Ohh just when it looked like Jane and David were safe, that miserable Mark Stockman managed to outsmart the local cops. Now what?

Dead Ringer

Chapter 25

Will Hope

Cho ran out of the hospital in a rage. Just how incompetent were the police in Blanchard and Markdale? Letting a murderer run free through a hospital and then out into the town, with a police issued weapon? How was that possible? He placed a call to Wylie to arrange a helicopter to take him back to Blanchard County to apprehend Stockman once and for all. As he ran, a new thought occurred to him.

He had to warn David Litchfield. And post a guard to Patrick's hospital room.

With any luck, Stockman would be focussed on running away from the comforts of his home County, perhaps towards the bus station or one of several small airports close by. Wherever he went, the FBI had to be one step ahead of him. Stockman could still be gunning for his cousin though, blaming him for his downfall. Good thing David and Jane were in Austin, away from Stockman's reach. Cho planned to keep it that way. As long as Stockman believed Jane was dead, he shouldn't be coming for him.

As Cho reached his car, he dialed Wylie to tell him to get ahold of David and warn him to stay in Austin until Mark Stockman had been re-arrested. There was no way Cho wanted to be faced with Stockman taking his cousin hostage yet again.

Upstairs at the Austin General Hospital, Teresa didn't have time to process the information about Stockman's escape. As soon as Cho had left her, a nurse came out to inform her that Patrick was being moved downstairs to the 4th floor Surgical Unit. There he would be watched carefully overnight. Teresa could go and wait for him to arrive. This was the news she had been waiting for and Teresa quickly took the elevator down one floor to wait and watch for his arrival. It took another 20 minutes, but finally the elevator doors slid open and Jane was pushed out on a bed, surrounded by two nurses and an orderly. Teresa fell in behind them and followed until Patrick was taken to his private room. Teresa waited just outside the door while the nurses got Patrick settled and adjusted his IV and pain pump. He slept throughout the whole procedure.

"He's all set. You can stay for about 10 minutes, then he needs to left alone to sleep" a nurse told her on her way out of his room.

Teresa nodded her thanks and stepped into the spartan room, going to Patrick's side immediately. He was pale, paler than she'd ever seen him, even with his perennial suntan. A large dressing swathed his head, covering the stitches running across the back of his scalp. A large compress covered the knife hole in the front of his body and around to the back, where the knife had first entered. Drains ran out from under the large white dressing, leading Teresa to understand more fully how badly infected his wound had been in that filthy cement factory. She was leaning far over Jane's body to inspect his injuries when the door opened and a very large Federal Agent stepped into the room, startled to see a civilian next to the man he was supposed to guard.

"Arms up!" he demanded, pointing his gun at Teresa.

"Relax! I'm Agent Teresa Lisbon Jane, this man's wife. I work with Senior Agent Kimball Cho out of the Austin FBI office" she answered, unperturbed by his aggressive manner. He was there to protect her husband, so it was all good.

"Prove it!" he snarled, not ready to believe her just yet. "Two fingers…" he ordered her, when she tried to take out her ID badge.

She nodded and slipped her thumb and index finger into her pocket and produced her ID, holding it out for the Agent to scrutinize. Seeing she was in fact an agent and the wife of the patient, he immediately dropped his weapon and holstered it.

"Sorry Agent Jane...just making sure…" he smiled, standing down.

"Hey, no problem. Glad to see you're here to protect Patrick. Nice to meet you Agent…?"

"Hope. Agent Will Hope."

Teresa smiled at his fortuitous name. Will hope...yes, she will hope...for Jane to be home soon.

"Nice to meet you Will."

He smiled and turned to go. "I'll let you visit in private. Call if you need me" he said kindly, then slipped out, back into the hallway where he took up his position.

Alone again, Teresa hovered over Patrick's calm face. While ashen in colour, he seemed to be peacefully asleep. As long as he stayed that way, the healing could begin. Taking his large warm hand in hers, Teresa kissed each finger then leaned over to place a soft kiss on his lips. His hair showed traces of cement dust, but his body had been cleansed prior to his surgery. Loose curls splayed across the low pillow, parted by the layers of cotton gauze encircling his head.

"Patrick, I'm here. You're going to be just fine. You made it out of that cement factory and soon you can come home with me and Anika. She misses her Daddy" she said softly, close to his face.

