Nothing had gone right, and to top things off, the suspects had apparently slipped away.
Taking a deep breath, I felt myself beginning to relax, but Parvaneh’s words put an end to that: “This might prick a little.”
I opened my eyes just in time to see her swab my right forearm with an alcohol wipe and position a ridiculously long IV needle against my skin.
Oh bad.
I hate needles.
She pressed.
And it went in, leaving a small ridge of raised flesh in its wake as it descended through my muscle and punctured my vein. The sight was more unsettling to me than the gunshot wound had been.
I had to look away.
“For your blood loss,” she explained.
“I see,” I managed to say. I could feel a tug of skin as she removed the needle, leaving the catheter behind.
Neil pulled out his radio and told someone that we were on our way in, then ended the transmission and wheeled the gurney closer to me. “We need to get you to a hospital.”
I didn’t want to miss anything here at the scene. I shook my head. “I’m staying here.”
“That’s not going to happen.”
“I’ll get my arm taken care of after things settle down. I just need a few minutes to brief the officers here-”
Parvaneh and Neil glanced at each other, and then she said, “We’re taking you to Mercy Medical.”
“No,” a gruff voice called, and I saw Ralph quickly approaching us. Behind him, more squads, news vans, and ambulances were pulling up to the hotel-Metro police, FBI, Capitol Hill police.
Spaghetti.
“I’ll take him in.” Ralph strode toward us. “Come on, Pat. We need to talk.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” Neil said. “This man has been shot, he’s losing blood, he has an IV in his arm. We can’t let you-”
Ralph reached down, grabbed the IV’s tube “Um, Ralph-”
Jerked it out of my arm.
Oh yeah.
That didn’t feel so good.
“There we are,” Ralph said. “Fast and clean.” The sheath of the plastic catheter glistened, wet with my blood, as he set it onto the gurney and said to Parvaneh, “I’ll let you take care of that.” He pressed the plastic tape that had been holding the IV in place over the needle hole.
Parvaneh was staring at us wide-eyed.
“All right.” He helped me to my feet. “Good to go.”
My phone rang. Tessa’s ring tone.
Unbelievable.
I needed a cup of coffee in a big way. A little caffeine to calm me down.
“Listen, Ralph.” I debated whether or not to answer the phone. “If this is about the press conference-”
Ringing.
“No.” Ignoring the continued objections of the two paramedics, he led me toward his car. “It’s about Richard Basque.”
“What? Basque?”
Still ringing.
Go on, Pat. Tessa needs you. She already left two messages.
“Hang on,” I said to Ralph. “It’s Tessa.”
As I answered the phone, I saw his car at the curb. Not far.
“It’s me,” I told her.
“Hey.”
“Are you all right? Your message from earlier, I was concerned.” Agents Tanner Cassidy and Natasha Farraday along with the other members of the FBI’s Evidence Response Team were entering the hotel.
“Sure, yeah,” Tessa said. “I’m okay.”
“What is it? What’s going on?”
“It’s just… when are you coming home? Are you in class?”
“Not quite. Something came up.”
“Oh.” Then, “You sound kind of… I don’t know. Out of breath.”
“I was exercising.” I tried to keep my voice even and measured. “Did I do something? Are you upset because of something I-”
“No-no-no-no.” She scrunched all the no’s into one word. “Nothing like that. But when do you think you’re gonna get home?”
“Tessa, I…” A glance at Ralph. “The truth is, I’m kind of in the middle of something here. But if you need me, if it’s urgent, I could be home in about half an hour.”
Ralph shook his head, mouthed “No you can’t.”
I mouthed “Yes, I can.”
“No, that’s… it’s no big deal,” Tessa said. “Later’s okay.”
“Give me…” I checked the time.
3:36 p.m.
“I’ll try to be home by 7:00, okay?” That gave me just about three and a half hours to get to the hospital, get seen, get out, and get home, which would be a minor miracle, but maybe I could find a way to hurry the hospital staff up.
“Sure, yeah. I’m okay, so don’t worry or anything. It’s just… I need to tell you about something.”
“Tell me now.”
“It can wait.”
“It’s okay, you can-”
“It can wait,” she repeated.
I was growing increasingly impatient but also more concerned. “Tessa, listen to me. Are you safe? Are you all right?”
“Yeah.”
“If you’re in any kind of danger or trouble right now, ask me to stop bugging you with so many questions. I’ll get the police there in-”
“No, it’s not that. I’ll see you at 7:00? I’m fine. I’ll be fine.”
We ended the call.
But things didn’t feel right.
Ralph and I arrived at his car, and he put his news about Basque on the back burner for the moment. “She okay?”
“I don’t know.”
“Want me to have Brineesha go check on her?”
“When’s she off work?”
“4:30.”
From the bank, the drive to our house would take at least thirty-five minutes. I shook my head. “No good. That’s too late.”
“She could probably leave early.”
I had a thought.
“Hang on.”
Cheyenne.
She knows where you live… Tessa trusts her… If she decided not to go to the body farm… If she’s free…
“Give me one more sec.” We climbed into his car. Accidentally, I bumped my wounded arm, and a jolt of pain made me cringe. I had to close my eyes and take a deep breath to steady myself.
Easy, easy.
“You all right?” Ralph said.
“Yeah.”
I repositioned myself in the seat. It didn’t really help. Ralph pulled into the street while I called Cheyenne, found out she’d bypassed the body farm tour and spent her time reading through the case files and filling out the Joint Op paperwork.
“Listen,” I said, “there’s been a lot going on with this case and I’ll brief you on everything, I promise, but right now, I need to ask a favor.”
“What is it?”
“Something’s up with Tessa. I’m not sure what, I’m worried about her. She’s at home. I think she needs someone there with her right now, but I have to swing by the hospital. Can you go over there? Just for-”
“The hospital?”
“I hurt my arm a little. It’ll be all right. But if you can check on her, it would help. She knows you. She trusts you.”
“Pat, you wouldn’t go to the hospital if your arm was only hurt a little. What happened?”
“A through and through,” I said. “No arterial damage. No apparent fractures.”
Cheyenne knew guns like I know coffee, but she didn’t ask about the caliber, the proximity of the shooter, the angle of penetration, she just said instead, “Oh, Pat, I’m sorry.”
“I’ll be all right, just don’t tell Tessa. Okay? I don’t want her to worry.”
“I won’t tell her. I’ll get there as soon as I can.”
“Thanks.”
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yes.”
“Take care of that arm.”
“I will.”
I hung up.
“All right,” I said to Ralph. I took a small breath. “Tell me about Basque.”
“He’s missing,” he said. “And so is Dr. Renee Lebreau.”
37
“What?”
“Both of them.”
The news sent my thoughts back to Basque’s trial.
Last autumn Professor Lebreau and her Michigan State University law students were the ones who’d found the discrepancies in the eyewitness testimony and DNA evidence from Basque’s trial thirteen years ago. Their findings had played a pivotal role in the Seventh District Court’s decision to give Richard Devin Basque a retrial and had also been influential in swaying the jury to acquit him.