March Into Hell (15 page)

Dan shook his head. “No, you won’t.”

“Excuse me?” She wasn’t sure she’d heard him right. It was her case. She’d been the one to track down the plates and the van, had called in to find the address of possible textile warehouses. Plus, she had been handling the Medea case, which bore striking similarities and was sure to be related.

“You’re too close to this one, Jess. I think you should take yourself off it.”

“How am I too close?” She glared at him, practically daring him to mention anything about her relationship with Mark.

“Come on. You know I’m right. Are you going to make me say it?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Say what?” Her hands rested on her hips.

Dan took a deep breath and looked away for a brief moment before meeting Jessie’s eyes. “You still have feelings for Taylor.” He put up his hands in a stop motion. “Look, I don’t care, but it might hamper the investigation or, even worse, when we catch the guys who did this, it could come up at the trial. You wouldn’t want to jeopardize the outcome, would you?”

Crossing her arms, Jessie remained silent for almost a minute. Did she still have feelings for Mark? She felt her face heat up. If she were honest with herself, she’d admit it was possible.

On the other hand, a defense lawyer could twist all kinds of innocent things into something sinister. Like how she and Mark had lived together for six months.

Or worse, what if they brought up Jessie's role in Mark's imprisonment? How she had ultimately been the one who had listened to Mark and dug deeper, proving his innocence? It had been the right thing to do, but would she have put her career on the line for just anyone? A smart lawyer would draw connections and let the jury think there was more going on between her and Taylor than a past relationship.

Was she willing to take that risk? Jessie thought of all Taylor had gone through and decided that she wasn’t. She sighed. “Fine. You’ll keep me updated?”

Dan nodded. “Of course.”

Jessie nodded and turned away.

“Oh, and Jessie?”

She stopped and looked over her shoulder. “Yes?”

“You’ll let me know how he’s doing?”

She couldn’t help smiling. Dan might tease her about Taylor and all the scrapes he got into, but Jessie had always suspected that deep down, he liked the guy. “I'll call you on your cell as soon as I hear anything.”

  * * *

Mark felt himself lifted, the movement wrenching a hoarse groan from him. He shivered. For a few minutes, he’d felt a little warmer, but now all the blankets were gone. Maybe he’d kicked them onto the floor. Conversation swirled around him and he tried to follow it. He struggled to open his eyes, but even as the thought occurred to him, he felt himself drifting, his mind jumping to something else. Was he still in the warehouse?

“What the hell happened to him?” The voice was deep and Mark had the impression of someone big. Kern? The voice didn’t sound menacing enough.

“It’s crazy, Doc. Some bastards crucified him. Be careful, the nails are still in his hands and feet.”

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Look for yourself. See his hands?”

Mark felt his hand raised and unwrapped.

“Ouch.” It was the deep voice again, this time, sounding sympathetic.

The manipulation of his hand hurt and he attempted to withdraw it, moaning softly. As soon as he did, whoever held him released his wrist and loosely re-wrapped his palm. “It’s okay, Mark.” An annoying beep sounded at regular intervals.

“Hey, Doc, did you see his blood pressure? It’s only eighty-two over forty-six.”

“Is the IV wide open?”

“Yes. Both of them. We started another in the squad on the way in.”

He remembered hearing that voice before. It had told him to hold still and then his hands had been freed. It was a voice he could trust. It just occurred to him that the voices were talking about him. About what had happened. He flashed on the memory of the nail being held to his palm and he instinctively tried to move his hand. A wave of pain washed through him as his stomach roiled and he tasted bile. Intense agony radiated from his left shoulder, and his belly burned. His head and his feet added their own melody to the symphony of pain.

“Has he been conscious at all?” Hands skimmed over Mark’s head, pausing on a tender spot on the back. “We’ll need some x-rays of the head and a c-spine. Maybe a CT too.”

“He sort of woke up at the scene, spoke to a friend and the detective who was with her. Other than that, he’s been out of it.”

The hands continued their exploration, and Mark tensed as they rested on his left shoulder.

“Well, that’s obviously dislocated.”

