Restoration
Chapter 24
John bounds out of the elevator at the hospital and heads straight for the E.R. It should be just about time for Grace to take lunch if there's no major trauma. Grace is just pulling off her gloves as John peeks through the drapes surrounding an intake area. "Hey! Interested in grabbing something to eat?"
Grace smiles at the sound of his voice. "Oh, John, perfect timing. I'm starved, but I can't go farther than the cafeteria. I have to be able to respond to a page immediately."
"Believe me, I understand about an on-duty lunch," John commiserates. "I've left plenty of them behind when a call came in. The cafeteria's fine, or maybe the sandwich wagon in the lobby. Can we eat outside and enjoy the sunshine?"
"OK," Grace agrees, "as long as we stay close."
"You look pleased with yourself," Grace observes as she and Nolan settle on a concrete bench about 100 feet from the hospital entrance.
"I am," John admits unwrapping a foot of Italian bread stuffed with assorted cold cuts. "Things are moving along with Councilman Abbot. He accepted my notion about classes."
Grace forks up salad from a plastic container. "That's great, John! You should be able to help out a lot of people."
"That's what it's all about, isn't it?" Nolan responds. "I mean for both of us. You put people back together all day. Doing something useful makes it worth getting up in the morning, although I confess, I would have loved to have more time in bed today."
"Yeah, me too," Grace sighs,"
"So, did you have plans for tonight?" Nolan inquires.
"No," Grace confides, bumping her knee against his. "Did you have something in mind?"
"I was wondering if we could curl up with popcorn and root beer and watch a movie."
"Root beer's my favorite," Grace confesses.
John grins. "I remember. Do you still like to make floats?'
Grace tilts her head, her eyes lighting up. "I do."
"Then, I'll show up with the soda, vanilla ice cream, and popping corn, and we can take it from there," John proposes. "Around seven-thirty?"
"Sounds good," Grace agrees as an alert goes off on her cellphone. "I have to go, John. See you later."
Armstrong raps softly on the door of a house badly in need of paint. A woman opens it a crack, peering out cautiously. Nick holds up his badge. "Ms. Lawson, we're just here to check that everything's all right."
"I'm fine!" Lawson claims.
"That bruise on your cheekbone says otherwise," Bradford declares.
"What happened?" Armstrong asks.
"I fell, that's all," Margie Lawson insists. "Just go away before my husband sees you."
"Your husband, Mark Lawson?" Bradford presses.
"Yes, that's him. Now, can't you just go away?" Margie pleads. "If he sees you here, he'll think I called you. You'll make things worse. Please leave now."
"All right, Ma'am," Armstrong agrees. "Take care."
"We're not just taking off so her husband can beat on her again?" Bradford demands as Armstrong walks away from the house.
"Of course we're not! We'll pull around the corner so we can see Lawson come back. According to his record, he'll be drunk or high or both. We can use a sound amplifier, and if we hear him going after her, we arrest him and call the medics to check Margie out. And I don't know why Del Monte bounced Lawson, but we're going to find out. So settle down. We're going to be here for a while.
Lucy keeps her eyes moving, concentrating on the job. As long as she's alert to what's happening to others, she isn't dwelling on what Caleb did to her, or what might still be in Rosalind's horrific mind. "You see that?" she exclaims as a car peals out of a parking lot.
"Yeah," Harper acknowledges. "Why the hell is he in such a hurry?"
Nell Forrester's' voice flows from the radio announcing a 211 at the address in front of Harper's unit. "Seven Adam 15 in pursuit of a vehicle leaving the scene," Lucy responds as Harper floors the accelerator. The vehicle ahead roars through a red light, narrowly missing fleeing pedestrians. "Seven Adam 15 requesting backup," Lucy adds. "That idiot is going to kill someone."
"Not if I can help it," Harper declares, gunning the engine and tapping the rear bumper of the suspect vehicle.
Lucy jumps out of the unit immediately as the fleeing auto rams into the curb and comes to a sudden stop. "Exit the car," Harper demands through the unit's P.A. system.
Lucy approaches the vehicle, weapon raised. "Get out of there, now!" A lanky, blond-haired man slowly emerges with his hands up. "On the ground. Hands behind your head." The blond drops to his knees. Lucy cuffs him and recites the Miranda warning. "Harper, I recognize this guy. Bradford and I busted him my third week as a rookie. He was one of Wesley's clients."
"Yeah, Mr. Evers petitioned the court to grant me bail pending a new trial because that prosecutor Del Monte is crooked," Blondie volunteers.
Lucy rolls her eyes. "Look who's talking about crooked. You'll get a new trial, all right, for the robbery you just pulled."
"I want to call Evers," Blondie demands.
"You'll get your chance," Harper grits out.
Lopez grabs Wesley's arm as he exits an interview room. "Harper and Chen just arrested that client of yours. He pulled a robbery right after you got him out of jail. What the hell are you doing?"
"Same thing you are, Angela, my job. You know Del Monte is as dirty as they come. He suppressed evidence exculpatory to my client."
"Your client who just ripped off a liquor store."
"Allegedly ripped off a liquor store. And if he did it, a different A.D.A will have the chance to prove it, but a lot of Del Monte's cases were bogus, and you know it. Every cop here knows it. If you're going to be pissed off at someone, get pissed at whoever let him prosecute cases. I have to go. I have other clients — a lot of them. I'll see you later."
Lopez shakes her head as she stares after her retreating lover. At least he seems to be more like his legally obnoxious self. In a crappy way, that's something."
"Are we going to sit here and wait for that f***ing abuser to come home?" Bradford demands.
"We are," Armstrong confirms. "As terrified as his wife looked, I don't think it's going to be very long. Uh-huh. See that car about to pull into the driveway. I bet that's him. A barrel-chested man with visibly mashed knuckles emerges from a vintage Camaro. He charges through the front door of the injured woman's home. "That's Lawson! Let's go."
Mark's angry shout reaches them. "You bitch! Where's my beer?"
As Bradford reaches the confrontation, Margie is knocked to the floor, and Mark Lawson's fist is poised to deliver more damage. "You try to hit her again, and I'll shoot your hand off."
Mark Lawson turns. "Damn cops. I have dominion over her. Ephesians 5:23: 'for the husband is the head of the wife.'"
"You forgot the other part," Armstrong reminds him, " Ephesians 5:28: 'So ought men to love their wives as their own bodies.' You'll have plenty of time to review the scriptures in jail. You're under arrest."
John runs an electric razor over the late-day stubble on his face. If he's going to cuddle with Grace, his cheeks shouldn't feel like sandpaper. Not that it mattered when he woke up in her bed. The magic they'd had 20 years before returned, not with a flood of hormones, but with the flow of desire that engulfed them, shutting out the world. How compatible root beer and popcorn might be with a repeat of the experience, he has no idea, but the reestablishment of their ease with each other is a great start.
