The Dead Man

Chapter Fifty-three

A blood pressure cuff squeezed my right arm, swelling and releasing, as my dream faded and I rejoined the world, my eyes still closed.

"I've never seen someone keep shaking this long after getting Tasered," a woman's voice said.

"You think he's having a seizure?" another woman asked, her voice deeper than the first one.

"I don't think so," the first woman said. "His vitals are normal. He's just shaking, like the current is still going through him."

The shakes tapered to a few mild ripples and I opened my eyes. "Shaking is what I do."

I was laying on a gurney inside an ambulance, flanked by two female paramedics, stethoscopes hanging around their necks. The one on my left was smiling; her partner on my right frowning, checking the readout on the blood pressure monitor a second time.

I raised my head, glancing around. Quincy Carter was standing outside the ambulance, one of its two doors open wide enough to let him in and keep most of the cold air out.

"And you're damn good at it," he said.

"Thanks. First time I've been hit with a Taser."

"At least you didn't shit your pants," Carter said. "It makes some guys do that. Makes some guys' hearts stop too. Be glad you didn't do that either."

The shakes stopped and I raised myself up on my elbows. "I don't know whether to write a thank-you note to the cop who shot me or a testimonial to the manufacturer."

"Easy," the paramedic on my left said, cupping the back of my head in her hands. "What kind of meds are you on?" she asked.

"None."

"What do you mean that shaking is what you do?" her partner asked.

"I have a movement disorder called tics. Makes me shake."

"Then I recommend against pissing off any more cops," she said. "Can you sit up?"

I eased my legs off the gurney, the paramedics spotting me in case I wobbled. "So far, so good. What are you doing here?" I asked Carter.

"Your cell phone was ringing when the paramedics got to you. When my name popped up on the caller ID, the officer who stopped you from breaking into Corliss's house answered it. I was returning your calls. The officer told me what happened and I asked him not to Taser you again unless he thought it would do you some good."

"I owe you."

"Don't worry. I'll collect."

Carter and the paramedics helped me out of the ambulance. He held my elbow and escorted me to his car. My first few steps were half drunk but I was walking sober when we slid into the backseat.

"You okay?" he asked.

I wiped my face with me hands. "All things considered, I should have taken the day off."

"Why didn't you?"

"Haven't been on the job long enough to build up any vacation time."

"You're retired from the real job. The one you've got now ends at the front door of the Harper Institute. I won't ask what you were thinking when you decided to break into Corliss's house but I'd be interested in knowing what you were looking for."

"Souvenirs," I said.

"Not the kind you get at the county fair."

"No, the kind a serial killer collects, like Regina Blair's jewelry."

"The FBI passed Walter Enoch's case to us. That letter your daughter sent you and Enoch stole could be another one of the souvenirs."

"You could be right. Have you found anything out about Regina Blair's jewelry?"

He nodded. "Matter of fact, I did. Talked to her husband. He said Regina always wore a tennis bracelet, one of those things with diamonds all the way around."

"Even on Sunday mornings when she was on a job site?"

"He said that the bracelet belonged to Regina's mother. Said Regina never took it off day or night. We searched her house but didn't find it. We went back to the homeless guy who found her body and he denied taking it. Polygraph backs him up. Could have been someone else took it before he found her."

"You don't sound convinced."

"I'm just saying. That piece of paper with the initials on it that you e-mailed to me is real interesting but it doesn't make Regina's bracelet a souvenir. And I need the original of the list."

I nodded, retrieved the envelope containing the list from my jacket pocket, and handed it to him. "There's more." I told him about Anne Kendall's dream narrative.

"You didn't consider telling me about that and waiting for me to get a search warrant for Corliss's house?"

"You have one?"

He sighed. "The prosecutor is a pretty conservative guy. Some people say he's too scared of looking bad and losing, but you didn't hear that from me. He isn't sold on Corliss. Says the list of initials isn't enough to go in front of a judge for a warrant. Kendall's dream narrative will help but he'll want McNair and me to take a run at Corliss first. See if we can break him down or at least get something more solid for the judge."

"Well, Corliss isn't home."

"And when he gets home, his neighbors are going to tell him what happened here today if they haven't already left him voice messages about the guy who tried to break into his house and would have if they hadn't called the cops. That should convince him to get rid of any souvenirs he's collected."

"Okay, I get your point. Waiting would have been better but I don't think he'll get rid of them. They're too important. He might move them, find another hiding place, but he'll hang on to them."

"If he's our guy. In the meantime, we have to find him."

"You think he's on the run?"

"On the run or missing, or hiding, or at the movies, or down at the boats gambling. Who the hell knows? We haven't been looking for him long enough to say."

"I'll let you know if I find him."

"You? You aren't going to find anybody. You're going home."

"Says who?"

"Says me. You're in no shape to drive. I found Lucy Trent's number in your cell phone. I called her and she should be here in a few minutes. I told her to take your car keys away. You shouldn't be driving."

"Why are you so concerned about my welfare?"

"I'm not. I'm concerned about my case and having you running around breaking into my suspect's house isn't going to do me any good."

"Don't worry. I'll stay out of your way."

He turned toward me, his shoulders blocking out the passenger window. The mist had thickened into icy pellets pinging against the roof of the car.

"Jack, I've known a lot of cops like you, guys who can't walk away. Every one of them has a good reason. Maybe it's the case they never closed that eats at them. Maybe it's not having anything else to do that matters. You, I get it. You didn't go out on your own terms. That's got to be hard. I don't know how I'd handle that. But you strike me as the kind of guy who knows better than to go after someone like Corliss on your own."

"I said I'd stay out of your way."

"That's not good enough, Jack. If you're right that Corliss is a serial killer, you've got to back the hell off. I mean all the way off. Stay out of my way and stay out of his way. You're no match for someone like that. I don't want you ending up one of his souvenirs. So do what you're told and don't make me arrest you for attempted burglary. Are we clear on this?"

"Clear," I said as another burst of tremors danced through me.

"Damn, you do shake."

"It's what I do."