was clean, without bullet fragmenting or ricocheting, narrowly missing the femoral artery. I needed three units of blood, but the scar would be minimal. I should be out of bed in a day or so.
Since my arrival at the hospital last night I'd been reconstructing the entire episode in my head, trying to remember every detail of our conversation. Herb helped, taking everything down, asking questions to help jar my memory.
We moved on the leads quickly.
First, my mom was effectively protected. At the onset I'd insisted upon nothing less than moving her to a safe house. Mom would have none of it, naturally. We compromised; she would stay at a friend's house for a few days. I didn't have to ask to know that she meant the ubiquitous Mr. Griffin. I met him once last year; he was stooped over, walked with a cane, and had arthritis in both hands. A far cry from the man my mother described as 'Insatiable -- he's like a machine.'
Hopefully he'd mind her bad hip.
My door showed no signs of forced entry, nor did the door to the apartment building. He could have somehow gotten a key, or more likely, knew how to pick locks.
Every tenant in the building was questioned, and someone had buzzed in an unknown maintenance man earlier that day to work on the furnace. This was being checked out.
My apartment was gone over with a fine-toothed comb, literally. A great deal of excitement was generated over the discovery of some semen stains on the bedroom carpet, until I reminded everyone that I used to have a sex life.
All fingerprints found were either mine or Don's. There were enough hairs and fibers picked up to take weeks to sort through, and I wasn't very optimistic. Even if they did manage to find one of the killer's hairs out of the several thousand vacuumed up, it wouldn't help too much -- unless he had his name and address written on it.
I installed a burglar alarm.
In a tremendous show of faith in me, or as some saw it, a tremendous lack of ambition, Captain Bains refused to bend to political pressure and kept me on as head of the case. His logic was simple. I was the strongest link to the killer. Chances were high that the Gingerbread Man would contact me again.
A round-the-clock surveillance was begun on me, and I received a cellular phone with their number on speed dial. Three teams would rotate the watch, and I was to inform them of everywhere I went. The code word we'd picked was 'peachy.' If I was in trouble, I'd use the code word and the cavalry would come rushing in.
I was picking at a hamburger that tasted like it had been steamed, when Herb came into my room, his fourth visit in twenty-four hours.
'I see I've arrived coincidentally at dinnertime.' He pulled up a chair.
'Some coincidence. You're the one who filled out my menu card.'
'Is it good?'
'I'm not sure. Somehow they've managed to drain every nuance of flavor from it.'
'Hmm. May I?'
I allowed him access to my food.
'It tastes like it's been steamed.' This fact didn't stop him from polishing it off, along with my applesauce, my green vegetable, and the rest of my juice.
'I saw some gum stuck under the table there, if you want dessert.'
'I love a free meal.'
'Free? They're charging me forty-five dollars for that feast there. A forty-five-dollar hamburger. It gives me a headache thinking about it.'
'Want me to call for some aspirin?'
'I can't afford the aspirin. I'd have to put them on layaway. Now help me up so I can use the can.'
'I thought you weren't allowed out of bed until tomorrow.'
'You want to warm up my bedpan for me?'
Herb helped me up. The pain in my leg made my eyes water, but I kept my footing. The best way to describe it was like a charley horse, but sharper. Maybe I'd break down and get some aspirin after all.
When I'd finished bathroom duty I sat in a visitor's chair opposite Herb, wincing when my knee bent.
'Are you sure...'
'I'm fine,' I told him. 'I don't want my leg to get any stiffer than it is. I want out of this hospital. I hate waiting around like this.'
'This is your first time, isn't it?'
'I've been shot at before. This is the first time the bullet hit home. You were...'
'Almost twenty years ago now. Took it right in the upper thigh.'
'You mean the ass.'
'I prefer to say upper thigh. Or lower back. Gang-banger got me from behind. It still itches sometimes in dry weather.'
'Really? And I thought you were just unsticking your underwear all the time.'
'I do that too. Jack...' Herb got serious on me. 'We found another body about an hour ago.'