"David is fine. He got away and found us, brought us to you, Cho, me, the local police, agents from Austin...it was pretty hectic" she added, knowing full well he couldn't hear her.

"All you have to do is rest, sleep as long as you want, then with a bit of luck, you can come home in a day or two. I miss having you next to me in our big bed. Miss your warm body curled up close to mine."

Teresa put her hand on his bare chest, feeling it rise and fall with each breath, the thump thump of his heart, both indications of him being gloriously alive. Alive...after being...dead. Shaking her head in gratitude, she studied every line across his cheeks, every crinkle at the edges of his eyes, every bit of whiskery stubble on his jaws and chin. All of it was so beautiful, so manly, so completely Patrick.

God how she loved him, so much, it almost made her heart ache. She stood speaking softly next to him and was surprised when a nurse came in to check his vitals.

"I'm sorry Mrs. Jane, but it's been more than 10 minutes. Why don't you take a break, or go home to rest a bit? Your husband won't wake up tonight so you can safely leave him for a while" she suggested kindly.

"Can I come back in an hour?" Teresa asked, not sure she could physically be separated from him again.

"No Ma'am. Mr. Jane needs to rest, and I would guess you do too. You're welcome to come back first thing in the morning though" the nurse informed her. She had seen too many spouses fall apart from exhaustion before their partner went home.

Teresa nodded, knowing she couldn't fight the rules, and truth be told, she hadn't slept much since Jane disappeared. The thought of her bed and a quick cuddle with Anika seemed wonderful to her at the moment.

Turning back to Patrick, she bent over and whispered in his ear.

"I'm going to go home and check on Anika. Then you can sleep while I get some rest. Be good, and I'll see you in the morning. I love you Patrick" she added, kissing his cheek one last time before she walked away to let the nurse do her work. Pausing at the door, she turned and looked at her husband, a faint rush of concern running up her spine.

Agent Hope had better keep Patrick safe.

(Blanchard County)

Mark Stockman was free from police custody, but he was hardly a free man. There was nowhere he could run that felt safe. He had no car, no money, no access to either at the moment, and his face was plastered across every newspaper, TV, computer, cell phone and telephone pole on posters. Unless he could go underground and get far away from here, he knew it was just a matter of time before some cop bumped into him and a fight broke out. Stockman wasn't going to go down easily. He made his way across town, staying in the shadows in the worst part of downtown core, surrounded by people who had their own reasons to avoid the police, but he hated it there. It was a dirty, urine soaked, alley infested broken down neighbourhood. He was used to the high life, being respected and obeyed as a doctor, a fake doctor albeit, but still...he felt superior to all of these rummy, drug addled scum who inhabited this sorry part of town. But he was safe here, for now.

His first concern was to get some money, just enough to enact his getaway plan. He stayed in the background, lingering in an stinking alley until a kid high on ecstasy stumbled into him. It was pathetically easy to roll him for his money and knock him out in the far end of the dank space. Now he had some spending money until more came his way.

He deeked into a small convenience store that mostly sold cheap wine, cigarettes and lighters to cook down drugs. He found some cheap no-name disposable razors and shaving foam. He also found some glasses with non-prescription lenses. Taking a pair of heavy black framed glasses, he paired them with a loose baseball t-shirt and a baseball hat. As soon as he had paid for everything with his stolen money, he found a bathroom in a bar down the street and went to work. Ten minutes later, he emerged bald, dressed in his baggy t-shirt with his face largely disguised by the oversized glasses. The baseball hat covered his bandaged stitches. He was so uninteresting to look at he boldly walked through the bar without raising the slightest bit of scrutiny. He looked just like every other man in there.

Part one of his plan to disappear was accomplished, now to get to the next phase of his disappearing act. He went back outside and languished against a street corner, half hidden by a large green post office mail box. Traffic drifted through here, but it was mostly Johns cruising for hookers. After waiting for 40 minutes without success, Stockman finally saw his 'mark' drive up. An elderly man parked at the side of the road and stumbled out of his older model compact car. It was beige and so nondescript you wouldn't see it if you were actually looking for it. The old guy wobbled across the street towards his favourite bar and slipped inside, needing more lubrication to face his day.

