Lie Down in Green Pastures (11 page)

Cindy screamed as Larson lunged toward the mugger. The gun went offand Larson fell against her. Together they crashed to the ground.

7

M
ARK WAS HEADING HOME WHEN PAUL CALLED HIM. "WHAT IS IT?" HE asked, hearing the tension in his partner's voice.

"Get over to the hospital now."

There was a click as Paul hung up. Mark turned on his siren and hung a U-turn in the middle of the street. He slammed his foot to the floor and screamed around startled drivers who hadn't had time to register his coming and pull over.

He spun to a screeching halt in the emergency room parking lot and sprinted inside. Paul met him just inside the door.Sitting on the ground rocking back and forth, head on her knees, was Cindy. There was blood on her clothes but she appeared uninjured.

"Is it the rabbi?" Mark asked.

"No. Larson Beck. He was shot by a mugger a few minutes ago. Doctors are in with him now."

"It wasn't a mugger!" Cindy wailed. "They just wanted you to think it was one!"

Mark dropped down beside her. "Cindy, it's Mark. Who wanted us to think that?"

She looked up at him. Her eyes were red and swollen, the pupils dilated unnaturally. She was shaking from head to toe and he could see that she had gone into shock. She was holding her right arm at an unnatural angle and he realized the shoulder was dislocated. He swore and didn't bother to hide it.A dozen nurses and doctors flying around her and not one of them had realized she was also in need of medical attention.

"Nurse!" he shouted.

"What is it, Detective?" a woman bustled up.

"This woman has gone into shock and her arm's dislocated.Admit her now."

"Yes, sir," the woman said. "Gurney!" she shouted.

Mark helped Cindy to stand and then to sit down on the gurney.

"I don't want to lie down," she told him.

"Do it for me," he urged.

She did and grunted in pain.

"Cindy, who wanted us to think this was a mugging?" Mark asked again.

"The same people who wanted you to think all the other murders were accidents," Cindy said.

A nurse wheeled her offthen and Mark stood and stared after her, belatedly realizing that he, too, was shaking.

"I've said it before and I'll say it again, civilians shouldn't get involved," Paul said.

Mark turned on him, anger settling in the pit of his stomach."For all we know she's the only reason that our victim is alive."

Paul grunted but didn't say anything.

"I need a drink," Mark said.

"Coffee in the hospital cafeteria is all I can offer you."

"We should leave our number so they can call the moment there's anything to report."

"I already have," Paul said. "Let's go get that coffee and talk."

As they walked to the cafeteria Mark called his wife and told her not to wait dinner for him.

"It's nice that she's so understanding," Paul said.

"Yeah, but I wish it wasn't necessary," Mark answered.

After they had their coffee in hand they selected a table at the far end of the cafeteria. The one nice thing about the facility was it was designed so that people could obtain a measure of privacy if they wanted it.

"I heard on the scanner that there had been a shooting involving a man and a woman. I had a bad feeling and I was two blocks away so I got there right as the ambulance did. I saw who it was," Paul said.

He took another swig of coffee and continued, "Larson was down. There was a lot of blood. I'm not sure if he was hit in the chest or the shoulder. A witness who had been parking her car said she had seen a man in a ski mask running away from the scene. She was the one who called 911. Cindy went with Larson in the ambulance, but no one looked at her to realize what kind of shape she was in until you did. Including me.I'm sorry."

"We should have interviewed Larson tonight," Mark said.

"Looks like Cindy tried to do that for us."

"I wish I knew what she found out."

"Hopefully we'll know shortly."

"We have to put an end to this, Paul."

"I think you need a vacation," his partner observed.

"And you don't? What are you, a machine?"

His partner didn't dignify that with an answer.

They sat in silence, each lost in his own thoughts. Finally Paul's phone rang and he snatched it up and listened intently for a moment before ending the call.

"We can see Cindy."

Mark was on his feet and had tossed his coffee cup in a moment. "Any word on Larson?" he asked as they hurried back through the hospital's halls.

"Still in with the doctors."

Cindy was dazed but still conscious when they entered her room.

"You know, you really do need to stop ending up in here," Mark said, trying his best to crack a smile.

"Not my fault," she muttered.

"Can you tell us what happened?"

"We had coffee. He didn't . . . know anything."

"What about the shooting?" Paul pressed.

"Walking to my car and guy came out of doorway. He had a gun . . . wanted wallet, purse. Larson tried to knock away gun . . . it went off. . . Larson fell on me, knocked over . . . hit ground. Ambulance."

She was getting more incoherent and her eyes were glazing over as the exhaustion and medication took over. Within moments she was asleep.

"I don't think she's waking up anytime soon," Paul said.

"Agreed. But as much as we need to talk to her she needs the sleep more."

"If nothing else we know where she'll be for the next several hours. Hopefully this scare will put an end to her trying to get involved."

Somehow Mark doubted that. He remembered how terrifi ed she had been when the Passion Week Killer had been on the loose. If that hadn't stopped her from wanting to get involved then he didn't know what would.

One of the nurses Mark had seen earlier came into the room and checked on Cindy. When she was finished she turned to them. "The doctor is coming here in a minute to speak with you."

