The Door Into Summer
Chapter 26Stu was driving back from Rialto listening to the radio. He was enjoying the music when it was interrupted by a news bulletin. He didn't pay any attention at first until he heard a name that startled him, " . . . Jeff Spencer. The other victim has not been identified, but it appears she was a teenager. Spencer was one-half of the well-known private investigative firm Bailey and Spencer, located on the Sunset Strip in Hollywood. He was taken to Beach Presbyterian Hospital but was pronounced dead on arrival. Stay tuned for further information as it becomes available."
Stuart slammed on the brakes and pulled off the road next to a phone booth. He fumbled for change and dialed the operator. "Operator, get me the North Hollywood Police Department, Sergeant Flaherty." It took a minute or more before he heard Flaherty's voice on the phone. "Sergeant, this is Stu Bailey. What do you know about the shooting?"
"Not much more than you do, Mr. Bailey. We've tried to get more information from the Newport Beach Police Department but they're playin' this one awful close to the vest. Your best bet is to get to the hospital as fast as you can. Sorry I don't know any more."
"Thanks, Sergeant." Stu slammed down the phone and started back for the car. He hadn't gone three feet when he started shaking and couldn't stop. He staggered back to the car and managed to get into the seat, grabbing the steering wheel and holding on until the trembling subsided. He stayed that way for a few minutes, waiting until his head cleared enough to drive to the hospital. Upon arrival he parked in the Emergency Room parking and went striding inside.
"Can I help you, sir?" The lady behind the desk asked.
"I'm Stu Bailey, Jeff Spencer's partner. I heard something on the radio about him being brought here in an ambulance. Can you tell me what his condition is?"
"Please have a seat, Mr. Bailey. I'll page the chaplain."
The chaplain? Dear God, no, that must mean . . . Stu collapsed into a chair and put his head in his hands. His mind refused to finish the thought, and when he finally raised his head his hands were wet. Jefferson, you can't leave me like this. It has to be a mistake. God in heaven, please tell me it's a mistake. He didn't have long to wait; soon the chaplain was shuffling down the hall towards him. It was impossible to read the padre's face. Stu got to his feet. "Please, chaplain, tell me the radio got it wrong. Please, it's just a bad joke, isn't it? Jeff can't be . . . he just can't. He's my best friend . . ." and before Stu could say anything else the chaplain put his arms around the distraught man.
"Come with me, son. We'll go somewhere private and talk."
Stu pulled away from the man. "No. No, absolutely not. I want to see him. You're telling me he's dead, and I don't believe you. I can't believe you. Show him to me."
"Yes, my son, I shall. Come with me." This time the padre took Stu's arm and led him down the hall towards the Morgue.
This can't be happening, Stu thought. They're lying to me. He was grasping at straws, refusing to believe the truth of the matter. Jeff was dead, and Daggett had killed him. He got a grip on himself and straightened up, shrugging off the chaplain's hold on his arm. He followed the man through the swinging doors of the morgue and stopped once they were inside. The room was empty save for the two of them and suddenly he knew he was right – Jeff Spencer wasn't dead . . . at least not yet. "Who are you?" he asked.
The chaplain smiled at him. "I'm Detective Gregory Evans of the Newport Beach Police. I'm sorry for the subterfuge, but Captain Josephs needed your reactions to be real in order to protect Mr. Spencer. He's in surgery right now, Mr. Bailey, and I won't lie to you – he's in critical condition."
"Why?" It was the only thing Stuart could say without losing the tenuous grip he had on himself at the moment.
"We received a tip that Tony Daggett might try to finish the job he started if he knew Mr. Spencer was still alive. We've got eyes all over the hospital but if he was there we needed your reaction to the news of your partner's death to be real. Unfortunately, there was only one way for that to happen. The Captain sends his apologies and hopes you understand."
Stu was considerably calmer than he'd been upon his arrival. "I do understand, Detective Evans. I may not like the method used, but I'm grateful for the protection. Any idea where the tip came from?"
