Sky Zone: A Novel (The Crittendon Files) (19 page)

43

Derrick flew over the hilly Ohio countryside, well above the speed limit. His heart pounded in his skull from the rush of being ahead of the other news agencies that were surely not far behind. He was being pushed forward by an adrenaline high, like a surfer who’d caught a monster wave and left the others bobbing in the wake.

Daniel rattled around in the backseat of the FJ Cruiser, his cameras and lenses spread out everywhere as he prepared for the biggest story of their lives—the biggest story in the world at the moment.

For the fifth or sixth time, as he concentrated on the country road unfurling before him in the night, Derrick replayed the call he’d received twenty minutes earlier from Senator Sterling’s personal assistant.

“Derrick … Jenny King. Don’t ask questions, I don’t have time.” She was distraught yet concise. “The senator is alive.
I don’t have details, but somehow he escaped.”

“Where is he?”

“Seneca Falls. He flagged down a driver on I-24 right by Indian Lake. He called nine-one-one from the man’s cell. He’s wounded. I’m on my way.”

“How bad is he hurt?”

“No idea. I’ve told you all I know. I wanted you to have it first.”

That was it. She was gone.

Derrick pushed the gas pedal harder, hoping they would make it before police or paramedics whisked Sterling away.

“Are you ready?” He shot a glance back at Daniel, who was hunched over his equipment.

“Almost. How close are we?”

The blue glow of Indian Lake appeared on the GPS.

“Almost there. This is gonna be the shoot of your lifetime.”

“And the story of yours.”

Derrick squinted at the road ahead, thinking any minute he would see flashing lights and the car Sterling had flagged down.

He’d called Jack earlier and was troubled to hear of the baby’s complications. That would add even more stress to the trials they were already facing. But Jack always had a way of taking things in stride. He’d even managed to laugh when he told how Pam’s mom had wandered off in the hospital.

Jack’s faith was special. He was the only person Derrick knew who actually lived as if this life was temporary, as if the real and important life was yet to come. Derrick had always assumed that someday in the future he would take his faith as seriously as Jack.

“There!” Daniel shouted from the back.

Derrick braked. A black-and-white squad car was parked sideways in the road up ahead, with its blue lights flashing. One officer was setting flares in the road while another had a flashlight out and was examining a dark pickup truck stopped just beyond the police car.

“There’re more flashing lights through those trees,” Daniel said. “Turn around—we’ll find another way in.”

Seeing no cars behind or ahead, Derrick did a U-turn into the grass and back onto the road.

“Just watch for any opening.” Daniel leaned over the front seat.

They rode along slowly, and Derrick kept checking the rearview mirror to make sure the cops weren’t coming after them.

“There.” Daniel pointed. “Pull over.”

Derrick pulled off into the weeds. They both looked to the right, where a patch of spindly trees and branches were backlit by flashing red and blue lights out in a clearing. There were no sirens.

“There are weeds matted down … keep going.”

They bumped along off the side of the road.

“Ho!” Daniel said. “There.”

Derrick’s headlights lit up a path the width of a vehicle. He turned the SUV onto the path, and they rolled and rocked slowly through the spooky, sparsely wooded area. It was eerily silent except for the faint chirp of a police radio every few seconds. Up a slight hill the trees cleared, and they came to an open space the size of a football field.

“Turn off your lights, or they’ll be all over us,” Daniel said.

Derrick doused the lights, turned right, and rolled over the bumpy meadow off to the side of all the commotion.

“We got one fire truck … an ambulance … and only two cop cars,” Daniel said. “Dang, we’re early, dude. This is unreal.”

Derrick’s heart skipped a beat. “And a helicopter.” He nodded toward the edge of the woods where a mammoth black chopper sat like a sleeping mechanical monster, blending in with the backdrop of thick woods behind it. Four other plain cars were parked at various angles nearby.

“Holy cow! Stop right here. I gotta shoot as much as I can before they throw us out. More law’ll be here soon.”

Derrick stopped and turned the car off.

Several people stood in a loose huddle about ten yards from the ambulance, whose lights were flashing and doors were closed. A spotlight popped on at one of the unmarked cars, and its beam of light zigzagged and finally fixed on the helicopter.