Stockman strolled into the bar and and sat next to the man. The old guy was as smelly as he was drunk, but Stockman had to get close to him to make his plan work. He chatted the man up for a while, seeming to enjoy his company. As he reached for some free peanuts sitting on the counter, Stockman bumped into the man and spilled his drink all over his lap. Cursing Stockman loudly, the man jumped up and began to brush the liquid off his filthy pants, loudly protesting Stockman's clumsiness.

"Sorry man... didn't mean no harm...here, let me help" Stockman said, taking a large paper towel from the bar to wipe down the angry man. He vigorously wiped the grease stained pants, pocketing the drunk's car keys as he kept the man talking.

"Let me buy you another drink" he said, knowing those were the magic words to calm the old geezer down.

"You'd better bud…" the man hissed, settling back down on his stool. Mark waved at the bartender and ordered another drink for the man, then got up and slipped away before he was pressed to pay for it. By the time the bartender and the old man had figured out they'd been played, Stockman was driving away in the ugly beige car. Mission accomplished. He headed out of this scummy part of town and out into the countryside, hoping to avoid running into any patrol cars searching for him.

Stockman had to decide where to go next. The FBI man was dead, most likely laid out on a cold morgue slab by now, but his cousin David was obviously still alive. Where would David go? It seemed too obvious that he should go back to the Litchfield Psychiatric Home. That's the first place Mark would look for David...so, where else would that fucker go? Stockman turned on the car radio to get the latest news. Perhaps there would be a mention of the events out at the cement factory. Nothing that exciting had happened in Blanchard County since...ever.

After two or three whiney country songs ended, the news began. Sitting up to pay attention, Stockman listened for his name. After an agonizing wait for the commercials to end, the saga of the take down at the cement factory was announced. Stockman was named as the hostage taker, a violent psychopath up on charges of murder, kidnapping, assault. Dr. David Litchfield had been held against his will for almost a year in his own facility, but now he was free and talking to the police. Locals were being warned to be on the lookout for Stockman.

Shit!

The story also mentioned the drowning of Lynn Michaels and the kidnapping and murder of an FBI Consultant.

Murder. Murders...

Kimball Cho had planted that story to make sure Patrick stayed safe, but Stockman didn't need to know that, not yet at least. Once he was back behind bars and on his way to court to face his crimes, he would find out his dead witness wasn't quite so dead after all. But as far as he knew today, Jane was well and truly dead. Stockman believed he got that one thing right out there at the factory. Patrick Jane couldn't testify against him from six feet under the ground!

Mark drove on, weighing his options for a place to escape. The border to Mexico was tantalizingly close, but he realized it would be heavily fortified against his slipping through, even in disguise. No, he had to go somewhere unexpected. He had to think like David. A new idea popped into his head. Yes, David...he was the key to so many decisions Mark had had to make in the last 10 years. He could still be of use to him. He drove a little faster now, heading to a gas station in a tiny town 40 miles to the north. Stockman knew there was a pay phone there, one of the last ones left in this digital age. All he needed was some more cash and he'd be on his way.

(Austin Texas)

David would be staying in an FBI safe house in Austin until Mark Stockman was apprehended and incarcerated in a prison cell before he had his day in court. It pained him that he had missed out on taking care of his patients for the best part of a year, and even though he intended to hand the whole facility over to someone else, he still wanted to go back to the Home and see how well the place was operating. At least he could call, he supposed. See if another doctor could step in a few days a week to help the beleaguered staff. Yes, that's what he'd do. He placed a call and got through to Mrs. Rogers, the receptionist he'd never met. Mark had very efficiently replaced everyone who knew the real Dr. David Litchfield.

"Litchfield Psychiatric Home, how may I help you?" she said.

"Hello, you don't know me, but I'm Dr. David Litchfield. The real Dr. Litchfield" he said, hoping she'd believe him.

Mrs. Rogers wasn't sure what was going on but the last week had been crazy around there, with patients and doctors missing...now this guy calls up and says he's Doctor Litchfield.

"Go on" she said cautiously.

"My cousin impersonated me, and I would guess that he hired you. I'm just calling to speak to the head nurse, whoever that may be now. I need to find out how my patients are" he explained. Even to him it sounded lame.

"Sir, or, Doctor, the condition and medical history of any of our patients is strictly confidential. We can't just give that information out over the phone to someone who claims to be a doctor" she scolded him.

Dr. Litchfield had to smile at that. She was playing by the rules. So far, he liked her.

