It didn't take long for the fire department's rescue truck to arrive with the litter, and four burly firemen crowded into the increasingly cramped living room with it. Cassidy, who had read Carole Webster and her son their rights, had turned them over to two uniformed officers then joined his colleagues in the bedroom, trying to keep out of everyone's way.
Healey had discovered a small pile of clothes on the floor in the bedroom closet: Mike's shoes, belt, suitcoat with a small hole in the left shoulder, bloody maroon knit vest, and the fedora. He held them close as, standing in a corner, he watched the swirl of activity around him, knowing they had done all they could and Mike's care was now in someone else's hands.
The paramedics had redressed the wound with a clean gauze pad and surgical tape, taken the IV needle out of the back of his hand, wrapped him in one of their own blankets and, with the assistance of Healey and Haseejian, transferred the semi-conscious lieutenant to the litter and strapped him in.
Cassidy volunteered to stay behind and oversee the transport of the Websters downtown. The firefighters, who were used to this kind of situation in a city with small domiciles, narrow staircases and lack of elevators, had their wounded police comrade down the stairs and out onto the street, transferred to a gurney and loaded into the back of the ambulance faster than the detectives had anticipated, much to their relief. As the double doors of the ambulance were slammed shut, they jogged to their cars.
Devitt turned the key as Olsen put the cherry on the roof and the sedan shot away from the curb, racing to catch up. When they did, Devitt managed a quick glance across the front seat. Olsen's eyes were glued to the back of the ambulance but there was a sense of calm emanating from him now; they had accomplished what they had set out to do.
Devitt smiled to himself; it did feel good, he had to admit. As he followed the ambulance around a corner, knowing they were heading to St. Mary's, his eyes flicked towards Olsen again and, smiling a little wider, he raised his voice to be heard over the wail of the siren. "You do know you've lied to both of them now, right?"
Olsen's eyes snapped towards him under a furrowed brow. "What?"
"Steve last night, Mike just now… you've lied to both of them…" Peripherally he saw Olsen's face turn gradually towards the windshield again.
"Yeah…" the older man said slowly, "yeah, I guess I did…"
Turning another corner, Devitt nodded, trying to hide his smile. The remainder of their journey through the slowly filling streets continued without another word and the sedan turned into the small parking lot for official vehicles near the main entrance of St. Mary's. The other SFPD unmarked sedan did the same right behind them.
# # # # #
The gurney was pulled into a small curtained room alongside an empty hospital bed and an ER doctor and nurse instantly appeared. As one of the paramedics began to reel off Mike's stats and vitals, emphasizing the slightly elevated temperature, the blanket he was wrapped in was unfolded and he was slid, gently but quickly, from one gurney to the other. The young ER doctor, whose nametag read Gaither, nodded continuously as he absorbed the information.
The EMT's voice halted slightly and the doctor glanced at him with a frown. "He, ah, he was shot about 36 hours ago…" The doctor froze momentarily, frowning. The EMT continued. "He was… confined by a woman who was administering to him." He reached into his pocket and took out two small vials of clear liquid, one of them half empty. "She gave him at least three shots of this, in his upper right arm…" The paramedic looked worried.
Continuing to frown, the doctor took the half-empty vial and looked at the label. It was badly smudged, but he could make out the black letters Morphine Sulfate. "Have it checkout out," he mouthed at the EMT and the other young man nodded, taking the vials back.
"He was also hooked up to an IV," the paramedic continued, nodding towards the obvious puncture mark on the back of Mike's right hand, "but it wasn't a working apparatus." He shrugged with a quick shake of his head.
The nurse, who had reached for a large pair of Lister scissors, touched the doctor's arm and pointed to the foot of the bed. The nylon ropes around their patient's ankles were visible and the doctor's eyes snapped up, meeting those of the paramedic again, who nodded in confirmation, briefly closing his eyes and sighing sadly.
Gaither inhaled deeply then nodded at the nurse. He leaned over the gurney; Mike's eyes were slightly open. The doctor smiled. "How are you doing, Lieutenant?" he asked rhetorically, his voice light and encouraging. "You're in good hands now, you're going to be okay." His eyes flicked to the foot of the bed; the paramedic had a scalpel in his hand and was carefully working on the nylon rope around the cop's right ankle.
Gaither smiled at Mike again. "We're gonna have to cut your clothes off, sir. Sorry about that." He nodded at the nurse and, standing beside the EMT at the foot of the bed, she began with the left pant leg. The injured detective managed a slight smile and nod; grinning, Gathier patted Mike's right shoulder. "You're gonna feel a lot better real soon, Lieutenant, I promise…"
# # # # #
The gurney had already disappeared into an examination room by the time the four cops strode into the waiting room then milled about, suddenly realizing that all they could do now was wait. It was almost fifteen minutes later the paramedics reappeared with their empty gurney, on their way back to their vehicle and the remainder of their shift.
Leaving the gurney near the door, they approached the small group of detectives and reassured them that their colleague was in good hands and going to be fine. The vials of clear liquid were produced. Healey said he would get them to the lab, then headed to a payphone to make the call for a black-and-white to pick them up and take them to Forensics.
Haseejian volunteered to get everyone coffees, opting the leave the hospital for a nearby diner with 'great joe', as he put it, while the others sank wearily into waiting room chairs.
Olsen glanced at his watch then looked up. Devitt was watching him with a soft smile. "What?"
