Black Widow Page 7

  "Yes, Madam."

  "Excellent. Follow me and wait by the concession stand. I won't be long." She drove down the winding driveway and out onto the coastal highway.

  * * * * *

  Cascade North Public Beach

  Monday, 4:50 pm

  Blair watched, his eyes slightly unfocused still, as she pulled into the beach parking lot. Despite his prayers otherwise, the lot was empty. He couldn't tell if there was anyone on the beach, but with the weather cold and damp, it was unlikely anyone was there, especially at five o'clock at night.

  "Now, we have to do this just right." Leaving the car still running, she wrapped his fingers around a short length of garden hose, guaranteeing his fingerprints on the metal edge. "Perfect. Now, I'll be right back."

  He could hear her at work, knowing she was threading the hose into the exhaust pipe, then bringing the other end through the side window and into the car. From the road, nothing could be seen. No one would notice.

  "Jim?" He said it aloud, nothing more than a whisper, but in his mind he was screaming hysterically. Get me out of here!

  "There we go. Bye, Chief. Thanks for everything. I had no idea how I was going to find an Indian, but the rhyme did just say "Chief" so you qualified nicely. I really didn't want Daniel to have to be both the Merchant and the Chief. He hated anything so complicated."

  Blair wanted to argue with her, to point out that she really should have looked a little harder for someone else. He was a poor substitute; it was only a nickname, not a job description. For everyone else, it was a job description. Beggarman. Thief. Doctor. Lawyer. Indian Chief. He was sure the rhyme said 'Indian Chief. And Daniel Peters' grandfather was the tribal chief from northeast Washington. Daniel might have inherited the title, had he chosen to remain on the reservation.

  Indian Chief. It fit. Doctor. Lawyer. Indian Chief. Where did Merchant come in to it? He'd looked up the rhyme. Doctor. Lawyer. Indian Chief. Mo mention of a Merchant.

  Blair was sitting at the wheel of the car, his hands on the rim. It was quiet. He could feel his toes again, and move them, but his head felt thick. Like one poison was draining and another was taking its place. Which is exactly what was happening.

  He was sure the rhyme had said 'Indian Chief'. He was willing to bet his life on it.

  Apparently, he had...

  * * * * *

  Cascade North Highway

  Monday, 5:00 pm

  "Hold on. That was her Rolls." Ellison watched it go by.

  "I couldn't see if there was anyone in the back. The windows were darkened."

  "She was in there, putting on a black wig. That was Timothy, the butler, driving. Sandburg's not there." Or if he is, he's not alive. Ellison pushed the thought back.

  "Where's she heading?"

  "My guess would be, the hospital. She'll want to make sure I'm dead."

  "Call Taggart. He's a few minutes behind us. Have him tail the Rolls when it goes by."

  Ellison made the call quickly. "He's on to it. What about the others?" he asked, when he hung up.

  "We'll get Rafe, Brown, and Connor at the hospital to secure your room there. -- What are you doing??" The steering wheel was suddenly wrenched from Banks' hands, the car skidding across the empty highway into a parking lot.

  "That's Blair's Volvo."

  Banks grabbed the wheel back, aiming his car over several speed bumps, straight to the classic car. They could see Blair sitting inside, his head leaning on the steering wheel. He looked like he was just resting.

  "Gas. Carbon monoxide." Ellison half-fell from the car, trying to get the locked Volvo door open while Banks kicked the hose from the exhaust pipe. With a wild growl, Ellison smashed the back window open, then reached through and unlocked the driver's door, dragging Sandburg from the polluted car.

  He sat on the parking lot pavement, Sandburg upright, resting against him. "Blair? Come on, buddy." He could feel the feeble heart beat as he loosened Sandburg's shirt and undid the top button of his faded denim jeans.

  "Jmmm?"

  Ellison could feel his partner stirring, gasping for breath. "Hey, buddy. Take a couple deep breaths for me, okay?" He pulled off his jacket and wrapped it around his partner.

  "Head hurts."

