In a Heartbeat - Elizabeth Adler [8]
“Quick, he needs a shot of dobutamine.” Dr. Jacobs was all business as he injected the stimulant directly into Ed’s heart. “Jesus, Ed,” he muttered, “I’m not gonna lose you now, not after all this.” But he knew it was touch and go.
8
“How’s he doing, Doc?” Brotski, the young duty cop outside the ICU, prowled, big-footed and out of place with his uniform and weapons, down the silent, antiseptic-smelling corridor. He was there in the hope that Ed Vincent would come out of his coma before he died and tell them who had shot him. “Any chance of him waking up?”
Jacobs buttoned his Armani jacket. He straightened his tie, wondering what to tell him. After all, Ed was in some other world; the name he had mentioned could be meaningless. But he had to do his duty. “Mr. Vincent opened his eyes for a minute, seemed like he wanted to say something.” He paused, remembering Ed’s crazy, urgent stare. “I asked him who did it.”
“Jeez. What’d he say?”
“Zelda. That’s all he said. Zelda.”
Art surely hoped he was doing the right thing, but that was what Ed had wanted to tell him. Anyhow, now the deed was done. If this woman, Zelda, had shot him, the cops would find her, and Ed would at least be vindicated.
As he walked away, thinking this might be the last time he saw his friend alive, the cop was already on the phone to Homicide Detective Marco Camelia. The wheels of justice were already in motion.
Camelia was at the hospital in minutes. And so was the media, who in true hack fashion had gotten wind of Ed’s identity and were all over the place. Tabloid reporters camped outside and attempted to sneak in, and TV units filmed the blank hospital facade, as though it were of importance. Ed’s shooting was now hot news.
Officer Brotski was waiting for him, self-important with his own news.
“Mr. Vincent has not woken up since he said that name, sir. Zelda.”
Camelia gave a disappointed grunt.
“Dr. Jacobs asked him specifically who did it. His answer was—”
“I know, I know. Zelda.” Camelia thought wearily that youth and enthusiasm could be trying on a man’s patience.
Zelda. Zelda had done it. She had shot him. That’s what Vincent had told his friend Dr. Jacobs. But when Camelia had spoken to Doc Jacobs on the phone, he had told him he didn’t know of any Zelda. Besides, he’d added, Vincent could have been hallucinating, they shouldn’t take it too seriously. He was comatose, his brain out of sync, traveling off in some dreamworld, who knew where.
Still, Zelda was the only name to come out of his mouth. The only thing Camelia had to go on.
The following morning, he climbed into the police car and headed downtown to Ed’s office, where he had an appointment with Rick Estevez, Ed’s assistant and, he assumed, right-hand man.
Vincent Towers Madison speared skyward, a sheet of glass and rough-faced limestone reminiscent of LA’s Getty Museum, only without the sylvan setting. Arcades of bamboo and indoor plantings softened the echoing, streamlined triple-height atrium, arranged in serried geometric rows that Camelia found extremely pleasing, though he wasn’t one of your “modernists.” Surprisingly unbusy people lounged at small steel tables, sipping café latté under green umbrellas, just as though they were in a park, and shoppers wandered in and out of the smart boutiques.
Whatever else, Vincent had good taste, Camelia thought as he was whisked soundlessly up to the fiftieth floor and decanted, with not so much as a bump, into the reception area of Ed Vincent’s palatial offices.
The receptionist was a stunner, a sleek, elegant blonde with deep blue eyes that looked as though they had been shedding tears not too long ago. Could she have been crying for Ed? he wondered, surprised at such loyalty. Nah, more likely it was her boyfriend acting up.
She sniffed back a tear as she greeted him, said he was expected, and offered him a cup of coffee, which he refused.
“You’re upset,” Camelia said, stating the obvious.
“Yes, sir. We all are.” She mopped the tears hastily. “Mr. Vincent is not only a good boss, he’s a