To Thine Own Self Be True Page 21

  “I think he mentioned rooming with John at conventions because they’re both single now. John blames the tattoo community for his family leaving him, and Rusty probably wanted to talk to John about it. I don’t think he knew the nephew connection.”

  “But this is all guessing?” Shisler asked.

  “Goddammit! What more do you want?”

  She remained calm. “Something physical, linking Greene with Wolf or Rusty. Or Mandy.”

  “I don’t—”

  “But I trust your instincts. You know these people. I’ll call over to Perkasie right away to dispatch some cops. They know the story up to what you told me. If Wolf or Rusty are at Gentleman John’s Tattoos, they’ll get them out.”

  “And you?”

  “I’ll get busy with warrants.”

  “Warrants? Wolf and Rusty could be hurt in there!” Or dead.

  “I realize that, Ms. Crown, and the Perkasie police will take care of them. I’ll be there as soon as I can, too. But I’ve got to cover the paperwork on this end. Now, is there anything else I need to know?”

  “I can’t think of anything.”

  “Okay. Now why don’t you have a seat here, while I get the ball rolling.”

  She left me in the waiting area, the receptionist staring at me with wide eyes.

  I thought of Shisler’s command. Wait there? I didn’t think so.

  I raced out the door and jumped into my truck.

  ***

  I careened through Lansdale, pounding the steering wheel when I got caught up in traffic. Not an unusual occurrence in the area—just one I didn’t normally encounter during a life and death situation. I unconsciously blew through one stop sign, much to the annoyance of other drivers, who leaned on their horns. I’m sure they did other things, too, but I wasn’t even aware of the intersection until I’d already passed it. I was lucky I hadn’t gotten myself killed, along with the others at the crossroads.

  About twenty minutes later I drove up the road toward Gentleman John’s Tattoos. A couple hundred yards before the house I was stopped by a police officer who’d parked his cruiser across the road. I jumped out of my truck, startling the cop into reaching toward his gun.

  “Whoa,” I said, holding up my hands. “I’m the one who called this in.”

  He pursed his lips. “Still can’t let you go back there, ma’am.”

  I stepped to the side, trying to see around him. “What’s going on now?”

  “Ma’am, I can’t—”

  “Are they in the house?”

  “We just got here. I don’t think—”

  “I need to go back there, Officer—” I looked at his badge. “Grady.”

  “You can’t—”

  I pushed past him, surprising him, and ran as fast as I could up the slippery road.

  “Hey!” Grady yelled after me, obviously annoyed, but I assumed—hoped—he wouldn’t shoot me.

  I kept running, stumbling and slipping on the ice, until I came up to several other cop cars and an ambulance, with clusters of officers perched behind them. At my approach several of them turned, and with a glance behind me at Officer Grady, grabbed me and pulled me down to the ground, behind a car. Grady dropped down beside me, his eyes sparking. He reached behind him for his cuffs and clipped one over my wrist.

  “I’m just—” I started, but was stopped by the sound of wood splintering.

  We halted mid-wrestle and a couple of the cops peered over their car hood.

  “They’re in,” one said.

  “In the house?” I asked.

  “Shut up,” Grady said, and clipped the second handcuff over my other wrist.

  “What is going on over there?” A harsh whisper came from another car.

  “Suspect apprehended trying to get onto the scene, Detective,” Grady said.

  From my position on the ground I could see the feet and legs of a man duck-walking toward us. I tried to glance up, but couldn’t turn my head far enough. The man stopped a couple of feet from my head, then said, “Stella?”

  I twisted a bit more and was rewarded with the glimpse of a familiar face as the man leaned into my view. I tried to speak, got a mouthful of dirty snow, and spat it out.

  “Let her go, guys,” Detective Willard said.

  Grady let out a blast of outrage. “But—”

  “I said, let her go.”

  With obvious reluctance, Grady lifted his knee off my back. Willard helped me to a sitting position, keeping us both behind the car. “I thought when I helped you straighten out your problems this summer I’d seen the last of you.” He unlocked the cuffs and I brought my wrists around to the front of me, where I rubbed them.

