In the hospital’s main lobby, Bruno touched Janet’s arm and said, “I’ll wait here.”
Janet took the elevator up to the ICU floor and spotted Carmela Rosales in the waiting area. She rushed over to her. They cried as they held onto one another for support. After almost a minute, Janet stepped back and motioned for Carmela to sit in a chair across from her.
“Any news?” Janet asked.
“They did surgery to stop the bleeding and repair the internal damage. They have him on IV antibiotics to prevent infection, and are watching him closely.” She dabbed at tears with a tissue. “They say he’s doing as well as can be expected.”
“He’s tough,” Janet said. “If anyone can make it through, it’s Hugo.”
Janet reached across the small space between them and took Carmela’s hands. They sat like that for a couple of minutes. Then Janet said, “Do you know what Hugo and John were doing out here?”
Carmela nodded. “Hugo complained about having to come here. He said it was all political BS. He told me the D.A. wanted to track down a man who could testify against some investment banker. He said the man they were looking for might be connected with organized crime.” She shrugged and added, “I think there’s a connection to the shooting you were involved with in Redondo Beach last spring.” Carmela’s mouth turned down as though she’d tasted something awful. “I think Hugo told me they were looking for a man named Pedace.”
Janet felt her face go hot.
Carmela continued, “That bastard Barry Rath used John and Hugo to help with his re-election.” Her voice got louder when she added, “And look what happened. Rath is responsible for John’s death and Hugo’s…” Carmela devolved into sobs.
“I can hang around to make sure you get your car,” the Brooklyn policeman told Victoria Nguyen when he pulled into the impound lot.
Nguyen squinted at the young man. “That’s not necessary. I’m sure you have many more important things to do than babysit me.”
The cop blushed. “It would be my pleasure, Ms. Nguyen.”
She could sense the cop was coming on to her. She gave him a hard look and said, “How about you just drop me off at the impound office. I’ll be okay from there.”
“I can do that,” the officer said, sounding disappointed.
“By the way,” she said, “do you know the name of the detective who was shot last night? The one from California.”
The officer answered, “Rosales. Hugo Rosales.”
“I hope he’ll be okay.”
The young man shrugged. “I have no idea. I hope so, too.” He pulled up to the office at the front of the impound lot, dropped her off, and drove away.
Inside the office, Nguyen went to the counter and gave her name to a uniformed officer.
“Oh, yes, ma’am,” the officer said as he took a file off a desk behind him and opened it on the counter. “I’ve been expecting you. We have your purse. It’s in a locker. We inventoried everything in your vehicle. You’ll find it all just as we found it.”
A chill hit her spine and her stomach felt suddenly queasy. Her spare pistol—a Beretta—was under the trunk liner, along with two loaded clips.
The cop passed an inventory sheet to her. “Why don’t you go over that while I get your purse from the property cage? Then I’ll go get your car.” He smiled. “Gotta check your ID before I can turn over your car.”
By the time the officer had checked Nguyen’s ID from her wallet and gone outside to retrieve her Audi, fifteen minutes had passed. She was getting more aggravated by the second, thinking she would miss Pedace at the hospital. Another five minutes went by before the officer returned.
“It’s right outside,” he said. “I left the motor running and turned the heater all the way up.”
“Thanks,” Nguyen barked. She signed a release form, scooted outside, jumped behind the wheel of her Audi, and roared away.
Detective Rhonda Sparks balled up the remains of her turkey sandwich in the paper wrapper and stuffed it in the empty paper cup her iced tea had come in. She grimaced at Nicoletti and said, “Another executive lunch at Subway.”
Nicoletti chuckled as he wiped crumbs from his tie and shirt. “You always take me to the best places.”
Sparks frowned and said, “They’ve got the best banana peppers in the world at Subway. That’s the reason I come here.”
“You serious?”
She laughed and led the way outside. A cold but lazy, anemic breeze that carried the pungent aroma from the McDonald’s restaurant on the other side of the street ruffled her short hair and caused her to button up her trench coat.
“You smell that?” Nicoletti said. “Grease in the wind. Nothing like it.”
“If I didn’t look out for you, you’d eat nothing but cheeseburgers and fries every day.”
“Yeah, but what a way to go.”
“What say we stop at the hospital and check on Rosales? You can get your blood pressure checked while we’re there.”
“Ha, ha. You know we could call. Besides, we just left there less than an hour ago.”
Sparks compressed her lips and shrugged. “Yeah, we could and we did. But no one will give us information over the phone. And it’s on the way back to the station.”
“Whatever you want, partner,” Nicoletti said.
Sparks laughed. “You know if my ex had learned that phrase we’d probably still be married.”
“Nah, that guy was an idiot.”
Victoria Nguyen made it to the hospital parking lot in eight minutes, parked in the lot as close to the building as possible, and popped the trunk release. At the rear of the vehicle, she lifted the trunk liner and blew out a loud breath when she saw the automatic and the loaded clips. She shrugged on a parka she kept in the trunk and swapped the surgical slippers for heavy wool socks and ankle-high boots. With the pistol now in the right-hand pocket of the parka, she slammed the trunk closed and moved toward the hospital entrance.
A guard at the front door eyeballed her, smiled, and touched his forehead in a half-assed salute. She guessed the surgical scrubs she wore under her open parka sent the message that she legitimately belonged in the building. Around a corner from the front lobby, she came to an information desk and asked, “Can you give me the number of Hugo Rosales’s room?”
CHAPTER 25
The drive from the Subway shop to the hospital took Sparks and Nicoletti ten minutes. The breeze had grown into a gale. The cold blasts caused them to hustle to the front entrance from the visitors’ parking lot. As they approached the elevator doors, one sprang open. Inside the car, Nicoletti pressed the button for the ICU.
“You realize this is a waste of time,” he said.
“Yeah, probably. But that’s what most detective work is anyway. Humor me.”
Nicoletti scowled for a couple seconds, then smiled. “No wonder you’re no longer married.”
“Right,” Sparks said. “My divorce was all about me being a pain in the ass, but had nothing to do with my husband sleeping with his secretary.”