ZERO HERO (The Kate Huntington Mystery series) (10 page)

            She sat at the metal table–trying to hide her shock at the sight of her client–while the guard went through the routine of locking the leg chains to the ring in the floor, then releasing Pete’s hands from their shackles. One of his eyes was blackened, his lower lip puffy and sporting a large cut only partially scabbed over.

            Once the door clanged shut behind the guard’s burly back, Pete said, “The other guy looks a lot worse.”

            “What happened?”

            “Some guy tried to pound on me. But don’t worry, I’ve got a protector now.” When Kate looked at him in horror, Pete hastened to add, “I didn’t have to trade any favors to get his protection. Seems Bubba heard a rumor I was a ‘9/11 hero’.” He made quotation marks in the air. “Are you responsible for that rumor?”

            “No. My guess is Rob planted a bug in the warden’s ear that it would be bad PR if anything happened to you on his watch.”

            “It wouldn’t take long for that information to make it into the rumor mill.” After a moment of contemplating his fingernails, Pete added, “I’m not sure I’m real comfortable with this, trading on the hero thing. It feels wrong.”

            “I can understand that, but we need to keep you safe.”

            Pete nodded, then looked down at the table top. “Doesn’t sit right though. I’m not a hero.”

            Kate leaned forward. “Pete, I’m wondering if you were standing so close to the trees you never saw the forest.”

            He looked up. “What do you mean?”

            “You were there, at the Twin Towers, pulling people out, then running back in. From your perspective, it felt like you didn’t do enough, because you couldn’t save them all. But that’s not how the rest of the country experienced 9/11. We were in our offices, our kitchens or living rooms, watching on TV as the second plane hit, and then the buildings came down, and people were running away. We were in shock, unable to believe that this was happening in our country. And there was nothing we could do. Helplessness is a terrible feeling, Pete. The worst one humans ever have to deal with. You felt like you couldn’t do enough, but we couldn’t do
anything
.”

            Pete was silent, watching her intently.

            “I was convinced that tens of thousands of people died in those towers,” Kate said. “And that’s before I’d even heard about the Pentagon and the plane in Pennsylvania. I actually felt
relieved
later that day, and the next, when the estimates of those killed went down and then down again. I thought it was downright miraculous that we
only
lost three thousand souls that day. Not to discount those people’s lives or what their families suffered, but it could have been so much worse. And you, Pete, were one of the reasons why it wasn’t worse. So get used to the idea that the rest of America thinks you’re pretty damn special!”

            After a moment, Pete gave her a small smile. “Still don’t feel like a hero, but I get what you’re saying.”

~~~~~~~~

            Skip caught himself. He’d been about to ask Maria if she’d mind watching the kids while he went to visit Mac. Then he remembered what Kate had told him. Instead, he asked Maria if she wanted to go with him to the hospital. They could take turns staying with the kids down in the cafeteria.

            Maria’s visit was short. She returned to the cafeteria before the kids had finished the ice cream Skip had bought them. She was beaming. “He grouchy. Good sign.”

            Skip grinned at her. He handed over a twenty-dollar bill. “They can each spend ten dollars in the gift shop, but
not
on candy.”

            “Cool,” Billy said with enthusiasm, as his sister bounced in her chair.

            “Finish ice cream first,” Maria said.

            Skip hoped they wouldn’t be disappointed. Ten dollars didn’t usually buy you much in a hospital gift shop. He headed for the elevators.

            He took two steps into Mac’s room and froze. The women had reported the patient was improving, but he looked like hell. His wiry body seemed downright frail in the big hospital bed. His eyes were closed, the eyelids thin with blue veins showing through. The white towel draped over his chest was only a couple shades lighter than his skin. He looked like an old man, wearing a bib to catch his drool.

            Fear ricocheted through Skip’s nervous system. For a moment, he thought Mac was dead.

            The patient’s eyes opened. They brightened when he saw Skip. “Hey, boss man. How ya doin’?”

            “I’m fine.” A lie. His heart was galloping a mile a minute. “I wish you wouldn’t call me that.”

            Mac was two years older than Skip’s forty-four, and on a toughness scale of one to ten, Skip considered himself an eight and Mac an eleven.

            Mac gave him a lopsided grin as his right side rippled under the bed covers.

            Worry gnawed again at Skip’s gut. Had Mac suffered some kind of stroke or nerve damage?

            “Damn nurse keeps wrapping me up like a mummy. Can’t even get my arms loose.”

            Letting out a short bark of relieved laughter, Skip stepped over to the bed and pulled the sheet and light blanket loose. Mac disentangled his arm and shook his hand.

            Rose came into the room carrying a pair of scissors. “Finally convinced the nurse I wasn’t a homicidal maniac and could be trusted with sharps... Oh, hiya, Skip.”

            “Hey, partner, how you doin’?”

            “I’m fine but the patient’s annoyed ’cause he missed his haircut this week.”

            Mac might go two or three days without shaving but the one aspect of his appearance about which he was meticulous was his hair. He kept it trimmed in a precision military buzz cut.

            “Ah, thus the towel,” Skip said. He noted that indeed Mac’s hair was rather ragged looking, and there was a good bit of gray now sprinkled in with the light brown.

           
Are we gettin’ too old to do this shit?
He pushed that thought aside as Mac asked him about the investigation.

