This wasn't the work of a corporation trying to avoid a lawsuit, this was the work of... of what?
A monster, was his first thought, but that didn't make any sense. There were no such things as monsters. Still, he could not imagine how this could have been done, how a person or even a gang of people could have physically accomplished this act, and the only image that would come to mind when he looked at Montgomery's torn form was that of an overgrown Frankenstein, a huge, grotesque creature angrily grabbing the man and tearing him in two.
Goose bumps cascaded down the skin of his arms.
The two of them stood there for a moment, watching the police at work.
'You don't think it's connected to Thompson,' Graham asked, 'do you?'
Miles looked at him. 'Do you?'
The lawyer shook his head. 'I don't know what did this.'
Miles parked his car on the street instead of in the lot, pulling into an empty space in a green twenty-minute zone. He just needed to grab some files and addresses, to rush in and rush out, and he didn't want to waste any more time. The trip out to Whittier had cost half the day, and he had to tie up several loose ends on old cases before getting to the stalking of Marina Lewis' father.
He got out of the car, walked into the building. He felt tired, and he understood for the first time how cops and lawyers, psychiatrists and doctors became burned out. Death was draining. Between his father and Montgomery Jones, he'd seen enough of sickness, death, and dying to last a lifetime.
He punched the button for the elevator. The doors slid open immediately, and he rode up to the agency's office. He closed his eyes. He could not get the image of Montgomery's body out of his mind, and he realized that he knew some thing about himself he hadn't known this morning when he woke up: he was not cut out to have a high-stress job. He was not one of those people who rose to a challenge, who thrived under pressure. It was a sobering thought, and as the elevator doors opened, he understood that despite his petty complaints, he was generally content with his lot in life. He didn't want to be a real detective, he didn't want to solve real crimes. He wanted work that was mildly interesting, mildly stimulating.
He nodded to Naomi, Hal, Tran, and Vince, walked straight over to his cubicle, grabbed the folders he needed, and headed back down the elevator and outside.
He'd called Marina Lewis last night and apologized for
the delay, asking if she'd rather have the case transferred to Hal or one of the other investigators, but she'd been understanding and assured him that she'd rather the case remain with him.
He'd talked to her father Liam over the phone, and the old man had been a cipher. He realized Marina was the one pushing the investigation, that her father didn't want to talk about the subject or face it, and Miles wondered why. He had the feeling that the old man knew more than he was telling, and Miles had decided to interview some of Liam's friends to find out whether he'd revealed anything to them.
He got into the car and quickly sorted through the top folder on his pile. The Gonzalez divorce.
It was going to be a long day.
After work, he went to the hospital.
His father's condition had changed little since the first day, and while his dad didn't seem in imminent danger of dying, it was clear that he was not going to recover to the extent that Miles had initially hoped.
As always, the corridor leading to the CCU was crowded with doctors and nurses and interns, but he'd been here so often over the past few days that no one stopped him and several people actually smiled and nodded.
He walked up to his father's open door, took a deep breath to fortify himself, and peeked inside. If his father was asleep, he'd wait in the hallway. He didn't want to disturb him. But Bob was wide awake and staring at the television mounted on the wall. Miles walked into the room. The sound of the monitoring equipment hooked up to his father was louder than the muted noise of the TV. He looked up. Oprah was on. His dad hated Oprah. Miles searched around until he found the remote control, and changed the channel to the local news program Bob ordinarily watched.
He sat down on the chair next to his father's bed. He forced himself to smile. 'Hey, Dad, how's it going?'
Bob's hand reached out and grabbed his own with a surprisingly strong grip. He tried to talk. He could speak only in a whisper and only without moving his lips, the words emerging from remembered rhythms of breath. Miles leaned closer to his father, placing his ear next to the old man's mouth. 'What is it?'
'Eeeeeee... Eeeeear.'
'Ear?' .
'Eeeeeee... Eeeeear.'
E Ear? Miles frowned. It didn't make any sense. 'Eeeeeee...
Eeeeear.'
He patted his father's shoulder. 'It's okay, Dad.' He felt bone beneath the skin beneath the covers. It was a disconcerting sensation, made even more so by the in comprehensibility of Bob's speech.
'Eeeeeee... Eeeeear,' his father repeated.
Miles did not know what to say, and he kept patting his father's bony shoulder and saying, 'It's all right, Dad. It's all right.' He realized that since Bob probably wasn't going to die from this stroke, he would be coming home at some point. Miles felt horribly out of his depth, unable to deal with the responsibilities that would entail. The only reason he was coping even now was because the hospital was taking care of his dad's physical needs, monitoring him. He had no idea how he would go about taking care of his father on his own.
It would be one thing if Bonnie were here to help him, but his sister had not even bothered to come down and see their dad. That was to be expected, but it still pissed him off. She'd called, of course, but only once, and it hadn't seemed to occur to her that perhaps her father would like to see her or that perhaps Miles himself would like a little moral support. 20As always, she was thinking only of herself, of what was convenient for her. I-uh?' his father whispered, i
Miles
He squeezed Bob's hand. 'I'm here, Dad.'
His father nodded, almost smiled, and his head sank back onto the pillow. He closed his eyes. Miles found himself thinking of Claire.
His ex-wife and his father had always gotten along great, and he considered calling her. She'd probably want to know what was happening. But he knew he would not be able to bring himself to do it.
Even after all this time the wounds were still raw, and the only reason he had even thought of phoning Claire was because of some harebrained idea in the back of his mind that this would lead to some sort of reconciliation, that this would bring her back and that somehow they'd get together again and live happily ever after. It wasn't for his father's sake that he had considered calling her, it was for his own, and that was why he could not contact her.
That and the fact that he didn't want to discover how she was incredibly happy with her new life and involved with a guy she loved more than anything in the world.
'I- uh'.
'Yeah, Dad.'
Miles started talking. He gave his father a rundown on his day, keeping out the gruesome details of the morning.
Carrying on a one-way conversation was awkward, and he was not good at it, but his father's firm squeeze told him that the effort was appreciated, and he racked his brain try thing to think of things to keep on talking about. Eventually, he started making things up, and around that time Bob finally drifted off to sleep. Miles slipped carefully out of his chair and made his way across the hall to the monitoring station. 'Is Dr. Yee here?' he asked a nurse.
'He's coming back for his rounds later, but I think he's out right now. Do you want me to page him?'
Miles shook his head. 'That's okay. I'll wait and catch him when he comes back.'
An intern standing behind the nurse looked up. 'Maybe I can help you.'
'I just have a question about my father I'd like to ask Dr. Yee.'
