Whiplash

35

Erin usually hated lying on her stomach, but with the lovely morphine, she could have been standing on her head and not felt uncomfortable at all. "It was a light brown sedan, a Mitsubishi, I think, not very old. It looked like one of those rental cars-nondescript, butt-plain. I've always wondered why they even make cars like that. I mean, who'd want to buy one? I couldn't make out the license, they'd dirtied it up."

She'd have some pain for the next couple of days, Dr. Arch had told Bowie, but nothing a bit of Vicodin wouldn't handle. Her hair was still mostly in its thick French braid and they'd washed her face and all the rest of her he could see. She was lying on her stomach, her head to the side, looking like she didn't have a care in the world.

He lightly smoothed back a hank of hair that had fallen across her face and tucked it back into the braid. "That's good, Erin. The tinted windows give us something to work with."

She peered up at him with sudden interest. "It occurs to me that you look sort of cute, Bowie-all sorts of worried and mad."

"What? Oh, well, thank you, but that's the morphine talking."

"Nope, it's me."

He said, "Well, I am worried and mad."

"You wanna know something else?"

"Ah, maybe."

"You've got a really nice smile, nearly as nice as your butt."

"What? My-oh, well, thank you, but again, Erin, that's the morphine talking."

"Hmm. You mean I won't like your finer points when the morphine is no more?"

"I, ah, well, I don't know."

"I might, you know. What are you going to do if I still like those gorgeous white teeth of yours and those big feet?"

"I'll smile at you a whole lot with my bare feet up on the coffee table."

"That was really smooth, Bowie," she said, and closed her eyes. "You're a great dad. Georgie does nothing but brag about you. I keep telling her you're just a plain old garden-variety sort of dad, but she won't have it. That's quite an honor."

"Yes, it is, and nice to hear." He waited just a moment, to see if anything else outrageous would come out of her mouth, but she was still again. "Now, Erin, don't go under again just yet. Try to remember, did you see who was in that car?"

"Nope. Hey, wait a minute. Even though the windshield was darker than usual, I remember I didn't see anyone in the passenger seat, yes, I'm sure of it. There was one guy driving but I didn't see him well at all. Rental cars don't have dark windshields, do they?"

"I doubt it, but we'll soon see." When he punched off his cell a minute later, he said to her, "Agent Cliff will check it out. Okay, now, it's time-"

"Georgie told me you liked Krissy but she wasn't a keeper. Georgie said she didn't think there would be any keepers for you since you really loved her mommy and then she died and your heart broke in two. Is that true?"

"What? Georgie said that?" He was beginning to believe Georgie didn't keep any thought from Erin.

She could see he didn't want to answer her, sensed a deep, longtime resistance, but then he said, "No, it isn't true."

"I think morphine is the greatest stuff. I can say anything I want and it doesn't seem to matter and you can't get mad at me because I'm down and out."

He laughed.

"Georgie's got talent. Any dancers on your side? Was her mom a dancer?"

"No, Twinkle Toes is all on her own, genetically speaking."

Sherlock came running into the room. "Erin! I heard your Hummer exploded. The nurse told me you'd be all right, but I want to hear it from you."

"I'm okay, Sherlock, really. I'll be down for a while. It's a burn on my back, but you know, I'm a fast healer, so say a couple of days and I'll be good to go again. Don't worry."

"She's also loopy from the morphine so don't take it seriously when she tells you your hair is glorious."

"Of course I'll take it seriously." She patted Erin's arm. "Dillon said you loved your Hummer more than he loves his Porsche. Let me tell you that's not possible."

"I loved my Hummer a whole bunch," Erin said, and squeezed her eyes closed. Sherlock studied her too-pale face, her eyes trying for bright but clouding over from the drugs, and slowly nodded. "I'll make it a tie then, okay? Now, tell me what happened. Don't leave anything out."

Sherlock never said a word until after Erin had stopped talking and closed her eyes. She looked limp and exhausted. "Thanks to Mom, who nagged at me for a solid three months, I got good health insurance last year. I've got good insurance on my Hummer too."

Bowie said, "Thank God for mothers. Tell me your company and I'll handle it, both your medical and your car."

Erin sighed. "Bowie said he'd help me find a new Hummer, but even if it's pale blue, it just won't be the same thing."

"Dillon's Porsche got blown up a while back, just like your Hummer. He's got a new one, looks exactly the same, but sometimes I see him looking at it, all sorts of wistful, and I wonder if he's thinking about his old baby. When I asked him about it, he said time heals all wounds."

"I sure hope he's right," Erin said.

Sherlock stood back while Bowie stepped close, pen and notebook in hand, to take down all the insurance information Erin remembered. As she looked at Erin's vague drugged eyes, she realized the suspicions she'd had were inescapable, all the seemingly random points connecting right up. Had Bowie made any connections from everything Erin had let drop?

She smiled at him when he left the room to deal with hospital administration.

"You've got the neatest hair, Sherlock. Bowie's right, it's glorious. The color is like the Olympic flame."

"Thank you."

Erin grinned. "All those curls, I'll bet Dillon thinks you're edible."

"Edible? Hmm, now that sounds interesting. Erin, as much as I like hearing Ms. Morphine pay me compliments, it's time we talked." Sherlock pulled a chair close to the bed and said very quietly not three inches from Erin's nose, "I know you're right in the middle of this, Erin. The fact that someone tried to kill you today clinches it. It's time for the truth. I don't want to give whoever is behind this another chance to kill you."

Erin felt the velvet fist behind the words. She whispered, "You can't know-can you?"

Sherlock said matter-of-factly, "You've dropped lots of things since we've met. You also tend to speak before you think. With you, if one really listens, everything is right up front."

Erin shut her eyes. "It's true, I have the biggest mouth. I always have. My dad would say my big mouth was fine by him, I couldn't get away with anything."

"Does Georgie beat you at poker since everything you're thinking troops right across your face?"

"Haven't tried poker with her yet. You know, I lied once to a boyfriend in college, and you know what he did? The jerk laughed at me. It was so depressing."

Sherlock waited.

Erin felt fatigue wash over her, both fatigue and an overwhelming sense of failure. "I can't tell you, Sherlock, since he's a client. It's confidential. I'll have to speak to him first, see what he says."

"Since you were nearly murdered, it seems to me this client's answer should be obvious unless he's in this mess up to his eyeballs, unless he knows who's behind the attempt on your life, or unless he's the one who tried to kill you."

"He's a very nice man, but it's all very complicated. I'm in so bloody deep. I'll probably go to jail."

Sherlock lightly stroked her fingers over Erin's pale cheek. "Don't be dramatic, it'll be okay. Believe me, nothing's simpler than the truth. Spit it out. We'll deal with it, trust me."

"No, Sherlock, I simply can't, not until-"

"Until you speak to your client who's a professor at Yale University?"

"See? A fine example of my big mouth, but you've got to let me talk to him myself."

"You really should tell me now, Erin, so we can clean this mess up without your getting killed in the process."

Erin wished the morphine would knock her out again, but it didn't. She was even feeling some mild throbbing in her back. It wasn't fair. "Can I have more morphine?"

"Yes," Sherlock said, and left her to speak to the nurse.

Half an hour later, Sherlock and Bowie were sitting side by side watching Erin sleep the peaceful sleep of the drugged.

"Well, damn and blast," Bowie said. "She'll have to tell us soon, Sherlock."

"When she wakes up, I'll get it out of her. I'd rather have the truth when she's alert and willing."

But what could Erin possibly know? Nothing important, he was sure of that. "Are you going to tell me what you think she knows?"

"No, let's wait."