The Sisterhood - Michael Palmer [104]
John Dockerty knelt by the door to David’s apartment and watched as the medical examiner’s team finished working around Ben’s body and wheeled it into the elevator. He looked up at the patrolman who had been making inquiries in the other apartments on the floor. The man shrugged and shook his head. “Nothing,” he mouthed.
The news came as no surprise to Dockerty. Survival in the city meant hearing, seeing, and reporting as little as possible. He picked at the bullet holes in the doorjamb, then retraced the steps it seemed the action had taken. There was blood smeared on the hallway floor and wall of David’s apartment and along the bottom of the open bedroom window. He made a note to check David’s military and health records for mention of his blood type.
A fatal knife wound, bullet holes, blood all over, an old drunk shot to death two blocks away, and not one witness. Dockerty rubbed at the fatigue stinging his eyes and tried to re-create the scenario. There were several possibilities, none of which looked good for Shelton. He had little doubt the man was dead.
At that moment David’s phone began ringing. Dockerty hesitated, then answered it.
“Hello?”
“Lieutenant Dockerty, please.”
“This is Dockerty.”
“Lieutenant, it’s Sergeant Mcllroy at the Fourth. We just got a call from one of our people at Doctors Hospital. Apparently this David Shelton—you know, the one you busted for that mercy killing?”
“Yeah, I know, I know.”
“Well, this Shelton showed up a little while ago on the emergency ward all smashed up. I called your precinct and they said you’d want to know about it right away.”
“Tell your people to hold him at the hospital,” Dockerty said.
“Can’t. He’s gone. Took off with some guy a few minutes after he arrived. No one realized it until too late. Our men were off taking statements from two assholes who had a shoot-out at the High Five Bar.”
“Who the hell was the guy?” Dockerty’s head began to throb.
“Don’t know.”
“Well, isn’t it on Shelton’s emergency sheet?”
“That’s just it. There is no emergency sheet. The clerk swears she typed one out, but now no one can find it.”
“Jesus Christ. What in the hell is going on?”
“Don’t know, sir.”
“Well, tell the men at the hospital I’ll be right over. They’re not to let anyone leave who saw Shelton. No one. Got that?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Jesus Christ.” Dockerty dropped the receiver in place and swept some strands of hair off his eyes and back under his hat. It was going to be a long goddamn night.
Rudy Fisher made three passes along Christine’s street before Rosetti felt certain there were no “surprises.” He directed the giant to wait half a block away, then helped David up the concrete steps to the house. “Old Leonard’s probably having a time of it right now.” Joey laughed. “I can just imagine him trying to weasel his way out of that situation in the hospital with the only ten or twelve words that he knows.”
David braced himself on his crutches and peered through the row of small panes paralleling the door. He moved gingerly, but even a slight turn or drop of his head brought renewed dizziness and nausea. The prolonged hypothermia, he realized, had somehow impaired his balance center or perhaps his body’s ability to make quick blood-pressure adjustments.
The house was dark, save for a dim light coming from a room on the right—the living room, David guessed. He glanced at his watch. Nearly 1:00 A.M.
“I guess