“I’m going,” Daniel said. “I’ll start shooting from here and work my way in.”

“Hopefully Sterling’s in the ambulance.” Derrick opened his door, grabbed his pad, pen, and recorder, and got out. The pain from his side took his breath away.

“You okay?” Daniel said.

Derrick nodded. “I’ll try to find Jenny. Good luck, dude.”

“Good luck.” Daniel scampered across the meadow with one mammoth camera hanging around his neck and his heavy bag of equipment over his shoulder.

Derrick tripped on the thick, knotty grass but caught his balance.

Police officers and firefighters hustled every whichway, shining powerful flashlights throughout the grassy area, around the chopper, and toward what Derrick guessed was another way out.

Two officers were unwinding yellow crime-scene tape and yelling back and forth about which area to cordon off first. Derrick heard a siren in the distance and moved at a faster clip through the thick grass.

“Hold it!” An officer he hadn’t noticed broke toward him from the left, drawing his gun as he ran over the uneven pasture. “Stop right there! Hands high. Hands high!”

Derrick’s heart lurched, and he jabbed his hands into the air, not dropping his things. “It’s okay, I’m—”

“Hands stay high.” The officer’s gun was locked in front of him with both hands as he took long strides toward Derrick.

“I’m with the
Gazette
,” Derrick blurted.

“Down on your face, now. Drop that stuff. Hands behind your back.”

Derrick dropped to his knees and glanced back for Daniel but didn’t see him.

“I cover Sterling for the
Gazette
. Is he still here?”

“Do what I said. Facedown. Hands behind your back.
Now
!”

44

Lucy and the nurses kept telling Pamela to get some sleep, but there was no way. She was worried about the baby and about her missing mom, and she still couldn’t stop shivering, even though they’d brought her warm blankets.

“Eat more of this banana,” Lucy said from the chair next to her bed. “You’ve got to keep your strength up.”

Pamela took a piece.

Lucy gave her a napkin, then leaned her forward and puffed up her pillow.

“I can’t believe we still haven’t named him,” Pamela said.

“Well, it hasn’t exactly been your typical delivery,” Lucy replied.

“We wanted to wait and see what the baby was like.” Pamela drifted off for a second as she recalled how sluggish the baby had been, how bluish his little body was. Weeks ago she and Jack had narrowed boy names to Lukas, which meant
light
, and Andrew, which meant
brave
. She was sure one of the names would make sense soon enough.

There was a light knock, and the door to the room opened. It startled Lucy, who stood quickly.

“Hello, hello.” Jack quietly led Margaret into the room. “Look who’s here.”

Margaret came toward Pamela’s bed, shaking her head shyly, her eyes watering. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here for you, sweetie. It was my fault.”

“What happened to you?” Pamela said. “Did you get lost?”

Margaret started to answer, but Jack cut in. “She was down in the emergency room,” he said. “It was confusing. You were in ER, then surgery, then you got moved up here …”

“Mom, I’m sorry,” Pamela said. “Sit down. You must be hungry.”

“I’m not hungry,” Margaret said. “I guess I should’ve stayed with Jack in the first place. I’ve got to learn I can’t do what I used to.”

“Well, sit down now and relax.”

Jack pulled a chair over for her, but she walked to the sink, poured herself a cup of ice water from the tan plastic pitcher, and just stood there, staring at the sink.

When her back was to them, Jack shot Pamela a wide-eyed wince, as if Margaret had done something embarrassing or even dangerous while they were apart.

Pamela let her head drop back onto the pillow and again tried to assure herself that they would get through this ordeal.

“Has the doctor been here?” Jack said.

She shook her head no.

“Have you had the news on at all?” he said.

She shook her head again. “I just wanted quiet.”

He nodded. “It was on downstairs, and they said there was some kind of breaking news coming.”

“Turn it on if you want,” she said, but she wished he wouldn’t.

Just then the door opened slightly, and Dr. Shapiro stuck his balding head in. “May I come in?”

Lucy stood suddenly.

“Yes.” Jack shot to attention and went for the door. “Come in.”

Dr. Shapiro entered quietly, examining each person. He carried a medical chart on a clipboard. Jack introduced him to Margaret, and they shook hands.

