Twenty-Three Detective Walter Duncan
Twenty-Three
Detective Walter Duncan
Sometimes as a cop, the best thing to do is walk away.
Since Melanie Hardeman was never arrested before, never been in any kind of trouble, we let the confession about the gram go.
We didn’t see the drugs. We had no reason to search her purse, the bags of groceries, or her car.
We came to ask her questions about Fanning, and she answered those.
End of story.
We’ve driven less than three blocks away from the woman’s house when the coughing starts.
I try to get it under control, but the spasms won’t stop. The pain shears through my body, twists inside me like barbed wire.
I can’t catch my breath.
“Walt, you okay?”
I whip over to the curb, push the gearshift into Park, and shove open the door.
I’m on my hands and knees on the pavement when Liv reaches me.
“Can you breathe?”
I nod jerkily, dragging in a short breath before I start coughing again.
“Should I call 911?”
I grab her arm with one hand and shake my head.
Tears and snot flow down my face as I try to regain control of my respiratory system.
The coughing gets nastier for half a minute.
Son of a bitch, this is the worst one yet.
I hack and hack and hack until I feel like my lungs will burst out through my throat.
Liv hovers next to me, her face cluttered with worry and fear.
Finally, things start to calm down to a mere wheeze. I sit back on my heels.
“Let me get you some water.”
She dashes away. I fumble in my pocket for a handkerchief and swab at my face. My chest heaves, but the air just won’t come in fast enough. My heart thuds wildly, trying hard to push enough oxygenated blood through my veins.
As the coughing spasms subside, the pain gets worse. Sharp, jagged shards of searing pain fire through me. Hell, maybe I’m having a heart attack. But this has happened before and passed. I’m hoping it will this time.
My hand shaking, I shove the handkerchief back into my pocket and dig for the small vial of pain pills I was given when we all thought I had cancer.
I try to open it. Can’t. The damned pharmacy put a childproof top on the damned thing.
I’ve never had a childproof top before! Why start now? God dammit!
“Let me try.” Liv takes the vial of pills from my hand and places the water bottle there in its place.
The top is already off the bottle of water, so I sip it slowly, let it soothe my raw throat. This is by far the worst coughing jag I’ve had. My whole body shakes.
Liv doesn’t read the label on the vial. She simply opens it. “One or two?”
“Just one.” I spit the words. I’m not even sure I should still be taking these with this new potential diagnosis.
“Open your mouth.”
I don’t argue. I comply. She pops the pill into my mouth, and I swallow. Follow with a swig of water. My eyes close in blessed hope. It takes a few minutes, maybe twenty, but relief will come.
“I’m taking you one of two places,” she says firmly. “To your doctor’s office or the ER. Which will it be?”
“Home.” I grab my open vehicle door and pull myself up. My body trembles. “Please, Liv, don’t argue with me.”
Her face says she needs an explanation now. I shake my head. “I just need to get home. I’ll tell you everything then.”
“Can you drive?”
“Better not,” I confess.
She doesn’t attempt to lead me like a crippled old man. Instead she walks next to me all the way around the vehicle, opens the passenger side door, and waits for me to climb inside. Once I’m seated, she closes the door and returns to the driver’s side.
While she climbs in and adjusts the seat, I shove the bottle of water into a cupholder in the console and fidget with my seat belt. I can breathe fairly easily now. The pain spike is leveling off, not gone by a long shot but not worsening.
Liv puts the Tahoe in Drive and rolls away from the curb. I sit in silence and wait for her questions. I didn’t want to talk about this until the case was closed, but I’m confident there will be no escaping the coming interrogation.
“You want to talk about it now?” she asks.
“Nope.”
“Okay.”
She drives. I slump in the seat, waiting for the painkiller to kick in fully.
The car stops and I open my eyes to mere slits. They feel too heavy to open wider, and besides, pushing the issue might banish the fog I’ve drifted into.
“I’ll be right back,” she says.
Through the narrow slits, I watch Liv go to the front door, unlock it, and push it open.
Sandy rushes out to greet her, then follows her back to my side of the Tahoe.
I try to unfasten my seat belt, but my hands aren’t working so well.
Liv opens the door, steps up on the running board, and reaches across me to unfasten the damn thing.
“Take it slow,” she says as she steps away.
Sandy dances from side to side. Even she looks worried about me. Probably remembering me bringing Stella home looking like this.
I practically fall out again, but this time Liv keeps me from hitting the ground. She leads me away from the door, shoves it closed with her hip, and then guides me to the house. Sandy sniffs at my right hand, where it dangles at my side. I scrub at her head and make soothing sounds.
Liv doesn’t stop in the living room, she takes me straight through to my bedroom. She visited Stella there plenty of times.
I sit on the side of the bed, shoulders slumped forward, as she kneels before me and tugs off my boots.
“I can do that,” I say, my tongue thick. Oh hell. I sound like a drunk.
“You just take it easy,” she says as one boot pulls free. “I got this.”
Once my boots are off, she peels away my jacket next. I hear the rattle of pills as she places the small vial on the table next to the bed. She removes my side arm and clip as well as my badge, places both next to the pain meds.
She urges me to lie back, then lifts my legs onto the bed. She covers me with the big old afghan at the foot of the bed. Stella made that afghan a million years ago. It has lain draped across the foot of our bed for as long as I can remember.
Stella. I wish she were here. I blink back the damn emotion. As long as she was well, of course. I wouldn’t wish the other on her for anything.
