Dirty Deeds (18 page)

Louie and Paul stood a few feet behind the paramedics while they cut away the sodden shirt and light jacket James had been wearing. Even through the mess on his chest, Louie could make out the holes, three of them, mid-chest, just left of center. They looked like three black eyes in the middle of a brilliant red face. It was a wonder he lived as long as he did. Those shots had to have torn his heart to pieces. Paul's intake of breath told her the same thought occurred to him. She reached over and squeezed his hand. Though cold, he returned the gentle pressure.

James surprised her with strength of will enough to allow him time to say goodbye to his brother. A few days ago, hell, a few hours ago, Paul'd been bitter and furious with this man who caused plenty of grief for the entire McDonald family. All of that baggage disappeared in a heartbeat the moment the gunman fired. Paul reacted on instinct rooted in love, regardless of what he might say. Good God, how she understood how things can change in a matter of seconds.

She and Christopher had never fought, hadn't been estranged as Paul and James had been. Still, tragedy changes everything. Her life hadn't been the same since a bullet put her brother into a coma. She'd had lived for two things since: revenge and hope. She hunted daily for the person who pulled the trigger, hoping she'd have the strength to merely take him into custody and not kill him. And she hoped every day she'd get a call from the care facility telling her Chris had come back to them. She was still waiting and hoping for both.

While they'd waited for the ambulance to arrive, she'd watched Paul cradle his brother's body. Her heart ached with the knowledge that his life would, like hers, never be the same. Any hope for his brother was gone, and she wondered if he'd be filled with the same sense of injustice and fury that had been with her since the day Chris was shot. Would he seek revenge as she did? Or would he find the kind of peace she never had?

It seemed as though it had taken hours for the ambulance to arrive rather than ten minutes. They were close enough to Metaline Falls that the response time was excellent. Under normal circumstances, it would have meant the difference between life and death. As it was, death had been inevitable for James McDonald. No life-saving measures could bring him back from the hat trick to his heart despite the valiant efforts of the capable EMTs. They still had him on an oxygen mask and IV drip as they moved him onto the waiting gurney.

Even knowing James was gone, Paul crawled into the ambulance with his brother, his hand on the sheet that covered him from neck to foot. She watched the back of the ambulance as it sped away down the quiet highway. Though she deeply understood Paul's loss, she couldn't offer much comfort. She'd been around death many times. It was cold and it was final. Unlike the hope offered in literature and popular movies, coming back from death was a fantasy.

Instead of following the ambulance, Louie waited for the sheriff. They had things to discuss. Louie'd met Joe Federer once or twice and liked him. He was sharp and intuitive even though he was sheriff of a small community and a mostly rural county.

He drove up in a marked cruiser and stepped out. Tall, husky, and with beautiful silver hair, Joe commanded attention anywhere he went.

"Lou." His deep voice filled the morning. He didn't seem surprised to see her. He held out his hand and she took it. His grip was warm and sure.

"Joe, good to see you."

"What's up with this?" He inclined his toward the motorcycle and the stain on the asphalt beside it. "Drugs, I assume."

Louie nodded and grimaced at the same time. "Yes and no."

He raised an eyebrow. "How so?"

Louie filled him in on what she knew, which wasn't nearly as much as she'd have liked. There were too many holes in the story, too many unknowns. It wasn't a simple drug deal gone bad. She'd seen enough of those to know, and so had Joe. There was something bigger going on here and damned if she could figure out what it was.

"Any idea on the shooter?"

"No." That was the part that bugged her the most. She needed to know who was pulling the trigger just as much for Paul as for herself. She guessed that the bullets that pierced James McDonald's heart would match those that came from Chris and Kendall.

Joe chewed on a toothpick and narrowed his eyes taking in everything from the bloody gravel on the side of the road to the motorcycle wheel lying in the ditch. "He shot from there." Joe pointed to the same spot that Louie had been pointing her gun at earlier.

"Yeah and one of the shots was a through and through." She'd seen the blood running through Paul's hands as he held James, and had known one of the shots went all the way through his chest and out his back. "That tree." She pointed to a large pine about ten feet from the road's edge.

