STOLEN (18 page)

He glanced over at the old man. “You hungry, old man? Come on;
get up, in the kitchen.”

It wasn’t like Hope to hold her tongue for this long, and her
concern for her future father-in-law now took precedence over her nerves. “It’s
not a good idea for him to move around a lot. Can I just bring it to him, he’s
been through a very delicate surgery; and he really shouldn’t be moving around
too much. He needs to rest.” She bit her lower lip, hoping she didn’t sound too
demanding. She had no idea how the man would react and what, if anything, would
set him off.

Shane looked at her as if he was trying to figure out what
her angle was. Why was she so concerned about this guy? He walked back over to
the Captain and kneeled down in front of him. Looking him over, he surveyed the
fresh bandages wrapped around the man’s skull. He studied the man’s hands and
arms, coming to the conclusion that for an old man who just got out of the
hospital, the guy was in pretty good shape. He took notice of his muscle tone
and thought it was pretty damn good for a man of his age. He contemplated allowing
the lady to bring the food over to the old man as he carefully scanned the
room. Deciding the room they were in was too big, he came to the decision to
turn down her request. The kitchen was more secure; it was a smaller area and
he could keep a better eye on all of them in smaller, confined space.

“No, get up. I want us all in there.” He pointed once again
with the gun, carelessly waving it in the air.

He looked down at the man, and then placed his own hand under
the older man’s arm and gently prompted him to get up. “Come on, let’s go.” He
slowly and patiently waited until the Captain was able to stand up and kept a
somewhat tight grip under the man’s arm as he slowly guided the Captain into the
kitchen.

He turned back to call Tristan. “Come on, Tristan, let’s get
something to eat.”

The little boy looked up at Shane. His face was blank and he
was showing no sign of emotion, but Shane felt that something was different
about the kid. There was something disturbing in the way Tristan was looking at
him now. His head was tilted at a slight angle, his lips almost a pout, his
eyes half shut, causing a deep crease on his forehead above his nose. Shane got
a weird feeling Tristan was sizing him up. He’d recalled seeing the very same
expression on his brother’s Troy’s face on several occasions. Like the time
they were in high school and some jock was giving the brothers a hard time. The
look on Tristan’s face was the exact same look Troy had just before he landed a
punch directly into the teenage jock’s head. He laughed at the memory.

“It’s okay, Tristan, I won’t hurt them, I promise.”

The cellphone rang again, vibrating against the right side
of his butt and startled him for a second. He pulled the phone out from his
pocket. He immediately figured out who the caller was and he knew it might not
be good idea to ignore it. He recognized the name, Marty, that flashed on the
screen as the cop who he had seen earlier holding Tristan. He knew if he didn’t
get an answer soon, it may lead to a problem. The cop might get it into his
head that something wasn’t copasetic and start to worry and eventually show up.
But right now, he was too hungry to think about it. One step at a time, first
he would eat and then he would figure out what to do.

When
Marty and Sanders arrived back at the hospital, Jean was waiting for them. Marty
introduced the two and they went straight to Blakey’s room. The man appeared to
be asleep. Sanders gave Troy’s shoulder a slight nudge.

Blakey’s eyes opened, only to find Sanders on one side of
the hospital bed and Marty and Jean on the opposite side.

It took quite a bit of effort, but Troy managed to shift his
body so he was more in an upright position.

There was no question the man was in considerable pain. It
was apparent just from watching his facial expressions. The slightest movement
caused him to briefly shut his eyes and clench his jaw. He didn’t seem at all
surprised to see Sanders in the room, but he didn’t acknowledge him. He turned
in Marty’s direction.

“What happened? Who are you?” He sounded dazed and
definitely in some discomfort.

“Troy, my name is Detective Keal and this is Detective
Whitley. I believe you know Lieutenant Sanders. You are at St. Francis Medical
Center in Fallsburg, New York.” Marty waited to get a response from him, but
when he didn’t get one, he continued. “You’re recovering from a gunshot wound. Actually
two. You were shot twice, once in the abdomen and once in the chest. You are
very lucky to be alive.” Again, Marty waited for some response; but, again, he
got nothing.

“We were hoping you would tell us what happened in the
cabin. Can you tell us who shot you?”

He brought his left hand up to his throat. “I’m sorry, can I
have something to drink?” He looked around as if he was still dazed and not quite
sure of his surroundings.

Sanders didn’t move, so Jean walked around the bed and
poured some ice water into a plastic cup and handed it to him.

“Thank you,” he managed to get out. His voice was hoarse and
he tried to clear it by taking a drink. He must have tried to swallow too much,
or too fast, because he started to choke and he was having trouble catching his
breath. Marty was about to call a nurse for some help but, within seconds, he
appeared to be able to calm himself down and the coughing ceased.

