Cry From The Grave
Chapter 21
Tori had requested two ambulances once she saw Crabolli had been shot as well. Both EMTs arrived within a minute of each other before eight minutes had passed. In the meantime, Ballack had called police communications and relayed the license number. After a brief delay of less than a minute, and to no surprise on Ballack's part, his contact told him the Ridgeline was registered to one Eric Carter. Ballack requested an APB, determined to pull the seminarian over at the earliest possible moment. It did stick in his mind, however, that Carter's truck would have been nowhere in the direction from which the shots had come.
Tori locked the door and they made for the Sprinter. She dialed Stu Krieger's number as she scrambled to tie down Ballack's wheelchair.
"This is insane!" Tori yelled as they pulled out from the front side of the house, already breaking the local speed limit to keep up with the paramedics en route to the hospital. "What was he doing all the way out here?"
"That's the million-dollar question," said Ballack, looking out the window, deep in thought and his heart rate shockingly calm. "We do know that sometimes he comes out of the city to hunt, but if he was going to Blackhawk, he'd be a half-hour from Innsbrook. And..." Ballack peered closely at his laptop screen, which bore the hunting ground's website, "I would say unless he was going to shoot clay pigeons, it seems he was hunting illegally. Not much in season during this two-week stretch."
"Let's just make sure Missy and Zane are going to be okay," said Tori with a wild look in her eyes. The rest of the drive to the hospital was a blur, and they spoke little.
The ambulances made good time, streaking to the emergency room in eighteen minutes. The west location of St. Joseph Hospital was in prime position for the care they needed. Spread out over a campus on the south side of Interstate 70 in Lake St. Louis, this hospital--under the auspices of SSM Health Care and the Franciscan Sisters of Mary--is the only state-designated Level III trauma emergency department in western St. Charles County. Having been tipped off to their arrival, a small army of doctors pounced on the gurneys bearing a griping Crabolli and Hull's motionless form. Tori parked the Sprinter, hastened to undo Ballack's safety straps, and let down the ramp before tossing the keys into Ballack's lap. He dutifully closed the ramp from the outside with the toggle switch and remote-locked the van before going inside to find her.
The emergency area was a madhouse. The detectives entered the hallway behind the reception area and followed the series of grunts and screams they knew must come from their colleagues. They had turned around a corner when a young doctor held out a stiff arm and bade them stay where they were.
"Sorry, folks," he said, his soft brown eyes balancing with his authoritative tone. His musical inflections were distinctly sub-Saharan African, and his skin was dark as coal. "We're stabilizing a wounded policeman in the room beyond and need you to stay in the waiting area."
"That cop," Tori bristled, showing her SID badge as Ballack furnished his own, "is with us. So, we need to stay nearby to know how he's doing, because we were with him as he was shot!"
"Begging your pardon, sir," Ballack cut in as a way of apologizing for Tori's rigidity, "we understand you need to make certain of us. We're not taking offense." He placed his badge in the doctor's hand.
The physician looked over both identifications and straightened up. "I'm sorry. I'm Dr. Mugaba. Thank you for your compliance, but your fellow detective is going to surgery once we can get him there."
"That's all the information you have now?" asked Ballack.
"He has lost a lot of blood," Dr. Mugaba said, looking over his shoulder as a commotion broke out in a room two doors down. "I am sorry, but I have to get with the team and get him up to surgery. I can brief you later." He turned to go.
"Dr. Mugaba," Ballack called after him. The doctor turned.
"Yes?"
"We need that bullet when you get it out of him?"
"The bullet?'
"Yes. Provided we're talking about the same person and provided his name is Zane Hull, we'll need the bullet. It's evidence now in the shooting of a law enforcement officer and a potential piece of evidence in an ongoing murder investigation."
