(Psychic Visions 01) Tuesday's Child (27 page)

He raced to the colonel's quarters. Turning the corner, his steps slowed. A crowd had gathered at the doorway to the colonel's apartment.

Brandt pushed his way through, his heart dropping at the sight. The colonel was on the stretcher, strapped down. An oxygen mask covered most of his face.

Pulling his badge out, he addressed the paramedics. "What happened?" He leaned over the prone man. The colonel's wrinkled grey face resembled clay that had been baked in the sun too long. Unconsciousness hadn't smoothed the deep wrinkles splitting his face. No injuries were apparent.

One of the paramedics walked over. "He was found on the floor. His pulse is strong and he appears to be suffering from a head injury."

"Head injury?" Brandt bent for a closer look, but only the corner of a blood-soaked bandage was visible.

"He might have fallen and hit his head," offered one of the many bystanders. "He wasn't as steady on his feet as he used to be."

Brandt nodded absentmindedly. The colonel used a walking stick most times. Sure enough, there it was leaning against the wall by his big recliner. The room was so full of people it was hard to move. He stepped out of the way of the stretcher as the two attending men pushed it out to the waiting ambulance. It was only as Brandt turned around to survey the rest of the room that he saw her.

His mom sat with her knees to her chin, her arms snugged tight around her legs like a young child. She swayed gently on the chair, tears in her eyes.

"Mom?" Brandt approached and sat close beside her. Wrapping one arm around her, he gently rubbed her arms. "Are you okay?"

She nodded. "I will be. Just a little upset."

"Were you with him when he collapsed?" Brandt hugged her gently, concerned at the frailty of this feisty valiant woman. She came across as such a powerhouse, then when knocked off balance, she folded.

Giving her time to collect herself, Brandt stared at the other curiosity seekers. Many had started to wander away in search of something more exciting. Still others were waiting, hoping to hear what Maisy would say. Brandt didn't intend to have anyone overhear them.

"Come on. Let's go to your place." He led her through the thinning crowd to her suite. Once inside, he set her in her favorite chair then closed the door on the concerned well-wishers mingling outside. "She'll be fine folks. She's just a little upset."

Turning back to his mother, he added, "I'll make some tea, and you can tell me all about it."

Without waiting for an answer, Brandt put on the teakettle and returned to her side. "Now I need you to tell me what happened. Why are you so upset?"

She lifted her head to peer at him. Torment and guilt gleamed through.

"Did you have something to do with his collapse?" asked Brandt, confused.

"I don't know." Maisy's eyes welled. "The dogs came today, so everyone was in the meeting rooms enjoying their visit. Everyone talked about everything, but the colonel was center stage because of the ring the police are trying to find and what the colonel was trying to remember."

Maisy chewed her bottom lip and didn't continue.

"Then..." prompted Brandt.

"We walked to his apartment where I left him while I went for lunch. After lunch, I came home to lie down."

She glanced up at her son, her bottom lip starting to curl downward. "When I woke up, I called him, except there was no answer. So, I knocked on his door." She shifted uneasily. "He didn't answer so I used my key and that...that's when I found him."

Brandt raised his brow at the mention of his mother having keys to the colonel's apartment – but that was the least of his worries now. "So you feel guilty for falling asleep and leaving him?" he deduced.

"If I'd stayed with him, he wouldn't have been left to lie there unconscious for so long."

Brandt frowned. "How long is so long?" He'd received the impression that the injury was recent.

"Probably half an hour."

"Half an hour is nothing to feel guilty about." Brandt reached over and brushed his fingers over her cheek. "He probably fell just before you arrived."

Her eyes begged him to be right. She suddenly blurted out, "The thing is, I locked the door when I left, and it wasn't locked when I returned."

Brandt shook his head. "Didn't you say you used your key to get in?"

"Yes I did, only I didn't need to because it wasn't locked."

"So why did you use your key?"

"I took it out, expecting to use it, only I didn't need to," she said, exasperation adding life to her eyes and fire to her voice. "Pay attention, dear."

Right. At least she was returning to normal. Speaking of not normal, he had to call Sam. Surreptitiously, he checked his watch. The call would have to wait.

Ignoring the key for the moment, he asked his mother, "Why are you concerned about whether the door was locked or not?"

"I don't think he fell."

Brandt sat up straighter. "What? What do you think happened?" He studied her face. She didn't appear to be in shock. "You think he was attacked?"

Maisy nodded.

"Why would anyone do that?"

"He said he'd remembered the significance of the ring and wanted to think on it a bit, try to figure the pieces out first. Then I fell asleep and now he's injured."

"Even if he did remember, it's unlikely someone would have attacked him over it."

Maisy leaned toward him. "They would if they were involved."

"True. I doubt anyone here is involved. They aren't strong enough for one thing," he said grinning.

She sniffed, such a haughty sound that Brandt had to laugh.

"Not everyone is ancient you know. We all have families that come to visit, and several members of the staff are certainly young enough to have committed murder."

Brandt had to concede her point. Still...it was unlikely. "But how would anyone know what the Colonel was trying to remember?"

Maisy's cheeks flushed pink then paled to pure white. She didn't say anything. Curious, Brandt pushed. "Mom, how would anyone know?"

She straightened her legs out in front and studied her bright red toenails. "I may have had something to do with that."

Brandt pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers and closed his eyes. "You didn't set up a betting pool on it, did you?" He opened one eye to look at her carefully.

She reddened again. Guilt in pink. Damn.

