“Is she . . . ?”
“She’s going to be okay,” Clair said. “Bishop had her handcuffed to a gurney at the bottom of the elevator shaft. She’s severely dehydrated, and the cuffs did a number on her wrist, but I don’t think she’ll lose the hand. Other than the ear, he didn’t touch her. Just left her down there. Construction crews have been in and out of the building this entire time, but nobody had a clue she was down there. They’ve been working on the upper floors.”
Porter licked at his lips. His throat felt really dry. “Bishop jumped down the other elevator shaft. Is he dead?”
Clair took in a deep breath and let it back out. “He didn’t jump; he rappelled. He had a rope and harness rig set up on a service platform just inside the elevator shaft; he took it to the bottom. When we got down there, we found a hole in the wall leading to another one of those underground tunnels, like the one we found in the Mulifax Building. He’s gone, Sam. We’ve got patrol officers checking every tunnel entrance and exit on record with the city, but I don’t think we’re going to find him. While half the force was in that building trying to get to your floor from the top and the bottom, he dropped down right past us and disappeared somewhere under the city.”
“Ma’am?” a paramedic interrupted. “We need to get him to the hospital. He’s lost a lot of blood.”
Clair shot the paramedic a dirty look, then smiled down at Porter. “You done good, Sam. You found Emory, and we’ve got an ID on 4MK. He’ll slip up and we’ll find him. By tonight, the world will know his face. He won’t have anyplace to hide.”
Porter squeezed Clair’s hand and watched as they loaded Emory into an ambulance at his right. Then he closed his eyes. He just wanted to sleep.
92
Porter
Day 3 ? 8:24 a.m.
When Porter opened his eyes again, he found himself in a hospital room. It looked like the same hospital room he was in before . . . What time was it? He searched for a clock or his phone but saw neither. Sunlight streamed in from the window and warmed the blanket on his bed. Had he really slept through the night?
“Where’s the damn nurse Call button?” He fumbled through the sheets looking for it but only managed to twist his IV line around his head.
“I can’t leave you alone for a minute,” Nash said, coming in from the hall carrying a cup of vending machine coffee and a pack of Twizzlers. “I can see the headline: DETECTIVE ESCAPES SERIAL KILLER ONLY TO STRANGLE HIMSELF IN HOSPITAL BED.”
“I didn’t escape. He never intended to kill me.” Porter’s voice was hoarse.
Nash reached for a paper cup on the nightstand and handed it to him. “Here, try these. The nurse brought them in a few minutes ago.”
“What is it?”
“Ice chips.”
Porter took the cup and tipped it at his lips, spilling cold water down his chin and chest.
“Okay, maybe it’s been more than a few minutes. I guess they melted.”
Nash reached beneath the bed and came up with the Call button. He clicked it once. “I’ll get her to bring some more.”
Porter lifted the sheet and surveyed his freshly bandaged leg. He had some new scrapes and bruises on his arms. He told Nash what happened with Talbot.
“Maybe Watson or Bishop or whatever the hell his name is did us a favor.”
Porter raised his eyebrows but said nothing.
“We found a file box at Bishop’s apartment with enough information to implicate twenty-three separate criminals acting in and around the Chicago area. And you know what they all had in common?”
“Talbot?”
“Talbot.”
“Bishop told me.”
Nash let out a snort. “If you had asked me about him a week ago, I would have thought the guy had a shot at becoming our next mayor.”
“He just might have, if this hadn’t happened.”
“Something is still bugging me, though. How did Bishop bankroll all of this? He sent three hundred grand to Kittner for stepping in front of that bus. Where did he get that kind of money?” Nash asked.
“Maybe he found it under the cat.”
“What cat?” Nash frowned.
“You need to read the diary.”
Nash sipped at his coffee. “I think I’ll wait for the movie.”
Porter eyed the Twizzlers. “Can I have one of those?”
Clair Norton poked her head into the door. “I’ll be damned, you got the same room?”
“Hey, Clair-bear.”
She walked over and wrapped her arms around him. “You crazy bastard. I’ve got half a mind to handcuff you to that bed so you don’t run off again.”
Nash perked up. “I’m up for that if he’s not.”
Clair picked up the empty ice cup and tossed it at him. “Pervert.”
“I’m a proud card-carrying member.”
She turned back to Porter. “Are you ready for a visitor?”
He shrugged. “If I can handle the two of you, I think I’m up for just about anything.”
Clair straightened out his sheets and smiled. “Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right back.” She disappeared out the door and returned a few seconds later pushing a teenage girl in a wheelchair. Her head and wrist were bandaged and her skin was deathly pale, but there was still no mistaking her.
“Hello, Emory,” Porter said softly.
“Hi.”
Porter turned to the others. “Can you give us a minute?”
Clair grabbed Nash’s hand and tugged him toward the door. “We’ll go find some breakfast.”
Nash smiled back at Emory and Porter. “I think she likes me.”
When the door closed behind them, Porter returned his gaze to Emory. All things considered, she looked good. From the few images he had seen of her, she’d clearly lost weight. Her face was thin and contained a few lines that normally wouldn’t find their way into a girl’s skin for another ten years or so. He knew this was most likely from dehydration and would fade with time. Her eyes betrayed her, though. They weren’t the eyes of a fifteen-year-old girl; they were the eyes of someone much older, someone who had seen things she should never have seen. “So,” he said.
“So.”
He gestured at the nightstand. “I’d offer you something, but I don’t even have ice chips anymore. As hospital rooms go, this one is poorly stocked.”
Emory pointed up at the IV bag attached to her wheelchair. “I brought my own snacks. Thank you, though.”
Porter pulled himself up into sitting position. The room seemed to swim. “Whoa.”
“Painkillers?”
He licked at his chapped lips. “I think they gave me the good stuff this go-around.”
Emory held up her wrist. “They gave me some good ones for this, the ear too. I asked them to hold off on the dose this morning so I could come and see you.”
Porter turned to the floor. “I’m sorry I didn’t find you sooner, Emory. I—”