tell where they're going?” Mac listened intently, trying to make out the destination and nature and to sort through the commotion.

“Sounds like Clackamas County; all the locations are on Highways 212 and 224.”

Impatient, Mac dialed dispatch to get the scoop. After being placed on hold for several minutes, he finally got the dispatcher. “Oh, no.” Mac could almost feel the color drain out of his face.

“What's wrong?”

Mac snapped the phone shut. “We have an officer down.” Mac nearly choked on the words. “At the search warrant location where Russ and Philly are serving the warrant in Eagle Creek.”

Dana activated her lights and sirens and headed for Eagle Creek.

Mac clenched his fists. If Kevin had been there, he'd have prayed. Mac stared at the road and offered up a silent prayer of his own.

“God, please let our guy be OK,” Dana said aloud, echoing his thoughts. “Please.”

THIRTEEN

T
hey arrived at the outlaw biker clubhouse in record time.Due to the number of police cars and other emergency vehicles that were lining the street to the rural home, they could only get within a block of the house. They ran toward the front of the house, where they found Sergeant Bledsoe.

With a cell phone to his ear, Kevin held up a finger to indicate he wanted them to wait with him. He was obviously briefing a more senior command staff member, most likely from the superintendent's office. The look in Kevin's eyes said it all—one of the OSP troopers had gone down.

“I hate not knowing what's going on.” Mac said as they waited in breathless anticipation for news on who had been injured. He scanned the strobes and flashing lights for a glimpse of Philly or Russ, praying the two of them would come walking out at any second.

“Me too.” Dana shivered and folded her arms.

Kevin stuffed the cell into the pocket of his blue raid jacket and reached over to clasp Mac's shoulder. His grip was firm and solid, and Mac felt as though his former partner needed the physical contact to reassure himself that two of his detectives were OK. He did the same to Dana and then turned his attention to an ambulance emerging from the back of the house. With sirens on and lights strobing, the vehicle screamed by them.

“Who is it, Sarge?” Mac asked. “Do you know?”

“Yeah. A SWAT entry guy. Trooper Revman from District Three.”

Mac's knees buckled, and the side of Frank's unmarked car was the only thing holding him up. Only hours ago, he and Daniel had made plans to meet.

Dana touched his arm. “Oh, Mac. I'm sorry.”

“You know him, Mac?” Kevin asked.

Mac nodded. “We came on together, and I just hooked up with him again today. He told me his wife was expecting their first child.”

“Why do they always have pregnant wives or young children?” Kevin mumbled.

“What happened?” Mac asked.

“Philly had a warrant on the place. You know the history?”

“I know the basics. What happened to Daniel?” Mac needed to know.

“We hit the door with the team, and everything went down as planned.SWAT had five in custody and called for us to come to the door and start the interviews and search the place while they backed out.” Kevin blew out a long breath. “Then we heard this loud explosion at the back of the clubhouse. It took awhile to figure out what went down, but it looks like Trooper Revman got caught in a booby trap. We think he turned on a light bulb that was injected with gasoline and BB shot. It took off most of his face, Mac.” He shook his head. “It doesn't look good.”

“Oh, man.” Mac rubbed a hand across his forehead.

“Where's the ambulance heading?” Dana asked.

“Emanuel Hospital in North Portland.”

“Shoot.” Mac moved away from the car. “Dana and I just came from Portland. We were ten minutes away from Emanuel.”

Kevin looked back at the house. “I'd head up there, but I've got a bomb tech en route. We need to make sure there are no more improvised explosive devices in the house. The fire department is going to wet the scene, but we'll have to hand-comb the dwelling before we can secure. I have a detective team coming from Salem to investigate the injury to our guy.” He gripped Mac's shoulder again and looked from Dana to Mac. “Just pray he pulls through, kids.”

“We're ahead of you there, Sarge,” Dana assured him.

“Would you mind if we head up to the hospital?” Mac asked.

