Look For Me (Detective D.D. Warren #9)(46)

They’d returned to St. Elizabeth’s, where Hector Alvalos had been rushed to the ER. Good news for them, the same nurse they’d spoken to earlier, Nancy Corbin, was in charge of his care. The gunshot wound hadn’t been serious. No need for surgery, just some cleaning, patching, and repair. Currently, Hector was recovering in one of the smaller ER rooms. He wore a blue-patterned johnny and was tucked in tight beneath rough-looking white sheets. He had an IV strapped to the back of his hand, a pulse monitor on his index finger, and a couple of other leads that did God knows what and went God knows where.

Did a gunshot wound even earn you an overnight hospital stay anymore? D.D. was wondering. Or maybe with a tough guy who already had an ugly scar running down half his face, they figured he’d be checking himself out soon enough? Hector appeared pale, but not that much worse for the wear.

At the moment, nurse Nancy had granted permission for them to speak with him. If only Hector would feel so accommodating.

“A female matching Roxy’s description was spotted running away from the scene,” Phil attempted next.

Hector shook his head. “I saw plenty of girls around. Beautiful day, everyone outside. Could’ve been any one of them.”

“Running up the street?” D.D. pressed.

“If you heard gunshots, wouldn’t you run?”

D.D. sighed heavily, rubbed her temples. This case was giving her a headache. And to think, seven hours ago, her biggest worry had been what kind of Dog they’d bring home from the shelter. She’d been glancing at her cell phone continuously, looking for news. So far, nothing. Most likely Alex had seen the Amber Alert and was giving her space to work. Too bad. At this point, she’d rather be dealing with a new puppy.

“Walk us through it.” Phil spoke up now, trying to reorient their reluctant witness. “After we spoke to you this morning . . .”

“I went to a meeting,” Hector said immediately, and given the way he said the word, D.D. understood he meant AA.

“I got out. I had a message on my phone. From you. About the dogs. And yes, I would take the dogs. They are good dogs, Manny loved those dogs . . .” Hector’s voice grew thick, his gaze a little wild.

“You came to the coffee shop,” D.D. prodded gently.

“Blaze and Rosie. I saw them right away, tied under the tree. There was a cop there, standing next to them. Like . . . like he was their guard.”

D.D. and Phil nodded.

“I came up. Told him my name. Then I gave him my phone, let him listen to the message. I didn’t want him to think I was trying to do anything wrong. A big guy like me, I can’t be too careful.”

Hector gestured to his scarred face. D.D. imagined his bulk and demeanor didn’t always sit well with the law enforcement community. Especially given his actions at the crime scene this morning, when he’d taken down one of her officers.

“I played with Rosie and Blaze. They seemed very happy to see me. I told them I was taking them home, they could live with me now. Are they okay?” Hector asked abruptly. “Who has them?”

“The dogs are fine. A teacher from Roxy’s school has them.”

“She has a house? What about a yard? They need a yard. Blaze likes to be outside, Rosie, too. Manny said so.”

“The woman promised to take good care of them. When we’re done here, depending on how well you’re feeling—and how well this conversation goes,” D.D. added, “we can work on reuniting you with the dogs. Okay?”

Hector lowered his gaze, nodded sheepishly. For a tough guy, he reminded D.D. an awful lot of her five-year-old son when he was in trouble.

“The cop, he gave me back my phone,” Hector continued now. “He made a call of his own. Then he said everything checked out. I could take the dogs.”

“The officer left,” Phil provided, as that was their understanding from the scene.

“Yes, he walked away. I was standing there, trying to figure out if I should call for a cab, because you can’t take dogs on the bus. Or maybe I should walk, as it was a nice day, but would that be too much for the dogs? Maybe they needed food, which reminded me, I needed to buy food. And probably dog beds, toys. So much to think about, things I hadn’t considered. Then . . .

“Crack. I heard it. I knew what it was, too. Gunshot. I’ve heard them enough times. But I didn’t realize at first . . . My arm . . . my shoulder. It felt like it was on fire. Then I saw the blood trickling down my hand and I realized I was shot. I was the one who got shot. I fell to the ground. In front of the dogs. I wanted to protect the dogs. Because, you know, I had not been there for Manny. So I had to save the dogs. You understand? My son, he loved those dogs . . .”

D.D. and Phil nodded. Hector’s voice had grown thick, and once again his dark eyes had a wet sheen.

“People were screaming. Someone was yelling to stay down. Rosie and Blaze pressed against me. Shaking. Or maybe that was me. I don’t know. But . . . nothing happened.” Hector tried to shrug, winced at the pain. “No more gunshots. Nothing. I waited and waited, then the cop was back and many more lights and sirens.”

“Did you see anyone running up the street?” Phil asked.

“Lots of people were running.”

“Even on the other side of the street?”

“I didn’t look at the other side of the street. I kept my attention on the dogs. They were upset, whining.”