Chapter 5: Picture
When Jordan and Nigel reached the scene, flashing blue and red lights were still going strong. Yellow crime scene tape had been distributed, easily cordoning off a two block radius. Despite the fact that they rode in the clearly marked morgue van, they both had to show their badges and ID before the officers removed the barricades and let them into the scene. They grabbed their bags and the gurney and rolled it over to the body.
Over to her left, she saw Woody, notebook and pen in hand, interviewing two men in suits – most likely people who had been in the bank at the time – before handing them his card and directing them away from the scene. Then he went over to talk with a man wearing a BPD windbreaker. Woody was wearing one as well. He had forgone suits this past week or so. As they walked away, she could see that both men, actually, most of the officers whom she saw in the area, were wearing bullet proof vests. For two seconds, for the umpteenth time in her life, Jordan sent a silent thank you to whoever developed Kevlar.
She turned her attention to Nigel and the body, snapping her gloves up over her wrist, covering her watch. The dead officer was in his street uniform, and a large area of blood pooling around his head and right shoulder. Turning the head and looking for the entry and exit wound, she heard the shutter of the camera as Nigel took pictures.
"Poor bloke. Looks like he didn't feel anything, though. No signs of movement after the fact."
Jordan nodded. "Yeah, I'd say it went in on the back side of his head here, and then came out his neck here, severing the artery in the neck. He was dead before he even hit the ground."
"Which means that we need to look for the bullet."
Jordan was rising to her feet to do just that when more shots rang out. She heard the officers shouting and felt a large body slam into her, driving her into the patrol car behind her. Regaining her balance, she looked up to see Nigel rolling off her and into the shelter of the patrol car.
"What they hell -?"
"Someone's firing at us, looks like the scene's not so secure after all! Stay down," he admonished, putting a hand on her shoulder as she tried to get up to look around. "What the hell are you doing!"
"Woody's still out there!"
"I know, love, but he's a cop. Let him do his job. Besides, he's got the added benefit of a Kevlar vest. Something we don't have. So just sit tight and wait for the all clear."
Jordan did so, primarily because instinct had her ducking as another few rounds punched through the metal of the cars around them. When there was a pause in the gunfire, she managed to look over the hood before Nigel pulled her back down. But what she saw in those few seconds terrified her. She managed to see Woody, gesturing, shouting orders and holding his own gun at the ready. On the sleeve of his beige t-shirt, she saw a familiar spreading red stain. He looked over in her direction at just that moment, and his eyes widened.
After Nigel pulled her back down, she whirled on him. "Woody's hurt. I think he's been shot in the arm."
"Is he still standing?"
"What?"
"If he's standing, it's not bad. Let him finish his job. Wait for the all clear!"
Frustrated, she did as he asked. She felt the secure grip of his hand on her shoulder. She knew he was right, but just as instinct had her ducking behind the car as bullets flew, it also had her rushing out to Woody, making sure he was okay. She heard shouts, a few more shots, the thud of bodies striking each other and the ground. Finally, she heard the radio of a nearby officer crackle.
"All clear, all suspects in custody."
She started to breathe a sigh of relief, but a second message came almost on top of the first that made her heart leap into her throat.
"Officer down! Get the medics over here. We're going to need two rigs!"
Jordan glanced at Nigel, who shared her worried look, then took off from behind the car. She ran hard for the place where she had last seen Woody, praying the whole time that it wasn't him that was down. He was wearing his Kevlar, right? But her fears were realized as she approached the crowd of officers. On the ground, she could already recognize the familiar beige shirt and blue jeans. She heard the protests as she pushed her way through the crowd to his side. One officer was already on the ground, cutting the vest off at the shoulder. A red stain was already spreading on his abdomen, where, on a tall man like Woody, the vest ended. She reached out to staunch the bleeding with her hands, but suddenly Nigel was there, already pushing his coat onto the wound. Jordan looked back up to Woody's face. This wasn't good. He wasn't reacting to the pressure Nigel was applying. She tilted his head back and bent her ear to his mouth. Feeling for a pulse. Oh, God. He wasn't breathing. And the pulse was fast. Too fast. And then it wasn't there at all.
Almost instantly, her training kicked in, what she had learned when she still worked on live people. She pinched his nose and gave him to breaths, forcing herself to make them slow and full. Her body lurched sideways, reaching out for his chest, where she pumped down hard with the heels of her hand. One-and-two-and-three-and… On the second compression, she heard a crack, and almost stopped. Almost. A cracked rib wasn't uncommon when CPR was done right. Oh, God, she was doing CPR on the man she loved. Please, God, she prayed. Let him live. Please, please.
She repeated the process over and over, for what felt like centuries. Finally, she felt herself pulled away, and realized that it was Nigel. The paramedics, who had already been on the scene as a mater of routine, were here and had taken over. An ambu bag went over his face, and scissors quickly cut away his shirt. One medic used his knee to put pressure on the wound as he attached the wires and pads of an Automated External Defibrillator. She heard one medic shout, "Arrhythmia, shock advised. Clear!" and watched helplessly as his body jerked when electricity surged through his body.
Nigel pulled her tight against him, and she buried her face into his chest, finally feeling the tears coursing down her cheeks, still praying harder than she ever had in her life.
Please, God. Let him live. I need him so much. Please. Let. Him. Live.