“Not at all. In fact, I'd appreciate it. Give me an update once you hear anything.”

“Will do.” Mac could hardly talk let alone make his way back to the vehicle.

They started the trip back to Portland, hardly sharing a word between them. Dana pulled into the emergency room parking lot, which was overrun with dozens of police cars from various agencies. Vehicles littered all of the designated spaces, curbs, and even the grass. She found a spot not far from the door and parked. “Looks like the gang's all here.”

Mac didn't answer.An injured officer brought nearly every available officer to the hospital. They were like family in that way, waiting to hear the news, praying, worrying.

Having been there dozens of times for crashes, stabbings, and shooting follow-ups, Mac punched in the security code to the emergency door. Emanuel Hospital was Oregon's premier level one trauma center, playing host to the worst of the worst injuries.

It was also one of the finest burn centers in the country. When Mac worked patrol, he had “Emanuel Hospital Only, O positive” written on his ballistic vest to indicate his blood type and his choice of destinations in the event he was injured and unable to communicate. Police officers often drafted last-minute instructions on their ballistic vests, like a soldier's dog tags, for paramedics or doctors to read. Some also sketched prayers or symbols on their vests for “extra protection” from the forces that they might encounter.

Daniel's injuries could have been prevented. This was an age-old booby trap that they were all trained to look for in these dope houses. The bad guys would drill a small hole in a standard light bulb and then inject gasoline into the reservoir with a syringe. Sometimes they added projectiles, which was apparently the case here. When an unwitting officer, dope thief, or other intruder turned on the light, the electrical charge would ignite the gas and burn the victim or hurtle glass and metal projectiles at them. Daniel had had special training on the SWAT team, so he had to know about these things. It had to have been a moment of carelessness. A tragic mistake.

Dana kept a watchful eye on Mac. She'd only seen him like this once, and that was when she herself had been hit. Fortunately, her vest had kept the bullet from blowing out her chest. Mac seemed lost now. Dazed. Her arm looped through his, she led him through the maze of city officers, county deputies, and state troopers who crowded the emergency room waiting area.

Their faces mirrored Mac's, hit by the reality of how vulnerable they all were.Any one of them could have been in Daniel's place. All they could do was wait and find a modicum of comfort in their comrades. A small crowd of officers gathered in one section for prayer, the men in different-colored uniforms bowing their heads— some kneeling, some standing, their hands folded.

“Do you want to join them?” Dana asked when Mac looked toward the group.

“Not yet. I want some answers first.” He glanced at his watch. “Someone will be bringing Daniel's wife in. They're probably en route.” He'd been at the hospital with injured officers before, but for some reason this time felt so much worse. Daniel had been a good friend back in basic training.

Mac introduced himself to a charge nurse and told her he was an OSP detective and friend of the injured trooper. The nurse made a call to someone and, when she hung up said, “You can wait in the room with the family if you'd like.”

“I would.”

“Wait by the security doors, and I'll buzz you in.”

“You want to come with me?” he asked Dana.

“Sure.” She wasn't about to leave Mac's side.

Half a dozen SWAT members were already inside. Mac recognized the sergeant he'd seen earlier at the office. Mac gave him a nod and sat down in one of the chairs.

“Want some coffee?” Dana asked.

“Yeah.” He watched as she made her way around the officers to the coffee service area. She brought back two steaming cups and sat down next to him. “Thanks.” After taking a sip, he grimaced. “Not as good as Starbucks, but not bad.”

She leaned back and crossed her legs. “I remember Daniel,” she said in a hushed voice. “I didn't realize it was him until you mentioned his name in the car. He was in one of my classes in college.”

Mac nodded. “We both went right from school into police training. That's when we hooked up. I got to know him pretty well.”

Dana picked up an old
Newsweek
magazine, and Mac stared straight ahead. The minutes dragged by as they waited for news. Daniel's wife, Jennifer, came in after they'd been there for an hour. She was obviously in late-term pregnancy and physical discomfort in addition to the emotional trauma. From what Mac could decipher, she'd been flown into PDX in a department aircraft. A good call, since Medford was near the California border.