  He laughed, ridiculously happy to hear Sandburg's voice. "I bet it does. We'll get you all fixed up, though. Wake up, okay?"

  "Sleepy."

  "Sleep later. We're going to make a quick trip to the hospital. You need some nice pure oxygen."

  "Jim?" Banks appeared with the phone to his ear. "They're sending a fire truck. Should be here in--"

  "I hear it. It'll be here in a minute. There's a station just a few blocks down."

  "Yeah. Well, I was about to say that. It should be here any time." Banks moved away from them toward the highway, his arms waving when he saw the fire truck.

  A few minutes later, Sandburg had an oxygen mask over his face, 100 per cent oxygen feed, and Banks was heading back to town, his sirens on. He tossed his cellphone on the empty seat beside him, then glanced at Ellison in the back. "It's all set up. They're going to use hyperbaric therapy on Sandburg when we arrive, whatever that is."

  "They'll put him in a chamber that administers oxygen under pressure greater than atmospheric. It's standard. They've been doing it for years for carbon monoxide treatment." Ellison shifted his patient. "Don't worry, kid. It doesn't hurt."

  Sandburg muttered something.

  "Actually, I have been in a chamber. Inhaled something once in the Rangers. A long story, but the treatment helped."

  Another mumble.

  "It was an assignment. Top secret."

  Mumble.

  "No. It's classified."

  Mumble. Mumble.

  "How about we just compare notes about the chamber? I'll tell you everything I remember about it. Deal?"

  Mumble.

  * * * * *

  Cascade General Hospital

  Monday, 5:40 pm

  Rothschild, wearing a dark wig and hazel-colored contact lens, her features altered with makeup to give the impression of dark circles beneath her eyes and deeper wrinkles, paced outside the nurse's station. She glanced at her watch and approached the desk again. "I simply must see my nephew. I've come a long way, and I don't understand the delay."

  The nurse, a tall, dark-haired woman with an accent, smiled at her. "Let me see if the doctor can okay it." She waved over a black man in a spotless, white practitioner's coat. "Doctor, this woman would like to see her nephew, James Ellison, in 403, but the room is restricted. Can she go in?"

  "Her nephew? I don't see why that would be a problem. I'll check with his physician and have it authorized." He smiled warmly at her, his teeth flashing against his dark skin. "Please have a seat and I'll see to it right away." He pulled some candy from his pocket and handed her one. "Tootsie Roll?"

  "I beg your pardon?"

  "Would you like a Tootsie Roll?" The doctor leaned closer. "I usually work in the Children's Ward, but they're short-handed here tonight." At her blank stare, he shrugged and walked away.

  Rothschild moved over to the waiting area, but didn't sit. The delay was costing her valuable time.

  Another doctor approached her, this one also young and handsome, reading some notes on his clipboard. "I'm Doctor Rafe. You wanted to see James Ellison?"

  "Yes."

  "I'll allow it, but just for a short time." Doctor Rafe glanced up at the nurse, then beckoned Rothschild around the corner. When he had her complete attention, he said quietly, "I must prepare you. Mr Ellison is still in very serious condition, and we're waiting for his family to arrive."

  "I am his family."

  "I understand that." The doctor straightened and glanced back at the nurse's station. The nurse nodded at him. "Okay, I'll authorize the visit. Room 403. You have five minutes." He left her alone and went back to speak with the nurse.

  She opened the door. The room was dark, but she could see Ellison lying on the bed, blankets covering
his body up to his neck, one bare arm lying on the bed, the IV needles in the back of his hand. She approached the bed, reaching into her bag and withdrawing a needle. Silently, she went to the IV pole, and inserted the needle into the IV bag, smiling as she did so.

  She ran her hand along Ellison's jaw, then caught her breath as Ellison stiffened, as though going into arrest. She closed her eyes, enjoying the moment.

  But it was only short-lived.

  "Good thing I don't have the IV connected, isn't it?"

  At her startled, angry cry, Ellison pushed the covers back, showing that he was still clad in his T-shirt and jeans. He grasped her wrist as she pulled away, but she still had the needle and tried to jab him with it.