“We are all kidding around down there that the Crittendon baby doesn’t have a name yet.” Dr. Shapiro smiled. “Some of the nurses have started calling him Baby Critt.”

That was supposed to be an icebreaker. Pamela gave a cordial chuckle. “Well, how is he, Doctor? What’s going on?”

He folded his arms with the clipboard against his chest. “Well, I’m glad to tell you he’s breathing fine on his own now, with a good strong heartbeat.” He went up and down on his toes.

Pamela and Jack looked at each other and breathed a sigh of relief.

“His color is good, and his lungs are clear.”

Dr. Shapiro had brown eyes that opened wide when he spoke, and he wore old-fashioned gold metal glasses.

“Why haven’t they brought him to us yet?” Jack said.

The doctor opened his mouth, scratched a thick brown eyebrow with two fingers, and paused for several seconds. “He’s still a bit sluggish …”

Sluggish
. There was that word again.

“Is he still in progressive care?” Pamela’s whole body was rigid.

The doctor took a deep breath and nodded. “Yes, he is.”

“What’s the problem, Doctor? Please, just say,” Jack said.

“If you will … let me explain.”

Jack’s shoulders slumped, and Pamela felt the wind go out of her sails. Margaret’s forehead scrunched up with fret.

“We’re still concerned with his muscle tone, his movement, his reaction when stimulated …”

No.

All Pamela could envision was her pale, lifeless baby—not moving, not crying, just lying there. She felt she might throw up again.

The color had drained from Jack’s face.

“Right now we’re doing tests that will tell us more about what’s going on with his nervous system, if there’s anything unusual. We’re stimulating him a little bit and studying his responses—”

“Is there a chance he’s disabled?” Jack said. “What are we looking at? What do you think it is?”

Jack was getting really intense, but Pamela couldn’t say a word. She didn’t think she was even breathing.

“I’m sorry. It’s just too early to tell, but as I said, the tests—”

“Did the fall Pam took hurt him?” Jack interrupted.

Dr. Shapiro looked at Jack and then leveled his gaze at Pamela. “We’re not certain there are
any
long-term problems at this point. He could come right around and be the loudest one in the nursery. We are working right now to pinpoint what’s going on.”

“Can we see him?” Margaret said. “Is he awake?”

“Yes, I’d like to feed him if I can,” Pamela said.

“Don’t worry about his feeding,” Dr. Shapiro said. “He’s getting plenty of nourishment—”

Lucy’s sober expression hadn’t changed the entire visit. “But I think she wants to encourage milk production, Doctor,” she said, and Pamela gave her a grateful glance.

Dr. Shapiro looked at Pamela and nodded. “I understand. If you’d like, we can have a nurse help you pump until he’s … until you can feed him. Let’s do that. I’ll tell—”

“Doctor, is he responding at all?” Jack’s arms went out toward the physician in desperation. “I mean, we need to know what we’re looking at here.”

Margaret and Pamela stared intently. Lucy folded her arms and peeked at her watch.

Jack continued. “I know low Apgars can indicate cerebral palsy or—”

“He is responding, yes, to a degree. He has been taking formula from a bottle. He’s had at least one bowel movement.”

“Oh, has he? Good.” That relieved Pamela greatly. The more normal, the better. “Has he cried? I mean—”

“Look, can we see him?” Jack shook his head and threw up his hands. “We just need to see him, okay?”

But Pamela wasn’t sure she was ready, mentally. She was scared. She wanted to see him when he was healthy and normal—not like this.
That is so wrong.
She
should
want to see him now, regardless. She didn’t say anything.

“I’ll tell you what,” Dr. Shapiro said. “Give us another thirty minutes or so to wrap up the tests we’re conducting, and we’ll get him ready to see you. How does that sound?” He looked at Pamela. “And you can try to feed him then.”

“Good. Okay.” Jack sighed. “Thank you for all you’re doing.”

Jack walked him to the door, where Dr. Shapiro stopped and turned to Jack, looked him dead in the eyes, and said something with a somber expression, out of Pamela’s earshot.

When he left and the door closed, Jack just stood there, staring at it for the longest time.

A dreadful, sour feeling twisted Pamela’s gut, giving her the distinct impression that their lives were about to change—forever.

