* May 1986 *

 “This is all your fault,” the man shouted. He kept his eyes on the road, although every few seconds he would glace over to the slender, young woman wearing a Florida sunshine tee shirt next to him in the cab of the pickup truck. The pretty brunette with long, reddish-brown hair didn’t respond. 

The road had no streetlights or artificial lighting. It was dark, cave dark, a total and complete absence of light except for the illumination from the car’s headlights. The driver saw two red dots ahead. They soon materialized into a lone coyote scurrying across the road.

“I mean look at this from my point of view,” the man continued. “I didn’t want this to happen. It’s all your fault.”  

The woman’s hazelnut-colored eyes continued to stare ahead.

The driver pounded the steering wheel. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

The driver saw the headlights of another vehicle approaching. He kept moving forward. He didn’t want anyone to stop because they thought he was a stranded motorist. The car passed him, going in the opposite direction. The driver watched until the car’s rear lights were out of sight.

The driver brought his pickup to a stop. Yes, this is a good spot, he thought. There are no lights. There’s very little traffic, so I can stop on the pavement and not have to pull over onto the shoulder of road and stay out of the dirt. I have to be careful not to leave footprints, but that’s not difficult.  The good thing is there’s  a ditch to help hide her. Yes, this is the perfect spot to dump the body.

∞∞∞∞∞

* Thirty-four years later *

Day One / Chapter One

A tall woman wearing a stylish sweat suit stepped off the elevator into the editorial office of City Times Newspaper. People were seated at their desks talking to those next to them instead of  working on computers. Several were watching one of the four large TV monitors on the wall. The tall woman with shoulder-length blond hair took a few steps in one direction, searching for her quarry. Not finding him in that section of the room, she advanced to another part of the office. Still, the person of her quest was not in sight. She kept shifting her weight from one foot to another, searching. She was becoming frustrated by her lack of success.

“Hey Paula,” a voice behind her said. “What took you so long?”

Paula Stafford turned to face a man standing a bit less than four feet tall. “Give me a break Terry. What is so important that I had to come here? What couldn’t you tell me over the phone?”

Terry Lambert took a deep breath and pulled Paula aside, out of earshot of the others in the room. “Something terrible has happened.”

“What?”

“It’s Becky.”

“Becky? Little Miss Sunshine who loves everybody? What could possibly be the problem with her?”

Terry sighed. “The worst kind. She’s been shot.”

∞∞∞∞∞

Hospitals all have the same smell. It’s one of antiseptic and cleaning solutions trying to hide odors from vomit, blood, and other bodily functions. There are the sounds of machines beeping; beds being wheeled around; medical personnel calling over the intercom for medicine, medical procedures, or equipment; and people crying when doctors or nurses tell them the results of procedures. There are children crying and whining because of their discomfort and boredom along with mothers complaining about the length of time it takes for a doctor to see them and their child. The hallways act as natural megaphones to amplify every smell and sound.

Paula took a deep breath and let it out slowly as she and Terry entered the ER waiting room. Surprise and shock didn’t often come to Paula Stanford. Her combat experience in Iraq as a military police officer for the Marine Corps prepared her for news of friends being wounded or killed. But this time it was different. Becky wasn’t a combat casualty. “Who would do such a thing? Becky is one of the sweetest people I know. Why would anyone want to shoot her?”

“Don’t know,” Terry replied. “All the police told us was she was leaving her apartment when someone shot her. We really don’t know anything about what happened or how she is.”

“Someone shot her at her apartment. What did she do that would make a person want to kill her?”

“Kill her?” Terry asked with disbelief.

“This person targeted her. She was not shot by accident. Whoever shot her wanted her dead. We’re lucky that she’s still alive, and we can only hope and pray for her.”

“Is that it?”

“What do you expect?”

Terry took a deep breath. “I was kind of hoping you would be able to help us do a bit more.”

Paula furrowed her eyebrows. “Do a bit more? Like what? I mean I like Becky, but we really aren’t that close. She works with you at the newspaper. You’re a lot closer to her than I am.”

“Yes, I know. But she’s been shot. You’re the only person I can think of who’s dealt with people being wounded. I don’t know what to do or how to help her.”

“Be there for the family,” Paula replied. “Honestly, it’s the doctor and nurses who are going to help her. You need to focus on helping the family deal with this.”

“What about you?” Terry asked. “Will you help us? You know Becky. You like her. She helped us with that serial killer last year. I really need your help with this.”

Paula groaned and uncrossed her arms. “Okay. I’ll help. Why not? You’re right. I actually do like the kid.”

