Resuscitation (50 page)

They had no time to answer.

Sami and Al jogged to the stairway, Al leading the way. Handguns drawn, poised in front of them, they slowly eased their way up the stairs.

“Careful,” Sami whispered, as they approached the wide-open access door. “He could have a weapon.”

“I don’t think he was packing while in surgery.”

“Smartass.”

Al watchfully stood on the threshold of the roof and motioned for Sami to proceed. Cautiously, they inched their way onto the roof and quickly scanned the area, looking for the doctor. He was nowhere in sight.

“You go left and I’ll go right,” Al said.

Sami nodded. She turned, but before she could take a step, Al grabbed her forearm. “Please be careful,” he said.

Utterly panic stricken, Julian squatted behind an air conditioning compressor to gather his thoughts and catch his breath. How foolish he had been. Of all the exits in the hospital, he chose a one-way path to nowhere. Except for the main stairway, there was no other way off this roof, and at any minute, it would be flooded with cops. How had he gone from esteemed surgeon to fugitive? What might have happened if he had completed his research? No time to play “what if.”

As inconspicuously as possible, he peeked over the compressor and saw Detective Diaz making his way toward the locked access door to the second stairway. Julian turned around and rested his back against the compressor. Could it be that the detective knew the security code?

Julian needed a plan and he needed it now. He looked down and noticed a three-foot-long piece of electrical conduit lying on the floor. He picked up the conduit and snuck up behind the detective, the makeshift weapon ready to strike.

Al approached the door, mindful of his surroundings, taking nothing for granted. He had no idea where the door would take him. It could be another stairway, or might just be a storage area. For all he knew, the doctor could be hiding behind the door, waiting to pounce. Al grasped the doorknob, trying to be as quiet as possible.

He tugged on the doorknob, twisting it clockwise, then counter-clockwise, but the door would not open. About to turn around, Al felt something strike him in the back of his head. He could hear ringing in his ears, but only for a few seconds. His eyes went blurry and he fell to the floor.

Julian stood over the detective, having no idea what to do next. He noticed a pistol lying near the detective’s right hand. He picked it up and stared at it as if it was a foreign object he’d never seen before. He had never held a handgun, let alone fired one. He could hear the helicopter, now within eyeshot. He surveyed the surroundings. The situation was getting out of control. His options were few.

Having walked the entire perimeter of the roof, searching for Doctor Youngblood, Sami peeked around the corner and saw Al lying face down on the floor. The doctor stood over him, looking like a statue. Seeing Al’s motionless body, Sami felt a surge of adrenalin rushing through her veins. A wave of terror crashed over her. Logic quickly took control. If the doctor had shot Al, she would have heard the blast. So even though she had no idea the extent of Al’s injuries, she could at least feel relieved that a hot piece of lead wasn’t lodged somewhere in his body.

Sami realized that the doctor, standing frozen, hadn’t yet noticed her. He seemed so preoccupied with Al that he paid little attention to anything else. Al, thank God, was beginning to stir. He grasped the back of his head, turned over, and sat upright, resting his back against the door.

Sami noticed a piece of silver pipe lying on the floor next to the doctor’s foot, and quickly figured out what had happened. Holding her Glock with both hands, arms extended, elbows locked, she pointed the gun at Doctor Youngblood. “Drop your weapon, Doctor, and get on your knees with your hands behind your head.”

Before the last word slipped off Sami’s tongue, the doctor immediately reacted and aimed the handgun at the center of Al’s chest. “Don’t come any closer,” he warned.

“Are you okay, Al?” Sami yelled.

“I will be when we cuff this asshole.”

Al’s comment eased her frazzled nerves. After all, if Al was seriously injured, would he make such a flippant statement?

“I’m going to say this one more time, Doctor,” Sami said. “Drop your weapon and get on your knees!”

Julian tried to steady the gun but his whole body was shaking. Suddenly, he heard a commotion behind him. Appearing through the main access door to the roof, Julian watched a literal parade of policeman converging on the roof, slowly walking towards him, each with their weapons pointed directly at him. They all wore riot gear and carried shields. They looked like modern-day gladiators.

Sami feared that even if a sharpshooter put a bullet clean through the doctor’s head, a nerve reflex still might twitch his trigger finger. If this happened, Al would likely take a bullet square in the chest. “Don’t shoot!” Sami yelled, waving her arm at the backup.

“Wise decision, Detective,” Dr. Youngblood said, directing his statement to Sami. He waived his gun at Al. “I want you to stand up and turn around with your back facing me. If you so much as flinch, I’ll put a bullet between your shoulder blades.”

Al eased up, supporting his back against the door. The cobwebs hadn’t yet cleared and the back of his head was throbbing. He felt a little woozy, but managed to find his legs. Having no other option, Al complied with the doctor’s order and turned with his back facing him.

Slowly, Julian moved toward Al. With his peripheral vision, he could see Sami inching toward him and the gladiators moving in his direction. “Don’t make another move,” Julian yelled. “Unless, of course, you want Detective Diaz to meet his maker.”

Julian grabbed Al by the back of his shirt collar and pressed the barrel of the gun against the back of Al’s head. “Let’s walk,” Julian said.

Gripping Al’s shirt tightly, the handgun still resting against the back of Al’s head, Julian stepped away from Sami and her gladiators and moved toward the edge of the roof. Once there, Julian noticed a two-foot ledge around the perimeter. He tightened his grip on Al’s shirt.

“Step up, Detective.”

Sami watched in horror as Al stepped up on the ledge, his body teetering slightly. Was this how it was going to end? So many thoughts flooded her mind. If Al plunged to his death without her ever forgiving him, how would she ever forgive
herself?

