In for the Kill [Hawkman Series Book 9] (7 page)

Pulling out of the parking lot, he glanced into his rearview mirror and stiffened at the sight. A bronze colored Buick followed right on his tail. It pursued him through town, then suddenly turned off onto a side street. He breathed a sigh of relief. Surely there's more than one such colored Buick in the area. But he still kept vigilant, in case the car showed up somewhere along the way before he reached his office.

He entered the parking lot, and discovered he had the area to himself, so stopped in the center under one of the lights. He surveyed the area, nothing seemed amiss, but uneasiness crept through him. Pulling his gun from the shoulder holster, he climbed out of the SUV, and locked it up. His gaze took in every shadow around the building. Not seeing anything out of the ordinary, he took the stairs two at a time to the office entry. Standing to one side, he pushed open the heavy steel door, reached around the jamb and flipped on the light. Everything seemed in order. Holstering his gun, he secured himself inside before going to his desk where he'd left the piece of paper with the license plate number. He scribbled a quick copy for the detective, and stuffed it into his pocket. Before leaving, he went to the window and checked outside. The lights sent an eerie glow across the blacktop, but all appeared clear. Hawkman headed down the stairs.

Jennifer and the detective finished their snack, cleaned off the table and strolled down the hallway. She checked her watch.

"Hawkman should be back by now. I'm going to call and find out what's keeping him.” After several seconds, she scowled. “That's odd, he's not answering his cell."

"Maybe I should run over to his office."

"Let me call there too.” The phone to her ear, she shook her head. “No answer."

Williams stopped and grimaced. “Doesn't sound like him. He'd have notified one of us if he'd been delayed. I think I'll drive over."

"Good idea. I'll go on up to Rita's room. Be sure and let me know if everything's okay."

They parted and Jennifer proceeded to the elevator as Williams went out the door.

The detective kept an eye out for Hawkman's SUV as he drove down the road. When he pulled into the complex, his gut tightened as he parked beside his friend's empty 4X4. He glanced up at the office windows and saw no sign of lights. Jumping out of his unmarked car, he pulled his gun and cautiously advanced toward the building.

About half way across the blacktop. he gasped, “Oh my God!” Ripping his cell phone out of his jacket pocket, he called 911, then rushed to the face down, limp body of Hawkman. He placed his fingers on his neck. Finding a pulse, he breathed a sigh of relief. Blood seeped from the wound on the back of Hawkman's head and trailed down the collar of his shirt. The red smeared cowboy hat lay upside down at the side of his body. Williams picked it up and examined the crown. It appeared someone had attacked from the rear, as a big gouge penetrated the leather.

Suddenly, Hawkman groaned and Williams placed a hand on his shoulder. “Take it easy big man. Help is coming."

When the ambulance tore into the lot and screeched to a stop, Williams waved them over. “He's got a bad head injury."

The paramedics had Hawkman strapped onto a gurney, rolled into the vehicle and were off to the hospital in a matter of minutes. Meanwhile, the detective called his officers to meet him at the scene. When they arrived, he gave instructions for a thorough search of the area and gave one of the men Hawkman's hat to tag for evidence. “I'll check back later. Call me if you find anything significant."

Williams returned to his car and took off for the hospital. He immediately went to Ms. Rawlings room and poked his head inside. “Uh, Jennifer, could I talk to you a moment?"

She scurried into the hallway, her expression full of concern. “What's happened?"

"Hawkman's been attacked. I don't know how bad he's hurt. The ambulance has brought him here. I'll meet you in the emergency area after I talk to Ms. Rawlings."

Before he finished his sentence, Jennifer dashed for the elevator. When she spotted it would be awhile before it stopped on the second floor, she rushed to the stairwell and ran down the steps.

Meanwhile, the detective moved into the room. “Ms. Rawlings, I need to ask you some more questions."

Rita pushed herself up with her elbow. “I don't like the look on your face."

"Mr. Casey went to get the license plate number of the Buick and someone assaulted him outside his office."

She put a hand over her mouth and dropped back onto the pillow. “Oh, no! How bad is he hurt?"

