Into the Night(64)

The nurse, a man in his early twenties, pointed down the hallway. “He’s in Recovery, but you know he’s not going to be able to really talk now, right?”

Bowen glanced down the hallway and nodded curtly. “Thanks.” He and Macey made their way to Recovery.

“He needs a guard,” Macey said. “After his attack, we can’t be sure the killer won’t come back to finish the job.”

“That’s if the killer isn’t Peter Carter.” Because Peter was also in that hospital. Under guard and in surgery.

They flashed their badges to the staff in the recovery area, and soon they were standing next to McKinley’s bedside. Thick bandages covered his throat, and the doctor who’d accompanied them inside—Dr. Tracy White—leaned over her patient. “Dr. McKinley,” she announced. “You have guests.” She looked up at Bowen, then Macey, her dark gaze stern. “My patient has been through quite an ordeal. I can only allow you to stay with him for a few moments, and I must ask that you do not stress him in any manner.”

“We’re not here to upset the doc,” Bowen said. “We just need some answers.”

McKinley’s head slowly turned toward them. His gaze dipped toward Macey and he mouthed the words, Thank you.

“He isn’t going to be able to talk normally for a few days. Here.” The doctor put a small whiteboard in McKinley’s hand. “He can use this, but keep things simple, okay? He’s going to tire easily.” After giving a brisk nod, Dr. White exited the room.

McKinley’s fingers closed around a marker, and he scrawled a message on the board. “Saved. Me.”

Bowen saw Macey read those words. She gave the ME a weak smile. “I was doing my job.” She paused. “Can you help us understand what happened?”

He nodded and wrote “Try.”

“Thank you.” Macey’s face was pale, and Bowen wanted to get her somewhere and just, hell, fucking protect her from the world.

But that wasn’t the way things worked.

That wasn’t the way Macey worked.

They had a job to do. They’d do it.

“Did you see the man who attacked you?” Macey asked McKinley.

He wrote “Mask.”

“Right.” Macey’s gaze cut to Bowen’s. “He was wearing a ski mask. I saw that, too. I just...” Her stare turned back to the ME. “Where was he? When he attacked you, where was he?”

The machines around him beeped. His body shuddered as he wrote “Behind me.” His words were becoming harder to read. “Stairs.”

“You think he came from the stairwell.” Bowen nodded. That made sense. “He was waiting for you.”

“Dr. McKinley.” Macey squared her shoulders. “I have to ask you some questions, and they’re going to be personal, but they are pertinent to the case.”

The marker shook in his hand.

“We learned that the perp has been watching you,” Bowen told him.

McKinley’s eyes widened.

“He hacked into your webcam, and he was watching you while you worked.” Macey’s voice was soft and sympathetic. “Was there something he might have seen you do? Something that—”

McKinley shook his head.

Macey’s lips pressed together, and then she said, “There was whiskey in your drawer. I know you told me that you’d been sober for ten years, but was that the truth?”

The machines beeped faster.

“We need you to be very honest with us, Dr. McKinley.” Bowen’s gaze was on the ME. “Because this perp? He would have jumped on anything that he thought you did wrong.”

The marker slid across the whiteboard. “Ten years.”

Dr. White came bustling back into the room. “My patient’s vitals are going through the roof! I must insist that you leave.” Her face was set in determined lines.

“Thank you, Dr. McKinley.” Bowen inclined his head to the ME. “You rest now.”

Macey squeezed McKinley’s hand.

They turned to leave.

“Um, wait!” Dr. White called out. “I think he has one more message for you.”

They turned back. McKinley had written again, barely legible. “Ten years since I lost her.” Tears gleamed in his eyes.

Her. The emotion there was so strong. “Your wife?” Bowen guessed.

The marker shook as McKinley wrote “Daughter.”

“I’m sorry,” Macey told him quietly.

McKinley lowered his whiteboard.

“Thank you,” Bowen said again. He and Macey slipped out of the room. As soon as they were out of Recovery and back in the general area of the hospital, Bowen turned to Macey. “We need to find out exactly what happened to his daughter.”

“That will be easy enough. We just need to pull up old records or...” And she already had her phone out, tapping on the screen. “Or we can search the internet. You can find everything there these days.” She scrolled through her search results and sadness flashed on her face. “Shannon McKinley...died at age twenty-one. She was...drinking and driving.”

Hell.

Macey glanced up at him. “Our perp was watching the ME, but maybe it was less about what McKinley was doing. Not about punishment at all for him.” She put the phone back in her pocket and her eyes narrowed in thought. “The skull from the museum had been delivered to the ME’s office. Dr. McKinley was supposed to run tests on it. Maybe that’s what the attack was about. If he’d run his tests, then he would have found out that skull wasn’t some relic—but the skull of a recent crime victim.”