17.
Horatio's guts were in knots as he hit Ocean Beach Drive, otherwise known as the A1A. The lights on the Hummer were flashing as he wove around cars pulling out of his way while he rapidly increased speed. His mind was barely registering what Captain Payton in Seattle had told him concerning Paul Hirsch's murder. They had found that Hirsch hadn't died from the 9mm found at the scene and actually used to shoot the man in the neck. Rick Turner, his friend at the King County Coroner's Office, had discovered later that Hirsch had been killed with a .22 handgun, the hole having been small enough not to be seen right away in the pool of blood that had congealed around the dead man's head. He'd been executed.
As it was a Seattle case, no one had thought to call and tell him.
Now, however, with a name tied to two of the weapons from the Seattle cases, he had someone to hunt for, and all the jurisdiction in the world, but he had to find Schell, first. And everything in him was screaming that it was too late.
He realized he was when he spotted the life flight helicopter from Mt. Sinai Medical Center racing past him off to his right, looking like a sleek blue and white shark as it sped across the waters past him. A snarl crossed his face as he slapped the steering wheel in frustration.
As he approached a pedestrian overpass, he finally spotted, much further ahead, a large quantity of flashing lights and several large yellow vehicles indicating the fire department and he frowned, wondering why they were on the highway. Was it just his dumb bad luck that he would get stuck by a traffic accident while trying to get to the archives at Oleta River or…
He spotted the helicopter again and he knew. Deep down in his bones, he knew that Schell was in that mess somewhere, as the helicopter came around on his left, obviously circling and looking for a place to land. Cars were starting to block his way as gawkers were slowing down to see what was happening and he finally had to flip the siren on in an effort to get past them. He was scowling in irritation by then. Finally, he pulled out in the opposite traffic lane, since no one was getting past a fire truck blocking the road up ahead, and sped past the line of cars. People were everywhere, and so thick that they and their vehicles blocked the view of the car wreck.
Was it clear off the road and into the water? He couldn't tell as he pulled up. He was out of the car so fast, it had barely stopped rolling and the door remained open as he got out and looked straight up at the helicopter. The wind blew his red hair awry as he looked around and immediately spotted two Miami-Dade officers mingled with troopers and fire personnel.
"You two!" he snapped; his voice, noticeably louder and more forceful, cut through the noise like a blade. "Get these people back! Get these cars out of the way and make a landing area on the highway for that chopper. They can't land on the beach. Now move it!"
"Sir!" One of them jumped, clearly surprised to see a Lieutenant on the scene so fast. The other one blanched, then started moving, grabbing some of the troopers to help him out.
"What is going here?" Horatio barked, spotting a fire marshal.
"Damn, Lieutenant, you guys move fast, we just put a call in for the Crime Lab. Coroner's on the way as well!" The man said loudly over the sound of the chopper.
"Coroner?" Horatio snapped, seeing that the fear of God he'd put into the two patrolmen was paying off. People were being herded away from the scene and cars were starting to be turned around and away.
"Yeah, looks like the driver lost control of a BMW, hit the curb just right, and went airborne. They crashed into the beach just short of hitting the water. Looks like we got a dead male on the passenger side of the vehicle, that side got it the worst.…"
"Did you say a male?" Horatio demanded, looking sharply at the marshal.
"Yes, on the passenger side."
"What about the driver?" Horatio asked.
"That's what the chopper is for…" the marshal said. "They just pried the door open to get her out, she was hanging almost upside down in the wreckage. Damndest thing you ever saw, Lieutenant. My guys literally think her hair turned white in fright…."
The marshal turned to look at the Crime Lab's Lieutenant, only to realize that the man no longer stood next to him. Blinking, he looked up to see Horatio, pulling his sunglasses from his face, working his way quickly past the assorted rescue personnel to where a knot of them were working furiously over someone lying on the sand of the beach below.
Horatio checked himself as he appeared at the top of the sea wall. The BMW, a silver convertible with the top down, was a total wreck. It had speared itself where the beach met the rock wall. He could see where the sand had been thrown outwards at the vehicle's impact. The passenger side quarter panel was the site of first contact as the vehicle had plunged its way back to earth. The car had rotated nearly upside down, the 'roof ' of the convertible towards, and very close to, the rocks.
The BMW had just narrowly missed going into the water. For that matter, it had just barely missed crushing the driver into the rocks underneath it. It was obvious to a trained eye that the seatbelt, the airbag and a damn close call had spared the life of the driver, so far. He could see where the firemen and rescue personal, in an effort to keep a virtually upside down Schell from falling out of the car, had literally ripped the door off like a sardine top before they extracted her from the vehicle.
He was scrambling down the rocks before he knew it and again checked himself when he approached the paramedics. Despite a stabilizing collar on her neck and an oxygen mask, he couldn't help but notice Schell's hair, and far, far, too much blood. Three paramedics were working quickly around her, shifting her to a backboard and off the sand.
"Lieutenant?" a man's voice asked. "Lieutenant?"
Horatio blinked, aware he was gaping in shock, and looked left at a paramedic looking at him with concern.
"Lieutenant? Do you know this girl?"
Horatio stared at him a moment, then nodded. "Schell Demereau…" he said. "Her name is Schell Demereau, what is…"
"It's serious, sir," The man said, "It's why we called Life Flight; her spleen is probably ruptured, there's signs of abdominal bleeding, plus there's a compound fracture of the collarbone. We've got to get her back up to the roadway." He said, glancing over his shoulder at the rocks.
"I'm with ya," Horatio said, slipping his sunglasses around his neck, he saw they were strapping her to the backboard and getting ready to lift her up off the ground. He was right there, right at the head, then he looked up and very loudly ordered to the large group of people clustered about. "Let's get a chain formed down here! We need to get her up to the chopper!"
Out of the corner of his eye he spotted a flicker of movement and he looked quickly at Schell. Despite her eyes being shut and having a blood-soaked piece of gauze on part of her lip, she was turning her head slowly his way, one of her crossed hands actually moving towards him.
He had her hand in his in an instant, suddenly slowing everyone down. "Schell?" He said urgently, blinking at her in surprise. "Schell, just hang on, sweetheart, just hang on..." He felt the momentum of the others moving her pick up as Schell's fingers gripped his own. "Schell, just hang on..." They were suddenly at the rock wall and her grip was being pulled from his as the human chain began lifting her up to the roadway above.
"Just hang on, Schell!" he called out again as she was pulled away. He found himself standing almost alone as the paramedics scrambled up the rock wall after her. He ran his hands through his hair in frustration, looking away before tearing his sunglasses off his neck. Slipping them on, he turned towards the car, only to look up seconds later as the helicopter suddenly began rising from where it had landed in the middle of the A1A.
His face was grim and pale as the backwash from the chopper whipped his red hair about, then the chopper veered over him, turning towards the sea, before slowly rising and heading back towards Miami Beach. He raised an arm to shield his face from the blowing sand, then abruptly turned away and approached the car. He knew this was no simple car accident, and as he climbed up on the rocks where the car had impaled itself, one look at the shattered windshield told him everything.
Two small neat round holes had been punched through the glass. Holes that could only have been made by a .22.