"He's conscious and aware. When I find out anything, I'll let you know."

"Do you think the man who ran me off the road is responsible?"

"I'm not sure, but I want you to give me another detailed description, and a recount of anything else that might help in identifying him."

After giving a clear report of her assailant, she told the detective about the donut shop and bar incident, then she pointed to the cabinet at her side. “If you'll hand me my purse out of the third drawer, I'll see if I still have the slip of paper with the license plate number."

He shoved the pad and pencil into his pocket, and knelt beside the bed. “That would really help,” he said, retrieving the handbag.

She fumbled through the many pockets and finally came up with a crumpled piece of paper. “Ah, here it is."

The detective quickly jotted down the information, then handed it back to her. “Keep this, in case you need it again."

Smoothing out the page, she tucked it inside her checkbook. “Next time I'll know exactly where I put it.” She set the bag beside her. “You better get down to the emergency room and find out about Mr. Casey. Ask Jennifer if she'd please let me know his condition."

"I'll have her come up as soon as she can. You take care and stay alert.” He patted the metal foot of her bed and headed out the door.

Detective Williams joined Jennifer in the emergency waiting room. “Heard anything?"

"He's conscious and wanting to get out of here. But the doctor insisted on doing a CT scan on his head, but he doesn't think there's any brain damage. He felt whatever hit him was deflected and Hawkman didn't get the full impact. However, he did need a few stitches."

"His hat might have saved him, it took a beating. It had a big gouge in the back. I found it at the scene and turned it over to my officers. Maybe we can find out the type of weapon used."

Jennifer grew silent for a moment, gnawing on her lower lip.

The detective studied her expression. “Okay, what's going on in your mind? You're as bad as your husband. I can hear the wheels grinding."

She grinned. “That's a nice compliment. If you really want to know my thoughts, I'm not only concerned about Rita, but also Marie Paulson."

He frowned. “Hawkman mentioned a Marie, but didn't elaborate. What does she have to do with this guy?"

Jennifer explained about the kitten and how Marie might be the next victim. “She's recently widowed and has three little girls. I haven't had a chance to talk to her, but Hawkman assured me he'd made her aware of the danger."

Williams scratched his head. “How many others are involved in this mess?"

"I don't think there's anyone else. But it might be wise if you stationed a guard outside Rita's room for the night."

He glanced toward the ceiling. “Yeah, that's a good idea. It certainly can't hurt and this is about the only thing brewing tonight.” He stood. “I think I'll take off and get some business done. If Hawkman has a turn for the worse, just give me a call on the cell. I'll assign an officer to stay here, then I'm going to find out who owns the rental car place. I think it's time to start getting some answers."

She nodded. “You know my husband; he won't be staying here for the night if he has anything to do with it. And will more than likely be contacting you first thing in the morning."

"I'll be expecting his call.” Williams waved and walked out the door.

The detective pulled up the collar of his coat as he stepped from underneath the awning of the hospital entry. Torrents of rain overwhelmed the gutters and drains making large puddles in the parking lot. He splashed through a couple, and felt the water soaking through his shoes and socks. Shivering from the plunge in temperature, he jumped into his car and turned on the heater. Rubbing and blowing on his hands to warm up, he finally backed out of the space. A small tree limb, propelled by the high wind, bounced across his windshield as he bumped out of the exit. “What a night,” he mumbled, turning onto the asphalt.

He called the station and made arrangements for one of the officers to stand guard outside Ms. Rawlings’ room for the night. Driving slowly down the street of the car rental agency, he didn't expect to find anyone there at this hour, but remembered people turned cars in late at night. Since this guy sideswiped a vehicle, there'd be dents and he probably wouldn't want to face the owner. So maybe he parked it in the lot after hours.

The detective stopped in front of the building,and left the motor running. He squinted through the rain splattered windshield, and could make out a driveway alongside the building. He turned in, but came to a sudden stop when he spotted a body lying in the middle of the wet pavement. Leaping from the car, he dashed to the person's side and immediately tapped in 911 on his cell. He felt for a pulse just as the man groaned and tried to move. “Stay still, fellow."

