Читать книгу Identity Unknown - Terri Reed - Страница 11
ОглавлениеAudrey finished her after-action report on the shooting and put it on the sheriff’s desk—he liked things old-school—but she also sent him an electronic version. Her heart still hammered too fast from this morning’s activities. Focusing on the paperwork helped to calm her nerves. But now a bout of anxiety kicked back in. Danger had come to her small part of the world. And she didn’t like it one bit.
She stopped by Deputy Harrison’s desk. His light brown hair was shorn short, which emphasized the hard lines of his jaw. “Hey, Mike, any idea where the sheriff is?”
“Home, I’d imagine,” the thirtysomething deputy replied without glancing up.
She corralled her irritation. He was one of those who weren’t comfortable having a female on duty. Earning his respect would be nearly as difficult as that of her great-uncle. Infusing goodwill into her voice—it was Christmastime, after all—she said, “If you see him, would you mind letting him know I’m heading to the medical center to check on our John Doe?”
Mike lifted his gray eyes to her. “Why? The guy’s still unconscious. And Gregson’s there.”
She couldn’t explain her driving need to go to the medical center or the need to make sure the man from the beach was safe. So she settled for something the other deputy would understand. “It’s my case.”
She hurried from the sheriff’s station, acknowledging to herself she easily could have called her mom, the primary doctor who was tending to the man they’d rescued on the beach, for an update. But she wanted to see for herself.
Night had fallen several hours ago, and now the world was bathed in the soft glow from the moon and the streetlamps decorated with twinkling lights. A large Christmas tree in the middle of the town park rose high in the air and shimmered with a thousand tiny lights and a brightly lit star.
Normally she enjoyed seeing the tree and the town in the throes of the holiday season, but tonight edginess had her hands gripping the steering wheel in nervous anticipation as she drove.
The news media had picked up the story, reporting an unconscious John Doe found on the beach. The sheriff hadn’t released the man’s photo. Yet. If the man didn’t regain consciousness soon, they’d have to reach out to the public in hopes of identifying the stranger.
No doubt reporters from the bigger towns would descend on Calico Bay and the medical center, making the sheriff’s department’s job harder. With more strangers in town, finding the masked man would be more difficult. She’d already made calls to all the gas stations, restaurants and grocery stores, asking everyone to keep an eye out for an outsider. In winter, visitors were an oddity in the close-knit community.
Audrey’s gaze searched the streets for any sign of trouble, namely in the form of a masked man in black with a large gun. It bugged her no end that the bandit in the SUV had disappeared. The sheriff had chased the offending vehicle for several miles before the creep threw out a handful of spikes that had punctured the sheriff’s tires, allowing the suspect to escape. That wasn’t an amateur move. Given how the victim and the assailant were dressed, Audrey had a suspicion there was some paramilitary-type thing going on here. Not a comforting thought.
She parked at the side entrance next to her mom’s sedan and went inside the brick building, pausing at the nurses’ station to ask for her mom.
“Dr. Martin is with a patient at the moment,” Katie, the nurse on duty, informed her. Katie shoved her red hair off her shoulder and leaned close. “So was there really a shootout this morning on the beach?”
Resting her hands on the utility belt at her waist, Audrey towered over the other woman. “Yes. No one was hit, thankfully. Where’s the man who was brought in this morning?”
“Second floor. Deputy Gregson’s on duty.”
“Thanks.” Audrey bypassed the elevator and took the stairs, preferring to move at her own rapid pace rather than waiting. When she emerged from the stairwell, she halted. Deputy Gregson wasn’t at his post.
A bad feeling tightened the muscles of her neck. He should’ve been sitting outside one of the rooms, but the chair at the other end of the hall was empty. A magazine lay on the floor nearby. She unlatched the strap on her holster and gripped the butt of the Glock as she moved with caution toward the last room.
She passed the nurses’ desk. The older woman manning the station glanced up from the report she was studying. “Evening, Deputy.”
“Where’s Deputy Gregson?”
The nurse popped up from her chair and frowned. “Well, he was sitting right over there last I checked, but I’ve been busy so I haven’t paid much attention.” She sat back down with a shrug. “Maybe he’s using the restroom.”
“Maybe.” Though the itch at the back of Audrey’s neck was saying no. Something was wrong. She paused outside John Doe’s door, withdrew her weapon, took a calming breath and then pushed the door open.
* * *
Lying in the hospital bed, the man blinked at the dark figure towering over him.
The stranger grabbed a pillow, his intent clear as he held the white fluff in both hands and brought it toward the man’s face, clearly meaning to smother him. Why would he choose that method of elimination? The answer came with lightning speed. Suffocating him was soundless, providing the goon more opportunity to get away cleanly.