Marty waited to make sure he was okay before he repeated his
question. He introduced them again, just in case he missed it. “Mr. Blakey, my
name is Detective Keal and this is my partner Detective Whitley. You know
Lieutenant Sanders. Now can you tell me what happened in the cabin? Can you
tell me who shot you?”

Marty thought he was about to answer the question, but the
conversation suddenly took a turn. A look of panic replaced the look of pain.

“Tristan, where’s Tristan?” He tried to sit up abruptly, but
his head fell back on the pillow in obvious discomfort. His eyes darted back
and forth between Sanders, Jean, and Marty.

He eventually turned and he was looking directly at Sanders.
“My brother? Where’s Shane?” He managed to just lift his head off the pillow
this time.

Marty knew they had to give him some information in order to
keep him from getting any further agitated. “Tristan is fine, Mr. Blakey, he is
being well cared for. He’s safe.”

Marty didn’t know if he trusted him, or his answer, but he
did seem to relax. He rested his head back on the pillow.

“What about Shane?” he asked next.

“Mr. Blakey, I need you to answer my question. What happened
in the cabin? Who shot you?”

He took what appeared to be a very painful deep breath
before he answered. “My father, my father shot me.”

Marty pulled up a chair and sat down next to the bed. “And who
shot your father, Troy?”

He looked around the room. This was obviously news to him. He
lifted his head up again. His eyes closed for a moment, his tongue traveled
across his lips as if he needed to moisten them before he answered. “My dad was
shot? Is he dead?” He seemed genuinely shocked at the news. Either that or he
was a hell of an actor.

It was Sanders that answered him. “Yes, Troy, your old man
is dead. He was dead when the paramedics got there. He died as the result of the
gunshot wounds.”

Marty saw something in him that he wasn’t expecting. He saw
grief flash across Troy Blakey’s face. It didn’t last long, not more than a few
moments, but it was there.

Marty leaned in closer to him. He wanted to grab him and
find out what he knew about those articles that Sanders found in the Blakey
residence; but this wasn’t the time or the place to go Rambo on him. That
wasn’t what they came here for. First, they needed to find out what happened in
that cabin. Then Sanders needed to know about his case, the death of the Barrie
girl. Marty had to be patient.

“We are real sorry for your loss, Blakey, but we need for
you to help us here. Can you tell us what you remember about what happened in
the cabin?”

They were interrupted when the floor nurse walked in the
room. Without saying a word, she checked his vitals. She must have been
concerned with the results, because she didn’t look too happy as she jotted
down the numbers on the chart.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to interrupt, but I need to
administer this patient his meds. This patient has been through a traumatic
ordeal and needs his rest, please make this short.”

She took the intravenous bag that hung on the pole and
replaced it with a brand new one. Without saying another word, but effectively
giving them an unspoken warning not to aggravate her patient, she exited the
room. Blakey’s eyes followed the nurse as she appeared to deliberately add a
wiggle in her step when she walked out of the room. If Marty didn’t know any
better, he would think she was flirting with one of them. Jean confirmed his
suspicions by rolling her eyes and shaking her head in response to the men’s obvious
visual delight at the sight. It was not only the patient’s attention that was
diverted by the curvature of the nurse’s well-formed backside.

Marty recovered first and tried to pull Troy’s attention
back to him. He repeated his question, just in case he forgot what they were
talking about.

“Can you tell us what happened? Why did your father shoot
you, Troy?”

Troy leaned back and rested his head on the pillow. He shook
his head. “I’m not sure. I need to know where Shane is. Is my brother okay?”

It was Sanders who replied. “We don’t know where Shane is,
Troy, we’re looking for him. We’re hoping he turns himself in. It’s the best
thing he can do for himself.” Sanders explained.

“Turn himself in for what? What the hell is going on?”

Marty stood up. He knew Blakey was still groggy, and the new
medication the nurse gave him may have added to his confusion. He wasn’t so
sure that he wasn’t being honest with them. If his father shot him, he may have
been unconscious and wouldn’t have a clue of what occurred afterward. According
to Michaelah, it was Troy she identified as arguing with Blakey. The little
girl described Shane as the man who was with her when the first gunshot when
off. If Michaelah was right and Troy was telling the truth, and it was his
father who shot him, it stood to reason Troy may not know what happened after
he was shot if he lost consciousness. Marty tried to go down a different
avenue.

“Troy, do you have any idea where Shane may be? Do you have
any idea where we can find your brother? Where were you guys staying here in
Fallsburg?”

It was as if he didn’t hear him.

“You’re telling me Shane shot my dad? I can’t believe that.
Shane wouldn’t hurt a fly.” He turned to Sanders. “You know that, Sanders! My
brother hates guns. There is no way he would shoot anyone!”