Confused look aside, Dr. Mugaba nodded assent, then sprinted off, catching the rest of the phalanx of doctors and nurses on the move. They were so thickly drawn around the gurney it was impossible to make out the face, but Ballack caught a glimpse of the right shoe. Black Adidas Gore-Tex shoes. No doubt. It was Hull. The team caught an empty elevator car and was on its way to a surgical area.
"Cameron? Tori? Is that you guys?" came a voice behind them.
They both turned. Pulling the curtains away from a large glass door, displaying a bandage-swathed left shoulder, Missy Crabolli waved them into a small trauma room.
"It's okay. They're with me," she said to the nurse, who was entering her recently-taken vitals into a computer. The nurse grunted her allowance.
Tori went around to the side of the patient bed. Ballack shoehorned his wheelchair into the room.
"You okay?" he asked Crabolli.
"I will be okay when they dig around in there and find out what the damage is," Crabolli began. "Clean shot all the way through my body. The bullet must have torn through some muscle and I can't lift my arm, so I'm guessing it snapped my collarbone, as well. It's burning more than anything."
"I can't believe we nearly got wiped out," said Tori, the wild look returning to her eyes. "We were almost eliminated by a sniper."
"Thank you, Missy," Ballack said, emotion clogging his throat, "for covering for me."
"Hey, Cameron, considering how often you've put your butt on the line before, I figured I owe you at least one."
"Sure don't like it happening that way."
Another doctor entered the room and Crabolli nodded to the detectives. Ballack and Tori got the hint and headed out.
"I'll have them let you know when you can come back," Crabolli aid, her voice quavering. "Too bad the bullet tore all the way through because we could get that, as well."
"We'll get it," Tori reminded her. "It still has to be lying out there with the others at Innsbrook."
They headed through a small series of turns on their way to the waiting room. "Level III trauma is okay, but it still means general surgeons aren't on-site," Tori groused. "They're in the hands of ER guys. I'd feel better if we were at a Level II facility."
"Doesn't mean they're incapable, Tor," Ballack sniffed. "And the closest Level II trauma is in downtown St. Charles. That's another fifteen, twenty minutes or more even if we're flying. Given what Dr. Mugaba said about Zane's blood loss, if we opted for going to the main St. Joe's campus, Zane might be dead. They can always transfer him if it comes to that."
Once in the waiting room, Tori went straight to a vending machine and selected Cokes for her and her partner. They situated themselves in the corner, but Ballack maneuvered himself where he'd have an unblocked view of the front doors. Tori looked at him and understood, fingering her own gun just in case.
Casting his eyes at the doors every fifteen seconds or so, Ballack sent a text his parents about what happened that morning. The last time he'd been shot at, his folks found out about it on a late-night newscast and he was determined to keep them in the loop. He mentioned Hull's grave status and asked his father if--provided that Hull survived--he could go by the hospital and see him. He then fished out his Sudoku book and began working through three moderately difficult nine-by-nine conundrums. Tori, clearly overwrought, grabbed her cell phone and began clacking out a text message. She crossed her legs and began drumming her thumb on her knee.
"Control what you can, Tor," Ballack cautioned.
Tori looked at her phone, clicked a button, and started reading a magazine from the stack on the table next to her, re-crossing her legs while still pounding her knee with her thumb.
"How's Paula?" Ballack asked.
A long pause, then Tori turned her head. "What?"
Ballack repeated the question.
"She's fine."
"Is that what she said after you texted her just now?" he asked.
"Cam..."
"You don't have anything to be ashamed of, Tor. She's pregnant, for heaven's sake. We all know that. Just don't think you can reverse the pain of the last hour by transferring your skittishness to her situation."
"Well, we can't just sit here!" Tori's voice aroused the attention of an elderly couple across from them.
Ballack held a finger to his lips. "Sitting here is exactly what we do. The doctor has to check out Missy, probably do an X-ray to assess the damage. Zane's in surgery. Who knows when we'll be able to see him? Can we at least plot out what we need to do now that we've had a few minutes to decompress? Moving around doesn't seem to have a point unless we have a plan."