45

It was dark, damp, and getting cold. Derrick’s face was in the wet grass, and his wound was burning like it was on fire. The cop gruffly cuffed his hands behind his back, got him up, retrieved his things, and pushed him up the slope toward the main activity near the helicopter and ambulance.

Police and firefighters were running around, calling out to one another. Sirens wailed, getting closer.

“Derrick?” Jenny King broke away from the people she was talking to and hurried over, one of her high heels catching in the thick grass. “My gosh, what’s going on? Officer, I called him here. He’s with the
Gazette
. He covers the senator—”

“I told him that,” Derrick said.

The brash cop’s wide face was set in stone. “Ma’am, we can’t have the media trampling all over a live crime scene.”

“He’s the only one I called,” she said. “Uncuff him so he can do his job.”

“I can’t do that, Miss King. We’re responsible—”

“Would you rather have Senator Sterling tell you?” she said.

The cop panned the grounds, shook his head, and eyed Derrick. “Lemme see your credentials.”

“Around my neck.” Derrick nodded down at his chest.

The cop dug inside his jacket and shone his flashlight on the plastic ID. Without a word he spun him around and uncuffed him.

“I don’t want to hear a peep out of you,” the officer said. “If you’re any trouble, you’ll spend the evening in my squad car. Here.” He handed Derrick his pad and recorder.

Derrick took it and surveyed the situation.

“A thank-you would be in order,” the officer said.

Derrick stared at him. “Thank you, Officer.”

“Yes, thank you,” Jenny said. “Oh, Officer, there will be one reporter coming from WSC-TV, James Jordan. I’ve promised him access, but that’s all. I promise.”

The officer’s eyes burned into hers like lasers.

“I’m expecting him any minute. Give him access, please.”

The cop twirled his little flashlight and stormed off.

Jenny squared up close to Derrick. He smelled coffee on her breath. “The senator’s being treated in the ambulance. The hostiles landed the chopper here. Two vans were waiting; no plates.”

She checked her small pad of notes. “When they were going from the chopper to the vans, the senator made some kind of move. I don’t know the details yet; we’ll find out. There was some turmoil between them, and he got free and ran toward I-24.” She pointed toward the road Derrick and Daniel had come in on. “They shot him once in the leg. I’m not sure if he has any other injuries.”

Jenny nodded toward a burly man in his midforties squatting near the ambulance, holding a Styrofoam cup in his large hands. “That gentleman stopped his pickup when he saw the senator. From there I don’t know what happened—yet. Police have questioned him.”

“Is Sterling going to make a statement here?” Derrick said.

“We’ll see. If so, it’ll be brief. He’ll be anxious to see his family. We’ll do a full press conference tomorrow morning if we can pull it together by then.”

Derrick noticed Daniel just over the slope, hiding behind some brush. If the cops saw him there, he’d get them both kicked out. “Jenny, my cameraman’s out there.” He nodded in Daniel’s direction. “Can he come over with me? I don’t want to cause any more commotion.”

“Derrick, really?” She was annoyed. “You should’ve told me he was here when we were talking to Officer Grumpy.”

Two police cars with blue strobe lights bounced onto the grounds from the far entrance. As they came to a stop, their sirens bleeped to a halt.

“He’d better stick close to you. Tell him no flash. You make me mad, Whittaker.”

“Thanks, Jenny.” Derrick texted Daniel to come over.

“That’s Rufus Peek, FBI special agent in charge,” Jenny said.

Derrick recognized the gaunt man from the press conference. He was talking on his phone while telling some cops where to tape off the area and others where to erect tarps and wind blocks. “The rest of you, stay back, stay back.” Peek waved his free arm in disgust. “This is all evidence. All of it. Get back. Way back. No one but my investigators in there.”

“And you know Hedgwick and Wolfski.” Jenny pointed toward the police captain and SWAT chief, who were deep in conversation. Derrick was surprised Peek had even let them in after the way they’d botched the arena event.

Jenny’s phone played a funky ring tone. She dug for it, pulled out the pearl-white case, and examined the screen. “I’ve got to take this. Behave yourselves. Don’t make me sorry I called you.”

Derrick thanked her again as Daniel approached timidly, like a kid lurking around at a party full of adults.