Sanders spoke up. “Well, I guess things have changed, Troy,
because your dad is dead; and your brother is missing and so is the murder
weapon. The bullet matches a caliber of pistol that was registered to you, Troy.
You are the registered owner of a Colt Vest Pocket automatic pistol, right?”

Troy nodded.

“Did you bring that gun with you here to New York?” Sanders
asked him.

“Yeah, but . . . damn it, Sanders, my
brother hates guns. He and my old man used to get into it big time, because Shane
refused to go hunting. He wouldn’t even go target practicing with him. There is
no way.” He managed to shake his head. It was obvious the meds hadn’t taken
full effect yet, because he was in still in a lot of pain.

“Well, Troy, the gun is missing and so is your brother.
Right now he is considered a fugitive, armed and dangerous. If you want to keep
your brother safe, you need to help us find him. Do you have any idea where he
may have gone?” This time it was Jean who asked.

Once again, he shook his head in frustration and very
carefully laid back down.

“Did you know that your father was here in New York? Is that
why you’re here?” Jean continued to question him.

His eyes were closing; and they realized the medicine the
nurse administered must have contained a painkiller or sedative and it was
beginning to affect him. It was obvious to them the man was on the verge of
losing consciousness again. They could tell they were running out of time to
get answers.

“Yeah, we were pretty sure he was here. I swear to you we
didn’t know what he was up to though. We just needed to ask him some stuff. I
wanted to know the truth about M’leigh, and Shane wanted . . . .”

He stopped there, as if he didn’t want to betray his brother,
and thought before he continued softly. “We didn’t know what he was doing. I
freaked out when I saw that little kid. I thought he was done
with . . . when I . . . .” His voice
was fading as his eyes slowly closed.

Marty stood up. He knew it was futile when he realized he had
fallen asleep, and for the time being, their window to get answers had closed.

“We’ll be back, Blakey. Get some rest,” Marty told him,
knowing he probably wasn’t even hearing him. He turned and saw the bored look
on Jean’s face. At this point, all she was really interested in was finding
Shane and arresting him for the shooting death of his father, he thought. It
was an open-and-shut homicide case for her. She really didn’t have any
questions other than where the man’s brother was; and Marty didn’t think the
man in the hospital bed had a clue as to where that may be. It was the first
time he ever saw any sort of complacency in his partner. She usually was so
meticulous about getting answers.
Who? What?  . . . and
Where?
That was her motto; but when it came to knowing the why, the lady
was like a pit bull with a bone. Something was off with her lately; and Marty
made a note to bring it up to her at another time.

To be fair, Marty knew that Jean wasn’t aware of what Sanders
had found out about the possible connection to the sequence of kidnappings from
as far back as twenty-five years ago. She hadn’t been informed yet about the
articles that Sanders had shown Marty. And the information he brought with him
from Oregon may very well turn out to uncover a very old hornet’s nest. Marty
was about to tell her what they knew when she excused herself and said she
would see them back at the station.

Instead of eating at the hospital cafeteria, Marty suggested
to Sanders that they head over to his favorite restaurant, The Liar’s Den. It
was just a few minutes away and within walking distance. It didn’t take much
cajoling.

Once they were seated and their orders were in, Marty asked
Sanders if he could see the photographed copies of the newspaper articles
again.

Sanders rifled through his briefcase until he found them. He
ran his hand over the table, making sure it was dry. When he was confident the
papers wouldn’t suffer damage by debris or liquid on the wooden table he handed
them to Marty.

“Are you familiar with these cases, Marty? Seems you’re not
much older than the articles themselves. What were you, five years old then?”

“Nine.”

Sanders looked surprised when Marty answered him so rapidly.

Marty knew all the facts but he read each word as if the
story was new to him. He stared at the black and white photo of the then
three-year-old T.J. Kolakowski.

The waitress came over with their meal; and Marty carefully
folded the papers and placed them on the bench next to him.

“Marty, can I get you a refill?” The familiar waitress
asked.

“Yeah, Trina, please.” She added some ice tea to his glass
and then turned to Sanders, who put his hand over his still steaming cup of
coffee. “No thanks. I’m fine.”

“So, are you getting nervous yet?”

Marty looked up at her, confused at first.

Trina has been serving his meals at The Liar’s Den for as
long as he could remember. They had flirted on and off since first grade when
she kissed him underneath the monkey bars on the playground. But at the time,
it was his best friend, Justin, who was in love with the little girl with the
long blonde braids; and even at that age, Marty felt like he would be betraying
his friend by looking interested. She never gave her heart to Justin, but he
lusted after her for years; and so Marty never could bring himself to ask her
out. Just as well. Justin had found true love in his wife, Diane, and he had
found Hope.