Fear, stark and vivid, flooded his system, short-circuiting his brain in a shower of pain. The patient in the bed lifted his arms to ward off the attack, but his limbs felt heavy. His body responded sluggishly, as if he were fighting to move through mud.
There was no way he could defend himself.
He was about to die. He didn’t know why.
His mind reeled. The world receded. His limbs flopped back to the bed at his sides, and darkness claimed him once again.
* * *
Several things registered at once for Audrey as she stepped into John Doe’s room. Deputy Gregson’s prone body just inside the doorway. Blood from a gash on his head.
The same tall, muscular man dressed in dark clothing, with sand still clinging to his boots, stood holding a pillow in his hands, about to suffocate the unconscious man lying in the bed, hooked to a heart monitor and an IV.
“Stop, police!” she shouted.
The intruder spun to face her. The fury in his dark brown eyes, the only thing visible between his black beanie and the black neoprene half mask, was unmistakable when his gaze locked with hers. “You! Not again!” His voice was deep, gruff, muffled by the mask. “Stop interfering.”
“Drop the pillow. Put your hands in the air,” she commanded, bracing her feet apart in case she had to fire.
He threw the pillow, hitting her in the face and blocking her view for a split second, just enough for the man to use his shoulder to slam into her like a battering ram and knock her off her feet.
“Hey!” She landed on her backside with a jarring thud, her weapon hitting the tile floor and skidding away. The man jumped over her. She grabbed his ankle and hung on, tripping him. He went down, landing on his knees and hands with a grunt. He kicked her with his free foot, his heel smashing into her shoulder.
She ignored the blast of pain and scrambled for a better hold, but he twisted and jerked out of her grasp to race out of the room. She jumped to her feet, grabbed her gun from the floor and dashed after him. He disappeared down the stairwell.
“Call nine-one-one,” Audrey shouted to the startled nurse as she raced passed the desk. “Check on Gregson and the patient.”
Using caution, Audrey opened the stairwell door and peered inside. She heard the man’s pounding footfalls going downstairs. She chased after him, leaping down the last few steps and careening out of the stairwell onto the first floor. Up ahead, the man slammed into an orderly, knocking him sideways, then the assailant hit the exit. Audrey ran outside but lost sight of him.
Not far away an engine turned over, and then tires screeched on the pavement.
Heart pumping with adrenaline, she rushed back inside and up to the second floor. She checked on Gregson, who now was sitting up. A nurse tended to the wound on his head.
“What happened?” Audrey asked the dazed officer.
“I was reading a magazine when someone came out of the room across the hall and attacked me,” Gregson replied. “It was a blur. The guy had on a mask, and he hit me in the head with something hard. I didn’t see what it was.”
With her hand on her gun, Audrey stepped out of the room and pushed open the door to the unoccupied room across the hall. The window was open. She stuck her head out.
Footprints in the dusting of snow on the ledge gave Audrey a pretty good idea of how the perpetrator had gained access—he’d climbed the fire escape and shuffled along the ledge to the window. The lock had been broken. She slammed the window closed and made a mental note to have someone fix the latch as soon as possible.
Audrey returned to John Doe’s room and addressed the nurse helping Gregson. “Is he going to be okay?”
“Yes,” the woman said. “He’ll need a couple of sutures. Dr. Martin will want to examine him to be sure he doesn’t have a mild concussion.”
“Okay, see that he’s taken care of,” Audrey said. She put her hand on Gregson’s shoulder. “I’ll take over the watch tonight. The sheriff should be here any moment. He’ll want a full account.”
Gregson nodded and looked a bit green around the edges as the nurse helped him to stand and led him out of the room.
Once alone with the unconscious man in the bed, Audrey checked the window, making sure the lock was intact and secure. She took several deep, calming breaths and let the adrenaline ebb away. She’d had more excitement in the past twenty-four hours than since graduating from the academy. She positioned the chair so she had a clear view of the door and the window in case the masked attacker decided to return.
“You’re beautiful.”
Startled, Audrey whipped around to find herself staring into the dark eyes of John Doe. His lopsided grin sucked the breath from her lungs. She’d never understood the term roguishly handsome until this moment. Even groggy and on pain meds, he affected her on an elemental level. Which made her extremely uneasy. What would he be like fully conscious?
Heart pounding, she stepped closer to the bed. “Who are you? What’s your name?”
His eyelids fluttered, and he said something unintelligible.
