I'LL BE RIGHT HERE
Chapter Thirty Eight
"These aren't the droids you're looking for…"
(From 'Star Wars: A New Hope'.)
-x0x-
Now…
Juliet was torn.
She could hear Carlton and Dunlap advancing towards the cabin. But she couldn't seem to drag her gaze away from the ocean below, with its cruel, deceptive shadows. All she needed was one glimpse; a sign that Shawn had made it. A dark head, breaking the surface. A miracle.
Common sense told her that Dunlap was right. The coastguard boat was close at hand and Juliet had no doubt that the commander's team was rigorously trained. She could hear their faint cries on the wind and hope burned in her chest – even as an irrational part of her longed to jump over the rail because they were just too slow. Carlton had guessed as much; Carlton who knew her so well…
At least, he thought he did.
That's quite enough of that, O'Hara, she decided suddenly. This was a matter of trust, pure and simple. Dunlap had told her that Shawn would be rescued. And watching from on high would not change a thing. In the meantime, Carlton needed her to Do Her Job.
Time to catch the man who had thrown her boyfriend off the ship.
Time to make him pay.
With a deep, controlling breath, she turned away. Dunlap and Carlton were already disappearing through the open doorway. Feeling ashamed of her hesitation, she hurried to join them, her gun held tightly in both hands.
Entering the cabin, she stumbled to a halt beside her colleagues, who were staring at an ugly scene. "Oh no," she breathed.
At the Academy, they taught you how to read a room – but no meticulously staged lesson could ever prepare someone for the jolt of seeing another life destroyed. Juliet wondered if Carlton still felt it too, or if he had managed to harden himself over the years. As for Dunlap, it was fair to say that she could rival Lady Gaga with her poker face. If she did have any tells (which Juliet doubted), they were extremely well hidden.
The woman who lay on the floor was spread-eagled as though the shot had caught her in the middle of some drastic action. Blood stained her chest and dripped from her rough-knit sweater to pool on the carpet around her. A man knelt beside her, his cheeks ashen. There was blood all over him too, particularly on his hands, which was consistent with a frantic attempt at CPR. He gazed up at them with woeful eyes.
"I think she's dead," he said. "I tried… I'm sorry."
Juliet took in his rodent-like features and his crumpled suit. You're no sailor, she thought, and opened her mouth to quiz him – but Dunlap got there first.
"Hands up," the commander said bluntly. "What happened here?"
"It was Meek," the man replied, shuddering as he obeyed. "He shot her, point blank, with no warning. Then he tossed that psychic fellow overboard and fled."
"So you say." Carlton's deep voice was riddled with suspicion.
Juliet found herself wishing that Shawn could have been here with them. Something was bothering her – like a mental itch – and she could almost see his eager, shining eyes as he waited for her to make the connection. (His gift meant that he often seemed to be two steps ahead of her, which would have been annoying were he not so charmingly clueless in other ways.)
Dunlap crouched down by the body and checked for signs of life, while the two detectives covered her. Juliet held her breath.
"Not dead," the commander declared, with minimal fuss.
"Oh, thank God," breathed the stranger. "Did I save her?"
"Doubtful." Dunlap certainly wouldn't win any awards for sensitivity. Tilting the woman carefully, the commander nodded when she found a corresponding exit wound. "Not a kill shot. Not even close. More of a spiteful distraction, if you ask me – which you didn't, but hey…" Her grin was fierce, but Juliet could see the relief that lurked behind it this time, as Dunlap holstered her weapon and pulled out her radio. "I'll do my best to stabilise her until we can get her airlifted out of here. Manners can find me a med kit. Lassiter – take our Good Samaritan and cuff him to the rail."
"Excuse me?" The stranger looked genuinely startled. He clambered to his feet, still protesting, as Carlton moved in.
"How many sailors do you know who wear black suits?" the detective said pointedly.
"Washington black," Juliet put in. "You're one of Meek's crew."
"I am," the man confessed, stepping around the victim with exaggerated care. "I was. But after this…" He gestured to the woman. "Violence was never a part of the deal. I'll sing like a birdie, I promise. Meek's the devil. Someone ought to send him straight to hell…"
They headed to the door. Outside, the wind was rising. "Arms down," Carlton ordered, reaching for his cuffs. "But keep those hands where I can see them."
Hands, thought Juliet. Hands… Why did such an innocent word feel so important?
Hands.
Hans…
..Gruber. "Oh!" she cried, with a flash of intuition so bright, it actually felt as though a lightbulb had gone off inside her head. No wonder Shawn was so affected by his visions, which must be even more dazzling. All of a sudden, she was back in the Psych office with her boyfriend, and they were laughing… Laughing at Gus, and talking about a movie marathon. "'Die Hard'!"
"I beg your pardon, O'Hara?" Lassiter stared at her, open-mouthed. Which was fair, under the circumstances.
"Take a look at this man from the back, Carlton. Remember the security footage? Isn't he familiar? And you must have seen the movie… You have!" she crowed, as a look of understanding dawned upon his face. "Hans Gruber was the villain, but he hid in plain sight. He tricked McClane into believing that he was an innocent bystander."
"Not for long," said Dunlap, behind them, with relish. "I think we all recall what happened to that guy. It's pretty iconic. And tempting…"
Meek gave an eloquent shrug – for Meek, it had to be. "Worth a try," he said pleasantly. "Don't you agree? I rather enjoyed taking a leaf out of your dead psychic's playbook. Not that it worked well for either of us in the end." He glanced at the rail outside. "May I remind you that murder is not in your remit? I'm not Alan Rickman. More to the point, I'm unarmed – and I'm co-operating."