It had taken all her will-power not to pry the bullet from the tree when she realized it was lodged there. More than anything she wanted the ballistics run even though she was positive what the results would be. She'd been off the job a long time now, but once trained, always trained, and she wouldn't jeopardize another's investigation. Joe was a stand-up cop, and he'd share the ballistics with her. Trouble was, this was a small county and the analysis often took far longer than down in Spokane. She sensed that somewhere a clock was ticking, and she needed to be armed with as much information as she could as soon as possible.

Joe pulled a pair of latex gloves out of his jacket pocket and slipped them onto his big hands as he walked in the direction of the giant pine. Louie followed close on his heels. With a pocket knife, he dislodged the bullet from the tree without damaging it. The tree didn't fare as well, but so be it. The precious evidence was intact. Joe was all professional despite his small town arena. She watched him turn the bullet over in his hands, studying it.

"Your boy likes high caliber." He held out his hand so Louie could see.

She was certain the second she saw the bullet that it was the same. It almost hurt to be right.

"Interesting." Joe was looking from the bullet to the spot where they believed the shooter had stood.

She looked up at him. "How so?"

"Your boy is good, Lou, real good."

"You know that how?"

"Two things. This is a straight shot, an accurate shot. Put together the accuracy and the distance and your shooter is a boy with some real skill."

Her mind raced at the possibilities. "How skilled, do you think?"

"I think special ops. He is or was either a sniper or Special Forces."

Her same thought. She appreciated the unintended validation of her own deductive reasoning. "What did James McDonald know that somebody didn't want out?" She was talking more to herself than anything.

"Good question."

Joe put the bullet into an evidence bag, marked it and handed it off to a deputy. He then walked her back to the Mustang where it still sat shielded from view.

"Nice car. Yours?"

She shook her head. "No, still got the Chevelle."

"Sweet car."

"Hard to resist a great muscle car, isn't it?"

He smiled, shook her hand and opened the door for her. "I'll keep in touch, and you have the folks in Spokane get a hold of me. Sounds like we got ourselves a little conspiracy here. Don't like finding dead bodies alongside my roads. That's for you folks down in the big city, if you know what I mean."

"Yeah, right. Maybe we can put out a public announcement bulletin that all murders must stop at the Spokane County line."

"Works for me." He pushed the door shut and leaned down to the open window. "Seriously, Lou, be careful. Something about this doesn't smell right to me."

She knew what he meant; it wasn't passing the smell test for her either. "Will do, Joe. Keep in touch."

"You do the same." He tapped his fingers against the door and then stepped back to give her room to pull out onto the highway.

She turned the key Paul had given her and the Mustang roared to life. It didn't quite have the kick her Chevelle did, but it wasn't bad driving either. Instead of heading for Metaline Falls, she turned the car and started to drive toward Mount Carmel Hospital in Colville, the closest medical facility. No doubt Paul would be waiting outside because the doctors wouldn't be able to save Jamie. The trip to the hospital would be short and bittersweet, and then James McDonald would be making one more trip. This time to the morgue.

Chapter Twelve

After only five minutes in the emergency room, Jamie was declared DOA by a tall ER doctor with brown hair just beginning to turn gray at his temples. He had kind eyes and a gentle voice. He put a hand on Paul's shoulder as he offered his condolences.

The thoughtful staff of the small hospital left him alone to sit by Jamie, the drapes around the small emergency room cubicle pulled together for privacy. Jamie's face retained the pasty white pallor; his chest beneath the white linen was still covered with blood. Paul held Jamie's cold and lifeless hand, his own fingers speckled crimson. He didn't know how to leave him.

It could have been an hour or ten minutes, when the drapes rustled and then parted. Louie's sober face peered in. She didn't say a word and for that he was grateful. Silently, she pulled a chair close and sat down, her hand on his leg. They sat that way for a long time, the only sound the hustle and bustle of the emergency room personnel beyond the closed drapes.

"I don't know what to do," Paul finally said. He couldn't keep the raw emotion from spilling into his words.