  The door opened and Dr Rafe reached out from behind and took the needle from her. "You know, Ms Rothschild, non-professionals should not be allowed to practice medicine without a license."

  She pushed past him into the corridor, then halted. Before her, the nurse stood quietly, arms folded, a gun resting in one hand. Beyond the nurse, the black doctor waved, popped a Tootsie Roll in his mouth, then tapped his gun on the counter.

  Rothschild spun around. A tall, stern-looking black man sat in the waiting area, where she'd been only moments before, his badge held out. Next to him, Blair Sandburg sat in a chair, an oxygen mask over his face.

  Detective Ellison handcuffed her, while the candy-eating officer read her rights. Holding her head up high, she allowed them to lead her away.

  * * * * *

  Ellison crouched down in front of his partner. "I thought you were supposed to be getting fixed up. What are you doing here?"

  "Had to watch." The muffled voice was still audible to Sentinel ears, in spite of the oxygen mask.

  "I hear you," Ellison said, allowing himself a small smile. "So how about we make a trip upstairs now? I believe they're waiting for you on the fifth floor."

  "Guess I've got no choice, huh?"

  "None whatsoever."

  "I think I might be okay now, Jim. I'm probably--"

  "You also thought you'd be safe at her place. No... I don't think we're going to go with your Plan A tonight. We'll do it my way, this time, okay?"

  "Well, maybe we can--"

  "My way. My Plan A. The one where we get you fixed up, then go home, get something to eat, and go to bed. What do you say to that, Dr Sandburg?"

  Blair looked up at him and smiled, a big toothy grin that took most of the tension from his exhausted body. "Sounds like a plan, man. We'll do it your way. But I still think I'm okay--" His argument was lost amid a racking cough that left him half collapsed over his partner, tears streaming down his cheeks.

  "Then you're sicker than I thought, Chief." Ellison grimaced at the familiar nickname, then relaxed as Sandburg's cough turned into a choking laugh.

  "Come on, Jim," Banks said with a weary shake of his head. "The sooner you get him up there, the sooner you're on your way home."

  "Amen, to that, Captain."

  * * *

  Cascade PD

  Wednesday, 10:30 am

  Blair Sandburg sat on the edge of Ellison's desk, reading the file. "Weird. That whole nursery rhyme tie-in was bizarre. Any idea why she did that?"

  "They're going to be doing a full psychiatric profile on her. They've asked her already and all she said was she always liked the song. There were so many possibilities."

  "There were so many endings to it. How was I supposed to know there were two different versions? Doctor, Lawyer, Indian Chief, and Doctor, Lawyer, Merchant, Chief."

  "Hey, Hairboy." Henri walked by, heading for his desk, popping a Tootsie Roll in his mouth.

  "You shouldn't eat those, man. They'll rot your teeth."

  "Hey, kid. You're looking a mite healthier then last I saw you." Rafe followed his partner in and sat at his desk. "Appetite back yet?"

  "Almost. That gas sure messes up your taste buds."

  "Welcome back, Sandy. When did they let you out?" Connor passed by him, then plunked down in her chair.

  "Hi, Megan. This morning. I was only in for two days. They wanted to make sure my lungs were okay."

  "They're fine, Chief. I told them that yesterday."

  "I think they wanted a second opinion, not that they weren't trusting your diagnosis." Sandburg went back to looking at the file. "You know, Jim, if you hadn't called me 'Chief' in front of her, I wouldn't have been a target. Can't you guys say: Blair? Henri calls me 'Hairboy'. Rafe calls me 'kid.' Megan calls me 'Sandy'. And you call me 'Chief'."

  "You have a problem with that, Squirt?" Ellison asked calmly, moving a file to his out box.

  "That's right, Professor," Banks called out as he passed from his office to the donut cart by the entrance to Major Crimes.

  Sandburg grinned, shrugging. "Okay. You win. 'Chief' isn't that bad." He raised his voice so the captain could hear. "Speaking of rhymes, though, how about 'Simple Simon met a pieman..."