A Murder of Justice

SIXTEEN

Just as he started the car, Frank’s phone chirped.

“Frank? Where’re you?”

“Second and C, Hoser. What’s up?”

“Arrowsmith called ’bout Pencil.”

“What about him?”

“Didn’t say. Just said she was having trouble and get my ass down there.”

“Where’re you?” Frank asked.

“Gettin’ in my car.”

“Meet you there,” Frank said, switching on lights and siren.

Sheresa Arrowsmith thrust her hands deep into the side pockets of her white jacket and glared at the empty ICU bed. The sheets had been stripped, and an orderly was stowing away the IV. A nurse stood nearby, a clinical chart under his arm.

“Stupid, stupid man,” Arrowsmith said, shaking her head, still looking at the offending bed.

“What happened?” Jose asked.

“David?” Arrowsmith beckoned the nurse over. “This’s David West,” she said. “He was here. David, you tell the officers what happened.”

West glanced at the clinical chart, ran his index finger down to an entry, then looked up. “It was ten-fifteen. We needed another blood sample. I came in. Mr. Crawfurd was watching TV.”

West pointed to a small wall-mounted TV. The Fox noon news, muted, was just coming on.

“I told him the lab wanted another sample. He said something obscene. Something about being bled to death.”

West hesitated and looked from Jose to Frank as though worried about his performance.

“Go on, David,” Frank said.

“Well, I was thumping his vein… to bring it up to stick… and the local news came on. It was the press conference… the mayor, the chief of police…?”

“We know the one,” Jose said.

“I’m just getting ready to stick him. All of a sudden he hollers… sits up. Jerks so I almost stuck myself. Mr. Crawfurd’s really upset. Yells for me to get out.”

“And?”

“Nothing else I could do. I got Dr. Arrowsmith.”

Arrowsmith picked up: “It took a few minutes. I was with another patient. We got back, he was gone. Tore out the IV and split.”

“Clothes?” Jose asked.

“They were in the closet,” West said, pointing to an open door.

“When he hollered… why you think he did that?” Frank asked.

“It was the TV. That part where the reporter was questioning about that murder case… Gantry?”

“Gentry,” Frank absently corrected. “What’d he say?”

“ ‘Shit!’ He said, ‘Shit!’ Then he told me, ‘Get out, motherfucker.’ ”

“You a pretty big guy,” Jose said.

West’s mouth tightened. “Hospital doesn’t pay me to restrain patients,” he said. “I got out.”

“What was Crawfurd’s state of mind?” Frank asked. “He angry, scared… what?”

“Scared.” West made a vague gesture that took in the small room. “He wanted out of here in the world’s worst way.”

“How’s he physically, Sheresa?” Jose asked.

“He’s going to be hurting, but what he’s got isn’t going to kill him,” Arrowsmith said.

Frank punched the play button.

“… changes in… ah… the… um… evidentiary base.” In the replay, Emerson’s voice came across as even more tentative.

“Sounds like he was caught with his hand in the cookie jar,” Jose said.

“… weapon that was used to kill Skeeter Hodges was also used to kill Gentry?”

Frank watched as the reporter did a number on Emerson. “Woman’s got a good source.”

Frank clicked the power off. The reporter’s image faded.

For moments, he and Jose sat slouched in their chairs, staring at the blank screen. Finally Jose got up, stretched, and went over to the coffeemaker.

“It’s burnt,” Frank warned.

Jose filled his mug anyway and returned to his desk. “Man on the run,” he said, settling into his chair. He sipped the coffee and made a face. “Shit’s burnt,” he muttered. “Pencil worried more about Skeeter? Or was there something about Gentry got him spun up?”

“Maybe he’s worried that the same person who killed Gentry and Skeeter is coming after him.”

“That means some kind of connection between Gentry and Skeeter.”

Jose watched Frank think about that.

“Figure it this way,” Jose offered. “Pencil was okay about Skeeter gettin’ waxed… I mean, Pencil wasn’t exactly tearing out IVs and beatin’ feet just because of Skeeter. It wasn’t until that reporter hooked Skeeter to Gentry that Pencil went apeshit.”

“More than that, Hoser. We know that Pencil had his hands on that weapon sometime before he and Skeeter got shot with it.”

“Yeah.”

“It just might be that what got him up and gone was the realization that the weapon that he loaded… and that was used… to kill Gentry was the one that killed Skeeter and wounded him.”

“I guess we better talk with Pencil,” Jose said.

Frank stood up and pulled on his jacket. “I guess we better find him first.”