Chapter Eighteen
Dominic
I walked into the Mid-State Hospital in Harmony Rock and discovered they’d admitted Mr. Ackerman to the ICU. Not the best news, but he’d survived the night, so that was a positive sign.
“No, a friend.”
“That’s very sweet of you to come visit.”
I was so not in the mood to flirt and be nice, but I managed a quick smile. “Thanks.” The elevator whisked me up, and I found his room, but when I peered inside, it was empty. I panicked and went in search of someone to help.
“Excuse me, can you tell me where Mr. Ackerman is? The older man who came in last night with pneumonia?”
At the nurses’ station, a slight Asian man with a stethoscope around his neck paused from reading something on the computer.
“Are you a relative?”
“I’m the deputy sheriff who brought him in, and I wanted to know how he’s doing.”
Apparently mentioning I was law enforcement was sufficient to get an answer. That and a friendly face.
“He’s in for some tests but had a comfortable night. His fever is also down.” The doctor checked his watch. “He should be coming back soon. You can wait in his room if you’d like.”
“Thanks, Doctor.”
“I’m a nurse, but you’re welcome.”
I returned to the room and sat in the uncomfortable, narrow seat with my legs sprawled out in front of me.
Had I dumped too much on Emmy, or hurt his feelings by pushing him away last night?
This morning, I’d wanted him as much as ever, but talking with McGill had drained me, and after the incident with Mr. Ackerman, I’d had nothing left in my tank. But God, I’d needed Emmy.
Tonight would be different.
The rattle of wheels drew my attention, and Mr. Ackerman appeared. I remained quiet until the orderlies left. He had a cannula in his nose for oxygen and various IVs still attached to his arms.
I moved my chair to his bedside. “Mr. Ackerman, it’s Dominic Starr. How are you feeling today?”
He turned his head, and as pale and ill as he was, he still managed a smile. “Deputy. What are you doing here?”
“I had to make sure they were treating you right and that you weren’t causing too much trouble for the nurses.”
He chuckled and wheezed a bit. Anxious, I watched him, but he seemed okay after he caught his breath. “Not likely. I don’t remember if I thanked you, but I appreciate what you did for me.”
“I’m just happy you’re recovering.”
“I hope so. They’ve all been so nice here.”
“Everyone wants you to get better. Is there anything I can do at your house? Pick up your mail or get in touch with anyone?” I’d already made up my mind to go over and clean up all the neglect from when he’d fallen ill.
“It’ll fall through the slot. Don’t you worry about it. I’ll be good as new and on my feet at the store in no time.”
While I doubted that, I didn’t want to cause a setback in his recovery, so I nodded. “I’ll make sure everything is safe and secure anyway for your homecoming.”
“You’re a nice man, Deputy.”
“I’m not sure about that, but I want you to listen to the doctors and nurses and get better.”
An older woman walked into the room. “Visitors have to leave. The patient needs his rest.” Her fierce expression brooked no disagreement.
I rose to my feet and took Mr. Ackerman’s hand, giving it slight pressure. “I’ll see you soon.”
“Fifteen minutes is all that’s allowed,” she scolded, and I paused in the doorway.
I lowered my voice so Mr. Ackerman couldn’t hear. “He’s got no one. I was just trying to show him someone cared.”
The taut lines in her face softened, and her eyes filled. “Oh, poor man. I didn’t mean to be so harsh. I’m just very protective of my patients. But now that you’ve told me, I’ll make sure to pay him some extra attention.” She peered over her shoulder at Mr. Ackerman, who lay dozing. “He’s a dear.”
Guess I was wrong. More than anyone, I should know better than to make snap judgments about people.
“I’ll check on him later this afternoon.”
On the way to Appleton Falls, I stopped at a big-box store and bought some cleaning supplies and food staples because I wasn’t sure what he had in his house, but from the state I’d found him in, I’d guessed not much.
I frowned when I discovered the front door open. I locked it behind me and set to work.
Two hours later, I wiped my brow. I’d scrubbed the bathroom, mopped the kitchen floor, washed the dirty dishes, and wiped up the counters. I’d put away the food in the pantry and thrown out all the spoiled food from the fridge.
It was a sad little home—beige walls, a lumpy couch, and threadbare chairs of an indistinct color; no colorful pillows or pictures to brighten up the dullness—so different from the fastidiousness with which Mr. Ackerman presented himself.
I chuckled to myself. “Martha Stewart is rubbing off on me. Next I’ll be checking out the sheets’ thread count.”
I took a can of soda from the six-pack I’d bought, cracked some ice cubes from the plastic freezer tray in a glass, poured, and drank it down.
Being a nosy SOB, I inspected the tiny living room.
Pictures sat on the little table against the wall—some framed, others scattered, as if Mr. Ackerman had been going through them.
I picked up a black-and-white photo, the dusty memories clinging to my fingertips like eternal sadness.
In it, two men—a young, happy Mr. Ackerman, instantly recognizable, even with a face smeared full of blueberry pie.
My attention shifted to the other man. His tanned arm was slung around Mr. Ackerman’s shoulders.
Blond hair bleached by the sun, big dark eyes, and wearing overalls with no shirt underneath, he gazed at Mr. Ackerman with a soft smile.
They appeared to be at a county fair—one wooden table full of pies sat on one side, while another table on the opposite side was filled with baskets of tomatoes, peppers, and corn on the cob.
Curious, I turned the photo over and read the faded, spidery script: Me and George, County Fair, 1966
I picked up a strip of photos, my eyes widening. Mr. Ackerman and George in a makeshift kind of photobooth. George sitting with his legs flung across Mr. Ackerman’s lap, eyes closed, lips pressed to Mr. Ackerman’s cheek. A second photo showed them kissing.