Clearing his throat, Devitt looked down, shaking his head. "Nothing…" he said quietly, trying not to chuckle. "It's still a little early to go up and see Steve… I would think…"
Olsen's stare turned into a glare. After a beat, he sighed heavily. "Well, it won't hurt to go up and check… get this over with, I guess…" As he stood slowly and wearily, Devitt looked up at him, the smile disappearing.
"You'll know what to say."
Olsen froze for a beat then smiled gratefully with a brief nod.
"And then you gotta do me a favor, okay?" Devitt stopped him with a hand on his forearm and unexpected gravity in his voice, and the older man looked down at him, frowning. "Go home… for a few hours at least. And get some sleep. Mike won't be ready for visitors for a few hours at least, and I can hold down the fort here while you get some rest…" He shrugged with a gentle bobble of his head, removing his hand. "And then you can come back and relieve me… okay?"
Olsen stared at him expressionlessly for several long seconds then he nodded. "Yeah… I'll do that." He reached out and patted his colleague on the shoulder before starting tiredly towards the elevators.
# # # # #
Olsen slowly pushed the door open. The nurse behind the counter had told him breakfast had been delivered about a half hour earlier, and that Inspector Keller was awake and alert.
The bed was partially raised. A half-consumed pink smoothie was sitting on the rolling table over the bed. Steve's head was back, his eyes closed, but he opened them when he heard the door.
Olsen smiled warmly as he approached the bed, knowing his appearance at this hour of the morning would strike fear into the young man's heart, something he didn't want to do. "I know, it's early," he said with a soft chuckle, raising his hands in mock supplication, "but I heard you were awake and I thought I'd stop in and see you. How are you feeling?" He tried to keep the shock out of his voice seeing the black eyes the young man was now sporting.
Keeping his head on the pillow, Steve's brow furrowed deeply. "What's going on, Rudy?" he asked without preamble. He knew something wasn't right. Olsen looked terrible, like he hadn't slept, and he'd had an uneasy feeling since the two captains had paid him a visit the previous evening.
Clearing his throat uncomfortably, Olsen stared at his young colleague for a long silent second. "I, ah, well, I wasn't totally honest with you yesterday… about Mike. I didn't want you to worry…"
Steve didn't say anything but he swallowed heavily, as if bracing himself.
"He's okay," Olsen continued quickly, "he's, ah, he's gonna be okay… but, well," he paused and exhaled quickly, looking away then back at the bed. "He was ambushed by… well, we don't know who, when he was following up on an IA complaint. He was shot in the left shoulder. It's not a bad wound, he's gonna be fine, like I said…" He paused again.
Steve's green eyes were boring into him unblinkingly; Mike's partner knew there was more.
Olsen raised his eyebrows and shook his head slightly, looking bewildered. "I, ah, I really don't know how to explain this…" He looked at Steve and shrugged helplessly. "We couldn't find him for almost two days…"
Steve's eyes shot wide and a low strangled cry escaped from between his wired teeth. Both hands clenched the blanket.
"He's okay, he's okay," Olsen reassured again quickly, laying a strong, comforting hand on the younger man's forearm. "He's here, at St. Mary's. We brought him in just now and they're removing the bullet as we speak. He's going to be fine."
"What happened?" Steve was breathing heavily through his nose, his heart pounding.
"Ah," the captain stalled, not wanting to get into the horrific details at the moment. "well, a neighbor woman and her son had taken him in and were looking after him…. She used to be a nurse." He shrugged. "Ah, listen, ah, you don't need to know all that right now… I promise I'll tell you everything when you're feeling better, okay…?" He smiled warmly. "I just wanted you to know… and apologize for not being completely honest with you yesterday."
Steve stared at him, saying nothing, and Olsen wasn't quite sure how the young man was reacting. "Can I see him?" he asked finally. Though the words were mumbled, they were easy to understand.
"Ah, well, not at the moment. Like I said, they're operating on him right now but, ah, well, maybe later. I'm pretty sure he's not going to be mobile for awhile so maybe, ah, maybe they'll let me put you in a wheelchair and take you for a ride. How does that sound?"
After a beat Steve nodded carefully, trying not to wince.
Olsen smiled again. "He, ah, he was asking about you this morning…. Wondering why you weren't with us…" He paused again and raised his eyebrows. "I, ah, I lied to him too. I told him you were raiding a house somewhere else, trying to find him." He shrugged again with a dry chuckle. "I think he believed me…. But I don't think he's gonna be too happy when he gets a look at you…"
Steve continued to stare but the older man couldn't read the look. After a couple of long silent seconds, he shrugged again. "Ah, listen, would you like some company? Roy, Norm and Dan are all downstairs, waiting to hear… well, you know…. I, ah, I can get one of them to come up and spend some time with you, if you want…?"
The younger man waited, unblinking, for several more seconds before he briefly closed his eyes and nodded almost imperceptibly. "I'd like to see Roy…"
Relaxing slightly, Olsen let a warm smile curl his lips. He reached out and patted Steve's forearm again. "I'll, ah, I'll let him know…" He started to turn away then looked back. "It's gonna be okay, Steve… everything's gonna be okay…" With an encouraging nod, he crossed to the door, leaving the room without a backward glance.
Steve looked at the ceiling, his heart still pounding. He tried to take a deep breath but the pain in his chest brought him up short. He squeezed his eyes closed, breathing raggedly through his nose.
Could their lives get any worse, he wondered…