Sure enough the doctor appeared shortly looking as tired as Mark felt. He checked Cindy's chart and then turned to them."She's going to be okay. The shoulder will be stifffor a few days and I'm going to prescribe some physical therapy to help strengthen and heal everything."

"That's good news," Mark said.

"What about the guy who was shot?" Paul asked.

"He's going to be okay, too. Bullet went into his shoulder and we were able to get it out. We're going to keep him for a few days. He lost a lot of blood and we want to guard against infection, but otherwise he should be just fine."

"When will he be able to talk?" Mark asked.

"Not until tomorrow morning at the earliest. He's heavily sedated and won't be waking up anytime tonight, I can assure you. Even if he did, I think he'd tell you he was attacked by pink rabbits or some such nonsense with the amount of medication he's got in him."

"So, there's nothing more we can really do here tonight," Mark clarified.

"That's correct, gentlemen. Hopefully you'll have better luck in the morning."

Tuesday morning Jeremiah could tell there was trouble the moment he stepped inside the main office at the synagogue.

"We need a male counselor for the retreat," Marie said.

"I thought we needed a female counselor? That was the announcement I made Saturday."

"We did, but someone stepped forward."

"Good, so what's the problem?"

"Larson Beck."

"The boys' counselor . . ." Jeremiah said, waiting for Marie to jump in.

"Not anymore. He's in the hospital."

"What's wrong with him?"

"I don't know."

A warning bell went offin the back of Jeremiah's mind.Hadn't Cindy said something about Larson in the voicemail he had deleted the night before?

"Well, there's still time to find someone," he said.

"They leave Thursday night. That's two days."

"That's cutting it close. I'm sure you'll come up with someone, though," he said, moving toward his office.

"I have."

Something in the way she said it made him stop, turn, and look at her. "Who?" he asked, a terrible suspicion filling him.

"You."

"No, I can't. It's out of the question."

"We're already having a special guest cantor for services on Saturday. You could be gone."

"It's not just that." He blinked, unhappy that she had clearly been thinking it through. "I've never been a camp counselor."

"It's just like being a rabbi. Just outdoors part of the time."

"I'm allergic to trees," he lied.

"Which is why you always go jogging in the park downtown?" she said, not budging an inch and scolding him for the lie with a lift of her eyebrows.

"I'm not good with kids."

"Sure you are. I've seen how you are around them. They love you."

And there, burning just below the surface, his temper began to slip. He was the one in charge, not her. "I'm not doing it," he snapped at her.

She flinched and took a step backward. She opened her mouth to say something, then closed it and her shoulders slumped in defeat. She went and sat down at her desk. "Then I'll just have to call the parents and tell them the trip is canceled," she said quietly.

"Good, do that."

There was no way he was going to spend three days in the wilderness with a bunch of teenage boys. He was having a hard enough time controlling himself lately, hiding, and being put in that environment was the last thing he needed.

He sat down and stared blindly at his computer screen. "I need a vacation," he whispered. He hadn't taken a real one in a long time.

Deep down, though, he knew that wasn't the answer.

Cindy woke up in a hospital bed with only the vaguest idea of how she had gotten there. Her shoulder hurt and she felt like she was in a fog.

"Good morning," a cheerful voice said.

She turned her head slowly and was surprised to see Gerald Wilson sitting in a chair nearby smiling at her.

"What are you doing here?" she asked the writer.

"I called the police station this morning hoping to track down those detectives for at least a quick interview and heard about what happened to you. I figured I'd come down and check on you."

"Thank you," she said.

"Can I get you anything?"

"I'm thirsty."

"Say no more."

There were a pitcher and cup on the table near the bed and he quickly poured her some and handed it to her. She started to reach for it with her right hand, then thought better of it as it sent a twinge to her shoulder. She took the cup and managed to sip a little of the water before handing it back.

"Thank you."

"So, it seems you've gotten yourself caught up in another crime," he said.

"Unfortunately."

"Maybe I should save room in my book for one more chapter?" he suggested.

She shook her head slowly, wincing at the headache she seemed to have. "I don't think this one has the legendary qualities you're looking for."

"You never know," he said. "Sometimes the most innocuousseeming things can set us upon quests we could never have imagined the scope of."

"Quest . . . funny word," she said, feeling her eyelids beginning to droop.

A nurse came in and checked on her and Cindy submitted to the brief exam and questions. Seemingly satisfied the nurse scribbled on her chart and informed her that a doctor would be in later to talk to her.

No sooner had she left than two familiar forms darkened her door. "Detectives," she said as Mark and Paul walked in.

"Cindy," Mark said, ducking his head slightly.

"Miss Preston," Paul acknowledged her.

Both men turned and looked at Gerald.

"Gerald Wilson," he said, introducing himself.

"The writer?" Mark asked.

"The same. Are you sirs the detectives who worked on the Passion Week Killer case?"

"We are," Mark confirmed.

"I'm anxious to interview you both. Perhaps when we're done here?"

"Perhaps," Mark said.

He turned to her. "How are you feeling?"

"Not great," she admitted.

"I'm not surprised."