The man's eyelids flickered open and he stared at Williams. “Who are you?” he whispered.

"I'm Detective Williams and help is on the way."

"You gotta catch that guy; he brought in a damaged car,” he said, pointing toward a bronze Buick. “He slugged me when I told him he couldn't leave until he talked to the boss."

"What's your name?” Williams asked.

"Fred Baxter. I'm the night watchman for several of these buildings and had just started my walk through of this place when this guy drove in. I immediately saw the damage to the side of the car and told him I'd better call Mr. Fielding."

The emergency vehicle swerved in and the paramedics jumped out. “Hey, detective, you're keeping us busy tonight,” one of the men said, pushing the gurney toward the victim.

Williams stepped aside so they could examine Fred. The rain had stopped for the moment, but thunder could be heard in the distance.

"What's his condition?” the detective asked.

"His vitals are fine. We'll take him in and have him checked by the doctor."

"Let me ask Mr. Baxter a couple more questions before you roll out of here.” Williams stepped up to the rear of the vehicle. “You want me to call anyone?"

"Naw, I have my cell phone. I'll call my wife. It won't scare her if she hears my voice."

"Do you have a phone number for Mr. Fielding?"

"Yeah, I know it by heart.” He rattled it off and Williams wrote it down.

"I'll want to ask you more questions. Where can I reach you?"

Fred gave another number. “That's my cell and I always have it with me."

"Thanks.” Williams moved back and gestured for the paramedics to close the door. “Okay, boys, take him away."

After the ambulance left, the detective retrieved his flashlight out of the car, then strolled over to the Buick and examined the marks on the side of the vehicle. It definitely had hit something, and the color left on the metal appeared close to the same shade as Ms. Rawlings car. He took out his cell phone and punched in the digits of the manager.

"Mr. Fielding, this is Detective Williams of the Medford Police. I'm at your place of business and discovered your night watchman has been attacked. The ambulance has taken him to the hospital, but I think he'll be fine. He talked to me about a man who'd returned a damaged vehicle. When he told him he needed to contact you, the assailant slugged him. I'd like for you to come down here and give me the information on who rented this Buick. I'll be waiting."

Williams climbed back into his car, turned on the engine and flipped the heater to medium. He'd stood outside, enduring the cold temperature with his damp clothes clinging to his body until he felt chilled to the bone. The warm air felt good and he hoped it would partially dry his shoes and socks. His feet felt like two big cubes of ice.

Fifteen minutes passed before a late model, white Cadillac sedan pulled into the driveway and parked beside him. A short, obese man struggled out of the driver's seat and hobbled over to his car.

"Detective Williams?"

"Yes."

"Let's go inside the building so I can get the paperwork.” He turned and pointed a stubby finger at the Buick. “Is that the one we're talking about?"

Williams climbed out and followed him. “Yes."

Mr. Fielding unlocked the back door, reached in and flipped on an outside light which illuminated the area. He quickly strolled around the Buick, surveying it with a sharp eye, grumbling as he examined the bent metal. “It's heavily damaged. I'll need to contact the man and my insurance agent."

The rain started to come down heavier, and they hurried inside the rental office. The manager slipped on a pair of reading glasses. “Would you be so kind as to show me your credentials?"

"Sure.” The detective flipped open his badge and the man studied it for a few seconds, then went straight to the corner filing cabinet behind the counter. He sorted through some folders, and eventually retrieved one. “Here it is.” Removing a couple of pieces of paper, he placed them on the surface. “This is the information we took from his driver's license."

Williams glanced at the sheets. “Do you have a scanner?"

"Yes."

"Could you make me a copy, please? Did you rent the car to this man?"

Fielding shook his head as he placed them on the copier. “No, I just overlook the business. I'm seldom here.” Glancing at part of the invoice, he pointed at a line. “Charles rented it to him and he's on vacation right now. He'll be back in about three days."

Williams studied the report once Fielding handed it over. Fortunately, the driver's license picture had come out bright and clear.