The detective shook his head. "None. Right now you know as much as we do."
"What about the girl? It was Rachel Ames, wasn't it?"
"Yes, it was Miss Ames. She was shot in the foot and the back right shoulder, but she's expected to make a full recovery."
"What about Jeff? You said critical and surgery. How many bullets and where?" Stu's brain had begun to function normally again, knowing that Jeff was still alive. At least for the moment.
"He was shot four times, but I'm not sure of the exact locations. You'll have to wait for the surgeon to give you that information."
"Have you got a secure location for me until Jeff's out of surgery?"
Detective Evans had answered all of Stu's questions to the best of his ability, and he had an answer for this one, too. "You can stay in the Surgical Waiting Room. If anybody asks you're there to see how Miss Ames is doing. Once Mr. Spencer is out of surgery they'll come get you and take you somewhere else. Don't say anything about Mr. Spencer. I hope this is all unnecessary, Mr. Bailey, but we couldn't ignore the tip." The detective had a question for Stu. "Are you ready?"
"Absolutely, detective." Stu followed Evans out of the Morgue and back to the Surgical Waiting Room. The room was empty. "Where's the nearest phone?" I have to call my office."
"No, you don't. We reached your associate, Mr. Kookson, and explained the situation to him. He's closed the office and taken Miss Fabry home."
"Does Suzanne know . . . ?" Stu could just imagine what poor Suzanne was going through.
"She will, as soon as he gets her home."
"Thank you." Stu sat down to wait, not knowing how long he would be there or even if Jeff would make it through the surgery. 'Critical Condition' was the only thing the detective could tell him. He paced, he sat, he went to find the cafeteria and get some coffee, he tried to read that mornings Los Angeles Times Newspaper, and still no word. He'd been there almost four hours when he stopped reading and looked up, sensing someone else's presence in the room. He recognized the blue eyes watching him. "Mr. Kookson, my associate."
"Sorry, dad. What was I supposed to tell them? I was at Suzanne's desk when they called asking for Mr. Kookson. It is my name, after all."
"My associate?"
"The carhop?"
Stu shook his head. "I suppose you do have a point. How's Suzanne?"
"Relieved. I hated to see her like that, Stu. She just fell apart in my arms. Then when I got her home she kept throwing things at me."
"For keeping her in the dark as long as you did?"
"Exactly. That girl's got a wicked right arm." Kookie sat down across from Stu. "No word, yet, huh?"
"No, no word. If anybody asks we're waiting to find out Rachel's condition."
Kookie nodded. "You gonna call her folks?"
"Yes, now that you're here. Believe it or not, there's a payphone in the Morgue."
"In the . . . what? The Morgue. What were you . . . ?"
"I'll explain later."
Stu rose and hurried back to the Morgue. There was no one there, thank God, and he put a dime in the phone and got the operator. "Operator, give me long distance to Yuba City, Mr. Jerry Ames."
"Hello?"
"Mr. Ames, this is Stu Bailey."
"You didn't have to call, Mr. Bailey. We've already been notified by the police." There was a terrible sadness in Jerry Ames's voice.
"What did they tell you, Mr. Ames?"
"Just that Rachel was being held by some low-life and she was murdered along with your partner this morning."
"They were wrong, Mr. Ames. Neither one of them is dead, and the doctor said Rachel is going to be fine." What immediately followed was the sound of a phone handset dropping.
"Mr. Bailey? I'm sorry, did you say . . . ?"
"Yes, I did, Mr. Ames. She was shot twice, but she's going to be fine."
"And your partner?"
"Jeff's been in surgery most of the day. He's still critical."
"What hospital, Mr. Bailey?" Now there was relief and joy in the voice.
"Beach Presbyterian Hospital, Mr. Ames. And remember not to speed to get down here. We'll look after her."
"Oh, bless you, Mr. Bailey, bless you. Gloria and I will say a prayer for your partner."