  “Why are you here?” I asked. “Did Shisler call you, too?”

  He shook his head. “Perkasie did. Figured we were close enough we could help out. Being Christmas-time and all they were a little short-handed. But what are you doing here?”

  I glared at Grady. “Like I tried to tell other people, I’m the one who called this in. I think Greene has my friends in there.”

  Noises from the house stopped us again, and we watched as two officers exited, a red-faced but dignified John Greene between them. I sucked in my breath. Did that mean—?

  A plain-clothed detective stepped onto the porch, his face pale. “Paramedics. Now.”

  Several EMTs, waiting by the ambulance, rushed onto the porch, brushing past the detective. I shot up, and Willard latched a hand onto my elbow.

  “Hang on. Stay here.” He stood and walked toward the detective on the porch.

  Grady pouted beside me. “You’re lucky you know somebody.”

  The other two cops looked me up and down, probably thinking the same thing.

  I strained to see into the house, wondering how bad it was. Were Wolf and Rusty both there? Were they alive? Since the detective asked for the paramedics, it must mean they’re not dead, right?

  “You!” The voice floated from several feet away. Gentleman John stared at me, his eyes glassy. Whether they were full of tears or just empty, I wasn’t sure.

  “You brought them here?” he asked, indicating the cops.

  I shook my head. “No, John. I didn’t bring them here. You did.”

  “But I thought you didn’t hate me.”

  My mouth dropped open, but the sadness of the situation kept me silent.

  The cops pulled John toward the cruiser, and he turned his head away, following obediently.

  I focused again on the porch, where Willard spoke with the Perkasie detective. After an eternity, Willard gestured me forward. He and the other detective met me on the ground in front of the house.

  “This is Stella Crown,” Willard said. “She knows these guys. Called it in.” He turned to me. “Detective Burnham, from Perkasie.”

  “Are they alive?” I asked. “Are they both in there?”

  Burnham looked at the ground, then met my eyes. “There are two men in there. One with lots of hair, lots of tattoos—”

  “That’s Wolf. And the other? He has a globe on his head? A ring in his nose?”

  Willard blinked, but Burnham nodded. “He’s there.”

  “They’re alive?”

  He nodded again, and my knees threatened to collapse. Willard grabbed my arm, and I closed my eyes, trying to gain my balance.

  “Where were they?” I asked. “I saw his studio the other day and there was no sign of Wolf.”

  “There’s a door in his studio, leads to a bathroom?”

  “Yeah, I saw it.”

  “Well, there’s a door on the other side of the bathroom, goes into a bedroom. We found them both in there.”

  “Coming through!”

  Willard led me to the side as the paramedics carried a stretcher gently down the stairs. I pulled my arm from Willard as the stretcher went past, and I caught a glimpse of Rusty. His neck was locked into a brace, and I couldn’t see much of his face, hidden by an oxygen
mask, except to note that his eyes were closed. They had some sort of IV in his arm, and one of the medics held the bottle high in the air.

  I started to ask questions, but the EMTs pushed past me, on a mission toward the ambulance. More footsteps sounded on the porch, and I swung my head to see another stretcher being brought out of the house. Wolf’s beard stuck up over the sheet, escaping his oxygen mask, and a sob caught in my chest. He, too, had a neck brace and IV, but as the paramedics carried him past, I saw his eyes were open, and blinking.

  “Wolf!” I called. I rushed to his side, bumping an EMT. “Wolf!”

  The visible part of Wolf’s face was blotchy red, and heat radiated from him. The sheet slipped to the side and I could see the top of an angry, swollen shoulder. His eyes, obviously unfocused, finally landed on me, and recognition lit in them.

  “Wolf,” I said. “You’re going to be all right.”

  “Billy…” he said, his voice muffled behind the mask. “Did you…did you find Billy?”

  “Billy?” I stared at him. “Billy’s fine. He’s with Eve.”

  Wolf’s eyes closed and he let out a sigh before his eyes snapped open. “He’s not with Mandy? Why isn’t he with Mandy?”