She put an arm around his shoulders and hugged him. "Let the good people here take care of him."

He laid his head against her hair. "I can't just leave him." His voice broke.

"Oh Paul, I'm so sorry."

A sob broke lose and tears streamed down his cheeks. "I let him die."

"No," she said and held his face between her hands. Her eyes were intense. "No, you didn't. Someone else took his life."

He closed his eyes. "I should have done more."

"What more could you have done?"

A hundred memories rushed through his mind all mixed together with conflicting emotions. "I don't know."

"Paul, look at me … please. It's not your fault and you did the best you could've done. You held him in your arms. No matter what else happens, you have to remember that he didn't die alone."

He could get lost her in eyes and the dark honesty he saw there. She wasn't simply saying the words, she meant what she said. "Thank you."

With her thumbs, Louie wiped the tears from his cheeks and then kissed him so softly it was like the touch of butterfly wings. "You're a good guy, Paul McDonald, and don't you ever think different." She kissed him again.

He still held Jamie's lifeless fingers when she reached over and ever so gently pulled his away. Just as gently, she placed Jamie's hand beneath the white sheet. Paul could almost make himself believe Jamie was simply asleep, and if he was to come back later, everything would be different.

"Come on, it's time to go." She touched his shoulder and waited.

She was right. Still, once standing he couldn't get his feet to move. He stayed beside the hospital bed, his hands gripping the silver rail, staring down at Jamie's face. Tiny specks of blood on his cheeks and across the bridge of his nose made him look like when he was six and had contracted the chicken pox. He'd been so mad because it'd been mid-winter and Dad had constructed an ice rink in the front yard so the boys could play hockey. Jamie stood hour upon hour at the front window, his red spotted face sad while he watched Paul and his friends play hockey until they were so tired they could barely move.

Right now, Paul would give anything to have one more day with Jamie. To be the kids they once were; when all they had to worry about in their lives was whether their skates were sharp enough. He wanted to fly across the ice with his brother, to roar with laughter when they checked each other and then fell down in a tangled heap of arms, legs, skates and sticks. He wanted to sit and watch Jamie sketch the mountains of their hometown, his charcoals turning a clean piece of paper into a beautiful landscape. Paul wanted to forget that life had turned them into strangers.

He couldn't have that day. He couldn't even have an hour. Jamie was gone and Paul would always carry a piece of the blame. Perhaps that was the reason he couldn't walk away. He kept thinking if only he hadn't turned his back on Jamie then maybe, just maybe, things would be different. Maybe his brother would still be alive.

"Come on, Paul." Louie tugged at his arm, a gentle nudge toward the room beyond the white curtains.

He touched Jamie's hair, blinked back a new rush of tears and turned. With Louie holding his hand, he walked out of the emergency room and out of the hospital without another look back.

Paul didn't even give it a thought when she unlocked the passenger's side door and motioned for him to get in. She drove the Mustang back to Spokane while he sat in silence, gazing out the window without really seeing a thing. He didn't have the heart or the energy for small talk and bless her, she seemed to understand. If he liked her before, his feelings went to another level now. She seemed to have a sixth sense for what he needed and when. She was not only wise and exciting, she was intuitive.

She parked the Mustang behind her office, in the now-familiar parking lot. She looked over at him, and for the first time since they left Colville, met her gaze. Her eyes were full of concern.

"Are you going to be all right?" She laid a hand on his arm.

The touch her fingers warmed him though his heart hurt and his mind was numb. He answered her slowly. "Yes … in time."

She nodded and gave his arm a gentle squeeze. "I'm here if you need me."

He smiled though he didn't feel very optimistic. "Thank you."

"I'm serious. I know what it's like to lose loved ones in a flash. It's hard any time someone you love is hurt. It's even worse when it comes out of nowhere. It's almost impossible to wrap your mind around it. I just want you to know, I'm here for you."

He leaned over and kissed her. The slow kiss held everything in his heart. Her lips were soft and yielding. Unlike the passion they shared under the stars, it was something more, something he'd never felt before, perhaps because of the tragedy. Perhaps not.