Mark wanted to talk to one of the voices, ask what was going on, but his throat didn’t cooperate. Once, as a kid, he’d had strep throat and that misery paled in comparison to the raw, bruised feeling he was experiencing now. He had the sensation of trying to suck air in, but never getting quite enough. Exhaling was even harder, and in his mind, he pictured a blown up balloon with the neck pinched off. A little air could get out, but not all of it. He had the urge to sit up.

“Whoa! Lay back, Mark!”

“Can’t-“ Pressure on his chest prevented him from sitting. He gasped, “Please…” The voices began fading and he struggled to listen to them.

“Sats are dropping.”

“Yeah, I know. You have him on a hundred percent?”

“Yep. But he has audible stridor. He’s not moving much air.”

“Yeah, he’s working pretty hard."

Mark lost track of what they said next, his sole focus getting the air in and out.

Next, he heard a metallic click as his head was tipped with his chin pointing toward the ceiling. The position made him feel like he was strangling, but he had no energy left to fight them.

“Let me take a look here…I need some suction.”

Mark felt cold hard metal against his tongue. He gagged, tasting blood and renewed his efforts to sit.  The guy with the deep voice had to be another one of Kern's followers. It was the only thing that made sense. Kern must have thought up another form of torture.

Someone grabbed Mark’s right hand, and another set of hands held his head still. Yet another invaded his belly, pushing and prodding. Someone or something was squeezing his throat. Was the noose still there? He panicked.

With a strangled cry, he bucked his hips and shoulders in an attempt to escape the hands. A heavy weight across his legs kept him from leaping off whatever he was lying on. Ignoring the pain and the shouts to calm down, he twisted and turned; using his head to try to bash anyone who was within reach.

The metal disappeared from his mouth and a mask with cool air covered his nose. He dimly wondered why they had stopped, but decided he didn't care why. All he wanted was more air.

“We going to have to sedate him. Give him two milligrams of Versed.”

   * * *

“I’m looking for a patient by the name of Mark Taylor.”

A nurse at the desk looked up, snapping a chart closed. “Are you family?”

Jessie flashed her badge. “I’m part of the investigation and I need to speak to the doctor as soon as he or she is available.” Technically, she was still on the case since she hadn’t officially taken herself off of it.

The nurse glanced at the badge, unimpressed. “There’s a waiting room down the hall to the left. Doctor Jenkins will be out as soon as he can.” She turned and put the chart in a slot on the wall.

Jim leaned over the desk and gave the nurse a polite smile. "Listen, Carol, I know you aren't allowed to tell us anything. That's fine. It's just that Mark's only family, his parents, are out of the country right now. We're the closest thing he has."

“Can you tell us anything?” Lily added her own plea and the fear and desperation it contained softened the nurse and she stepped close to the desk again.

“I know that they were getting ready to put a tube down his throat to help him breathe.” The nurse touched Lily’s arm. “I’m sorry I don’t know more, but don’t worry, Dr. Jenkins is the best.” Coming around the desk, the nurse said, “Won’t you all come with me? There’s a quiet room you can wait in. I heard one of the paramedics mention lots of press were already at the scene, so it would probably be better for you to wait somewhere private.”

The nurse led them to a small room with two love-seats and an easy chair. “There’s coffee across the hall in the lounge; feel free to help yourself. I’m pretty sure it’s even fresh.”

Jim nodded. “Thank you.”

“I should call Mark’s parents.” Lily sat on the edge of one of the loveseats, worrying the nail on her thumb.  She put her hands to her temples. “I should have paid closer attention when Mark mentioned something about them going on a vacation. I'll have to check his desk and see if he has their contact information anywhere."

“Why don’t we just wait and see? Maybe it’s not that bad and he can call them himself later today.”

Lily glanced at Jim, but she didn't appear to have heard him.

Jessie stood, too keyed up to sit still for more than a minute. “I could really use some of that coffee. How about you?”

Lily shrugged. “Sure.”

"Jim?"

He nodded.

“Okay, I’ll be right back.”

Thirty minutes later, Jessie tossed a half of a cup of cold coffee in the trash. They hadn’t heard anything yet and she opened her mouth to tell Lily that she was going to go demand some information when the door to the room opened.

A tall distinguished looking man with dark hair, graying at the temples, entered. He stopped a few steps in,  his blue-eyed gaze touched on Lily and Jim and then swung towards Jessie.