"So in other words, everyone in the building knew and probably a dozen more besides. All because you wouldn't listen to me."

She opened her mouth as if to protest, then slowly closed it again. She nodded, her eyes full of remorse. "I didn't think it would be dangerous." She shrugged her shoulders in a dainty movement. "We just like to have fun here. You know that. So, we were all taking bets as to when the colonel would remember. There were some people who even bet that he'd never remember, given his age and all that." She sniffed in disgust at that suggestion. "He did remember though, and we were all cheering the winner of the pool. Then someone struck him down before he could tell us what he'd remembered. He said he was going to wait until he could talk to you first."

Brandt sat back. It was too stupid not to be true. Now he had to wait until the colonel awoke. Which, given his advanced years, could be the case
if
he woke up.

"Right." Brandt stood up. "Let's go to the hospital and see how he's doing."

It was a quiet trip with both of them deep in thought. Once there, Maisy insisted on waiting in a chair beside the colonel in the Emergency room. He'd been stabilized, but there was no prognosis yet. Two hours later, there was no change. Still the colonel hadn’t woken.

A tall stooped man in green scrubs approached and offered his hand. "Detective Brandt."

"Hello, Doctor Sebastian. How are you?" Brandt watched the multiple frown lines smooth out into a real smile.

"I'm fine. Are you here officially?"

Brandt nodded toward his mother sitting, head bowed at the colonel's side. "We're here for a friend."

"Colonel Bates?"

"Yes, that's right. How is he?"

The doctor glanced at the apparently sleeping patient. "We're keeping him sedated at this time. He has a skull fracture. We'll keep a close watch on the bleeding and the swelling. If he makes it through the night, he should pull through. Given his age and health, well... It's hard to know how he's going to do. There's very little chance that he'll wake up before morning." The silent 'if at all' was very clear. The doctor nodded at him and left the room.

Brandt glanced over at Maisy who appeared to be lost in her own thoughts. "Did you hear that, Mom?"

She didn't answer.

Brandt walked over to crouch in front of her. "Mom, do you want to stay here for a while?

Maisy lifted her pain-filled gaze to stare directly at him. She couldn't speak.

Brandt's heart ached for her. "I'm sorry, Mom. But he's in good hands here. Why don't I leave you here for a bit and I'll come by in a couple of hours?"

She shifted her head in a miniscule imitation of a nod. "Find out who did this," she said, her voice thin and reedy.

Brandt frowned. She didn't sound very good. "Mom, I'll look into it, but that doesn't mean there is a 'who' to find."

Her gaze turned fierce. "This was no accident. Someone hit this dear old man over the head. Find him," she demanded. Then her shoulders sagged as she stared at her friend. "Find him, Brandt."

Brandt stilled. His thoughts turning to the phone call he'd cut short. Maisy's words a mirror of Sam's.

Maisy walked over to the colonel, taking hold of his hand. "Leave. I'll be fine."

Brandt couldn't help but feel dismissed.

2:15 pm

Sam opened her eyes, surprised to find herself sitting inside her truck, still parked outside the grocery store. Almost an hour had passed. She felt better physically. Mentally, there was a sense of uneasiness that wouldn't listen to reason.

She wanted to be home where she felt safe. She started the truck, remembering that Brandt hadn't called her again. He'd probably been called out on yet another emergency.

Or she'd missed him? There were no messages on her phone. Disappointed, she sat for a few moments to get her bearing. Brandt had somehow taken up residence in her life, in her heart even. She shook her head, surprised as the speed her feelings had developed. Her hormones had gone into overdrive too. From dormant to wanting to jump his bones. She laughed lightly. As if. Just because she might be willing to go a little further didn't mean he was that interested.

She frowned. Odd to think that she could only know someone for such a short time and already be at this point. She didn't do one night stands. So what was different this time?

Trust.

As she mulled it over, she realized she trusted Brandt. Probably for the first time, she could honestly say she trusted a man. Love, now that was a different thing altogether. That she was interested was obvious. That she might go out of her comfort zone and have an affair – was also a possibility. But the permanent ever after thing, she didn't think would ever happen. It would take a very special man to accept her gifts... Then there was the teensy weensy problem of living with them.

Not every man would want to wake up to find her in the middle of a vision.

A family walked beside her in the parking lot, laughing noisily, their laughter shaking her out of her reverie.

Time to go home. Not sure of her reaction time, she drove slowly and carefully down the highway. Her mind twirled around the various tidbits, trying to find a solution. Surely, the killer had better targets than an old man.

The traffic light turned yellow. She slowed before coming to a complete stop at the red light.

A black truck pulled up beside her.

Sam glanced at it, then away, before zipping back again. Her heart jumped. She glanced around at the truck. She couldn't see the driver as the truck was on the left of her and much higher up. Her gut clenched at the sight. It was identical to the truck from a couple of days ago...

The opposite traffic moved sluggishly through the intersection. Sam stole another glance up at the truck. A man stared at her.

"Shit." She glanced away and back again – just to make sure. And swore again. That face! Surely it couldn't be? Was it really
him
? That one person she'd hoped to never see again.

Her gut clenched. Her fingers flexed on the steering wheel. Trapped in traffic, panic clutched at her insides. Always, she felt so damned trapped. The cars ahead lurched forward. She punched the gas, made a quick right at the corner, whipping into a break in the traffic. She glanced in her rear-view mirror and couldn't see the truck. Oh God. Get a grip, Sam.