Kelly’s shrieks were inarticulate.
I got on the radio and called for an ambulance. Nearby, lightning flashed, followed by the slow roll of thunder.
Bandoni limped up and surveyed the damage. He shook his head at Kelly, who continued to scream, then eyeballed Clyde.
“Right in the ass?” he said. “Remind me not to get on his bad side.”
“Maybe you should kiss him and tell him you love him.”
“Only after he brushes his teeth.”
The nurse adjusted a surgical light in the emergency room bay while Damn Fox lay on his stomach, shouting vitriol at us.
The ER doc was a laconic forty-something black man with a salt-and-pepper beard and a look that said he’d seen it all. Given that the Denver Health Medical Center was known as the Knife and Gun Club, he probably had. Or at least a representative segment of the evil that men do. He introduced himself as Dr. Morris, then waited while Officer Petzky, the uniform who’d accompanied Kelly in the ambulance, handcuffed Kelly’s wrist to the bed railing.
“All yours, Doc,” Petzky said.
Dr. Morris put on a pair of readers and examined the wound.
“He needs stitches. A lot, if I’m any expert. Which”—he smiled—“I am. Shepherd?”
“Belgian Malinois.”
Kelly’s rage devolved into a soft sobbing.
“What about the facial injuries?” Morris asked. “Those related to the arrest?”
He was doing due diligence, and I applauded him for it. “The facial scrapes are from hitting the pavement. My guess is there will be more on his arms. But he had a black eye and swollen lip before we caught up to him.”
“Make a note,” Morris said to the nurse.
“You gotta knock him out for those stitches?” Bandoni asked. “We need to have a little chat before he goes night-night.”
“I can use a local. Give me half an hour to clean him out and stitch him up, then he’s all yours.” He looked at me. “Dog up to date on his shots? I’ll need the records.”
“They’re on file. I’ll see that you get them.”
The nurse waved us out of the room, waiting until Officer Petzky stepped inside before drawing the privacy curtain. We went looking for whichever bay they’d stashed Cooper in.
We found Boz around the corner of the U-shaped space, stalking back and forth along the hallway, his hands balled and his face creased with fury.
“What’s the word?” I asked.
Boz forced himself still. “Loose teeth, crushed lip. The worst of it is he bit his tongue almost in half. The fucker had brass knuckles.”
We were silent a minute, appreciating the severity of Cooper’s injuries.
“Your dog nearby?” Boz asked me. “I want to shake his paw for bringing down Kelly.”
“He’s sleeping it off in his crate,” I said. “You can meet him later.”
Bandoni took a seat in one of the plastic chairs lining the hallway. He squeezed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. Under the fluorescent lights, his scalp looked raw. “What happened?”
“Patterson and Kelly must have made Cooper when he was scoping the two of them inside the club. When they spotted him outside, they took off. Cooper caught the third guy. But while he was reaching for his cuffs, Patterson came back. When Cooper looked up, Patterson coldcocked him. Both of those punks got away.”
“Son of a bitch,” Bandoni said.
“I’d’ve gotten there before it happened if I hadn’t done a fucking face-plant in the mud,” Boz said. “Cooper was expecting me to back him up.”
But Bandoni was probably thinking what I was—that Cooper had been careless exposing his back when one of the men was still unaccounted for and before his partner had gotten on scene. Probably he figured Patterson was long gone and Cooper was approaching fast. Reasonable guesses.
But guessing could get you killed.
As if reading our minds, Boz said, “It wasn’t his fault.”
“I know.” Bandoni nodded. Now was not the time to sort out how things had gone down. He slapped his hands on his thighs and pushed himself out of the chair. “I’m gonna get some coffee. You two want anything?”
“I’ll come with you,” I said.
Boz shook his head. “Cooper’s wife is on the way. I’ll wait here.”
Bandoni found a vending machine at the end of the hallway. He got two coffees, black, and handed one to me.
“Cookies?” he asked.
“No, thanks.”
He shrugged, seemed to consider the chocolate chip for a moment, then moved away. His face was gray in the overbright light, and bags had collected under his eyes like luggage at an airport carousel.
He said, “You thinking what I’m thinking?”
“These guys like hitting cops,” I said. “Patterson actually got away and then came back to nail Cooper. Which makes me wonder how things went down in that field when Heinrich was hit. If it was our gutter punks, maybe Heinrich was intent on one guy and didn’t hear the other man coming.”
“I thought we were focusing on these guys as witnesses for Noah’s murder.”
“The fact that they bragged on the street about seeing a murder doesn’t eliminate them as suspects for Heinrich’s assault. They might have panicked when they saw him, figuring he’d make them for the murder.”
Bandoni nodded like I’d passed a test.
“That’s the angle we take,” he said. “If Kelly thinks we want him for Heinrich, he’s got nothing to lose by admitting they saw a man get killed. What else are we considering?”
“That they might be the killers.”
“Don’t lose sight of that.” Bandoni sipped his coffee, then spit it back. “Son of a bitch, that’s hot.”
I pulled out my phone to send Cohen a text that I’d be home late. Then I remembered he’d be heading to Denver International to pick up his cousin, who was coming in on a red-eye from Chicago.
Late night for all of us.
“You ever meet Cohen’s cousin?” I asked. “Evan Wilding?”
“Sure.”
“What’s he like?”
“Brilliant.” Bandoni grinned, his teeth caffeine yellow. “You finally meeting the fam?”
“I guess. Any advice?”
“Don’t underestimate him.”
“The fuck kind of advice is that? I thought we were partners.”
“I cannot guide you down all paths, grasshopper.”
The doctor appeared at the opposite