  My eyes filled but no words came, my chest tight, my throat closed. Wolf studied my face, and when he read there the words I couldn’t say, he tilted his head back on the stretcher, closed his eyes, and wailed. The sound shocked the scene into silence—the paramedics, the cops, even the faraway sounds of traffic—Wolf’s keening cry hovering over us like the chill call of a coyote hunting for the mate he has lost.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Wolf’s cry soon turned to sobs, and the paramedics shoved me out of the way to resume their journey to the ambulance, where they slid Wolf in next to Rusty and slammed the door. I stood transfixed, my head pounding, as I watched them drive away.

  “You okay?” Detective Shisler appeared at my elbow, surprising me out of my trance.

  “No. You just get here?”

  She nodded. “Detective Willard says he knows you.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’d heard about the troubles you had. Just didn’t connect it all before now.”

  I lifted a shoulder. “Doesn’t matter.”

  We watched as cops and other law enforcement personnel entered Gentleman John’s Tattoos. I didn’t like to imagine what was in there that I hadn’t seen, and had no desire to find out for sure. Whatever it was, it would be nasty.

  “Did they tell you what’s wrong with Rusty?” I asked. “He was unconscious when they took him out.”

  She pinched her lips together. “They don’t know. I suppose once he gets to the hospital they’ll be able to figure it out.”

  “Which hospital?”

  “Grand View’s the closest. I assume they’ll take him there.” She looked up as Willard joined us. “You know where they’re taking them? Which ER?”

  “Grand View.”

  “I’m going,” I said. “I want to be there when Rusty wakes up. By the way, has anybody called Becky?”

  “His wife?” Shisler asked. “I doubt it, since he was just found five minutes ago.” She took out her phone. “Know her number?”

  “No. What about that North Wales detective who was looking for him?”

  “Folsom?” Willard asked.

  “Yeah. Him.”

  “He’s on his way here,” Shisler said. “I’ll call him to confirm Rusty’s been found, and he can relay the message to Mrs. Oldham.”

  “And what about Eve Freed? Billy?”

  Shisler nodded. “I’ll stop by their house in a few minutes. I wanted to see Wolf and find out what I could before telling them.”

  Wanted to make sure he was alive.

  “I’m outta here,” I said.

  “Going to the hospital, you said?” Willard asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Need a ride?”

  “Truck’s down the road.”

  He put his hands in his pockets. “I’ll walk you.”

  I turned to go.

  “Stella?” Shisler held her hand over the receiver of her phone. “Thanks for all your help. We wouldn’t have found them—at least not yet—without you.”

  I nodded. She was right.

  “I’ll probably see you at the hospital before too long,” she said. “I’ll need to talk with Wolf.”

  To tell him that I left Mandy lying in the snow to die.

  “Come on, Stella,” Willard said softly. “Let’s get out of the way of these folks.”

  I followed him away from the noise and the cop cars, from the people who were trying to find out what had happened in that quaint-looking log cabin. The road was a lot easier to walk on this time, seeing how I wasn’t being pursued by a cop. I did move quickly, though, since I wanted to get to the hospital, and Willard caught my arm once when I slipped on some black ice.

  “How are things at your place?” Willard asked.

  “Lucy’s getting married.”

  “To Lenny?”

  “Yup.”

  He was quiet for a bit. “This new?”

  “Very. He gave her the ring on Christmas Day.”

  “I see.”

  I glanced sideways at him, but he was looking ahead.

  “Your truck?” he asked, jutting his chin toward the F150.

  “That’s it.”

  He walked me to the driver’s side, then leaned on the door as I scooted in. “You okay?”

  “I’ll be better once I know Rusty and Wolf will be all right.”

  “Sure. But I meant in general. You’re all right?”

  I gripped my steering wheel and tilted my fists back and forth. Was I? Was I “all right”? “In general. I guess.”

  “Well, if you need anything, you call me.”

  I looked up at him. “I hope I don’t need help from the police ever again.”

  He smiled gently. “I hope that, too. I meant you could call me as a friend.”