Tori didn't want to admit Ballack was right, but she yielded.
"Let's make a list," he said, "in no particular order. For one, at some point we'll have to go back out to the lakehouse and put papers back, clean up the shards of that jug, and make notes of all the damage so we can report it to Suzanne Lamotta."
"I can't imagine how angry she's going to be with us."
"With us? We're not the ones who pumped bullets into the rear end of her property. Besides, let's make a side note: look for bullets lying around or stuck in the siding. But you're partially right: She'll be hopping mad."
"Are we going to get ballistics out there, then? Even though we're getting the one from Zane's chest?"
"Of course, that one in Zane is non-negotiable, but it doesn't hurt to cast our bread upon the waters."
"What?"
"Ecclesiastes. Toward the end of the book, if I remember."
"Eric Carter is another non-negotiable."
"As soon as I saw it was a Ridgeline, I remembered what Zane and Missy said last night about that vehicle. I swear I'd love to know what he was doing out there."
"Obvious, perhaps. He speeds away and the shots stop firing."
"Those are two things that juxtaposed together, Tor. However, let's reserve out final judgment on that. The Ridgeline came driving from a spot away from where the shots came. Wait on the ballistics facts first."
"We'll need to speak with the staff again at St. Matthew's Grove."
"Wise. I think we can eliminate the patients for sure. I can't imagine any of them spraying those haymakers at us."
"I would say Fisher is highly unlikely because he'd be at church, and there's no way he could finish his service at Emmanuel and then bust out to Innsbrook in time to nail us."
"True, although we should check to make sure he was at Holy Communion anyway."
"Zakhary?"
"We have to consider him, but then we have to consider anyone else. Then again, it could be a chance raving lunatic wanting to take a shot at anyone. Back to Zakhary, my question is one of motive. It's true no one can give him an airtight alibi about being in his office when Hibbler was murdered, but I fail to see what would connect him to killing him and motivating him to wipe us out, too."
"He doesn't strike me as a notably violent type."
"Since St. Basil's, have any murderers we've caught come across that way?"
"Maybe at the moment they went after us at the point of arrest," Tori offered as a smile played at the corners of her mouth.
"Another thing," said Ballack, "and likely the most essential thing we have to consider: Unless this was a random psycho hermit, how did the shooter know we were there?"
"There's always that chance of a psycho."
"I'll grant you that, partner," Ballack nodded. "But after you left last night, I reached Isabel Andrews' voicemail and left a message for them not to expect us until later today."
"So?"
"I also mentioned that we'd be out at Innsbrook at Hibbler's lakehouse sorting through some matters there. Those were the exact nebulous words I used."
"Meaning she knew?"
"Meaning whoever checked her messages knew. Which, of course, could be her."
Tori dropped her head in her hands. "Migraine alert."
Ballack's phone buzzed. He answered it on the second pulse. "Detective Ballack, SID."
"Detective Ballack? This is Danny Molinari of the Town & Country police. Just wanted you to know your APB was successful and we caught Eric Carter zipping down southbound 270 and we pulled him over just north of Manchester Road. He's in our facility on the west side of the highway and you can question him at any time. We can keep him on ice until then. He's plenty scared."
"Thanks, Officer Molinari. We'll be along in a bit. He's a person of interest in a shooting, so keep him sewn up tightly."
He hung up, at which point Tori said, "Didn't want to mention he was suspected of mowing down a cop?"
Ballack grinned as he saw Crabolli's doctor peek out into the waiting room and wave them back. "I'd like them to let Carter live so we can question the guy."
"Detectives?" I'm Dr. Staines." The physician was a tall, clean-shaven individual with curly black hair, a long pointy nose, and a bandaged left middle fingertip. "You can head back in with your partner. She's had it rough, but she'll be okay after a bit."
Ballack was about to ask what the damage was, but when Dr. Staines quickly left the trauma room, he figured Crabolli would tell them herself.