“Oh wow,” I breathed and dropped the photos as if they were on fire and burned my skin.
This must be the George Mr. Ackerman had mentioned.
It made sense now—his never marrying, the wistful comments about leading a lonely life.
Years ago, in this small community, a gay couple most likely wouldn’t have been tolerated.
And to be honest, I wasn’t sure if two regular guys like Emmy and me would be given the same acceptance that superstars like Devlin Summers and Brody Martin were.
Jet had lived here all his life and had married another football star. Emmy and I were outsiders.
I was ashamed of my snooping. I had no right to poke my nose into someone’s personal life. And yet I couldn’t help noticing the parallels between Mr. Ackerman and me. No real family to speak of, an impersonal home, and the unwillingness to speak our truths out loud.
Was that it? Or was I afraid for people to know I was having sex with a man?
That I was…in love. With a man.
Emmy.
I couldn’t believe this happened. Liar. Who was I kidding? Of course I could believe it. What had I thought was going to happen following him up here? Wasn’t this what I wanted?
I’d carried the answer with me for years, hiding behind all the anonymous sex with women, when all along it had been Emerson Kane.
I closed my eyes and rested my head in my hands.
My phone rang.
“Yeah,” I answered, the sound barely making it past the tight vise of my throat.
“Have you given more consideration to what we talked about?”
Fucking McGill.
“I have a life other than you and your Machiavellian schemes, you know,” I snarled, not in the mood for this bullshit.
“I’m aware. I spoke to your friend.”
Sweat broke out on my brow, and I gripped my phone tighter. “Who?” I asked hoarsely. “I have more than one.” Not exactly true, but I needed to say it, if only to make myself look less pathetic.
“Emerson Kane.”
“Oh? Why? What did you have to talk to him about?” I’d kept off my phone for the day, wanting to concentrate on helping Mr. Ackerman, but now I saw a slew of missed texts from Emmy.
McGill stopped me this morning. I told him you fell asleep watching a game.
I need to talk to you ASAP about what he said.
YRU ignoring me?
And as much as McGill had me twisted into knots with this plan of his, finding something to tease Emmy with unraveled the tightness in my chest.
Use your words, not letters. And I know he did. Talk to you later.
“Dominic?”
“Yeah, what?” I snapped.
“I asked if you were willing to help.”
“How?” I smacked the rickety table, sending the pictures flying to the floor. “Shit.” I crouched to pick them up, and with care, stacked them on the table.
“We’re going to plant a few undercovers and CIs to spread the word of your involvement in the upstate drug pipeline to the city. It’s becoming active and more dangerous up by you, and we believe your father is moving in to take over what’s coming into the city from here.”
I grew cold with anger. “My involvement?” I snarled. “In drugs? The fuck you are, McGill.”
“Calm down. We’ll go to your lieutenant and brief him on the operation. We’ve already spoken to the DA’s office, and they’re on board to help with whatever we need.”
“To make me look like a criminal,” I said bitterly. “You know there’ll be plenty of people who won’t think it’s an assignment and that I’m dirty.”
“But you’re not, and your superiors will know it. That’s what matters. Once we have it all in place, our people will make sure the info filters to your father’s cronies. We’re counting on him being unable to resist contacting you and using threats of exposure to get you to work with him.”
Bile rose into my throat. “No. No fuckin’ way. I am not going to put my career, potentially my life, on the line for you.”
“This isn’t about me, or you, or anyone else. It’s getting a crooked cop off the streets. Someone who’s been dirty for a very long time. It’s about making the city safe.”
I wanted to clap for his performance. “Wow. That was very noble and touching. But why did you wait so long? You knew my father was a goddamn octopus, sitting up there at 1 PP, using his tentacles in some sick game of chess where he controlled all the pieces. Hell, every PC was afraid of him.”
“Not this one. She’s got connections he can’t overcome. And we’ve been working on this for a few years. Having you involved was a recent addendum to seal the deal. We know he’ll take the bait if he sees your name.”
I was too damn tired and angry to choose my words carefully. “What the fuck do you want from me? I’m out of the department, and I have no desire to help you in your too-fucking-late-for-me-to-care quest to bring down my father.”
“Even if it would help clear Emerson Kane’s father?”
It was hard to draw air into my lungs. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“You’re a smart guy, Dominic. Think about it for a moment. Kane’s father was a user who became a low-level dealer and runner for some of the gangs to supplement his habit. But when he had his kid, he cleaned up his act and went to rehab. He remained clean.”
Emmy had told me this story, and a terrible thought came to my mind. “Are you saying…are you saying that Kane’s father, that my…” Fumbling, I couldn’t formulate the words. But McGill smoothly stepped right in to help.
“Andrew Kane told his handlers he had some info on a big deal coming in and that the higher-ups in the department were involved. It’s our belief your father discovered he was going to be exposed and had Kane’s father set up to be taken in and arrested on suspicion of buying and using.
The original tox report states there were drugs in his system, but we believe those were rigged.
A deep dive into deleted files discovered secondary testing at the prison, showing he was clean. He got ten to twenty.”
“It was all a setup so my father could keep his crooked schemes in place.”
“It’s a lot to handle, but—”
“I gotta go.”
I managed to make it to the bathroom before I threw up, over and over, until there was nothing left in my stomach but sourness. I rinsed my mouth.
“Get your shit together. You need to go see Mr. Ackerman.” I splashed water on my face and dried off. My movements were mechanical, and I locked up and drove off, hoping I’d stop shaking soon. I gripped the wheel tighter.
How the hell was I supposed to talk to Emmy, knowing my father was responsible for murdering his?