Hostage

21

Saturday, 12:02 A.M.

Canyon Country, California

MARION CLEWES

The Canyon Country Hospital sat between two mountain ridges in a pool of blue light. It was modern and low, not more than three stories at its tallest, and sprawled across the parking lot. Marion thought it looked like one of those overnight dot-com think tanks you see in the middle of nowhere, sprung up overnight at a freeway off-ramp, all earth-colored stone and mirrored glass.

Marion cruised around the hospital, finding the emergency room entrance at the rear. Friday night, a little after midnight, and the place was virtually deserted. Marion knew hospitals that saw so much action on Friday nights they ran double ER staffs and you could hear screams from a block away. The Santa Clarita Valley must be a very nice place to live, he thought. He was liking everything he found about it.

The small parking area outside the ER showed only three cars and a couple of ambulances, but four news vehicles were parked off to the side. Marion expected this, so he wasn’t put off. He parked close to the entrance with the nose of his car facing the drive, then went into the hospital.

The newspeople were clumped together at the admitting desk, talking to a harried woman in a white coat. Marion listened enough to gather that she was the senior emergency room physician, Dr. Reese, and that tests were currently being run on Walter Smith. Two young nurses, both pretty with dark Toltec eyes, stood behind the admitting counter, watching with interest. Marion thought that this was probably very exciting for them, having the newspeople here.

Marion went to a coffee machine in the small waiting area and bought a cup of black coffee. A female police officer sat watching the interview. A young Latino man sat across from her, rocking a small baby while an older child slept half in his lap, half on the seat next to him. The man looked frightened in a way that let Marion think that his wife was probably the reason they were here. Marion’s heart went out to him.

“It’s like they’ve forgotten you, isn’t it?”

The man glanced up without comprehension. Marion smiled, thinking he probably didn’t speak English.

“That’s so sad,” he said.

Marion turned away and went back to the admitting area. A gate opened to a short hall, beyond which was a kind of communal room with several beds partitioned by blue curtains, and another hall with swinging doors at the end. Marion waited at the gate until an orderly appeared, then he smiled shyly.

“Excuse me. Dr. Reese said someone would help me.”

The orderly glanced at Reese, who was still busy with the reporters across the room.

“I’m Walter Smith’s next-door neighbor. They told me to pick up his clothes and personal effects.”

“That the guy who was the hostage?”

“Oh, yes. Isn’t that terrible?”

“Man, the stuff that happens, huh?”

“You never know. We’re worried sick. Those children are still in there.”

“Man.”

“I’m supposed to bring his things home.”

“Okay, let me see what I can do.”

“How’s he doing?”

“The doctor’s checking the CT results now. They should know soon.”

Marion watched as the orderly disappeared into one of the doors farther up the hall, then he stepped through the gate and walked up the hall just far enough so that the nurses at the admitting desk could no longer see him. He waited there until the orderly returned with a green paper bag.

“Here you go. They had to cut his clothes off, but there isn’t anything we can do about that.”

Marion took the bag. He could feel shoes in the bottom.

“Do I have to sign?”

“No, that’s all right. We’re not that formal around here. I used to work for County-USC; man, you had to sign for everything. Here, it’s not like that. These small towns are great.”

“Listen, thank you. Is there another way out of here? I don’t want to leave past the reporters. They were asking so many questions before.”

The orderly pointed to the swinging doors at the far end of the hall.

“Through there, then take a left. You’ll see a red exit sign at the end. That’ll bring you out the front.”

“Thanks again.”

Marion put the bag on the floor to go through Smith’s things. He did it right there. The bag contained jeans, a belt, a black leather wallet, white Calvin Klein briefs, a Polo shirt, gray socks, black Reebok tennis shoes, and a Seiko wristwatch. The clothes had all been split along the centerline. Marion felt the pants pockets, but found only a white handkerchief. There were no computer disks. Mr. Howell would be disappointed.

Marion tucked the bag under his arm and walked down the hall past the beds in the communal room. The beds were empty. Marion wondered about the Latino man’s wife, but stopped thinking about it when he found Smith in a room at the end of the hall. Smith’s left temple was covered in a fresh white bandage, and an oxygen cannula was clipped to his nose. Two nurses, one red-haired and one dark, were setting up monitor machines that Marion took to be an EEG and an EKG. That the nurses were only now setting up the monitors told Marion that the tests had just finished but the doctors were still waiting for results. That gave him time. When the doctors knew Smith’s true condition, they would either proceed with some additional intervention or move Smith into the main body of the hospital. A room there would make things easier, but surgery would make Marion’s job impossible. He decided not to take the chance.

