The Devil's Right Hand - J. D. Rhoades [33]
“Leonard’s the cousin I told you about.”
McCaskill nodded. “Here’s where it gets interesting. Oxendine’s father was killed in an apparent robbery a few days ago. And Oxendine’s brother Raymond is upstairs in ICU. Somebody shot him in the gut, but he’s going to live.” Keller thought of the man he had seen shoot Leonard Puryear. “Big guy, curly hair?”
“Haven’t seen him,” McCaskill said. He looked pointedly at Keller. “Have you?” Keller was silent for a moment, thinking it over. “Because right now,” McCaskill went on, “the cops have nothing tying you to any of the deaths at the house. Raymond Oxendine isn’t talking. Naturally, neither are the two men downstairs in the morgue. But if you tell the police what you know about who shot either of them, that puts you at the scene. With a gun in your hand.”
“You think I should keep my mouth shut.”
McCaskill smiled thinly. “As an officer of the Court, of course I’m not telling you not to cooperate with the police.”
“It was self-defense,” Keller said.
“And I’m sure I could be successful with that defense. At trial. Pretty sure, at least. After all, I’ve done it for you before.”
Keller closed his eyes. “Just get me out of here,” he said.
“Thanks to Detective Stacy’s little display, I’mreasonably sure I can manage that,” McCaskill said. Keller heard him stand up. He opened his eyes.
“What about Officer Jones?” he said.
McCaskill looked puzzled. “What about her?”
“It sounded like she’s getting hung out to dry over Wesson’s death. I don’t want that to happen. It was Wesson who fucked up, not her.”
McCaskill patted him on the shoulder. “She’s not my client, Keller. You are. She’s not my problem, and not yours.”
“Jesus,” Keller said. “I keep forgetting what a cold bastard you are.”
“Of course I am,” McCaskill said. He smiled. “It’s why you and Angela keep calling me. I’m exactly who you want on your side.”
CHAPTER FIVE
The first thing Raymond was aware of was the slow, steady beep of the heart monitor. The sound percolated downwards into his conscious mind like water seeping into the earth. There was the low hum of machinery and the sharp smell of some kind of antiseptic. He opened his eyes without moving.
The room was tiny, almost a cubicle, crammed with gleaming white and chrome machines that surrounded his bed like sentinels. Each of the machines trailed long wires or tubes that ran under the crisp white sheet and attached at various points to his body. The room was in semidarkness, lit only by the green and red lights of the machines and a soft glow that appeared to come from one wall of the room. Raymond turned his head slightly. As his eyes came into focus, he realized that the glowing wall consisted of a heavy sliding door of metal and glass. The door was half opened, with a thin gauze curtain for an illusion of privacy. The glow came from the fluorescent lights beyond the curtain. There was a shadow cast by the lights, a human figure standing beyond that veil. For a moment, Raymond thought back to Sunday School lessons about the Temple in Israel. There was a veil there, hiding the Holy of Holies, where God dwelt. His head spun for a moment as he thought he might be about to come face to face with...the curtain parted and the illusion shattered. A short redhead in a nurse’s uniform entered. She was carrying a plastic bag that appeared to be full of some kind of fluid. The shadow was revealed as a large man in a police uniform with his back turned to the room. He was standing guard, Raymond realized. More clarity returned and he felt the cold circle of metal around his wrist. He was cuffed to the bed.
As the nurse approached he closed his eyes, pretending to still be unconscious. As he listened to the sounds of the nurse performing whatever errand had brought her in, he wondered what had happened to John Lee. He wondered how much the cops knew. Enough, he figured, or he wouldn’t be cuffed to the bed. Finally, he heard the nurse leave. He opened his eyes again.