“You may, however, eat as much as you want.” He pulled the curtain open and nodded toward Ramsey. “As for Judge Dredd here, he gets to enjoy our hospitality for a while longer. I understand there’s to be a Thanksgiving feast here in the room tomorrow. The floor staff can’t talk about much else. The chef told my assistant he was even preparing a surprise for your dinner. I’m thinking I might drop by, see if there are any leftovers. Maybe watch one of the football games.”
When he left ten minutes later, Sherlock heard Dillon speaking to Dr. Kardak outside in the hall. When Dillon came into the room, he was smiling and carrying two cups of coffee. Sherlock held her arms out to him.
Molly sat beside her sleeping husband, her hand resting lightly on his forearm. He looked thin, she thought, even with all the extra meals the nurses brought in for him. He wasn’t eating enough, despite their efforts. It was the pain and dependence and niggling fear, she imagined, fear for her, and for Emma, and for the boys.
Molly laid her cheek against his shoulder and wondered for the dozenth time who the man was who had shot him. Who hated him, and Dillon, so much?
At least Sherlock was going home after her brain scan. Molly looked at the big hand of the clock on the wall. Sherlock would be back soon. Deputy Marshal Ray Rozan was with her, her Kevlar vest, Sherlock called him. As for Savich, he hadn’t budged an inch from her side until the phone call. The call was short. When he’d punched off his cell, he’d looked at his wife and she’d told him with no hesitation, “Go. I’ll be fine with Deputy Rozan.” That was it. Molly knew the call had to be urgent to make him leave Sherlock. She admired Sherlock’s restraint. She hadn’t asked him what had happened, and he hadn’t said a thing.
Molly thought Sherlock looked perfectly fine to go home when they’d helped her into a wheelchair for her CT scan. Having all the dried blood washed out of her hair and the clunky bandage replaced with a strip of plastic tape had made a huge difference.
Molly looked toward Officer Lamar Marks standing beside the window, staring down into the parking lot. Was he thinking about Thanksgiving tomorrow? She knew he wasn’t on duty tomorrow, since he had three kids and a truckload of relatives coming to his house. Another SFPD officer had volunteered. He’d eat very well for it, she thought, smiling.
But maybe Officer Marks was thinking about the same thing Molly was:
“Molly?”
She looked up to see Dillon standing in the doorway.
“Sherlock’s still getting her tests?”
She replied in a whisper, “She should be back soon, Dillon; that’s what the nurse told me. Ramsey’s sleeping, which is excellent. What happened? Who called you?”
He smiled at her shotgun questions, motioned for her to join him at the door. “A Chinese physician was found murdered early this morning in his office in Sausalito. There was ample evidence Xu had been there yesterday. We understand the doctor closed his office that afternoon, sent everyone home. Xu was probably there already, demanding treatment. Given all the blood in the examining room, Xu was in bad shape.” He paused for a moment. “Dr. Mulan Chu was a primary-care doctor that Xu knew somehow. Perhaps he’d treated Xu before. It’s a pity Xu got to the doctor before he got the warning we were sending out.”
Molly said, “Why would Xu murder the doctor who’d saved his life, a doctor he knew?”
“We’re thinking Chu found out what Xu had done at the Fairmont. Virginia said there’d been a call from his number to the police department asking to speak to someone about the Fairmont fire, but the caller hung up. We’re thinking Xu overheard Dr. Chu dialing the cops, and that’s why he killed him.”
Ramsey said from behind them, “Do you think Xu is out of control, Savich?”
Savich and Molly walked back to Ramsey’s bedside. Savich said, “No, I don’t. I think he did what he believed he had to do to save himself. I think all Xu wants is to get out of Dodge, and he’s doing whatever he has to do to accomplish that. He’s not insane or going on some sort of mad killing spree. Not that it matters to Dr. Chu or his family.”
Savich looked over at Officer Lamar Marks, who looked like he’d been punched in the face. Savich knew exactly how he felt, since he’d felt the same way when Delion had first told him. Officer Marks said, “Xu better hope all he needs is this one doctor visit.”
Officer Marks said, “He could still end up in an emergency room somewhere.”
Ramsey said, “Lamar’s right. If he’s that bad off, then he’ll need more medical attention.”
Molly said, “Even if he can weather through it, Xu could still be stuck in bed for another week, Dillon.” She brightened. “Maybe he could die.”
“He’s certainly lost enough blood. Dr. Chu couldn’t have transfused him in his office.”
Officer Marks said, “No one saw him at the doctor’s office? No other staff, patients, passersby?”
“We have nothing so far. We do know Xu went to Dr. Chu’s clinic within an hour of his getting shot. The ME estimated Dr. Chu was dead within a couple of hours after that.”
“I wonder where Xu is holed up now?” Officer Marks said.
Savich heard some voices in the corridor behind him and quickly turned. He expected Sherlock, but it was a couple of orderlies. Where was Sherlock?
Savich bolted from the room and ran to the nurses’ station.
Sherlock was tapping her fingers. Why in heaven did everything take so long in a hospital? Well, okay, so she’d been sitting here in the patient waiting area only about ten minutes, but still. Where was a nurse, or the tech to wheel her in and get this business over and done?
She didn’t even need another brain scan. She sincerely hoped it wouldn’t include an injection. Her head was aching again, a slow series of dull thuds. She wanted to get out of here; she wanted to be able to kiss Dillon silly and hug Sean to her, have him pat her shoulder and ask her to play a computer game with him that it would be her responsibility to lose with dignity and guile.
Deputy Ray Rozan stood near the radiology waiting room door, his eyes always on the move, studying anyone for the slightest interest in coming within six feet of her. He was on edge, all the guards were, what with two maniacs out there. But it wasn’t Xu, it was the other unknown man that scared him. They had only a sketch and a description of him: slender build, an American, maybe older, but no one was really sure. Whatever his age, he’d been capable of that mad spree in the elevator on Saturday.
Ray looked over at Sherlock, knew she wanted nothing more than to go home. He watched her pull her cell phone out of the pocket of a dark blue bathrobe with lots of dog hair on it that Savich had brought in for her along with her cell. He’d heard Savich had returned the previous night to sleep on a cot not two feet from her hospital bed. Rozan wondered if he’d told her why he’d been called away. He probably hadn’t, since she didn’t look upset, only a bit anxious. And hurting a little, too, from the fixed expression in her eyes. Her hair looked better without the blood—a soft riot of curls now, so thick it nearly covered the small bandage over the head wound. It was hard to imagine the person in that bathrobe tackling Xu and bringing him down.
“You want me to go see what’s holding up these yahoos, Sherlock?”
She glanced down at her watch. “We can give them another couple of minutes. We’ll make it fifteen minutes,
