Jubilee's Journey (Wyattsville #2)(47)

When he arrived at the hospital, Mahoney found Gomez had already been there and gone. “I think he’s coming back later,” the duty nurse said. Mahoney saw this as an opportunity. Captain Rogers, true to his word, had called ahead so there was no problem getting in to talk with the boy.

Mahoney showed his badge, spoke briefly with the officer at the door, then entered the room. A kid with the body of a man and the face of a teenager lay in the bed, his head raised slightly and his eyes staring up at a water-stained ceiling. The television flickered, yet he seemed unaware it was there. The boy was no longer on a respirator, but the bandage on his throat was evidence that he had been.

“Good morning,” Mahoney said.

No response. Nothing.

Mahoney continued. He asked the kind of nebulous questions that answered nothing. “Do you know where you are?” “Do you remember being shot?” “Do you remember walking into Klaussner’s Grocery Store?” Not one of these questions generated even a flicker of the boy’s eyelid. He looked neither right nor left, just continued staring at the faded brown stain that said some time in the near or distant past water had seeped through there.

Once he’d run through the gamut, Mahoney asked the question he had come to ask.

“Paul, do you think Jubilee is still sitting on the bench waiting for you?”

The boy did not respond, turn his head, or speak, but his eyes grew wide and flickered nervously. His heart began racing, and the neon heart monitor flew past 160. It climbed to 190, then jumped to 210. Mahoney saw the reaction and continued. “Your sister needs your help,” he said, but before he could go any further a nurse came running into the room.

“What going on here?” she asked.

“Routine questions,” Mahoney answered. He reached across the bed and gave the boy’s leg a comforting pat. “Rest easy, son,” he said. “I’ll stop back later.”





As Mahoney stood in the hallway waiting for a down elevator, Gomez stepped out of one on its way up. His displeasure was obvious.

“What are you doing here? I thought you weren’t in on the Klaussner case.”

“I’m not, actually. I just thought there was a chance the kid you had might be related to my missing person.”

“Yeah, I bet,” Gomez sneered. “So what’d you find out?”

“Like the file indicated, the kid’s non-responsive.” A down arrow flashed green, and Mahoney stepped into the elevator. As the doors were closing he glanced back and thought he saw a look of malice on Gomez’s face.

With his face turning redder by the second, Gomez rumbled down the hospital corridor, pushed through the intensive care department doors, and headed for the boy’s room. The duty nurse stopped him before he was halfway across the floor.

“Not now,” she said. “He’s had enough for a while. His heartbeat’s still over two hundred.”

“That last detective who was here,” Gomez said, “what’d he find out?”

“Ask him,” she answered and turned off in a huff.

“Damn,” Gomez grumbled.





Hector Gomez



Did you ever get a thorn caught under your skin? It hurts like hell, but you can’t get it out. That’s what Mahoney is to me: a thorn under my skin. He shouldn’t even be here. He belongs in Northampton. So why is he sticking his nose in where it don’t belong? Why is he looking to screw up another case for me?

If not for his meddling, I’d have made detective last June instead of waiting another ten months. Mahoney’s why the Doyle case went south. I could’ve had the kid for the shooting, but then he shows up with this do-gooder attitude and makes me look bad. Justice don’t give a crap about how old a person is; guilty is guilty. And that kid was guilty. I could feel it in my bones.

You know what I think? I think Mahoney’s got it in for me. Don’t ask why, ‘cause I don’t know. Maybe ‘cause I’m younger or better looking. Who knows? I really don’t care what his reason is. This much I can tell you: he ain’t getting away with it again.

Klaussner put a bullet in the punk’s head to keep him from robbing the store, and that’s all the proof I need. This kid is guilty, no question.

If Mahoney thinks I’m gonna roll over on this one, he’s got another think coming.





Jubilee’s Choice



When Mahoney left the hospital he was all but certain the boy lying in the hospital bed was Jubilee’s brother. There were no new facts, no spoken word, not even a nod, but the glimmer of recognition was there. Some relationships were so close that the bond of love bypassed locked doors, ignored time, and paid no attention to circumstance.

He thought back to the day his own dad died. It was June twenty-first, seventeen years ago. Jack was new on the force and working days. That morning as he stood in front of the mirror shaving he felt it: a wrenching pain in his chest. It came sharp and sudden, hammered him for a minute, then passed. Jack gave a sigh of relief and got dressed, but even though the pain was gone the bitterness of acid indigestion continued all day. He gulped down two rolls of Tums, but nothing helped. At four o’clock he got the call: at seven-thirty that morning the man he loved and respected more than any other human on earth had suffered a massive heart attack. For the remainder of the day it had been touch and go, then at three-thirty-seven Jack’s dad passed away.