And tell them she did. "The bullet hit what the doctor claimed was the acromial end of my collarbone. Smacked and tore straight through my trapezius muscle. The X-ray caught the wreckage to the bone, a small snip on the end. Now, I have to get an MRI to check out the muscle and any connective tissue, but it doesn't feel like this will be good news. I can't even lift my arm."
"Which limits field work," Tori acknowledged, giving room for Crabolli to affirm it herself.
"I don't know when I'll get out of here," she sadly murmured. "Depends when an MRI slot opens up. The weekend seems pretty slow around here. I honestly think you guys should go on. I can call you with details on me, but more importantly, I can keep an eye on Zane." Her eyes misted over. "Dear Lord, he has to make it through."
Ballack suppressed a shudder. "A foot or two to the side and I eat that bullet. I swear it bounced off something before it hit him. Missy, are you sure you'll be okay here?"
"We don't want the trail getting cold. By the way, did I dream that you caught the license number of that car?"
"No dream, Missy," Ballack replied.
"So, has anyone managed to pull it over?"
"We got a call from Town & Country a few minutes ago," said Tori flatly. "It was Eric Carter."
Missy smiled. "I guess now we can connect a few dots, huh?"
"Missing yesterday does not necessarily mean guilty today," Ballack cautioned her. "Although that would make it the quickest case we have yet. But with you staying here, can you at least make sure we get hold of the bullet once they remove it from Zane?"
"Detectives Ballack and Vaughan?" Dr. Mugaba appeared at the trauma room door. He saw Crabolli and nodded. "I assume you are the other party from the GSW arrival?"
"Clinical way to describe it, doc," she answered. "I'm Missy Crabolli."
Mugaba nodded and folded his hands together. "I wanted to inform you that we got the bullet out, but it was a delicate process. I scrubbed in and did much of the extraction work. The rest of the team is closing him up now."
"And how," Ballack said expectantly, "is Detective Hull doing?"
"We have the bleeding under control, but it will take a great deal of watchfulness now. The first three hours afterward are critical in whether he stays here or is transferred to St. Joe's in St. Charles. He is in critical condition even if he stabilizes. The bullet entered through his upper lung and tore through it at an angle before it lodged in his pericardium.
"How close?" asked Crabolli, whose fingers were trembling against her chin.
"Barely more than an inch. Being a younger man probably saved him. But he lost a good deal of blood and--like I said--we'll need to keep close watch over him."
"Okay," declared Ballack, rubbing his eyes. "Dr. Mugaba, we're going to have Ballistics rendezvous with Detective Crabolli. Unless she personally approaches your team with representatives from the Ballistics division of the SID, do not let that bullet out of your sight. Do you understand?"
"You have my word on it, sir," said Dr. Mugaba. "And now I must return to join my team."
He ducked out of the room and Ballack turned to Crabolli. "Missy, let us know the minute you get any updates on Zane. Or yourself, for that matter. Constant flow of information. We need you here right now. We're headed out to grill Eric Carter, and from there we'll plan to zip over to St. Matthew's to speak with everyone there. Tori, you and I can talk on the way."
"There's one more thing," Crabolli said, her eyes glistening.
"Which is?"
"I don't have my gun with me, which makes me think it's out at the lakehouse. For that matter, Zane's might be out there, too."
"Not to worry," replied Tori. "I scooped them both up and they're in the van."
"Thanks."
"There's one other thing," added Ballack. "Since our medical professional friends won't appreciate a patient bearing a gun in these rooms--even legitimately--we'll have a word with the guard to keep his eyes peeled. Of course, I'd feel better having a legit cop out here watching out on your behalf."
"I'll second that," said Tori.
"Seriously, guys," Crabolli pleaded. "You think the shooter tracked us here and is now waiting for you both to leave and then walk in and finish us off?"
"Forget it," Ballack ordered. "After a sneak attack like this morning, we can't take our chances. We need to leave that possibility open. We'll call St. Charles and have them send someone over right now."