  “Oh. Okay. Thanks.”

  “Sure. You be careful driving, okay?” He shut the door on any response I might have made and stepped away from the truck.

  I backed up to a spot where I could turn around, and headed down the road. In my rear view mirror I could see Willard, watching me go.

  ***

  The ER was full, as ERs usually are, and I scoured the crowd for familiar faces. No Becky yet. No Billy or Eve. The only person I recognized was Detective Folsom, who must’ve gone directly to the hospital once he got Shisler’s call. I made my way over to him.

  “Any news?” I asked. “On either of them?”

  His head turned my direction, and he put away the Pocket PC he’d been working on. “Not yet. Still waiting to hear from the doc.”

  “Becky on her way?”

  He nodded. “Dreama and Rose, too. One of my guys is bringing ’em. Didn’t want the missus driving.”

  “Good call.”

  A phone rang, and Folsom reached into his pocket. He looked at the number. “Excuse me.” He stepped away to a corner, talking into the little contraption.

  I looked around me at all the people I didn’t know, some of them distraught, some simply bored with the wait they were enduring. A seat close by opened up, and I sank onto it, perching on the edge. During the past half year, I’d been in the same emergency room twice before. Once when Bart had been attacked. Once when Howie had died. I prayed these two men would have the same fortune as Bart.

  A while later the outer door swung open and Becky swept in, the girls jogging along behind her, clinging to her coat. She searched wildly around the room, and I stood and waved. She forged her way toward me. “Where is he? Is he all right? What’s happened to him?” Her eyes were red, and her fingers clutched my arm.

  “I only saw him for a couple seconds when they brought him out of the house. He looked…asleep. I haven’t seen him here yet, or been told anything.” I stepped away
and gestured toward my chair. “Here, Becky, sit.”

  “I couldn’t sit.” She did, though, for a second, but popped up again and crossed her arms, her fingers tapping her elbows.

  Rose and Dreama stuck close beside her, Rose’s arms wrapped around her mother’s elbow. Detective Folsom left his corner, where he’d been punching more things into his little computer, and joined us.

  “Mrs. Oldham.”

  She whipped toward him. “Is he all right? Have they told you?”

  “I haven’t heard anything yet. The nurse said the doctor would be out as soon as possible.”

  Becky stifled a sob and put a hand to her mouth. Rose sniffled, and Dreama bent over to hug her.

  “I don’t suppose Ms. Crown here told you,” Folsom said, “but it was because of her we found your husband. She made the connections so it was possible for us to get him out of the situation.”

  Becky’s mouth opened as she turned toward me. “Stella?”

  I lifted a shoulder. “I’m glad—”

  Becky flung herself at me and threw her arms around my shoulders, squeezing the air out of me. I tried to lift my arms to hug her back, but she had them pinned to my sides, and all I could manage was a little pat on her hips.

  “Thank you, thank you,” she said into my hair. “I knew the first time I saw you that you were a good friend for my Rusty.”

  “I’m glad I could help,” I said.

  “Um, Mrs. Oldham,” Folsom said. “The doctor—”

  As quickly as Becky had grabbed me, she let go, and I almost lost my balance as she leapt toward the man in blue scrubs. The girls stayed glued to her side, and I stepped forward so I could hear.

  The doctor was smiling. “I’m happy to say Mr. Oldham is coming around,” he said. “And asking for his girls.”

  Becky sobbed louder this time.

  “It seems,” the doctor continued, “that he was sedated heavily, but nothing else appears to be wrong with him.”

  “Oh, thank God, thank God,” Becky said.

  “He woke up pretty quickly,” the doctor said, “but we’re still running some tests. A CAT scan of his head and neck, and EKG, chest x-ray, labs. We want to figure out exactly what he was given and make sure nothing else happened to him.”

  “When can we see him?”

  He glanced at Rose, most likely considering her age, then tilted his head. “You can see him right now for just a few minutes. As soon as the tests are done we’ll move him to a regular room, where we’ll keep him overnight. You can sit with him then for a little longer. I do have to warn you that he’s not quite himself yet.”