Palmero noticed the others watching the TV. “What’s going on?” His back was to the wall, but he turned around. “What is it? You see something?”
Kate peered at him. “Some family in Baltimore is suing an ambulance service for wrongful death. That was all it said, but an EMT and wrongful death?”
“Really? Did we just get a break in this case?” Palmero asked.
Kate nodded. “I think we did.”
On return from his first shift with the Charlotte EMS, Bishop sat in the locker room and slipped on his coat. His partner, Desmond Brown, opened the door to his locker and placed his shoes inside.
“You did good, tonight, Theo.” He pulled out his Nikes and slipped them on. “You handled yourself well. Glad to have you in my truck.”
“Thanks, Desmond. It was a quiet night, but it gave me a chance to get to know the city. It’s best to know a place at nighttime.”
“Cause that’s when all the freaks come out, yeah?” Desmond added.
“You got that right.” Bishop furrowed his brow. “I didn’t see Lucinda tonight. I could’ve sworn she was at dinner.”
“Oh, she was. Got sick or some shit and went home.” Desmond closed his locker. “It’s not like her to bail on a shift. She must’ve been suffering pretty bad. I’m sure she’ll be all right though. Hey, man, I gotta jet. Catch up with you on the next shift.”
“Sure thing, get some sleep.” Bishop noted the sun rising on a new day. He closed his locker and started toward the door.
“Night, or Good morning, Theo,” another of his colleagues said. “Hope you don’t get whatever took down Lucinda. That’s all we need is a virus to take us out, huh?” The man laughed.
“No doubt. I’m pretty sure I don’t have any sick time either.” Bishop waved and walked out into the parking lot. The sun hurt his eyes and he placed sunglasses on his face. His car was easy to spot because it had Maryland plates. As he approached it, the story from the news last night reminded him to get those plates changed. So far, he’d heard nothing from anyone about this so-called wrongful death suit, but an internal investigation would most certainly take place. Chances were good that the chief would tell the authorities it was he who treated the woman.
He slipped onto the driver’s seat and peered through the windshield. “Shit. The registry.” Bishop was on the National Registry and that would be the first place they’d look to pin down his current location. “Damn it!” He slammed the wheel. He’d screwed up and now he needed a way out. It would be days, a week if he was lucky, before EMS Baltimore would track him down. His only saving grace was that the suit was a civil one. Although, that could change on a dime if presented with certain evidence.
Bishop arrived at his apartment building and inserted the key in the main door. The lobby inside was only accessed by the residents through the use of a key. Any visitors had to be buzzed in. His shoes squeaked across the checkered lobby floor until he reached the stairs. One thing he’d already learned was that it was quicker to take the stairs. The elevator was unreliable.
He jogged up the staircase to the second floor and quickstepped down the corridor. The narrow hall was lined with faded green doors on either side. The numbers on the doors were either hanging crooked or had fallen off altogether. His studio unit was at the end.
Bishop cast a nervous glance, but no one was around. It was 8am and most people were probably already at work. Those around here who had jobs, anyway. The rest were probably still asleep.
With the key in the lock, he used his shoulder to push open the door as it stuck to the frame and needed a lot of force. Inside, he secured the deadbolt and the chain. No one was after him that he knew about, but it felt as though they were.
The remote to his television rested on the old oak coffee table. He picked it up and tuned in the news. “Come on. Give me something.” With his cell phone in hand, he scrolled through his news feed in search of his next location. Getting burned while he was still here wasn’t going to happen. Bishop had been careful for this long and this little hiccup wasn’t going to finish him off.
“That’s what I’m talking about.” He nodded as he peered at his phone. “The Bahamas. Of course. They always get hit.” He read the story and hadn’t heard much about it on the news, then again, it hadn’t been that bad.
Nassau took a hit, albeit, not a direct one from Hurricane Florence. Only a Cat 3, but enough to do some damage. Help had already begun to pour into the island to sift through their already derelict neighborhoods. The resorts, it seemed, sustained only minor damage. The people who lived there were the ones who appeared to suffer the worst of it.
“This looks like the place.” Bishop needed to lay low for a while. It was unlikely he’d be given the time off of a job he’d started only the previous day. However, his time was up already. They’d find him soon enough. But if he left before anyone knew what he’d done, he might stand a chance.
Walsh was the one who coordinated with the local authorities. His responsibilities included opening lines of communication, ensuring jurisdictional concerns were addressed and all the political maneuvering that no one else really enjoyed doing. But Walsh thrived on it. He had a great appreciation for the state and local cops, and they picked up on it, showing their own gratitude in return. When Fisher asked him to head over to Baltimore, he opted to leave first thing this morning. Best case, he could get there inside of 90 minutes, unless there was an accident.
As luck would have
