Good Morning, Killer - April Smith [70]
“I mean,” he pressed on, “we might need someone else over at the police department because of what happened to Detective Berringer.”
Chemical material burst inside my chest.
“What happened to Detective Berringer?”
Quick. An alibi. What did I say about being late last night?
“He was shot.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, I think it was yesterday? Or maybe the day before?”
“How is he?”
Before Jason could answer, I began to cough. Dry throat. Closing up. Don’t retch. Breathe.
“Are you okay?”
I gulped the last of some cold, sugary coffee, wiggling my fingers to show everything was fine.
“Berringer?” I gasped.
“In the hospital,” Jason answered.
“Wow. That’s terrible. How is he?”
“I don’t know—”
“How did it happen?”
“Armed robbery.”
“No kidding.”
“He was off duty and a couple of guys just came up to him.”
“Catch the guys?”
“No.”
“How do they know it was armed robbery?”
“That’s what he said.”
“Andrew said that?”
“That’s what he said in the hospital.”
“Sorry, I don’t know why I’m smiling, there’s nothing funny about this.” I tried to suppress a giggle and look fierce. “How come nobody told me? I thought I was senior agent on this case.”
That made him nervous again.
“Sorry about that, I definitely should have come to you right away. I heard them talking in the radio room—”
“It’s okay,” stroking his arm. “Now I know.”
Now it was safe to call Lieutenant Barry Loomis.
“I can’t believe it,” I said over again.
“Things are still touch-and-go.”
“Can I see him?”
“He’s in intensive care,” said Barry. “They’re only allowing family.”
That would be his sister down from Oakland. Did Andrew say he had a brother, too? Somewhere in Florida? The euphoria that had lifted me plain off the floor at Jason’s news that Andrew was not only alive, but claiming he had been the victim of a robbery, and we were going to get through this thing, crashed. Now there were frightened family members waiting in a hospital corridor.
“You said he drove himself to the hospital.”
“He did, but he collapsed. They rushed him into surgery. One of the bullets pierced his lung.”
“Oh my God.”
“That was okay,” Barry went on, “but then he had a cardiac arrest in the ER.”
“No!” I shouted.
Barry was saying things like, “Take it easy. He’ll make it. He’s as tough as they come—”
“I’m sorry, it’s just so—”
“It’s a shock.”
“Why didn’t anybody call me?”
“At a time like this,” he said stiffly, “you tend to close ranks.”
“But he’ll pull through?”
“He’s in a coma, Ana.”
The pain in my kidneys. Everything. I was just undone.
“They don’t know,” he went on. “They’re watching him. Real close. He might have to have heart surgery later on. They found some underlying situation, I’m not exactly clear on that.”
I couldn’t speak. He let me be with it.
“You okay?”
“I’m okay,” I managed. “Thanks, Barry. So, look. Any suspects?”
“Not yet. He hasn’t been able to say a hell of a lot.”
“Did you recover the gun?”
There was a pause. “No such luck.”
“Stay in touch, okay?”
“You got it, hon.”
What’s the matter?” Barbara asked as soon as I walked into her office.
“Andrew was shot. As if you didn’t know.”
“I don’t know. How could I know?”
“Jason knows. The girls in the radio room know.”
I sank to the couch. Barbara went down on one knee, putting herself below me, as you would not to agitate a child, and asked very gently what happened. I told her about the armed robbery and intensive care but then came a round of tears no amount of head slamming was going to stop.
Soon Mike Donnato was in the room and the door was closed and the two of them were beside me on the couch; their hands were quiet on my hands, their voices low and steady.
These were professionals.
“Are you serious about this guy?” asked Mike.
“I care about him.”
“Doesn’t sound like a match made in heaven,” Barbara said.
“Well, it blows hot and cold.”
Mike: “As it were.”
Barbara smacked him. “All I can say is, Ana dear, you