"Answer this for me," Crabolli grunted through her pain. "Is this planned or is it a random freak?"
Ballack felt the weight of responsibility for that morning and told her about his call to St. Matthew's Grove the night before. "Sorry," he said.
Crabolli lay back on the table, gingerly touching her wounded shoulder. Tears welled in her eyes as she found her voice. "Please pray for us."
Ballack looked at her, then at Tori. His heart was too heavy and too angry to consider prayer, even if he believed such an entreaty would help.
"We will," Tori replied softly, saving Ballack the pressure of a disingenuous reply, and they both headed out toward the Sprinter.
"Let's just make sure Missy and Zane are going to be okay," said Tori with a wild look in her eyes. The rest of the drive to the hospital was a blur, and they spoke little.
The ambulances made good time, streaking to the emergency room in eighteen minutes. The west location of St. Joseph Hospital was in prime position for the care they needed. Spread out over a campus on the south side of Interstate 70 in Lake St. Louis, this hospital--under the auspices of SSM Health Care and the Franciscan Sisters of Mary--is the only state-designated Level III trauma emergency department in western St. Charles County. Having been tipped off to their arrival, a small army of doctors pounced on the gurneys bearing a griping Crabolli and Hull's motionless form. Tori parked the Sprinter, hastened to undo Ballack's safety straps, and let down the ramp before tossing the keys into Ballack's lap. He dutifully closed the ramp from the outside with the toggle switch and remote-locked the van before going inside to find her.
The emergency area was a madhouse. The detectives entered the hallway behind the reception area and followed the series of grunts and screams they knew must come from their colleagues. They had turned around a corner when a young doctor held out a stiff arm and bade them stay where they were.
"Sorry, folks," he said, his soft brown eyes balancing with his authoritative tone. His musical inflections were distinctly sub-Saharan African, and his skin was dark as coal. "We're stabilizing a wounded policeman in the room beyond and need you to stay in the waiting area."
"That cop," Tori bristled, showing her SID badge as Ballack furnished his own, "is with us. So, we need to stay nearby to know how he's doing, because we were with him as he was shot!"
"Begging your pardon, sir," Ballack cut in as a way of apologizing for Tori's rigidity, "we understand you need to make certain of us. We're not taking offense." He placed his badge in the doctor's hand.
The physician looked over both identifications and straightened up. "I'm sorry. I'm Dr. Mugaba. Thank you for your compliance, but your fellow detective is going to surgery once we can get him there."
"That's all the information you have now?" asked Ballack.
"He has lost a lot of blood," Dr. Mugaba said, looking over his shoulder as a commotion broke out in a room two doors down. "I am sorry, but I have to get with the team and get him up to surgery. I can brief you later." He turned to go.
"Dr. Mugaba," Ballack called after him. The doctor turned.
"Yes?"
"We need that bullet when you get it out of him?"
"The bullet?'
"Yes. Provided we're talking about the same person and provided his name is Zane Hull, we'll need the bullet. It's evidence now in the shooting of a law enforcement officer and a potential piece of evidence in an ongoing murder investigation."
Confused look aside, Dr. Mugaba nodded assent, then sprinted off, catching the rest of the phalanx of doctors and nurses on the move. They were so thickly drawn around the gurney it was impossible to make out the face, but Ballack caught a glimpse of the right shoe. Black Adidas Gore-Tex shoes. No doubt. It was Hull. The team caught an empty elevator car and was on its way to a surgical area.
"Cameron? Tori? Is that you guys?" came a voice behind them.
They both turned. Pulling the curtains away from a large glass door, displaying a bandage-swathed left shoulder, Missy Crabolli waved them into a small trauma room.
"It's okay. They're with me," she said to the nurse, who was entering her recently-taken vitals into a computer. The nurse grunted her allowance.
Tori went around to the side of the patient bed. Ballack shoehorned his wheelchair into the room.
