“Damn, and she got to see it before I did.”
“I’m giving tours on the half hour. Let me know when you’d like to take one.”
Kate took a deep breath. “I guess I was pretty stupid.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself. You had me convinced that going to see Latrell was a good idea. How do you feel?”
“Like the inside of my head is under construction.”
I looked at the clock next to her bed. It was seven-thirty. “Have you talked to Dr. Benson this morning?”
“He was here a little while ago. He said that I looked better than you did and that I’d be fine. He’s going to send me home tomorrow morning if I can stand up without falling down.”
She squeezed my hand and tears ran down her cheek. I wiped them with a tissue.
“That’s good news,” I said. “It’s okay to cry for good news.”
“I know. I should be grateful but no one understands what it’s like.”
“What don’t we understand?”
“I can’t see them anymore.”
“See what?”
“Micro expressions. Not yours, not his, not the nurses’. Something happened, some brain damage, I guess. It’s like I’m half blind.”
She forced her eyes wide open, searching my face, straining to lift her head closer to mine. Exhausted by the effort, she fell back on her pillow, closed her eyes, and turned away. I smoothed her hair, uncertain what to say.
“It’s probably just the side effects from the anesthetic. You’ll be reading my mind again before you know it.”
I kissed Kate softly on the cheek. She nodded and bit her lip, letting me know that she heard me even if she didn’t believe me. I told her to get some rest and promised to come back later.
I roamed the halls, looking for Dr. Benson, but couldn’t find him. I didn’t know much about head injuries, only that football players and boxers were never quite right after they had had too many concussions. Kate, it seemed to me, had suffered more than a concussion.
When my father had a stroke, the doctor explained that it caused bleeding in his brain. Dr. Benson had said that Kate was bleeding in her brain, but I knew that didn’t mean that she had had a stroke. She didn’t look or act the way my father had, one side of his face paralyzed in a confused mask, his speech slurred, his sense of balance shattered. Yet a part of her brain had been damaged and it wouldn’t matter what label Dr. Benson put on it. Whatever the diagnosis, Kate had lost a part of herself.
I knew what would come next. The doctor would order tests to measure and define her condition. He’d prescribe treatment if there was any and apologize if there was none. Kate’s family and friends would give her advice and encouragement, cutting out newspaper and magazine articles on the latest breakthroughs, urging her to try holistic cures, acupuncture, Eastern medicine, visual imaging, meditation, and chiropractic. Through it all, she would keep asking herself one question, a silent inquiry made in private that no one could answer:
Chapter Sixty
I needed a shower, a shave, clean clothes, and more sleep. I didn’t have time for sleep but the rest took half an hour after I got home. I found a pair of jeans that were close to being clean and a polo shirt sporting a day’s worth of wrinkles.
I saw the message light?ashing on my cell phone when I finished getting dressed. Ammara Iverson had called while I was in the shower.
“It’s Jack,” I said when I returned her call.
“I know. I’ve got caller ID.”
“Another amazing advance in crime-fighting technology.”
“Nights and weekends at no extra charge. How’s Kate?”
“She’s got a headache but the doc says she’ll be fine. Probably going home tomorrow.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“Me, too. What’s up?”
“We checked the phone records. If Jill Rice called our office anytime since her husband was arrested, she didn’t do it from a phone in her or her husband’s name. That doesn’t mean she didn’t call. It just means we can’t prove it.”
“Except she denies making the call. At this point, I give her the edge in the who-do-you trust sweepstakes.”
“What’s your read?” Ammara asked.
I had to be careful. Ammara would be suspicious if I suddenly stopped talking to her about the case. I needed information I could only get from her, but I wasn’t ready to tell her about last night and jeopardize Wendy’s slim chances. I needed to know how close they were to picking up Colby, but I didn’t want to ask the question.
“Colby crossed the line. He made a deal with Thomas Rice to buy his house and car, probably as a way to launder drug money. I’d look at Colby’s bank account. And while you’re at it, check the records at Leavenworth. See if Colby visited any of the inmates.”
“Like Thomas Rice?”
“No. Someone else. Marty Grisnik already checked on Rice’s visitors. His wife and his lawyer were the only ones who came to see him. Maybe Colby used someone else to deliver messages to Rice.”
“What about the cash and drugs that were found in Colby’s house? You think they could have been planted?” she asked.
“It’s possible, maybe even likely. Colby was too smart to leave that stuff lying around.”
“Except it wasn’t lying around. It was hidden in a?oor safe. The U.S. Attorney is pissed. He says the agents who found it didn’t have probable cause for that kind of search, which means it can’t be used as evidence against Colby. Ben Yates told Troy to bring him Colby’s head on a pike.”
“Troy will have to figure out who else is playing this game, starting with Tanja and Nick Andrija.”
“Who are they and what do they have to do with this?” Ammara asked.
“They’re sister and brother and they run a bar and restaurant on Strawberry Hill, the place I told you about where they sell the sausage sandwiches. Colby has something going on with Tanja. It may be connected.”
“What about Marty Grisnik? He may know something.”
“I’ll ask him, but that could be tricky. He’s a stand-up guy but he’s also close to the family and cops aren’t any different than civilians. Everyone gets real defensive about their friends, even the guilty ones.”
“I know you’ll be diplomatic,” she said.
“Do you have anything else? What about Bodie Grant? Did his lawyer cut a deal with the U.S. Attorney?”
“Bodie is still in the wind.”
“Running or twisting?” I asked.
“I’ll let you know when we find him. Any predictions?”
“Yeah. Bodie’s dead.”
“Why so certain?”
“I think someone has been cleaning house. First, Marcellus Pearson, then Javy Ordonez. Bodie was cutting in on Marcellus, maybe with Javy’s help. It makes sense that Bodie is next.”
“You can’t put that all on Latrell Kelly.”
“I’m not. Latrell had his own agenda. He just did the killer a favor.”
There was dead air on Ammara’s end. I didn’t break the silence. She finally did. “You think Colby…” She let the words trail off, unable to complete the sentence.
“I think a lot of things, but the ones I can prove are the only ones that matter.”
“And we can’t find Colby. We don’t even know where to look,” she said.
That’s what I wanted to hear. “What about his friends or family or the dopers he hung out with when he was