She reached for the button to call the nurse when his fingers closed over her wrist, pressing against her skin where the sleeve of her uniform rode up. His touch was firm but gentle. Strong hands, and calloused, she noted in a bemused way that made her twitchy. She tugged on her arm, hoping he’d get a clue and release his hold. He didn’t.
“You look like a Christmas ornament.” His words were slurred. “Shiny. Pretty.”
His hand dropped away as if he could no longer hold on. His head lolled to the side, and his eyes closed.
“Hey,” Audrey said, giving him a slight shake. “Mister, I need you to wake up.”
But he’d gone out again.
Okay, that was weird. He’d likened her to a Christmas ornament. Shiny—that was a new one. If she hadn’t known he’d been conked on the head and was on mild painkillers, she’d have thought he was on some sort of hallucinogenic. Maybe he was on something stronger than the medical grade medicine. She’d have to ask her mother.
She sat but was too antsy to stay still. She paced at the foot of the bed, every few seconds checking to see if the man had regained consciousness again.
The door opened suddenly, sending her pulse skyrocketing and her hand reaching for her sidearm.
“Whoa, there,” her great-uncle’s deep voice intoned as he stepped into the room. “Just me.”
She relaxed her stance. “Did you see Gregson?”
“Yep. He’ll be fine.” David moved to the end of the bed and set a fingerprint kit on the chair. “You’ve saved this man’s life thrice now.”
Her mouth twitched at her uncle’s words. He’d once been a scholar of Old English before giving up academia and carving out a path in law enforcement. “I have a feeling the masked villain isn’t going to give up.”
He tipped his chin toward the man lying on the bed. “Has he come to?”
“Briefly.”
“Did he say anything?”
She hesitated, unwilling to reveal the words that were still echoing inside her head. “Nothing useful. Gibberish. Do you know if a tox screen was done?”
David arched an eyebrow. “You know your mother. Of course that was one of the first things she did.”
“Right.” Her mother couldn’t abide drugs. She’d lost her younger brother to the poison years ago. “And?”
“Clean blood. No track marks.”
“Good.” For some reason knowing John Doe wasn’t a junkie pleased her. But just what and who he was remained a mystery, as did why someone was so ardently trying to kill him. What did John know? “The man who shot at me wasn’t some garden-variety bad guy. Whatever John Doe is, he’s into something bad.”
“Yeah, I have that feeling, too. The road tacks the perp used to stop my car when I chased after him can be bought online easy enough. But there was skill involved.”
In the melee of the crash and aftermath, she’d forgotten what John Doe had said on the beach. “He’d muttered a word when I first reached him—betrayed.”
“That’s interesting. And concerning. The masked man may have been his attacker from the get-go and is very determined to finish the job. I don’t like it. I want you to go home,” the sheriff said. “I’ll stick around until Harrison and Paulson can get here.”
She straightened. Did he think she wasn’t doing a good job? “I’ll stay.”
“You’ve been on duty since five a.m.”
“I’m not tired.”
He sighed. “Let’s get his prints and a photo. Then I’m ordering you to go home. In the morning you can search the criminal and missing-persons databases. Hopefully you’ll come up with a name and a reason why someone wants him dead.”
* * *
Audrey arrived at the station at 6 a.m. and uploaded the fingerprints she’d taken from their mysterious John Doe and his photo off her phone into the FBI’s national criminal information center as well as the violent criminal apprehension program for missing persons.
Nothing turned up.
The man could be a Canadian, since the border between the two countries was only a few miles across the ocean. She sent his prints and his photo to the criminal investigation division of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, Canada’s federal policing agency. She provided her cell phone number so they could contact her directly.
Then she headed back to the medical center to relieve the sheriff. She met Deputy Paulson outside John Doe’s room. “How did it go?”
“All quiet,” he replied. “Sheriff’s inside.”
She entered, half hoping John Doe had awakened. He still slept. His face looked relaxed. His dark hair fell over his forehead, covering one eye. Beside him sat the sheriff with his arms folded over his massive chest, his chin tipped down and his eyes closed. Audrey hesitated, debating stepping back out.
“You’re here early,” the sheriff said softly, lifting his head.
She straightened and came fully into the room. “No hits on NCIC or ViCAP. I sent his info to the RCMP.”
“Good thinking.” He stood and stretched. “I’m going to grab some coffee. You want some?”
“No, thank you,” she replied. His praise eased the worry from the night before that she wasn’t doing a good job. Her spine straightened as she moved aside to let him pass.
She went to the window. Frost laced the edges of the glass. She stared at the tree line flanking the west side of the building. The green pine trees were sprinkled with a soft layer of new snow that had fallen during the night. Today, the sun peeked out from behind gray clouds. With 80 percent of the state of Maine forested, there were many hiding places for the masked man to lose himself in. Was he out in the woods now, waiting for another opportunity to strike?