Marion found a quiet spot farther down the hall where a gurney was resting against the wall. He put the bag on the gurney, then put a syringe pack and a glass vial of a drug called lidocaine into the bag. Both the syringe and the lidocaine were Marion’s, brought in from the car.

A tall young man pushed an empty wheelchair around a corner. He looked sleepy.

Marion smiled pleasantly.

“I used to tell myself I would get used to these hours, but you never do.” The man smiled back, sharing the tragedy of late hours.

“You’re telling me.”

When the man was gone, Marion worked inside the bag so no one could see. He tore open the syringe pack, twisted off the needle guard, and pierced the top of the vial. He drew deep at the lidocaine, filling the syringe. Lidocaine was one of his favorite drugs. When injected into a person with a normal healthy heart, it induced heart failure. Marion placed the syringe on top of Smith’s torn clothes so that it would be easy to reach, then closed the bag and waited.

After a few minutes, the dark-haired nurse left Smith’s room. Shortly after that, the second nurse left.

Marion let himself into the room. He knew that he didn’t have much time, but he didn’t need much. He put the bag on the bed. Smith’s eyes fluttered, opening partway, then closing, as if he was struggling to wake. Marion slapped him.

“Wake up.”

Marion slapped him again.

“Walter?”

Smith’s eyes opened, not quite making it all the way. Marion wasn’t sure if Smith could see him or not. Marion slapped him a third time, leaving a bright red mark on his cheek.

“Are the disks still in your house?”

Smith made a murmuring sound that Marion could not understand. Marion gripped his face again and shook it violently.

“Speak to me, Walter. Have you told anyone who you are?” Smith’s eyes fluttered again, then focused. The eyes tracked to Marion.

“Walter?”

The eyes dulled and once more closed.

“Okay, Walter. If that’s the way you want it.”

Marion decided it was time. He felt confident that he could report that the disks were still in the house and that Smith hadn’t been able to speak since his release from the house. The people in Palm Springs would be pleased. They would also be pleased that Walter Smith was dead.

“This won’t hurt, Walter. I promise.”

Marion smiled, and suppressed a laugh.

“Well, that’s not exactly true. Heart attacks hurt like a motherfucker.”

Marion opened the bag and reached in for the syringe.

“What are you doing?”

The red-haired nurse stood in the door. She stared at Marion, clearly suspicious, then came directly to the bed.

“You’re not supposed to be in here.”

Marion smiled at her. She was a small woman with a thin neck. His hands still in the bag, Marion let go of the syringe and lifted the clothes so that the syringe would fall to the bottom. He never took his eyes from the nurse or stopped smiling. Marion had a fine smile. Sweet, his mother always said.

“I know. I came for his belongings, but I got the idea of leaving something from home, you know, like a good-luck piece, and there was no one to ask.”

Marion took out the wallet and opened it. He took out a worn picture of Walter with his wife and children. He showed it to the nurse.

“Could I leave it? Please? I’m sure it will help him.”

“It might get lost.”

Marion looked past her. No one was in the hall. He glanced at the far side of the room. Another door; maybe to a bathroom, maybe a closet or a hall. He could cover her mouth, lift her, it would only take seconds.

“I know, but …”

“Well, just tuck it under the pillow, then. You’re not supposed to be here.”

The dark-haired nurse stepped through the door and went to one of the monitors. Marion closed the bag.

The red-haired nurse said, “Is it okay if he leaves this picture? It belongs to Mr. Smith.”

“No. It’ll get lost and someone will bitch. That always happens.”

Marion put the picture into his pocket and smiled at the red-haired nurse.

“Well, thanks anyway.”

Marion was patient. He was content to wait until Smith was once more alone, but he heard sirens as he walked back to the admitting room where he saw the female police officer outside the entrance. Marion thought that she was talking to herself, but then realized she was talking into her radio. The sirens grew closer. The reporters trickled outside, joining her, asking questions, but she suddenly broke away from them and ran back into the hospital. Marion decided not to wait.

Marion went out to his car, feeling dispirited by the way things had worked out. Palm Springs was not going to like his report after all, but there was nothing to be done about it. Not yet.

Then two police cars arrived. Marion watched the officers run through the shouting reporters into the hospital, and then he phoned Glen Howell.

TALLEY

Running for his car, Talley radioed Metzger at the hospital. He told her that there had been a threat to Smith’s life, and to put her ass outside Smith’s door. He grabbed Jorgenson and Campbell from Mrs. Pena’s home and told them to follow him.