“Now listen to me carefully,” Doctor Youngblood yelled. “I want you, Detective Rizzo, and your pack of wolves to get the fuck off this roof. If you’re not out of here in less than a minute, Detective Diaz is going to perform an Olympic-style high dive into a pool of concrete. And while you’re at it, call the boys in the copter, and tell them if they land, Diaz flies.”

What frightened Sami most was Doctor Youngblood’s sudden composure. In spite of his hopeless situation—there was no way he’d ever leave this hospital alive—he appeared to be in complete control of his emotions. In a matter of seconds, he had gone from panicky to rock-steady. Sami knew from her prior experiences with cold-blooded killers that those most composed were generally the most dangerous. She thought, for a moment, about trying to negotiate with him, but feared what he might do.

“I don’t see anyone moving,” Julian said. “If you’re not—”

Julian made the fatal mistake of taking his eyes off Al for just a moment, long enough for Al to react. Still shaky and lightheaded, Al maintained enough wits about him to take advantage of the situation. He swung his right elbow and caught Julian square in the nose. Reacting without thought or reason, Julian dropped the gun and covered his face with both hands. Blood poured out of his nose. Al tried to step down off the ledge, but Julian grabbed his shoulders and tried to push him off the roof. Al had no idea how he maintained his balance, but he stood firm.

Sami watched them struggle for only a second. She rushed toward them as quickly as she could, the backup right behind her. By the time she got there, Al had managed to overpower the doctor and step off the ledge. Both men were still locked in battle, swinging and tugging and pushing. She saw the handgun the doctor had been holding lying on the roof. She raised her weapon.

“Dr. Youngblood, get on your knees and put your hands behind your head!
Do it now
!”

As if rehearsed, both Al and the doctor loosened their grip on each other. Dr. Youngblood put his hands behind his neck, but instead of getting on his knees, he jumped up on the ledge with the grace of a gymnast mounting a balance beam.

He stood on the ledge with perfect balance, as if he didn’t have a care in the world, as if it were a lazy Sunday afternoon and he was enjoying a panoramic view of the city.

“Doctor Youngblood,” Sami yelled. “Please step off the ledge.”

He turned toward her, but held his ground. The blood from his nose was painted on the front of his scrubs.

“Please, Doctor, put your hands behind your head and step down.”

He didn’t move.

“Last chance, Doctor,” Sami said. “Off the ledge and on your fucking knees.”

“What are you going to do, Detective, shoot me?”

“If we have to,” Sami warned.

“Then go ahead and shoot.”

“Do you really want it to end this way?”

Dr. Youngblood turned around, his back facing her, his toes near the edge of the roof.

“Why, Doctor?” Sami yelled. “Why did you kill those people?”

“The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few.”

Julian thought about Nicole, how he’d betrayed her. He thought about his daughters, how much he loved and missed them, how much he’d hurt them. He thought about his career and the research grant, his legacy now one of notoriety. Most of all he thought about all the subjects he had put in an early grave, of the dreadful things he had done to his female subjects. In one moment of clarity, Julian understood why he had ravished Eva and Rachael and McKenzie and Nicole. It had nothing to do with them; they were merely substitutes for Rebecca and Marianne, victims by default. He’d given up all hope that he could ever repay his cousins for the emotional damage they had inflicted on him, for alienating his entire family by accusing him of attempted rape. The only means by which he could temper his rage was to redirect his hunger for revenge. There was no other way for Julian to find even an ounce of consolation.

He couldn’t imagine spending the rest of his life in prison. Then again, any responsible jury would surely sentence him to death. Death would be a gift, much easier to deal with than rotting in a cage. But how would he deal with the guilt while he waited to die? No, he would not subject his family to a long, protracted trial or allow the news media to dismantle the lives of his wife and daughters. He had no choice but to do the righteous thing.

Doctor Julian Youngblood, husband, father, gifted cardiologist, inched forward, his toes now hanging slightly over the side. He leaned into the wind until the weight of his upper torso pushed him forward like an Olympian diving off a platform. Once airborne, it felt like his stomach was heaving into his throat. Soaring toward the ground, the air rushed past his scrubs, making the sound of a flag flapping in the wind. His arms and legs were helplessly flailing, and his last thoughts were of Isabel and Lorena.

Sami rushed to the edge of the roof, stopped a few feet short, carefully leaned forward, and looked over the ledge. Horns were blowing and tires squealing. She could see Doctor Youngblood lying motionless on the concrete sidewalk, face down. Behind her, a police helicopter landed on the helipad. She tried to feel pity for him, but all she could feel was an unusual sense of relief.

“When you get to hell,” she whispered, “tell Simon I said hi.”

Al moved toward Sami and they stood toe to toe for what seemed like an eternity. Eyes speaking, tongues still, Al put his arms around her and pulled her toward him. They embraced.

“Thanks for saving my life,” Al said.

“All in a day’s work.”

“How can I repay you?”

“No need. I owed you one. Remember?”

When Sami and Al walked into the precinct, they were greeted like celebrities. Their fellow detectives and the support staff applauded as if they had just won an Academy Award. Even though she felt energized beyond anything she could imagine at this point in time, she didn’t feel like a movie star or a heroine. Four innocent people had died at the hands of the killer and a fifth was fighting for her life. What had she done that was so extraordinary during the investigation? Anything worthy of such fanfare? Wouldn’t any other detective have taken the same steps and followed the same leads?

She had been distracted during this investigation, overly concerned about her personal life. Had she made mistakes, or overlooked some obvious facts that might have helped her close the investigation sooner? Once again, she doubted her competency and wondered if the homicide department was where she belonged.