A noise behind her sent a jolt of adrenaline straight to her heart. She spun to find John Doe springing from the bed and landing on the balls of his feet to face her. He ripped out his IV line. It fell to the floor, and the heart monitor sounded an alarm.
Audrey quickly shut off the shrill noise.
The hospital gown they’d put on him stretched across his wide shoulders as his hands went up in a defensive position. Words flowed from his mouth, but she had no idea what he was saying.
She held her hands palms up. Adrenaline flooded her veins. She didn’t want to have to take the guy down, but if he didn’t calm himself, she’d do it. “Hey, take it easy. You’re in the hospital.”
More words in a language she didn’t understand came at her.
“I don’t know what you’re saying,” she said. “Please speak English.”
His panicked dark eyes swept over her and the room. Looking for an escape?
The door behind him opened. A young nurse rushed in, followed by the sheriff, carrying his coffee in one hand. John Doe whirled to confront a new threat.
“Don’t!” Audrey shouted, afraid either man would attack the other. “He’s okay. It’s okay. Everyone’s okay.”
The sheriff held up his free hand. “Whoa, there, son. No one is here to hurt you. My name is Sheriff Crump. You’re safe now.” To the nurse, the sheriff said, “We’ve got this.”
She clearly wasn’t reassured, as her scared gaze zinged from the sheriff to the patient and back again. “He shouldn’t be up. He’s bleeding where his IV line was. I should check on his wounds.”
Audrey glanced at the smear of blood on the unknown man’s arm. The amount wasn’t life threatening, just messy.
“You can come back in a bit,” David said in a tone that left no room for argument. “I need to question the man.”
With a frown, the nurse retreated, leaving them alone with the mysterious man. John Doe let out a string of words that made no sense to Audrey. Worry churned in her gut. What was going on? Obviously he was a foreigner, but from where? She couldn’t place the language.
The sheriff cocked his head, his gaze going to Audrey. She shrugged, at a loss for how to communicate with the patient. The sharp sense of helplessness was too familiar. She hated the feeling. She’d felt this way the night her father hadn’t returned from the sea. Only then it had been more intense. Now it was enough to make her jittery.
“I can understand a few words,” the sheriff said. “I think he’s speaking in Cree. One of the professors I worked with at the university taught a class in Native American studies and had a segment on languages. Cree has a very distinct dialect.” He turned his attention back to John Doe. “Does that sound right?”
Confusion played over the man’s face. He took a shuddering breath and then spoke in English. “I don’t know. I can hear the words in my head, but they mean nothing to me. Where am I?”
“You’re in Calico Bay,” Audrey supplied. “Were you on a boat?”
John Doe backed up so he could see both Audrey and the sheriff. “I don’t know. I don’t remember. Calico Bay?”
“Downeast Maine,” the sheriff supplied. “The northern tip of the state.”
The man kept his gaze on Audrey. “I’ve seen you before. Where?”
“You woke up for a moment on the beach and again last night while I was here.”
John ran a hand through his dark hair. He stilled when his fingers touched the bandage near his left temple. “What happened?”
“We were hoping you could tell us,” the sheriff said. “There’ve been three attempts on your life since you washed ashore on our beach. Why is someone trying to kill you?”
The man frowned and paced a few steps. “I don’t know.”
Audrey fought the urge to tell him it would be all right. She didn’t know if it would, and she wasn’t sure he’d appreciate the platitude.
He staggered to the bed and sat, dropping his head into his hands. “I can’t remember anything. Every time I try to recall, my head feels like it’s going to explode.”
Her heart ached to see his distress. The need to comfort prodded her to take a step closer. The sheriff arched a disapproving eyebrow at her. She halted. Her great-uncle had warned her often enough not to become emotionally involved in cases. She needed a clear, objective head. And if she wanted to be sheriff one day, she had to remain detached and professional at all times.
The patient rolled his shoulders then lifted his gaze to Audrey. “Only your face seems familiar. Nothing else.”
The defenselessness on his handsome face tugged at her. She swallowed. Her heart beat erratically. No way was she going to repeat his delirious proclamation that she reminded him of a Christmas ornament. “On the beach you muttered the word betrayed. Ring any bells?”
His mouth gaped and he shook his head.
She tapped her fingers against her utility belt. “You can’t remember your name?”
He stared at her, the panic returning to his eyes. “No. I can’t remember my name. Or who I am. Or where I’m from. I don’t know what I meant by betrayed.” He let out a shuddering breath. “Or why someone wants me dead.”