"You okay?" he asked Crabolli.
"I will be okay when they dig around in there and find out what the damage is," Crabolli began. "Clean shot all the way through my body. The bullet must have torn through some muscle and I can't lift my arm, so I'm guessing it snapped my collarbone, as well. It's burning more than anything."
"I can't believe we nearly got wiped out," said Tori, the wild look returning to her eyes. "We were almost eliminated by a sniper."
"Thank you, Missy," Ballack said, emotion clogging his throat, "for covering for me."
"Hey, Cameron, considering how often you've put your butt on the line before, I figured I owe you at least one."
"Sure don't like it happening that way."
Another doctor entered the room and Crabolli nodded to the detectives. Ballack and Tori got the hint and headed out.
"I'll have them let you know when you can come back," Crabolli aid, her voice quavering. "Too bad the bullet tore all the way through because we could get that, as well."
"We'll get it," Tori reminded her. "It still has to be lying out there with the others at Innsbrook."
They headed through a small series of turns on their way to the waiting room. "Level III trauma is okay, but it still means general surgeons aren't on-site," Tori groused. "They're in the hands of ER guys. I'd feel better if we were at a Level II facility."
"Doesn't mean they're incapable, Tor," Ballack sniffed. "And the closest Level II trauma is in downtown St. Charles. That's another fifteen, twenty minutes or more even if we're flying. Given what Dr. Mugaba said about Zane's blood loss, if we opted for going to the main St. Joe's campus, Zane might be dead. They can always transfer him if it comes to that."
Once in the waiting room, Tori went straight to a vending machine and selected Cokes for her and her partner. They situated themselves in the corner, but Ballack maneuvered himself where he'd have an unblocked view of the front doors. Tori looked at him and understood, fingering her own gun just in case.
Casting his eyes at the doors every fifteen seconds or so, Ballack sent a text his parents about what happened that morning. The last time he'd been shot at, his folks found out about it on a late-night newscast and he was determined to keep them in the loop. He mentioned Hull's grave status and asked his father if--provided that Hull survived--he could go by the hospital and see him. He then fished out his Sudoku book and began working through three moderately difficult nine-by-nine conundrums. Tori, clearly overwrought, grabbed her cell phone and began clacking out a text message. She crossed her legs and began drumming her thumb on her knee.
"Control what you can, Tor," Ballack cautioned.
Tori looked at her phone, clicked a button, and started reading a magazine from the stack on the table next to her, re-crossing her legs while still pounding her knee with her thumb.
"How's Paula?" Ballack asked.
A long pause, then Tori turned her head. "What?"
Ballack repeated the question.
"She's fine."
"Is that what she said after you texted her just now?" he asked.
"Cam..."
"You don't have anything to be ashamed of, Tor. She's pregnant, for heaven's sake. We all know that. Just don't think you can reverse the pain of the last hour by transferring your skittishness to her situation."
"Well, we can't just sit here!" Tori's voice aroused the attention of an elderly couple across from them.
Ballack held a finger to his lips. "Sitting here is exactly what we do. The doctor has to check out Missy, probably do an X-ray to assess the damage. Zane's in surgery. Who knows when we'll be able to see him? Can we at least plot out what we need to do now that we've had a few minutes to decompress? Moving around doesn't seem to have a point unless we have a plan."
Tori didn't want to admit Ballack was right, but she yielded.
"Let's make a list," he said, "in no particular order. For one, at some point we'll have to go back out to the lakehouse and put papers back, clean up the shards of that jug, and make notes of all the damage so we can report it to Suzanne Lamotta."
"I can't imagine how angry she's going to be with us."
"With us? We're not the ones who pumped bullets into the rear end of her property. Besides, let's make a side note: look for bullets lying around or stuck in the siding. But you're partially right: She'll be hopping mad."
"Are we going to get ballistics out there, then? Even though we're getting the one from Zane's chest?"