~~~~~~~~

            On Sunday morning, Kate and Skip were sitting in their usual pew, three rows back from the front. Kate patted her stomach, willing the butterflies to settle down. She should have her head examined. Did she really think people would donate money to bail someone accused of murder out of jail?

            Maybe she should...

            Too late. Elaine had finished her other announcements at the end of the service and was now looking in Kate’s direction. “I had an unusual request this week from one of our parishioners. I’ll let her explain but I wanted to tell you all that I’ve met with the young man in question. I’m inclined to agree with Kate’s assessment of him and the situation. However, as I said, it’s an unusual request so each of you should do as you see fit.”

            Kate stood and smoothed down the jacket of her suit. “I’ll try to condense this as best I can. A young man I know has been arrested on murder charges. I believe he’s innocent and my husband’s agency is looking into the case.” She summarized Pete’s life-saving efforts on 9/11. “Now he’s in jail, with no money for bail, and that’s not a good environment for him.” She stopped to swallow the lump growing in her throat. “He’s a gentle soul, and it will be months before his case comes to trial. The ushers are going to pass the plate again. Anything you feel you can give would be helpful. I know it’s a lot to ask, to take my word for it that he’s innocent.”

            “And mine,” Elaine said. “But you don’t need to feel obligated to give.”

            A voice came from the back of the church. “Well I think we should feel obligated to give.” A woman Kate didn’t know stood up. “I lost my dad on 9/11. My parents owned a business in the World Trade Center. On the ground floor. My dad shoved my mom out the front door and then he took off for the fire stairs to try to help others get out.” The woman stifled a sob. “They never even found his body.”

            The lump in Kate’s throat was now too big to swallow.

            “I lost friends on 9/11, in the Pentagon,” a male voice called out.

            Another woman stood up. Kate knew her in passing, Jane or Janet something.

            “Most of you don’t know this since I’ve only been coming here a few years, but I was widowed on 9/11. My husband was on the Pennsylvania plane. He was one of the ones who rushed the cockpit. Like the guy whose call to his wife ended up on the news, he called me... from his cell...” Tears were streaming down the woman’s cheeks. “Told me to tell the children...” She waved her hand in the air, unable to continue, and sat down. The people on either side wrapped their arms around her.

            Kate swiped at the tears on her face with the back of her hand. Skip dug out his handkerchief and handed it to her, even though he was sniffing a bit himself.

            Doris Baines stood up.

            Kate stifled a groan. The woman was the most negative person she’d ever known.

            “Will this young man take off when he’s out on bail?” Doris asked. “I mean, just because he’s a 9/11 hero doesn’t mean he didn’t do what the police think he did.”

