“I will,” Eric said. “But first I need to check on Scott.”
“No, you need to go home. That’s an order.”
“But… he’s my partner.”
“Go home.”
“Shit,” Eric said, walking away.
Arriving at the hospital, Dantzler couldn’t find an empty space so he reluctantly parked in a handicapped spot. Hurrying from his vehicle, he entered the hospital through the emergency room, badge out, fully prepared to bulldoze any media person foolish enough to stick a microphone or camera in his face. It had already been a long, strenuous day, and it was still a long way from over. He wasn’t about to rest until he knew Scott’s status. Given the seriousness of Scott’s wound, it could be hours before anyone knew anything for certain.
In the emergency room, Dantzler spied Kathy Ramsey, a nurse he recognized from the Tennis Center. Pulling her aside, he asked where Scott would have been taken. Kathy said Scott was in surgery on the second floor. Dantzler didn’t ask for further details, and she volunteered no additional information. He thanked her and headed for the elevator.
Predictably, the waiting area was standing room only, the visitors evenly divided among family, friends, and police personnel. Dantzler eased to the right, where Laurie was talking to Richard Bird and Bruce Rawlinson. She waved and forced a smile when she saw Dantzler coming her way. Dantzler nodded, and then turned his attention to Scott’s family.
Scott’s father was leaning against a wall, head down, eyes directed straight at the floor. Judging by his attire- slacks, polo shirt, loafers-he had probably been on the golf course when word came that his only son had been seriously wounded in a shootout. He was a big man, much like Scott, and it was easy to see a strong resemblance between father and son. It was also impossible to miss the concern written on his face.
Mrs. Crofton, hands clasped together, prayer beads wrapped around her fingers, sat between her two daughters and a priest. None of them spoke, and they all had that dazed, faraway look so often seen in hospital waiting areas or hospital chapels, those solemn places where hope and despair and fear and uncertainty swirl around inside a person like an EF5 tornado.
Waiting for a life-or-death medical report on a loved one was, Dantzler knew, nothing less than hell on earth. And when it was the parent waiting for news concerning the fate of a child, the worry and anxiety and panic factors multiplied ten-fold. Losing a child was every parent’s worst fear.
All heads turned when the automatic door opened and one of the surgeons came into the waiting area. He immediately located the Croftons and went directly to them. As the doctor huddled with Scott’s family, Bird and Dantzler moved closer to the group, stopping just outside the circle but close enough to hear the news.
Good news.
The surgery went well, the doctor said, and Scott’s life was no longer in danger. There had been significant blood loss, Scott’s collarbone had been shattered by the bullet, and there was the remote possibility of permanent nerve damage in the shoulder or arm. That wouldn’t be determined until later. But if there was no infection or unforeseen complications, Scott stood an excellent chance of making a complete recovery. All things considered, the doctor concluded, Scott Crofton was one very lucky young man.
“Thank God for small miracles,” Bird said as Scott’s parents and sisters hugged each other. “No, let me amend that. Thank God for big miracles. I certainly wasn’t counting on news this positive.”
“Based on how he looked at the scene, neither was I.” Dantzler motioned for Laurie. “Get Eric on the phone and give him the news. I’m sure he’s dying to know what’s going on.”
Laurie stepped away from the crowd, opened her cell phone, and began punching in numbers.
“Where is Eric?” Bird asked.
“I sent him home,” Dantzler said. “Actually, I had to order him to go home. Made Milt follow to make sure he went to his house rather than come here.”
“Tell you something, Jack. If I’d been in Eric’s shoes, just witnessed my partner being gunned down, I would’ve told you to go straight to hell. Then I would’ve come straight to the hospital.”
“That’s pretty much what Eric said. But I felt he’d been through enough today. He’s going to have a helluva day tomorrow, so I thought it best for him to get some rest.” Dantzler watched Laurie snap her cell phone shut. “You give him the news?”
“Yeah, him and Milt,” Laurie said. “Eric kinda sounded like he was fighting back tears. I got the feeling he didn’t think Scott had much of a chance.”
“That makes two of us,” Dantzler said. “We can thank Eric and Milt for saving Scott’s life. They kept him from bleeding out.”
Dantzler checked his watch. It was just shy of ten-thirty. Taking out his cell phone, he punched in some numbers. After three rings, Charlie Bolton answered.
“You still have any Anchor Steam in the fridge?” Dantzler said.
“Always.”
“You smell like dead fish?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
“I’m on my way.”
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
“Heard the Crofton kid was hit pretty bad,” Charlie said after he and Dantzler were seated at the kitchen table. “How’s he doing?”
“He lost a lot of blood, and there could be some nerve damage to his left arm, but the doctors are optimistic he can make a full recovery. Infections and blood clots are the big concerns at this stage.”
“Sounds encouraging. I’d heard he was hanging on by a thread and would be lucky to pull through.”
“It was dicey until they got him stabilized.”
“How is Eric handling it?”
“He’s fine.”
“You need to keep an eye on him for the next few days, make sure he’s okay. Taking a human life, even a scumbag’s, is something that can eat at a person’s insides, make ’em go a little screwy. I’ve known cops who thought they were handling it okay, then at some point the realization of what they had done hits them like a runaway locomotive and they fall apart. It can slip up on a person, kick ’em into crazyville.”
“Trust me. Eric won’t fall apart.”
“Word is he was pretty heroic during your little firefight.”
“He was also very lucky.”
“Luck ain’t a bad thing to have on your side, especially in a situation like the one you guys were in.”
“You should have seen him, Charlie, when he was charging at Stone. He had this look on his face that… that was pure hatred.”
“A little hate mixed in with luck-nothing wrong with that. Hell, if my partner had just been shot, I’d have a good deal of hate inside me. It’s only natural.”
“Yeah, maybe you’re right. But you don’t charge straight at a guy who’s aiming an assault rifle at you. That’s nuts.”
“I say give Eric a medal. He lowered the number of scumbags in the world by one.” Charlie drained his beer and set the bottle on the counter. “He also closed the Eli Whitehouse case for all of us.”
“I’m not so certain of that.”
“Why am I not surprised that you disagree with me?”
Dantzler shook his head. “It simply doesn’t play out for me that Stone is the shooter. Not those killings in ’eighty-two, not the recent ones. It simply won’t compute for me.”
Charlie said, “He kills those two boys in Eli’s barn, goes away to prison, the trail goes cold, he gets out of the joint, kills Rogers for who knows what reason, then has to take out the temp lady as insurance. That computes for me.”
“Come on, Charlie. There’s no way you buy that theory. Stone had the IQ of a frog. You want me to believe he