“Don’t use your flash. I’m gonna talk to this guy.” Derrick nodded toward Sterling’s rescuer, who was still squatting. “Sterling flagged him down for help. Get some shots of him if you can, but be subtle. He doesn’t look much like the photogenic type.”

Derrick felt this guy would respond better to a pad and pen, so he put the tape recorder in his pocket and approached. “Hey there.”

The man barely moved, but his dark eyes shifted upward.

“I’m Derrick Whittaker with the
Gazette
. I understand Senator Sterling flagged you down over here on I-24. Can you tell me about it?”

The man’s bottom lip was bulging with snuff. He worked his jaw as if he were chewing taffy, then leaned over the cup and let a long line of spit sink to the cup. “I told the police everything.” He wiped his beard with the back of his wrist.

“I could get it from their report, but probably not till tomorrow,” Derrick said. “Which way were you going on I-24?”

Without looking up, the man pointed to the right.

“Okay, so you were heading east, and then what happened? Had you seen the helicopter?”

The big man pursed his lips and shook his head. “I didn’t see nothin’ till he come runnin’ out the woods. He caught my eye from the side. I thought it was a deer; there’s a lot of them out here. Then he come right out onto the road. You can see my skid marks. I almost hit him.”

Derrick looked back out to his truck, where more flashing lights and detectives had arrived, then jotted down some notes.

“What happened then?”

The driver looked down and spit into the cup again. “He was panicked. Said people was after him. He’d been shot, was limpin’ pretty bad. I put the truck in park, grabbed my gun, and told him to get down on my side.”

“You had a gun with you in the truck?”

“Always.”

“What kind?”

“Mossberg 500 pump-action with a fifteen-inch barrel. Twelve gauge.”

“A shotgun?” Derrick wrote as fast as he could. It was dark, and his pad was damp, and he wondered if he would even be able to read what he wrote in good light.

“Yeah. By then I’d recognized him—”

“That he was …”

“The senator. Martin Sterling. I got out, pushed him down on my side of the truck, and started firin’. My truck’s big, ya know, so we had plenty of cover.”

“Were they firing at you?”

“At first, but they changed their tune when they heard me blasting back at ’em. I took three shots, and they was good as gone. Cops took my gun, though. That aggravates me.”

“Could you see what they did next?”

“They took off out the other side in a couple big vehicles. I couldn’t see what kind they was.”

“Then what?”

“Cops showed up. Two of ’em seized my truck, my shotgun. Two others brung me up here. You think they’ll take my truck?”

“They’ll definitely need to look at it closely, probably in daylight. They might have to keep it awhile.”

“Of all the … I’m supposed to start a new job out in West Jefferson tomorrow.”

“What do you do?” Derrick said.

“Welder.”

“You live here?”

“Now I do. Spent most of my life in Heath. Typical Ohio country boy.”

“What’s your name?”

“Ed Scarborough.” He spelled the last name for Derrick and gave his age, forty-two.

“Let me ask you, what transpired between the time the bad guys drove away and the cops got here?” Derrick said. “What did you and Sterling do? What was said?”

“Well, we had a look at his wound,” Scarborough said. “I tied it off with a clean rag I had in the truck.”

“Was there just one wound?”

“Yep.”

“And what did he have to say?”

“Not much. He was just about out of juice. I thought he might pass out. Like I said, cops got here lickety-split.”

Just then, Derrick noticed Jenny King drop her phone in her bag and head for the back of the ambulance at a good clip. With her was the WSC-TV camera guy, who must’ve showed up while Derrick was interviewing Scarborough. Special Agent Peek was headed in the same direction, as were Hedgwick and Wolfski.

This was it.

He and the TV guy had a worldwide exclusive.

Derrick’s heartbeat surged. He wished Jack could be there.

He thanked Scarborough and signaled for Daniel to get to the back of the ambulance and be ready to shoot.

More sirens were coming from every direction.

The police were stopping cars at both entry points now.

Derrick got out his recorder as he made his way over, his hands trembling as he checked the settings.

Jenny fixed her lipstick, then spruced her hair.

The fact that Sterling—this hard-nosed, fiery presidential hopeful—had survived, had beaten his assailants, generated an electricity in the air the likes of which Derrick had never experienced before.

The door latch sounded.

All heads turned.

And the ambulance doors opened …