            Kate had to admit she had a point, at least from the perspective of someone who didn’t know Pete. “I don’t think he’ll go anywhere. His support system is here in Towson. And he’ll have his day in court. But in the meantime, I’m very concerned about what being in jail will do to his mental health. If he’s innocent, as Elaine and I and several other people believe he is–”

            “Including the arresting officer,” Skip muttered beside her.

            “If he’s innocent and being locked up for months destroys him...”

            Skip took her hand and gave it a squeeze.

            A murmur of dissatisfaction had been growing in the sanctuary. Kate didn’t know if it was aimed at her or Doris.

            Elaine raised her arms in the air, the white sleeves of her robe looking a bit like angel’s wings.

            Kate caught the expression on the priest’s face.
Make that an annoyed angel’s wings.

            The murmur subsided. Elaine nodded to Sym, the head usher, and the ushers started passing the alms basins around the pews. “I don’t think we need to have a long debate about this. Give as you’re willing. If you have questions for Kate, ask her during coffee hour. I’m sure she’ll be happy to take your donation then as well.” She frowned at Doris when she didn’t take the hint to sit down.

            Doris held up her hand. “I just got one more thing to say. I think we
should
help this young man.”

            Laughter rippled through the congregation as Doris resumed her seat.

            Jim Sutton, the church treasurer, stood up. “Checks should be made out to Kate, not the church and these donations are not tax-deductible.”

            “Spoken like a true accountant, Jim,” a voice rang out. Another ripple of laughter.

            Jim smiled. “And I wanted to say that my son is a firefighter. It scares the you-know-what out of me every day, but I’m also extremely proud of him. Firefighters are the bravest people on this planet. They run
into
burning, collapsing buildings!”

            “Or they’re the craziest,” someone said
sotto voice
.

            Jim chuckled good-naturedly. “Yeah, well, that’s what we’ve got Kate for.”

            Kate smiled in his direction, her vision blurred by fresh tears.

            One of the ushers had grabbed the basket normally kept in the back of the church for canned goods for the local food pantry. Sym took it and dumped the overflowing contents of his alms plate into it. The other ushers followed suit, then went back to passing the plates along the pews. They were only halfway to the front of the church.

            “Thank you,” Kate tried to say, but it came out as a breathless whisper.

            Skip stood up and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Y’all have left my wife speechless,” he drawled. “You’ve got no idea how rare a phenomenon that is.”

            Laughter erupted.

CHAPTER SEVEN

            Sunday afternoon, Skip sat at the kitchen table enjoying the peace and quiet. It was one of those unusually balmy days Maryland was sometimes blessed with this time of year–referred to as the February thaw. Winter usually came back with a vengeance afterwards. But one learned to savor the mid-winter sample of the springtime that would come eventually.

            Kate had said it was a sign that everything was going to be alright. She’d taken the kids to the park near their house.

            Skip took a sip of coffee and flipped the Sunday paper over to the sports section, but his mind was on his wife.

            He couldn’t have been more proud of her this morning. After the round of testimonials there wasn’t a dry eye in the house. Wallets and checkbooks appeared in people’s hands, and more than once the collection plates were held up as someone finished writing out a check. The ushers had dumped everything into the basket and Elaine had blessed it.

            Between the collection and a donation from the priest’s discretionary fund, Jim had thought they’d raised at least ten thousand dollars. He and some of his volunteers were going to count it and call this evening with a final figure.

            It wouldn’t be enough to get Jamieson out of jail, but it was progress in the right direction.

            Skip’s mood sobered as his mind turned to his hospital visit yesterday. His stomach knotted at the memory of Mac, so pale and weak in that hospital bed. He stared sightlessly at the basketball scores while trying to sort out whatever the hell was going on.

            Kate was right. Mac was the last person he’d have expected to get hurt. It had shaken both of them. Kate was ready to kick ass, and he was...
what?

            The image of Mac falling toward him, surprise and pain in his eyes, came unbidden into his mind. Sweat trickled down his sides. His palms felt clammy.