“Hello.” He stuck out his hand. “I’m Doctor Jenkins. I’m sorry I haven’t had a chance to get back here to let you all know what’s going on until now.”

Jessie shook his hand. “Detective Jessica Bishop, Chicago PD, and this is Lily Martin, friend and business partner of Mark Taylor’s and Jim Sheridan...a friend.”

Lily stood. “How is he, Doctor?”

The doctor cleared his throat. “I take it none of you are family?’

Jessie shook her head. “No.”

Lily took a step closer. “We’re the closest he has right now. His parents are on a cruise…I think in the Mediterranean. I’m not even sure how to contact them. Mark and I have been business partners for five months now. We're good friends.”

Dr. Jenkins sank onto the easy chair with a sigh and then shrugged. “Well, he’s stable for now. His most serious injuries are to his throat and the stab wound in his abdomen. I had to insert a tube to keep his airway open, but in a few days, the swelling should go down and that will come out. He’s breathing entirely on his own, so no worries there.”

No worries? Jessie dropped onto the edge of the love seat. She’d seen enough severely injured people in her line of work to know what a breathing tube was and what it meant. They were never good.

The doctor continued, “His abdominal wound is a little more troublesome. He seems to have some internal bleeding from that so he’ll be on his way to surgery for an exploratory laparotomy-they’re going to take a look around inside his belly and see if he has any active bleeding. I don’t expect there to be too much damage from the location of the wound. It missed everything vital."

He clasped his hands and paused. “Right now, his blood pressure is our biggest problem. He lost quite a bit of blood through his various injuries and was rather traumatized. His body temp is low and he’s shocky. We’ve given him warmed fluids along with medications and we’re monitoring his blood pressure closely. The thing he has going for him is he’s young and looks to have been in excellent health. Those factors will hopefully work in his favor to overcome that.”

Lily  voiced what Jessie was thinking, “Hopefully?”

“I’m fairly confident that he’ll be fine. I have to tell you that in addition, he has a probable concussion, lots of bruises, a dislocated shoulder and, of course the injuries to his hands and feet. None of those are life-threatening, but they’re painful and it’s going to be awhile before he’s back to normal.” He stood and tried to stifle a yawn. “I’m sorry. I just finished up my shift.”

“Thank you, Dr. Jenkins. I know you must be tired, but we appreciate that you took the time to tell us all of this.” Jim stood and clasped the doctor's hand again while Jessie did her best to pull her scattered emotions together.

“You’re welcome, Mr. Sheridan."

CHAPTER TWELVE

"Morning, Tina. How's he doing?" Matthew Jenkins greeted the nurse as he breezed into his patient's room.

Since he had admitted Mark Taylor three days ago, the papers had been full of stories on the man and Matt was fascinated, but also worried for his patient. Not just for his physical condition, but for his mental state as well. It had been almost a blessing that Taylor had required sedation due to the breathing tube. Matthew hoped that by the time Mark was alert enough to be aware of the media circus that things would have calmed down.

At first, the stories in the news had been full of wonder, but now the press was beginning to turn against the guy. Some radio personalities wondered if Taylor had arranged the whole thing, pointing to his visit to the Medea girl and the job interview as evidence. The rumors had fired up the airwaves with debate. Matt felt guilty, but he found himself tuning in every chance he got, which, with Chicago's traffic, meant at least an hour every day during his commute. Most of the callers had silly conspiracy theories, but occasionally, a caller would get through who would tell a story of Taylor doing some good deed for him or her. Matt was sure that not all of them actually had a tale to tell, but some of the stories rang true.

One in particular stood out because the caller claimed it had happened only the day before the incident. That man spoke of Taylor catching the man's child and then having lunch with the caller's family. The man insisted that he'd called the radio station to defend Taylor more than to relate any heroic deeds and seemed reluctant to give too many details, but he did mention that Taylor had hit the back of his head against the pavement. That interesting detail matched a bruise Matt had found on the back of Mark's head. It had the characteristics of an older bruise, with yellowing at the edges. The one beside it was obviously new and the injury that had required stitches a few days prior had been to the right side of the head.