Daylight

Chapter 48

It was lucky that he’s young and in tip-top condition,” said the doctor, a white-haired man with the calm manner of an airline pilot. They were in the visitors room at the hospital. Robert Puller had been the one to alert Pine about his brother.

“So you said he’s fully awake,” said Robert anxiously. “And doing well?”

“He’s on a lot of pain meds, so he’s in and out. That bullet went clean through, but it hit some things along the way.”

“The surgeon mentioned that. Will he suffer any permanent damage?” asked Pine just as anxiously.

“Well, it’s too early to tell that yet. We’ll need to do follow-up with tests, X-rays, and other imaging. But I can tell you that right now he’s resting comfortably, and his condition is stable.”

“When can we see him?” asked Robert.

The doctor studied him. “You’re family, correct?”

“His brother.”

The doctor looked at Pine. “And you’re...?”

“His sister,” said Robert quickly. He turned to Blum. “And this is his aunt Carol.”

The doctor didn’t appear to believe this, but gave a weak smile and said, “Okay.” He looked at his phone. “They just found him a room. I’ll walk you down, but only for a few minutes.”

When they got to the room John Puller was lying on a bed with tubes and lines covering him. His eyes were open and he looked over at them and waved with his good hand.

Pine’s gaze went directly to the monitor recording his vitals. They all looked reasonably okay, particularly for someone who had endured what Puller had.

“You said the bullet had hit some things?” said Robert in a low voice to the doctor.

“Well, there’s a lot around that region. Bone, blood vessels, ligaments. It could have been far worse if the bullet had pinged around in there.”

“But the surgeon fixed it?”

“Katherine is an excellent surgeon, and she did the best she could. But understand that this may not be the last surgery he has, though. And his rehab will be intense.”

“I see,” said Robert, glancing nervously at Pine.

Pine said, “Well, he’s going to come out the other end just fine. Probably better than he is now.”

“Hey, I can almost hear you,” said John Puller weakly. “So stop talking behind my back.”

They drew closer and the doctor said, “How are you feeling? How’s the pain level?”

“When can I get out of here?” Puller said firmly.

“Well, that won’t be for a while,” said the doctor, eyeing Pine with widened eyes.

“I’m feeling okay,” said Puller. “I should be able to leave. I have work to do.”

Robert said, “John, you just underwent major surgery. You need to give yourself time.”

“I don’t have a lot of time to waste, Bobby.”

Pine touched his uninjured shoulder. “John, we’ll carry the ball while you’re laid up here. All you need to focus on is getting better. Even Superman took days off.”

While Pine was speaking, the doctor had manipulated the flow of meds going into his system by punching in a new dosage on the controller next to the IV stand.

The doctor then glanced at Puller, whose eyes fluttered and then closed. “I upped his pain meds to get him back to sleep. The last thing we need is for him to get agitated and pull at his lines or reopen the sutures. I think it’s best we leave him to rest. You will be updated on his condition. And feel free to call in to the nurse’s station during the interim.” He gripped Robert’s arm. “Don’t worry, he’s in good hands.”

“Yes, I know. Thanks for everything.”

As they were leaving the hospital Pine said, “His vitals were good. And the fact that he wants to get back to work is an excellent sign.”

Robert nodded. “Yeah, he’s going to make it. The only question is, in what condition.”

“You mean, as a CID agent?”

“I mean, as a member of the United States Army. It’s his whole life. If he can’t cut it physically anymore?”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” said Pine.

“I saw your look back there. You were thinking the very same thing.”

Pine changed the subject because he was exactly right. “Where are you staying?”

“Near the hospital.”

“How long are you going to be in New York?”

“As long as it takes.”

Later, Pine and Blum drove back to the condo, had a very late dinner, and went to their beds, exhausted.

After breakfast the following morning, Pine went back down to the street level and started to walk, her hands shoved deeply in her pockets and her heels striking the pavement with force.

Shit, shit, shit.

She knew that Puller had signed on for the risk when he joined CID. She knew that. She had done that when she suited up for the FBI. But, still, she felt deep guilt for what had happened. Could she have eyeballed that alley more intently? If she had focused more, could she have seen the shooter or maybe sensed his presence? Puller had relied on her to clear the alley, and she had failed him.

I failed John Puller. And now, maybe he won’t be the same John Puller.

Utterly demoralized, she stopped and slumped down on a bench. Slapping her thigh, she sat up straighter, rubbed her face, and thought, Okay, this sorry-for-me shit is not going to cut it. Start dissecting this case. What are the holes and how do you plug them?

Well, the holes were many. She was no closer to finding Tony Vincenzo and thus just as far away from any information about his grandfather, Ito. Teddy was dead. Evie could be of no help. She had no leads on finding the man who had murdered Jerome, although now she did know about Jewel’s involvement, and the uses to which that luxury apartment was being put; only she didn’t yet understand the motives behind it. And she doubted that Jewel was the only underage girl who had been recruited for whatever was going on there. And, last but not least, the vile Lindsey Axilrod was out there somewhere. She was up to her slender neck in this, including the murder of Sheila Weathers.

But what was the connection to Fort Dix? Tony Vincenzo and Axilrod both worked there. As did Weathers. If Weathers was involved only because Vincenzo had invited her to the penthouse, then that left Vincenzo and Axilrod. But what was so special about Fort Dix?

The penthouse on Fifty-Seventh Street was definitely a clue, but she just wasn’t sure how she could follow it up. She didn’t have enough for a search warrant.

But what about Jeff Sands?

She pulled out her phone and scanned the news sites. There was nothing. The grandson of the Senate majority leader was violently gunned down in New York City more than a day before, and not one news outlet had reported it? How could that possibly be?

Unless the NYPD was sitting on his ID for some reason. She figured if the Trenton cops could be co-opted, why not New York’s finest? Or at least some of them.

She punched in a number and a few seconds later was transferred to the person she wanted at the Bureau.

“Sandy, it’s Atlee Pine. I know, it’s been a long time, right. Look, could you do me a favor? There was a shooting victim the other night outside a diner in Brooklyn. The vic’s name was Jeff Sands. He’s the grandson of Peter Driscoll. Right, that Peter Driscoll. I haven’t heard a thing about it in the press and I was just wondering what the hell was going on. Okay, yeah, whatever you can find out. Thanks.”

She clicked off. Sandy Wyatt was an agent in the New York Field Office. She and Pine had gone to Quantico together. They had been close and had kept in touch over the years, even though Pine had headed west while Wyatt had stayed on the east coast. They were both members of WIFLE, which was an acronym for Women in Federal Law Enforcement. To her credit Wyatt had not asked about Pine’s interest in the case. She would have afforded Wyatt the same courtesy if their positions had been reversed.

Pine got up and started walking again. Her path carried her to the building on Fifty-Seventh Street. Billionaires’ Row. Billionaires’ Heavenly Perch, more like it. They lived far above the rest of us, thought Pine. Behind doormen and concierges and trust funds and shell companies and the rules they created that gave them every possible advantage over everyone else.

Getting on your soapbox is not going to help, Atlee.

She stood across the street from the building when her attention was suddenly riveted. She quickly moved behind a parked truck and then peered around it to keep watching.

The man who had shot Jerome Blake was coming out of the building. He was wearing a suit and tie, and no cop’s hat, but it was definitely him. He looked right and left, then headed down the street.

Pine followed.