Chapter 31 Sloane
Sloane
“This patient witnessed a murder. He’s under protective custody.
It’s incredibly fucking important that this guy doesn’t get shot to death while in this hospital.
You people know what that means?” The detective in the bad suit talks down to us like we’re degenerates of the highest order.
He’s short and bald and walks like an angry Rottweiler.
The slender female detective—his partner, I assume—patiently waits for him to shut up so she can speak. Finally, she gets her chance.
“I’m Detective Cooper. I’ll be here nights, so I’ll be your point of contact.
If you see anyone you don’t recognize walking the halls, you come find either myself or a duty officer and report it.
This is a big place. A lot of people come and go, so we understand that it might be hard to gauge whether you think someone is out of place here.
Especially when you’re trying to do your jobs as well. ”
The nursing team, who were previously standing, arms folded, glaring at the fat detective, nod their heads, their expressions softening.
The three doctors who are treating Archie Stanton—myself, Hendry, and Oliver—stand at the back of the ICU family room, taking everything in.
“What exactly are we looking for here, Detective? I mean, is this some Italian mob thing or what?” Oliver sounds as incredulous as I felt downstairs in the cafeteria.
This just isn’t something that happens here.
“No, not Italian. We’ve been investigating a high-level crime boss for some time now.
He runs a lot of rackets in the city. Drugs, guns, gambling, counterfeit money.
Word has it Matty Stanton dropped the ball on a business deal this guy had in the works, and he paid the price.
We know our POI ordered the hit. We just need proof.
Matty’s brother, Archie, is the key to doing that.
We have mug shots of people known to associate with our POI.
There are only a few faces on here that you really need to be worried about.
I doubt any of them will be stupid enough to come down here.
” Detective Cooper nods to an armed officer in uniform, who hands out the mug shots to the nursing team.
“How dangerous is this situation, Detective?” Hendry demands. “Are we gonna get shot while trying to do our jobs?”
“No. We’re here to ensure that doesn’t happen. At this stage we’re banking on the fact that our POI doesn’t even realize he’s being investigated. He thinks he’s an untouchable, but he’s very wrong. We’re gonna make sure he goes away for a long time.”
Hendry nods, accepts the paper from Oliver, studies it momentarily, and then passes it on to me. “Where do we stand with regard to self-defense? If one of these fuckers does come here and attack us… are we allowed to shoot them up with sedative? Use the defibrillator on them?”
The nurses titter. I glance down at the paper, already halfway to handing it on to the next person, when my breath catches in my throat.
Oh.
My throat begins to swell shut as my mind repeats the word.
Oh.
A mosaic of nameless mug shots stares up at me. Eight photos on the first page. More on the other side. They’re all numbered… and at number one, in prize place, Zeth Mayfair stares grimly out at me.
Holy God above, I think I’m going to be sick.