"Thank you, Mr. Ames. We'll see you when you get here. Give Mrs. Ames my best."
"Will do. And thank you for the news. That's the best thing I've ever heard."
Stu smiled slightly as he hung up the phone. Now, if Jeff would be all right . . . He made sure he looked like the grieving partner as he returned to the waiting room. Kookie glanced up when he heard the door open.
"All taken care of?"
Stu nodded. "They're coming down. Her father was overjoyed."
"No word yet," Kookie explained.
"This is the worst part; the waiting. I just need somebody to come through that door and tell me he's going to make it."
As if God had heard him and taken pity on him, the door to the waiting room opened and a doctor walked in. "Mr. Bailey?"
Stu was on his feet instantly. "Yes, sir. This is my friend and associate, Mr. Kookson. Do you have news about Jeff Spencer?"
"Not much I'm afraid, Mr. Bailey. They're still working on him, but the surgeon wants you to know it will be hours before they're finished."
"Can you tell me why so long, doctor?" Stu stopped for a minute, thinking about the times Jeff had been in this position, waiting for word about him.
"Have they given you any news at all?"
Stu shook his head. "No."
"His heart stopped on the way to the hospital but they got him back. It's done that twice more on the table. It's slow going due to the proximity to the heart of one of the bullets. The best suggestion Dr. Morris can make is that you go home and come back in the morning."
"Thank you, doctor, but I'm not leaving."
Once the doctor left, Kookie added his voice. "You look like hell, dad. Is there anything I can get you?"
Stuart shook his head again. "Just coffee. And say a prayer."
"I will, Stu. I'll be back."
When Kookie returned, Stu took the coffee gratefully. "Go on home, Kookie. There's no sense in both of us being here all night."
Instead, the carhop sat down with coffee of his own. "You stay, I stay."
Stu just nodded and took a sip of the hot liquid. It was going to be a long night.
XXXXXXXX
It was close to three a.m. when the surgeon finally appeared, looking even more beat than Stu and Kookie felt. "Mr. Bailey, Mr. Kookson, come with me, please." The two men followed him like ducklings follow their mama; out the door to the elevator and up to the floor that housed the ICU. When they finally stopped they were in another waiting room – this one smaller than the last. "Please, have a seat." Stu and Kookie sat.
"I'm Doctor Morris. Mr. Spencer is alive, for now. There were several times I didn't think that was the news I was going to give you. He was hit four times; one so close to the heart that if he'd been breathing in instead of out we wouldn't have spent so long in the operating room. That's the bullet that gave us so much trouble. The others were one under the right hip bone and two in the left arm."
"And the prognosis, Dr. Morris?"
"I won't lie to you, Mr. Bailey. Right now it's touch and go."
"Assuming he recovers, what kind of long-term effects are we looking at?"
"It all depends on the heart. He has two factors in his favor – he survived surgery, and he' fairly young and strong. The next twenty-four hours is going to tell the story."
"Can I see him? Once he's out of recovery, of course."
"Let's see how he comes out of the anesthesia. I'll have a nurse come and get you."
Stu offered his hand to the surgeon. "Thank you for being honest with me."
"Would it have done me much good if I hadn't been?" Stu smiled, that I-know-something you don't smile. "I didn't think so," the surgeon finished. He turned quickly and left the room; two very exhausted men stood staring at each other.
"How much of that did you believe?" Kookie asked. "You know how these doctors in germsville are."
Stu shook his head. "Most of it. You noticed he didn't have much to say about the other three bullets. That means he's probably worried about them – or their removal."
"Can I go call Suzanne?"
"Yes, and have her call Roscoe to babysit the office. Then go get her."
"Right, dad."
"And take my car," Stu finished.
"Will do." Kookie got very serious for a minute. "He'll pull through, dad. When has Jeff ever not held up his end of the bargain?"
"Good question, Kookie. I hope we don't have to find out now."