Terry looked around the waiting room before touching Paula’s arm and motioning to a middle-aged couple. “Come on. Let me introduce you to Becky’s parents.” They approached the couple. “Paula, this here is Doctor John Watson and his wife, Lynda. They’re Becky’s parents.” Terry faced the Watsons. “ This is Paula Stanford. She’s a good friend of Becky’s.”

Paula stepped forward and extended her hand to Dr. Watson. “Becky often talked about you. She told me you’re a Sherlock Holmes fan. You turned her into one too.”

“Well,” Dr. Watson replied with a grin. “Being named John Watson, it was only natural I became a fan. And you can believe I get plenty of ribbing from my patients about my name.”

Paula gave him a slight nod. “I wish our meeting was under better circumstances.”

“So do I,” Dr. Watson answered.

“I can’t believe it,” Paula said, letting out a long sigh. “Who would want to shoot Becky?” Paula watched as Becky’s parents nodded and walked away to find space alone where they could comfort each other. She searched for a seat before she sat down. Terry took a seat next to her.

“I think they design these things to be as uncomfortable as possible,” Terry said as he squirmed in the chair. “Probably so people will get up and pace around.”

“I’m sure they do,” Paula replied. ”If you’re that uncomfortable, let’s go and get some coffee,” Paula suggested.

Paula smiled as she stood up and motioned for Terry to join her. She followed the signs to the hospital cafeteria. Terry stopped at the entrance.

“What’s the matter?” Paula asked. “I know it’s not the chairs.”

“Bad memories,” Terry answered. He motioned with his hand that they should go ahead. They went through the line picking up pastry and  coffee. They found an empty table.

Paula sat down and leaned back in her chair. “Bad memories? You and me both. Want to talk about it?”

Terry stared at Paula. “Talk about what?”

“Your bad memories.”

Terry took a sip of coffee and took a deep breath. “Not really.”

“I tell the VA counselor the same thing. But she insists I tell her anyway. It’s supposed to help.”

Terry took a deep breath. “I doubt it. It’s really personal.”

“Of course it is. You wouldn’t be upset if it wasn’t. Come on. Tell me. I promise it will remain between the two of us.”

Terry took a moment to consider Paula’s advice. “Five years ago, my wife,” Terry began slowly. “Kristen was killed in a traffic accident. The driver of the car that t-boned her was drunk and here in this hospital because of his injuries. I tried to go up to his room, to confront him. The police stopped me. I spent two weeks here in the hospital trying to see him. I spent a lot of time in this very cafeteria. Every time I tried to see  him; the staff stopped me. I tried to see him when he was released, but the police kept him in pretrial custody, and I wasn’t allowed to have any contact with him. He made a plea deal and served three years. He took my wife from me and he spent three years for being drunk and killing her.”

“Is that why you don’t drive? I noticed you don’t have a car.”

Before Terry could answer, Detectives Nick Marshall and David Freedman entered the cafeteria and walked over to him and Paula. Marshall was lean and a natural athlete. He won a baseball scholarship, which got him through college. After college, he tried out for a professional team but wasn’t quite good enough. He was still an avid fan of the game. Many said the only time he was in a good mood was when he was watching a baseball game, a pastime he enjoyed sharing with his two children. Freedman was tall, muscular, extremely easy-going, and at least ten years younger than Marshall. His good looks and being a bachelor made him extremely popular among the single women at the police department.

“Good to see you,” Marshall said as he and Freedman approached Paula and Terry. “I take it you’re down here because of your friend being shot.”

“What a marvelous deduction,” Paula responded sarcastically. You should be a detective. Oh, wait, you are. Now, tell us what happened. Who did this? Why did they do it?”

“Actually, I’m hoping you could tell me,” Marshall said, waving his hand toward Terry. “Here’s what we know. Your friend was coming out of her apartment, probably going to work. Witnesses said someone in a dark SUV called out to her. She approached the vehicle and the driver shot her twice, then sped off. A couple of people were on the street, but they didn’t get a look at the driver and didn’t really notice the SUV until they heard the shots. They rushed over to help your friend. One of them called for an ambulance. Your friend was lucky. Between first aid one of the bystanders gave her and the quick response from the EMTs, they were able to keep her alive until she got here. We’re also fortunate that Fort Stebbins is a large enough city to have a first-rate trauma center. What’s her status?”

“We don’t know,” Paula replied. “We’re waiting. I know Becky’s parents have been here for several hours. I guess it’s a good sign. It means she’s still in surgery. Why don’t we talk to her parents? They may have some news on Becky.” She and Terry stood up and started for the exit.