"Yes, I understand patient confidentiality rules, but if you would just put me through to whoever is running the place in my absence, I would appreciate it" he cajoled her.

"Sir, why don't you just come in and identify yourself to us so we can be sure you're who you say you are?" Mrs. Rogers prodded him, still skeptical.

"Ma'am, I can't. I'm in hiding from my cousin, the man you worked for. If he finds out where I am I won't be safe. Now please, just put me through and the nurse can make the decision whether or not to speak to me" he demanded.

Mrs. Rogers decided that she could do that, without consequences. After all, the nurse was the one responsible for patient care, not her. Mind made up, she agreed.

"Alright, the person you need to speak to is Carolyn Martin. She's the head nurse here. I'll put you through."

"Thank you." David waited, not quite sure what he hoped to accomplish with this call, but he had to do something. After all, his name was on the Home.

"Carolyn Martin speaking."

"Oh hello Carolyn, I am Dr. David Litchfield. The real Dr. Litchfield."

"Sir, why should I believe you? To me, you're just a voice on the phone."

David wasn't having much luck with the staff of his hospital. But he had to give them credit for being professional.

"Well you shouldn't I suppose. But by now you know that the man who hired you was really named Mark Stockman, correct? And he disappeared, taking two patients with him. One of those men was me. The other man was an FBI consultant. How am I doing so far?" David asked, knowing none of this was information that had been broadcast to the public.

There was a long silence on the other end of the phone. The woman was considering his story.

"Go on. Tell me about the Home. Tell me something only Dr. Litchfield would know."

David smiled at that. What did he know that this nurse would accept as the truth?

"Okay, give me a moment. If you go up to the attic, through my apartment, there is a small drawing on the wall behind a pile of old chairs and bed frames. I drew that on the wall when I was 7 years old. The crayon drawing is of a yellow school bus and a little boy standing beside it wearing a red sweater and blue pants. I wrote my name beside the picture, but misspelled the name. I spelled David with an 'e' instead of an 'i'."

David could hear the nurse walking, then running up the stairs at the front of the building.

"We were told not to go into the apartment sir. It is part of the investigation."

"Did the police place yellow crime scene tape across the door?" David asked.

"No sir, just across the bedroom door. I can go in through the kitchen and get into the attic there."

"Please do that."

"OK, here goes...this better not be a joke!" she said sternly. David could hear her walking quickly through the kitchen, a kitchen he had not been in for a very long time. He missed it. The sound of her puffing up the steep narrow steps to the attic also brought back memories.

"Where is the light switch?" the woman muttered to herself as she reached the top of the stairs.

"To your left, low down on the wall. People were shorter back then" David said, grinning.

The nurse felt around, and there it was! On the left, lower than she would have expected it to be on the wall! She stepped into the spacious attic and looked around for the pile of furniture. Most of it had been disposed of but a couple of old heavy chairs remained. She walked over and moved a chair away to reveal the wall. There she found the little drawing, very low on the wall, about the height a small boy would choose to draw himself and his school bus. And David was spelled with an 'e'.

"I found it! It's exactly the way you described it! Are you really the real Dr. Litchfield?" she said, suddenly embarrassed to have doubted her boss.

"Yes, I am, but my cousin took me hostage and imprisoned me back in the Secure Unit. No one knew I was back there. How are my patients? Are they doing well? How is the Conductor?" he asked, remembering the old man fondly.

The nurse gave him a fairly general assessment of the state of affairs at the Home, still not willing to divulge anything too specific about the patients, but David was assured that at least the patients had not suffered. And although she hadn't personally cared for the Conductor, he was doing well. David could rest easy now, knowing that no matter what had transpired, the medical staff had done a good job treating the patients.

"Carolyn, as soon as I can come back and visit, I very much look forward to meeting you. Right now, the FBI wants me to stay out of sight, but soon I will come back. Thank you for taking my call. Would it be alright if I check in with you every few days?" he added.

"Dr. this is your hospital. You can call as often as you like. It was nice to finally meet you, so to speak" she smiled into the phone.

"Thank you Carolyn. Keep up the good work. Tell the staff I look forward to meeting all of them soon. Bye for now" he said before he hung up, feeling much better about the situation back in Markdale. Now if only Stockman could be recaptured he could finally relax completely.