I hear the water running in the bathroom that connects to our bedroom. Liv brings a glass of water and places it on the bedside table, then perches on the edge of the bed next to me. For a long time she just sits there, holding my hand. I close my eyes. Can’t ignore the pull of the drugs.
“Tell me what’s going on, Walt.”
Her words nudge my eyes open a crack. I lick my lips.
“You want a drink of water?”
“Nah.” I drag in a big breath, thankful my lungs and heart are working properly again. “At first we thought it was cancer. Like Stella.”
Fear flashes in Liv’s eyes. “But?”
“The thing in my lung turned out to be nothing. But the chest scan and the symptoms couldn’t be dismissed. There’s a good bit of blockage in the arteries.” I tap my chest. “And the oncologist, after speaking with the cardiologist, thinks it’s a heart issue.”
“How bad?” Her face is lined with worry.
“Don’t know for sure. I see the cardiologist next week. The oncologist says, based on what he sees, there’s reason to believe medicine and lifestyle changes will make all the difference. I should live long and well.” That might be a slight exaggeration.
Her soft fingers tighten on my hand. “Okay. I’m going with you to that cardiology appointment, and we’re going to get whatever changes he recommends going.”
I knew this was what she would say.
“If you insist.”
She smiles a little. “I do.”
“Just so you know”—I need to tell her this—“it was a wake-up call. I realized I needed to get my affairs in order. I’ve taken care of most everything. My final arrangements, the house. I just don’t know what to do with Sandy if she’s still around when I go. I want her in a good home.”
“You don’t need to worry about anything. I’ll take her.” Liv’s fingers give mine another squeeze. “I’ll take good care of her and love her just the same as you do. You have my word.”
“Are you sure? Preston might not want a dog.”
“Tough.” She shrugs. “The truth is, I’m thinking about moving back to the farm. I think David and I need to slow things down.”
I frown. “And the baby?”
She shrugs again. “I don’t know. I haven’t gotten to that yet.”
“You’ll figure it out.” I reach up and tug at a wisp of hair that’s fallen loose from her ponytail.
“You’re good people, Liv. Preston is . .
. I think he might be okay, too. But take your time.
Talk to him. Make sure. If he’s the one, work it out.
Don’t hold back over things misunderstood or unsaid.
” I feel my lips grinning. “You both should work a little harder at solving the issues between you. I don’t want you to be alone.
It sucks. But I also don’t want you to be with the wrong person. That sucks worse.”
She laughs. “I can do that—work harder, I mean.”
I sigh. Feeling utterly calm and relaxed now. Before I pass out entirely, we need to talk about work. “What do you think about these victims rallying together and coming up with this coup?”
Liv shakes her head. “I have to admit, I’m surprised. I wouldn’t have expected any of them to have the guts, frankly.”
“We’ve confirmed what’s going on with all the players but three,” I consider aloud. “Sanchez, Hyatt, and Reeves.”
“Whatever has happened to Fanning,” she says, “it may be one or all of those three. At least, it’s looking that way.” She lets go a big breath. “I haven’t told you about my find last night.”
I struggle to hold my eyes open. “I’m listening.”
“My father was investigating Fanning or digging around in his past. It’s far more than his visits to Fanning in prison.”
I wait for her to go on. She won’t look at me. I get it. Whatever she’s discovered is confusing, maybe even disappointing.
“I found a file on each of Fanning’s victims.” Her brow furrows with mounting concern.
“They were hidden in the panic room in the cabinet where he kept the personal files, like the deed to the farm and stuff like that.” She swipes back a tear from one cheek.
“I don’t understand it. He never mentioned Fanning or anything about his victims.”
“Are they case files? Was he treating any of them?” Seems like that’s what she’s saying, but I don’t see how we got through all these interviews without one of them having mentioned seeing a shrink with the same name as the detective doing the questioning. Doesn’t make a whole lot of sense.
“I don’t think he was treating them—at least, not anyone but Sanchez.
The files are more like background information taken from various sources.
I don’t understand why he would have wanted this information unless he gathered it for Sanchez or, worst case, for Fanning.
That’s the part that really worries me. I can’t believe he would do that. ”
“You’re worried he was working for Fanning?”
Another big breath heaves out of her weary body. “Yeah. I don’t want to believe it, but there was obviously something going on that involved Fanning.”
“But maybe not in the way you think,” I counter.
“Whatever Dr. Newhouse was doing, it wasn’t to help a man like Fanning.
We both know better than that. The only way he would have been working with a piece of shit like that was if the court ordered him to, and since he was retired, you know that can’t be the case.
At this point, we don’t know what any of this means. ”
She nods, some of the worry disappearing. “You’re right. It would just be nice to understand, the sooner the better.”
“Sanchez will be back tomorrow. Maybe he can tell us what was going on. Maybe the BOLO will locate Hyatt and Reeves. I have a feeling this ends with those three.” I squeeze her hand. “Go home. Get some rest. I’ll be as good as new tomorrow. I promise.”
“No way, partner. I’m staying until I know you’re good for the night, then I’ll get a cab back to my car.”
I’d argue but Liv is as hardheaded as I am. “Fine. Then make yourself useful and feed Sandy.”
Sandy barks as if she knows exactly what I said.
I watch her prance out of the room at Liv’s side.
A frown nags at my forehead again.
This damned case is eating that girl alive. We need more answers. Soon.