“Good idea,” Marshall said as he and Freedman followed Paula and Terry out of the cafeteria back to the waiting room.

“I’m assuming you’ve processed the crime scene and canvassed the neighborhood. Did you find anything?” Paula asked as they walked to the ER waiting room.

Marshall groaned. “Yes, and no. We didn’t find anything. And trust me when I tell you we went over the scene with a fine-tooth comb. Nothing. Nada. Not a thing. As for canvassing the neighborhood, that was easy. It seemed everyone who knew your friend was more than eager to talk to us. Again, nothing. We even looked for cameras in the neighborhood. There were a few and we’re reviewing the footage; but so far, nothing. All we know is someone drove up to your friend’s place and shot her. The only real lead we have is she was targeted, someone wanted to kill her. Now, would you know of any reason for someone to hurt your friend?”

“First of all, her name is Becky,” Paula curtly answered. “And no, I don’t know why anyone would want to hurt her. To tell you the truth, Becky is one of the sweetest people I know. I can’t imagine anyone wanting to hurt her.”

“That’s what her neighbors said,” Freedman added. “They said she was the kind of person who went out of her way to be nice to everyone.”

“Let’s look at this differently,” Marshall said being sure to address Terry. “Maybe it was something she was working on. Can you think of anything she was working on that would have caused someone to want to hurt her?”

Terry shook his head. “Not that I can think of. She’s fairly new; she’s been with us for less than a year, so she wouldn’t be doing any kind of investigative reporting. Have you talked to her parents? They might know something. I can introduce you to them. They’re in the ER waiting room.”

“Still, we’ll want to check her files,” Marshall stated as they entered the waiting room. “Can you help us with that?”

Before Terry could answer, a middle-aged doctor in scrubs came into the waiting room. He immediately approached John and Lynda Watson.

Paula rushed over to the doctor. “Are you the doctor who operated on Becky Watson? How is she?”

The doctor took a step back. “Excuse me, but who are you?”

“I’m Paula Stanford, Becky’s friend. Please tell me how’s she doing.”

The doctor put up his hands. “I’m sorry, but I can’t give out information about a patient without her consent. The only people I can talk to are her family. In this case, it’s Dr. Watson and his wife.”

Marshall stepped up and put himself between the doctor and Paula, forcing her to back up. “I’m Detective Nick Marshall with the Fort Stebbins Police Department. We’re all concerned about Ms. Watson. I’ll need to talk to you about getting information for our investigation.”

“Of course,” the doctor replied. “But first, I must talk to Dr. Watson and his wife.”

Marshall and Freedman pulled Paula and Terry aside while the surgeon informed Becky’s parents of her condition. As soon as the surgeon stepped away, Paula along with Terry, Marshall and Freedman approached Becky’s parents.

“What did the doctor say?” Paula demanded.

John was holding Lynda, who was trying to hold back her tears. “He told us Becky was brought in with two gunshot wounds to her chest. They were able to remove the bullets, which they will turn over to the police. They were also able to stop the bleeding. But she went into cardiac arrest while on the operating table. Of course, they were able to restart her heart. But Becky is in critical condition. Still, she’s young and strong, so there’s hope she will recover.”

“Can we see her?” Paula pleaded

“She in the ICU. She’s still unconscious. They’re keeping her in a medically induced coma. It will help her rest and heal. Right now, there isn’t anything you can do. Lynda and I are going in to see her. If you make sure I have your contact information, I’ll call you if there is any change.”

“Is anything we can do for you and Becky?” Terry asked.

“Not at this time, but thank you for your consideration,” John answered.

Paula took a deep breath and nodded that she understood. She led Terry away from Becky’s parents. “Now’s not the time to visit her. It’s better if we let her parents spend some time alone  with her. In the meantime, let’s find the son of a bitch who shot Becky.”

∞∞∞∞∞

One good thing about hospital waiting rooms is when they are crowded, no one really notices you. Yes, you’re on security cameras; but if you don’t do anything to attract attention, it’s like you’re a part of the furniture. That’s just the way he liked it. It seemed natural to the other occupants in the room for an old man to be alone, waiting for news.

There was a tall blond woman in a track suit. With her was a really short guy. They made an odd couple. Probably friends. There was an older couple who seemed to know the other two. It didn’t take long before he realized they were there for the same reason he was. He wanted to know how the young blond who was shot this morning was doing. 

After several hours, a couple of detectives arrived. That caused him some concern. Then, a doctor came out and told the older couple the patient’s condition. Like the parents, he wasn’t pleased about what he had heard. The patient was still alive.