"Of course, that one in Zane is non-negotiable, but it doesn't hurt to cast our bread upon the waters."
"What?"
"Ecclesiastes. Toward the end of the book, if I remember."
"Eric Carter is another non-negotiable."
"As soon as I saw it was a Ridgeline, I remembered what Zane and Missy said last night about that vehicle. I swear I'd love to know what he was doing out there."
"Obvious, perhaps. He speeds away and the shots stop firing."
"Those are two things that juxtaposed together, Tor. However, let's reserve out final judgment on that. The Ridgeline came driving from a spot away from where the shots came. Wait on the ballistics facts first."
"We'll need to speak with the staff again at St. Matthew's Grove."
"Wise. I think we can eliminate the patients for sure. I can't imagine any of them spraying those haymakers at us."
"I would say Fisher is highly unlikely because he'd be at church, and there's no way he could finish his service at Emmanuel and then bust out to Innsbrook in time to nail us."
"True, although we should check to make sure he was at Holy Communion anyway."
"Zakhary?"
"We have to consider him, but then we have to consider anyone else. Then again, it could be a chance raving lunatic wanting to take a shot at anyone. Back to Zakhary, my question is one of motive. It's true no one can give him an airtight alibi about being in his office when Hibbler was murdered, but I fail to see what would connect him to killing him and motivating him to wipe us out, too."
"He doesn't strike me as a notably violent type."
"Since St. Basil's, have any murderers we've caught come across that way?"
"Maybe at the moment they went after us at the point of arrest," Tori offered as a smile played at the corners of her mouth.
"Another thing," said Ballack, "and likely the most essential thing we have to consider: Unless this was a random psycho hermit, how did the shooter know we were there?"
"There's always that chance of a psycho."
"I'll grant you that, partner," Ballack nodded. "But after you left last night, I reached Isabel Andrews' voicemail and left a message for them not to expect us until later today."
"So?"
"I also mentioned that we'd be out at Innsbrook at Hibbler's lakehouse sorting through some matters there. Those were the exact nebulous words I used."
"Meaning she knew?"
"Meaning whoever checked her messages knew. Which, of course, could be her."
Tori dropped her head in her hands. "Migraine alert."
Ballack's phone buzzed. He answered it on the second pulse. "Detective Ballack, SID."
"Detective Ballack? This is Danny Molinari of the Town & Country police. Just wanted you to know your APB was successful and we caught Eric Carter zipping down southbound 270 and we pulled him over just north of Manchester Road. He's in our facility on the west side of the highway and you can question him at any time. We can keep him on ice until then. He's plenty scared."
"Thanks, Officer Molinari. We'll be along in a bit. He's a person of interest in a shooting, so keep him sewn up tightly."
He hung up, at which point Tori said, "Didn't want to mention he was suspected of mowing down a cop?"
Ballack grinned as he saw Crabolli's doctor peek out into the waiting room and wave them back. "I'd like them to let Carter live so we can question the guy."
"Detectives?" I'm Dr. Staines." The physician was a tall, clean-shaven individual with curly black hair, a long pointy nose, and a bandaged left middle fingertip. "You can head back in with your partner. She's had it rough, but she'll be okay after a bit."
Ballack was about to ask what the damage was, but when Dr. Staines quickly left the trauma room, he figured Crabolli would tell them herself.
And tell them she did. "The bullet hit what the doctor claimed was the acromial end of my collarbone. Smacked and tore straight through my trapezius muscle. The X-ray caught the wreckage to the bone, a small snip on the end. Now, I have to get an MRI to check out the muscle and any connective tissue, but it doesn't feel like this will be good news. I can't even lift my arm."
"Which limits field work," Tori acknowledged, giving room for Crabolli to affirm it herself.
"I don't know when I'll get out of here," she sadly murmured. "Depends when an MRI slot opens up. The weekend seems pretty slow around here. I honestly think you guys should go on. I can call you with details on me, but more importantly, I can keep an eye on Zane." Her eyes misted over. "Dear Lord, he has to make it through."