She took a chair next to Dana, the only other woman there. With her experience in grief counseling, Dana fell into the role of support person and counselor, offering tissues and comfort. Mac introduced himself as a classmate of Daniel's, and they talked for a while about earlier times.

Another forty minutes passed before the trauma doctor in soiled blue scrubs walked into the waiting room. “Mrs. Revman?”

“Yes.” She awkwardly got to her feet.

“Mrs. Revman.” He took hold of her hand, and Mac knew. They all did.

Jennifer began to cry. “No. Please, no!”

“I'm sorry. Daniel was a fighter, and we did all we could for him. But his wounds were too severe, and he lost too much blood.”

Jennifer held a hand over her mouth and sank back into the chair.

One by one, the men offered Jennifer their condolences and filed out of the room. Some angry, some stonefaced, some tearful.

Mac held himself together, but just barely. His stomach ached, and his head felt like it would explode. Somehow he managed to speak his condolences to Jennifer and get out of the room and out to the car.

Once they were buckled in, Dana called Sergeant Bledsoe.

“Thanks for the call, Dana. I just heard. How's Mac taking it?”

She glanced over at Mac, wishing he'd just cry and get it over with. “Not great.”

“OK. You two go home. Take tomorrow off.”

She hung up and turned to Mac. “Kevin said to go home. We can take tomorrow off.”

Mac sighed. “Sounds like a good plan. But let's talk in the morning—see how we feel.”

Mac's emotions were a study in chaos. He hadn't seen Daniel for years and didn't know Jennifer at all, yet he felt as though he'd lost his best friend.

“Mac.” Dana looked over at him. “Um—I know this has hit you pretty hard. Maybe you shouldn't be alone. Do you want to hang out at my place tonight? I have a guest bedroom. We could go right there, and I can bring you over to the office to get your car tomorrow.”

Mac rubbed his eyes. “Are you sure? I wouldn't want anyone getting the wrong idea.”

“You need a friend.”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

Mac wondered what Kristen would think about him spending the night at Dana's. Oddly enough, he found himself wanting to be with the eccentric medical examiner, holding her and crying on her shoulder. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes,much too weary to worry about his relationship with Kristen or Dana or anyone else.

FOURTEEN

M
ac awoke Sunday morning to the smell of bacon and the brightness of sunlight streaming through blinds. Groggy and disoriented, he lay in the daybed for several minutes while events from the evening before settled back into his brain like particles of dust.

He and Dana had stayed up for two hours once they'd gotten to her apartment. They'd talked a lot and cried together, then ordered in pizza and gorged themselves on food, soda, and talk. He felt better this morning. Funny how a little friendship could help. Of course, the sadness of Daniel's death and his young widow would be with him a long time, but he felt like he could at least function.

He pulled his slacks over his boxers and went into the adjoining bathroom to brush his teeth and use the facilities, using the comb and toothbrush Dana had supplied. He needed a shower, but that could wait until he got home. He pulled his dress shirt on over his T-shirt but didn't button it. Barefoot, he shuffled out to the living room/dining/kitchen area where Dana was plating bacon, eggs, and hash browns.

She'd already showered and dressed and was wearing a soft pink angora sweater and plaid pants. Her hair was still damp and clipped at the back. The scene should have had him salivating, but his hormones seemed to have gone by the wayside, replaced, no doubt, by grief. This morning Dana was just Dana, his partner and friend.

In the corner of the counter, a television set flashed scenes of police cars. The on-scene reporter talked about the drug bust and how Trooper Daniel Revman had lost his life. Mac couldn't help but feel disdain for the press, who were quick to second-guess police officers' actions on a year-round basis and then showed the face of remorse when an officer was killed. “How can you stand to watch that stuff?”