Rachette and Yates entered the room, knocking softly on the door. Inside, a doctor and two nurses stood at Rick Hammes’s bedside.
“Hello, detectives” the doctor said. “Just give us one moment, please.”
Rachette recognized the nurse as one of Wolf’s ex’s friends. She seemed to be ignoring them, and good riddance to that, he thought.
Hammes’s eyes were half opened. Tubes snaked from beeping machines into his gown and one side of his abdomen. Liquids dripped into his veins from IVs hooked into one arm, which was handcuffed at the wrist to the hospital bed.
The doctor came over and nodded.
“Hi, doc. I’m Detective Rachette. This is Detective Yates.”
“My name is Doctor Bates.” He looked back at the hulking, tattooed man lying on the bed. “Let me start by saying that Mr. Hammes is not in good shape right now. We’ve removed his spleen. His stomach was perforated by the bullet, and there was significant internal hemorrhaging, along with half a dozen other complications from the gunshot. Talking too loudly or for too long will be hard on him.”
“Ah, we won’t keep him too long,” Rachette said.
“If you could please keep his recovery in mind when you speak to him, I would appreciate it.”
"Yeah, doc, no problem. We've got our silk gloves on. Don't worry about it." Rachette winked at Hammes, who stared back through puffy eyes, a blank expression on his face. His gown was open at the chest, revealing a pentagram and other symbols on his muscle-bound flesh. His arms were covered in more ink than a comic book. The tats even climbed up his neck, stopping just below the chin like some kind of insane turtleneck.
The doctor and nurse left quietly, closing the door with a soft click.
Hammes flicked his eyes to the door, then back to Rachette and Yates. "What the hell do you guys want?" he croaked.
"We just have a few questions for you," Yates said. "And then we'll be on our way and we'll let you get back to healing.”
Hammes picked up a remote control next to him with his free hand, slid his eyes to the television, and pushed the button. Over Rachette's right shoulder, the television came to life, canned laughter blaring. He set the remote down and settled in to watch an episode of “Friends.”
Rachette smiled, then grabbed the remote control and turned it off. He then held it up for a moment before letting it drop to the floor. Bits of plastic skittered across the tile.
"I said we had a few questions for you. Then we’ll be on our merry way.”
A noise, something like a chuckle, came out of Hammes’s mouth. It turned to a squeal in pain. The machine behind him made a loud beep.
The nurse came in. "Everything okay?"
Nobody responded as she looked at the readout on the machine. "Is everything okay in here, I said?"
Rachette shrugged, looked at Yates. Yates shrugged back.
"Is everything okay with you?" she asked the patient.
Hammes nodded. She walked out without another word.
Outside the hospital window, the wind kicked up, and rain streaked sideways across the glass.
“You’re looking good,” Rachette said. “Pretty lucky to be alive, pulling that gun on our deputies like that.”
“I wasn’t going to do nothing.”
“Oh really.” Rachette snorted. “Then next time you might not want to pull a gun on them.”
Hammes stared at the window. "What happened to Mary?"
Rachette frowned. "Mary Dimitri?”
Hammes’s eyes locked on Rachette's. "What happened to her?"
"She's dead.”
Hammes's eyes closed, and he leaned his head back against the pillow.
"You didn't know that?" Yates asked.
"Nobody told me anything. I’ve been asleep. Drugged up.” He kept his eyes closed. “I drove back into town from Vail and saw there was a bunch of cops at her house when I passed by. But I didn’t know what for.”
They sat in silence for a beat.
“Then I saw you guys at my house,” Hammes said. “And then I thought it all had to do with me.”
“But you just said you didn’t know she was dead.”
“I didn’t.”
“Then why did you think anything had to do with you?” Rachette asked. “I’m not following.”
“I don’t know. Chris was dead. She was dating him. I was dating her behind his back. I have a history, shooting at those pissants a few years ago. I thought she was telling you I killed Chris. I thought she was, you know, giving you guys DNA evidence or some shit. Something you could match to Chris’s killing or something. Something she set me up for.”
“You think she set you up for that?” Yates asked. “You think she was involved with Oakley’s death and pointed us to you?”
Hammes shook his head. “I don’t know. I have no clue what’s going on. I came home from working up in Vail, and now I can’t eat solid food for months, and that’s if I heal good.”
Rachette held up his phone. “This is a picture of the woodpile on the side of your house.”
Hammes said nothing while Rachette swiped to the next photo.
“Do you recognize this gun?” Rachette asked, showing the photo of the G21 with the attached suppressor.
“Nope.”
“We found that gun in your woodpile,” Rachette said.
“In the pile?”
“Between the pieces of wood.”
“Well, it’s not mine.”
Rachette nodded. "Where were you on Monday night?”
"Up in Eagle. The Motel 6 right there. Also downtown Edwards. Ask any of the five other guys I was with from the Edwards Downtown Construction Project. I was out drinking with them. I stayed all night in the motel afterwards." Hammes looked around. “I don’t know where my phone is.”
“We have it. And we talked to the workers up there,” Rachette said. “They corroborated your story.”
“Yeah?” Relief looked to wash over Hammes. Then he twisted his handcuffed arm, pulling the slack in the chain.
“Why did you come home this Tuesday morning?” Rachette asked.
“I took the day off. I had to go back and make