Ballack suppressed a shudder. "A foot or two to the side and I eat that bullet. I swear it bounced off something before it hit him. Missy, are you sure you'll be okay here?"
"We don't want the trail getting cold. By the way, did I dream that you caught the license number of that car?"
"No dream, Missy," Ballack replied.
"So, has anyone managed to pull it over?"
"We got a call from Town & Country a few minutes ago," said Tori flatly. "It was Eric Carter."
Missy smiled. "I guess now we can connect a few dots, huh?"
"Missing yesterday does not necessarily mean guilty today," Ballack cautioned her. "Although that would make it the quickest case we have yet. But with you staying here, can you at least make sure we get hold of the bullet once they remove it from Zane?"
"Detectives Ballack and Vaughan?" Dr. Mugaba appeared at the trauma room door. He saw Crabolli and nodded. "I assume you are the other party from the GSW arrival?"
"Clinical way to describe it, doc," she answered. "I'm Missy Crabolli."
Mugaba nodded and folded his hands together. "I wanted to inform you that we got the bullet out, but it was a delicate process. I scrubbed in and did much of the extraction work. The rest of the team is closing him up now."
"And how," Ballack said expectantly, "is Detective Hull doing?"
"We have the bleeding under control, but it will take a great deal of watchfulness now. The first three hours afterward are critical in whether he stays here or is transferred to St. Joe's in St. Charles. He is in critical condition even if he stabilizes. The bullet entered through his upper lung and tore through it at an angle before it lodged in his pericardium.
"How close?" asked Crabolli, whose fingers were trembling against her chin.
"Barely more than an inch. Being a younger man probably saved him. But he lost a good deal of blood and--like I said--we'll need to keep close watch over him."
"Okay," declared Ballack, rubbing his eyes. "Dr. Mugaba, we're going to have Ballistics rendezvous with Detective Crabolli. Unless she personally approaches your team with representatives from the Ballistics division of the SID, do not let that bullet out of your sight. Do you understand?"
"You have my word on it, sir," said Dr. Mugaba. "And now I must return to join my team."
He ducked out of the room and Ballack turned to Crabolli. "Missy, let us know the minute you get any updates on Zane. Or yourself, for that matter. Constant flow of information. We need you here right now. We're headed out to grill Eric Carter, and from there we'll plan to zip over to St. Matthew's to speak with everyone there. Tori, you and I can talk on the way."
"There's one more thing," Crabolli said, her eyes glistening.
"Which is?"
"I don't have my gun with me, which makes me think it's out at the lakehouse. For that matter, Zane's might be out there, too."
"Not to worry," replied Tori. "I scooped them both up and they're in the van."
"Thanks."
"There's one other thing," added Ballack. "Since our medical professional friends won't appreciate a patient bearing a gun in these rooms--even legitimately--we'll have a word with the guard to keep his eyes peeled. Of course, I'd feel better having a legit cop out here watching out on your behalf."
"I'll second that," said Tori.
"Seriously, guys," Crabolli pleaded. "You think the shooter tracked us here and is now waiting for you both to leave and then walk in and finish us off?"
"Forget it," Ballack ordered. "After a sneak attack like this morning, we can't take our chances. We need to leave that possibility open. We'll call St. Charles and have them send someone over right now."
"Answer this for me," Crabolli grunted through her pain. "Is this planned or is it a random freak?"
Ballack felt the weight of responsibility for that morning and told her about his call to St. Matthew's Grove the night before. "Sorry," he said.
Crabolli lay back on the table, gingerly touching her wounded shoulder. Tears welled in her eyes as she found her voice. "Please pray for us."
Ballack looked at her, then at Tori. His heart was too heavy and too angry to consider prayer, even if he believed such an entreaty would help.
"We will," Tori replied softly, saving Ballack the pressure of a disingenuous reply, and they both headed out toward the Sprinter.
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