LITMIR.BIZ

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turning them into complacent nodders, Detective Watkins and myself included.

      “Being raised without a father, those boys have a hard enough time holding their heads up in polite society, so I’m asking that you give them a break. Their mother has been known to overreact on occasion. As far as I can see, they’re not suspects, are they?”

      “No, but they might lead us to a suspect,” Watty objected. “If they could give us a better description of the vehicle involved …”

      “If!” Sister Mary Katherine said derisively. “Let me tell you something for certain. If you rile up their mother about their sneaking out of the house and smoking cigarettes, she’s liable to take after both of them with a belt, because it’s happened before. I don’t know if the mother was the one who did the beating or if someone else did, but the point is, unless you want to accept the responsibility for that—for those two boys being beaten to within an inch of their lives—I suggest you leave Donnie and Frankie out of your crime-fighting equation.”

      “Yes, ma’am,” Detective Watkins said, getting up and heading for the door. “Thank you for your help.”

      His immediate unconditional surrender surprised me, but I waited until we were outside before I said anything.

      “What happened in there?” I asked.

      “Donnie and Frankie are off-limits,” he said tersely. “Either we’ll find our killer without their help or we won’t find him.”

      “But—” I began.

      “I had a stepfather with a belt once,” Watty said. “Been there, done that. If those two boys end up getting into trouble with their mother or with one of her johns, it won’t be on my account, or yours, either. End of story.”

      And that was the end of the story, at least as far as Donnie and Frankie Dodd were concerned. Watty and I never interviewed those kids again, and by the time I was assigned to my new partner, Milton Gurkey, the Dodd family had left town.

      Just for the hell of it, I picked up my iPad now and tried googling them. Donald Dodd. Frank Dodd. Nothing came of it. Not a single link.

      While I was doing my computer search, time had passed. When Nurse Jackie hustled into the room a few minutes later, I was surprised to realize that it was already late afternoon. The sun was going down outside. I looked toward the window Lieutenant Davis had peered out of, expecting to see the Space Needle rising in the distance. Except it wasn’t there. The window was, but the Space Needle wasn’t. The window faced east, not west. There was no view of the Space Needle there in real life, only in my dream.

      “I’m working this floor today. Now, what’s wrong with your phone?” Nurse Jackie wanted to know, jarring me out of my window problem. “Your wife’s on the line, and she won’t take no for an answer.”

      Examining the phone on the bedside table, Nurse Jackie quickly discovered it was unplugged. As soon as she rectified that situation, the phone began to ring. She handed it over, and Mel was already talking by the time I lifted the phone to my ear.

      “When you didn’t answer, I was worried. I was afraid something bad had happened, that there had been some kind of complication.”

      “Sorry,” I muttered guiltily. “No complication. I must have pulled the plug on the phone without realizing it. What’s up?”

      “All hell has broken out,” Mel replied. “One of the protesters from last week—one who got Tasered—was found unresponsive in his apartment earlier this morning. An ambulance crew was summoned. They tried to get his heart going again, but it didn’t work. He was DOA by the time they got him to the hospital. So now it’s gone from being voluntary S.H.I.T. squad involvement to compulsory involvement. In other words, I won’t be home tonight. Do you want me to call Kelly and see if she can come up from Ashland?”

      “Don’t call anyone,” I told her. “I’m fine. They had me up and walking twice today. The physical therapist says I’m doing great.”

      “Are you sure?”

      “I’m sure. You’ve got a job to do, now do it.”

      It was easy to give her a pep talk, but I knew that there was just a tiny hint of jealousy behind my words. Because I was feeling left behind. Mel was out doing what I usually did—what I would have been doing if my knees hadn’t betrayed me and put me on the disabled list.

      “I’ll call you,” she said. “Don’t unplug your phone again, okay?”

      “Okay,” I said. “I promise. You take care.”

      Good to my word, I turned on my cell phone. I had a number of missed calls and six messages. All of the messages were from Kelly, and they all said the same thing: “Call me.”

      I did. The relief in her voice as she answered pressed my guilt button in a big way. “Sorry,” I said. “I was sleeping.”

      “It’s a good thing you called,” she groused. “I was about to throw the kids in the car and head north to see you.”

      “You don’t need to do any such thing. I’m fine, really. They’ve already had me up and walking around. The nurse is here right now, waiting to take me on another stroll. Right?”

      “If you’re up for it, I am,” Nurse Jackie said.

      “Where’s Mel?” Kelly asked. “I thought she was going to be at the hospital with you.”

      Having women fussing and clucking over me tends to get my back up.

      “Mel is out working. Somebody has to, you know.”

      “If you decide you want me to come up, I will.”

      “I’m fine. I’ll be here in the hospital for at least several more days. Mel might want some help after I get home, but for now I’ve got it covered.”

      “We’ve got it covered,” Nurse Jackie corrected. She was standing with her hands on her hips, tapping her toes with impatience. “Now are we doing that walk or not? If not, I have other patients to see.”

      “I’ve got to go,” I told Kelly with no small amount of relief. “Duty calls.”

       CHAPTER 7

      After our measured stroll—there’s no such thing as racewalking when you’re using a walker—I came back to my room to a stream of visitors. Evidently Mel’s one-day moratorium had been lifted, and visitors came in droves to see me.

      People from work stopped by, including Squad B’s secretary, Barbara Galvin, who arrived armed with a box of chocolates, and Harry I. Ball, who came prepared to eat them. Two of the ladies from Belltown Terrace showed up. One of them was a knee-replacement veteran and the other was a knee-replacement candidate, so their visit was really more of a recon expedition than it was a cheerleading session.

      So pardon me if I’m not all cheery about having people sitting around on uncomfortable chairs, staring at me while I’m only half dressed and lying in bed, especially when the one person I would have liked to have had there was off in the wilds of Bellingham chasing bad guys.

      I was glad when the last of the visitors finally got shooed out and Nurse Jackie showed up for her last set of vitals and meds.

      “How are you on pain meds?” she asked as she fastened the blood pressure cuff around my arm.

      “Fine,” I said.

      She glowered at me. “So you’re Superman?” she demanded. “You’re telling me you don’t need any pain meds?”

      “They give me weird dreams,” I admitted. “I’d like to back off on them some.”

      “Let me tell you something,” she said. “You’re not the first tough guy who’s been

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