"Unarmed? You shot that poor woman," Juliet insisted. "What did you do with the gun?" Her own weapon was still levelled in his direction. Carlton began to pat him down methodically.
"You should know," the detective growled, "that Spencer is our colleague. And while I may not… appreciate his methods…"
"Understandable." Meek's tone was mild.
"…he's very effective. And… popular." Carlton was struggling, Juliet could tell, but the intention behind his clumsy speech was touching. He glanced across at her and his eyes said: help me.
Hard to hide the fury that was rising in her at the sight of Meek's imperturbable face. She kept her voice steady with an effort. "Shawn's father is on the coastguard boat. Maybe you'd like to meet him? He's a formidable man, and fierce as a bear when anyone threatens his son."
"I'll pass," said Meek thoughtfully. He peered through the doorway, as Carlton snapped a cuff around his left wrist.
"You don't get that option."
"Oh," said Meek. "I think I do." Without warning, he stomped his foot on Carlton's instep and drove an elbow into his solar plexus. Juliet shifted to find a clear shot, but her partner was in the way, and Meek was far too nimble. He fled from the cabin and out of their sight.
"You have… got to be kidding me," Carlton raged. He hobbled out onto the deck, gun in hand. His face was beetroot red – with embarrassment, Juliet guessed, as she followed him.
Suddenly, he yelped and clutched his arm. Something whizzed over Juliet's head – and she dragged Carlton back into the cabin, seeking cover. Both of them refrained from firing back, though Carlton was clearly tempted. The marksman, whoever he was, could not be seen, and what was the point of wasting all their ammunition, ploughing random bullet holes into the ship?
"Gorman's fictional sniper?" Juliet panted.
"No," Carlton growled. "She was lying. I know it."
"Coincidence, then," said Dunlap, who was leaning over the victim, applying pressure to the wound with a makeshift pad and bandage that she had just MacGyvered out of thin air, apparently. Her fingers were red and her face was grave. "Meek must have clocked them through the open doorway. He ran because he knew they'd stop you giving chase. Not your fault, Detective," she added gruffly, and Juliet blinked in surprise. "Guess we're pinned down now. Like Butch and Sundance – no. That's a bad example." Dunlap winced.
"Just… give me a minute." Carlton's gun hand was shaking and he steadied it with his other palm. A trickle of blood ran down the sleeve of his neon jacket. Juliet opened her mouth – and then closed it again with a sigh. Dunlap may be resourceful but even she couldn't produce a band aid out of nowhere… surely?
Speaking of band aids…
"What about Manners and…?" Why had she never bothered to find out the other guy's name? Now it was Juliet's turn to flush with embarrassment.
"Robinson? Already on it," said Dunlap, trying to work her radio with slippery fingers.
Outside, there was silence. Juliet strained her ears in desperation, but all she could hear was the ocean and the wretched wind. She felt angry and impotent, trapped in a tiny cabin by an arrogant man who had played them for fools.
With a shock, she realised that Shawn must have felt exactly the same. Had he really been here in this very room all along? How could they have been so close, and missed him so completely?
God, I hope he's safe, she prayed, as she and Lassiter hovered just inside the doorway, guns at the ready. She could see her partner edging forwards, and pulled him back. "No, Carlton," she muttered. "It's not worth the risk. Be patient. We'll get him." Now she understood what Driggs had meant when he said that Meek was like a rotten apple. Smooth on the outside… "But crawling with maggots," Juliet muttered grimly to herself. And he really, really hated Shawn. The thought made her stomach churn.
Fifteen minutes passed, though it felt more like an hour. The wind continued to rise, making it difficult to hear anything beyond their ridiculous prison – until suddenly, Robinson's blessed, unremarkable face peered through a crack in the blinds. The next moment, Manners popped up in the doorway, squealing when she saw the weapons aimed in her direction.
"Woah!" she exclaimed. "All clear. You guys can come out now. Looks like the shooter left before we got here. Commander," she added, peering inside and waving a big red bag. "Is this what you needed?"
"Not too shabby, Ensign." Dunlap's praise was grudging but her smile betrayed her satisfaction. Score a point for my team, it said – or at least, that was Juliet's guilty interpretation.
Stepping out onto the deck at last, the detective took a deep breath of fresh air, renewing her strength and her spirit. Meanwhile, Dunlap seemed to be talking into her radio again. Juliet recognised the smug tone she was using this time, and guessed that Vick was on the other end.
Chief Vick. Who was still on the coastguard vessel.
Juliet whirled around. "Is Shawn…? Did they get him?"
Dunlap nodded wordlessly as Vick's voice continued to buzz from the radio. "Mm hmm," replied the commander at last. With her free hand, she made the universal sign for 'yakkety yak'. Finally, she lost her patience. "Captain Bale, you say? Tall woman, dark hair? She's right here, Karen. And you can tell Spencer she's still alive. That oughta cheer him up. Unless he'd rather hear it from his gi… What? Why do you always have to interrupt…?" Dunlap paused, and her gaze shifted from Juliet to Lassiter. Fortunately, Carlton was prowling up and down outside the cabin, waiting for all the pointless chatter to cease and desist. "I see. And I get it." Dunlap winked at Juliet. "No problem. You called for an airlift, right? And Spencer is really okay?" For a moment, she actually sounded glad. "One life down, eight to go… Oh, seven? Well, if you say so…"
The tightness in Juliet's chest was easing. So great was her sense of relief that she felt intoxicated. Shawn was safe. He was safe, down below with the chief, and Gus, and his father.
Now she could focus on Meek.