Talley rolled code three, full lights and siren. He knew that Benza’s people would learn what he was doing, and that this might jeopardize himself and his family, but he couldn’t let them simply kill the man. He didn’t know what else to do.

When they reached the hospital, Talley saw the knot of reporters coming toward him from the entrance. Talley hurried out of his car to meet Jorgenson and Campbell.

“Don’t say a word. Everything is no comment. You got that?”

Their eyes were confused and overwhelmed as the reporters surrounded them.

“Let’s get in there.”

As they entered the hospital, Talley glanced from face to face, from hands to bodies, hoping for a glimpse of a deep tan, a heavy Rolex watch, and for clothes similar to those worn by the men and woman he had seen in his parking lot. Everyone was a suspect. Everyone was a potential killer. Anyone could lead him back to his Amanda and Jane.

The hospital security chief, an overweight man named Jobs, met them at the admitting desk with Klaus and the ER supervisor, an older woman who introduced herself as Dr. Reese. Talley asked that they speak somewhere more private, and followed them past the admitting desk through a gate and around a corner into a hall. Talley saw Metzger standing outside a door not far away. Talley went directly to her, telling Reese and the others to wait.

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah. It’s fine. What’s going on?”

Talley stood in the door. Smith was alone in the room. His head lolled to the side, then righted. Talley glanced back at Metzger.

“I’ll be right back.”

Talley told Jorgenson and Campbell to wait with Metzger, then explained to the doctors.

“We have reason to believe that there could be an attempt made on Mr. Smith’s life. I’m going to post a guard outside his room and have police here on the premises.”

Klaus made his face into a pinched, sulky frown.

“An attempt on his life? Like what you did in the ambulance?”

Reese ignored him.

“We work at an ER pace here, Sheriff. Things move quickly. I can’t have that disrupted.”

“I’m the chief of police in Bristo. I’m not a sheriff.”

“I understand. Is my staff in danger?”

“Not with my officers here, no, ma’am.”

Klaus said, “This is bullshit. Who would want to kill this guy?”

Talley didn’t want to lie. He was tired of lying. He shrugged.

“We have to take the threat seriously.” Jobs, the security chief, nodded.

“The world is filled with nuts.”

Talley worked it out that his officers would remain the primary guard outside Smith’s room with Jobs’s security personnel as supplement; if Smith was moved to another part of the hospital, the Bristo police would accompany him. They were still talking about it when Metzger called from her post.

“Hey. He’s waking up.”

Klaus pushed past them and hurried into the room, Talley following. Smith’s eyes were open and focused, though still vague. He mumbled something, then spoke again, more clearly.

“Where am I?”

The words were slurred, but Talley understood them.

Klaus drew out the penlight, peeled open Smith’s eyes, then passed the light, first over one, then the other.

“My name is Klaus. I’m a doctor at Canyon Country Hospital. That’s where you are. Do you know your name?”

It took Smith a few moments to answer, as if it took him a while to understand the question, then figure out the answer. He wet his lips.

“Smith. Walter Smith. What’s wrong?”

Klaus glanced at the monitors.

“Don’t you know?”

Smith seemed to think again, but then his eyes widened and he tried to sit up. Klaus pushed him down.

“Easy. Stay down or you’ll faint.”

“Where are my children?”

Klaus glanced at Talley.

Talley said, “They’re still in the house.”

Smith’s eyes tracked vaguely over. Talley lifted his sweatshirt so that Smith could see his badge.

“I’m Jeff Talley, the Bristo chief of police. Do you know what happened to you?”

“People came into my house. Three men. What about my children?”

“They’re still in the house. So far as we know, they’re okay.

We’re trying to get them out.”

Klaus grudged a nod.

“Chief Talley is the one who got you out.”

Smith looked up at him.

“Thank you.”

His voice was soft and fading. Smith settled back, his eyes closed. Talley thought they were losing him again.

Klaus didn’t like what he saw on the monitors. His face pulled into the pinched frown again.

“I don’t want him to overdo it.”

Talley brought Klaus aside and lowered his voice.

“I should have a word with him now. About what we talked about.”

“I don’t see as it would do any good. It will only upset him.”

Talley stared at Smith, knowing he could punch the right button because he could read Klaus as easily as he read a subject behind a barricade.

“He has a right to know, Doctor. You know he does. I’ll only be a moment. Now, please.”

Klaus scowled some more, but he left.

“Smith.”

Smith opened his eyes, not quite as wide as before. Talley watched as they flagged closed. He bent close.

“I know who you are.”

The eyes opened again.

“Sonny Benza has my wife and daughter.”

Smith stared up at him, as blank as a plate, showing no surprise or shock, revealing nothing. But Talley knew. He could sense it.

“He wants his financial records. He’s taken my wife and daughter to make sure I cooperate. I need your help, Smith. I need to know where he has them. I need to know how to get to him.”

Something wet dripped on Smith’s shoulder. Talley’s eyes blurred, and he realized that he was crying.

“Help me.”

Smith wet his lips. He shook his head.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The eyes closed.

Talley leaned closer, his voice raspy.

“He’s going to kill you, you sonofabitch.”

Klaus came back into the room.

“That’s enough.”

“Let me speak to him a few more minutes.”

“I said, That’s enough.’”

Talley posted the guards, then left. He drove again with the windows down, frustrated and angry. He punched at the steering wheel and shouted. He wanted to race back to the house; he didn’t want to go back to the house. He wanted to crash through doors and keep crashing until he found Amanda and Jane. It was impotent rage. He pulled the Nokia from his pocket and set it on the seat. He knew it would ring. He knew the Watchman would call. He had no other choice.

It rang.

Talley swerved to the shoulder of the road. He was in the middle of nowhere, on the stretch of highway between Canyon Country and Bristo, nothing but rocks and road and truckers trying to make it to Palmdale before dawn. Talley skidded to a stop and answered the call, the Watchman shouting before Talley spoke.

“You fucked up, you dumb fucking cop, you fucked up bad!”

Talley was shouting back, shouting over the Watchman’s words.

“No, YOU fucked up, you sonofabitch! Do you think I’m going to let you just murder someone?!”

“You wanna hear them scream? That it? You want a blowtorch on your daughter’s pretty face?!”

Talley punched the dash over and over, never felt the blows.

“I got YOU, you motherfucker! I got YOU! You touch them, you harm one fucking hair, and I’ll go in that house right fucking now, I’ll get those disks, and I’ll see what’s on them. You want them in the newspaper? You want the real FBI to have’m? I don’t think you want that, you COCKSUCKING-MOTHERFUCKER! And I’ve got Smith! Don’t you fucking forget that! I’ve got Smith!”

Talley’s hands shook with rage. It was the way he felt in the minutes after a SWAT entry when shots had been fired, his blood running so hot that only more blood could cool it.

When the Watchman spoke again, his voice was measured.

“I guess we each have something the other wants.”

Talley forced himself to be calm. He had bought himself time.

“Remember that. You fucking remember that.”

“All right. You have a guard on Smith. Fair enough. We’ll deal with Smith when we deal with Smith. Right now we want our property.”

“Not one fucking hair. One hair and you bastards are mine.”

“We’re off that, Talley. Move on. You still have to make sure that I get those disks. If I don’t, more than hair will be harmed.”

“So what’s next?”

“My people are good to go. You know who I mean?”

“The FBI.”

“Six in two vans. If there’s any fuckup, if you do anything other than what I tell you to do, you’ll get your family back in the mail.”

“I’m doing what I can, goddamnit. Tell me what you want.”

“Whatever they say they need, you give it to them. Whatever they want you to do, you do it. Remember, Talley, I get those disks, you get your family.”

“Jesus, man, we can’t have an assassination squad out here. The neighborhood is full of professional police officers. They’re not stupid.”

“I’m not stupid, either, Talley. My guys know how to walk the walk and talk the talk. They will behave in a professional manner. Use the Sheriffs for your perimeter, but have their tactical team stand down. My guy, the team leader, he’ll cover that with the Sheriffs. They were in the area on a joint training mission with the Customs Service and the U.S. Marshals. They called you, offered their assistance, and you accepted.”

Talley knew that Martin would never buy that. He saw the whole thing blowing up in his face.

“No one will believe that. Why would I accept with the Sheriffs already here?”

“Because the Feds told you that Walter Smith is part of their witness protection program.”

“Is he?”

“Don’t be stupid, Talley. My man will cover it with the Sheriffs when he gets there. He knows what to say so they’ll go along. Do you want to hear your wife again?”

“Yes.”

The line was empty for a time, then Talley heard voices, and then Jane screamed.

“Jane?!”

Talley clutched the phone with both hands. He shouted, forgetting where he was, what he was doing.

“JANE!”

The Watchman came back on the line.

“You heard her, Talley. Now take care of my people and get them set up.”

The line went dead. Talley was left shaking and sweating. He pressed star 69, trying to call back, but nothing happened. Jane was gone. The Watchman was gone. Talley shook so badly he felt drunk. He got himself together. He put away the phone. He drove back to the house.