But I also took a life, Isabel thought, and the man I saved could be dying right this minute on his way to the hospital. That was such a grim thought she tried to push it aside.
Officer Field had asked her name and wanted to know why she was in the area, but he hadn’t asked her any other questions. She thought that was strange, and the way he kept glancing at her was a worry. He looked so perplexed, like he was trying to solve an intricate puzzle.
There was a man with a flashlight slowly scanning a brick wall to her left. Isabel slowed her pace and asked, “What is that man doing with the light?”
Field looked where she pointed and said, “He’s part of the crime scene team. He’s most likely looking for bullets.”
“Do they have to find every bullet that was fired?”
“That’s the goal.”
“What is that other man doing with the tape?”
“He’s measuring blood splatter.”
Field must have seen her blanch because he grabbed her elbow again. “Don’t pass out on me.”
“I won’t.”
Blood splatter. All she had wanted was to take a little walk, to stretch her legs, to get in touch with the city. She guessed now she was going to get in touch with the criminal justice system, too. Did they have private cells at the police station? Crazy thoughts raced through her head. She was really losing it and knew she needed to get a grip on her emotions.
Just as they reached the police car, a nondescript beige sedan pulled up next to them and two men got out.
Field perked up when he saw them. “Detectives.”
Isabel thought they both looked weary and perhaps even a little bored. Had they seen so much violence and death that they had become immune to it? Then she noticed the dark circles under their eyes and realized they were probably sleep-deprived from working hard, long hours. Her attitude toward them softened.
“You’re in good hands with Detective Samuel and Detective Rayborne,” Field told her. “Samuel has been on the job awhile now, so he’ll probably take the lead.”
Detective Rayborne was surveying the scene and shaking his head. She assumed he was much older than he looked. He was wearing a suit now, but in casual clothes he could easily pass for a man in his early twenties. She couldn’t discern what he was thinking because he had a poker face. He wasn’t giving anything away. He reminded her of a robot, and she wondered what it would take to get him to react or show some emotion.
Detective Samuel was more interesting to her. He was tall and thin, and his extremely stiff posture reminded her of a priest who had taught theology when she was in high school. No student ever slumped around Father Mahoney or she’d get a prod between her shoulder blades with the ruler he always carried. Even though he was a strict disciplinarian, the priest, she remembered, had a nice smile, and so did Detective Samuel. He actually managed a quick smile when one of the policemen said something to him. Then he looked at her and his expression changed.
Guessing what he was thinking, Field called out, “It’s not her blood, Detective Samuel.” He waited until both detectives were close enough and quickly made the introductions.
The policeman who had held the umbrella over her stepped forward and handed his phone to Samuel. “You’re going to want to see this.”
Isabel waited by Field’s side while the detectives watched the video. She was feeling queasy; her arm burned, and all she wanted was a hot shower to wash away the blood. She wanted to burn the clothes she was wearing, too. She’d keep her jacket, though, because her mother had given it to her, but she planned to wash it at least a dozen times. One quick look down at her T-shirt was cringe-worthy. Blood everywhere. His blood. Then she noticed the tear in the left sleeve of her jacket near her shoulder. Had the man she was trying to help done that? He was clawing at her jacket, she remembered. Or did it tear when the bullet whizzed by her? The fabric was nylon and the jacket didn’t cost much at all, but she treasured it and vowed to find a way to patch it and make it almost perfect again.
Field was getting nervous. His grip on her elbow tightened, and he watched the crowd with a worried look on his face. The detectives seemed mesmerized by the video. No, she thought. Samuel was mesmerized, but Rayborne was expressionless, giving no hint of a reaction to what he was seeing.
The crowd was edging closer.
Field turned his back to them and spoke to Samuel. “I think you should get her out of here as quickly as possible.”
“Yes, all right,” Samuel agreed without looking up from the video, which he was now watching for the second or third time.
“I’ll be happy to take her in,” Field offered.
“What’s the hurry?” Rayborne asked.
“I don’t think you understand what’s going on here.” Field nodded his head in the direction of the crowd. “These people have become her protectors.” He couldn’t explain how it had happened.
Maybe it was because of her act of heroism or the fact that she looked so vulnerable now.
Samuel handed the phone back to the policeman. He didn’t have to look at the people to read their mood. He put his hands up and said, “Everyone step back. Give us some room.”
No one moved.
“Hey, Detective Samuel,” a policeman called out. He lifted the large cloth that had been placed over the dead man. “Right between the eyes. Perfect shot.”
Isabel didn’t need to hear that. She bowed her head and tried not to gag. If she had any food in her stomach, she would have lost it by now. Thank God she hadn’t eaten all day.
“Let’s go,” Field said. When he took hold of her arm, she cried out in pain. He quickly let go.
A man in the growing crowd shouted, “You leave her alone.” Several others chorused their agreement.
“We aren’t going to let you hurt her.” A woman shouted that promise.
“I’m going to go ahead and take her in,” Field said. He didn’t suggest or ask this time.
A couple of minutes later Isabel was in the backseat of Field’s vehicle and on her way to the station. The air inside the car smelled of kielbasa, sauerkraut, and Old Spice aftershave. Another wave of nausea engulfed her. To calm her nerves, she stared out the window and concentrated on the
passing landscape. They turned a corner and drove by a park that had also been renovated. There was a brand-new playground with swings and slides and a huge jungle gym. The thick grass had been freshly cut, and there were a few tall trees providing shade to benches on the edge of the property.
Any other time she would have stopped to watch the children laughing and playing, but not today.
Today she was sitting in a police car on her way to being interrogated about a shooting. The whole scene was almost too absurd to believe.
Fortunately, it wasn’t a long drive. But by the time she was helped out of the car and walked into the station with Field at her side, she felt like a criminal again. She kept her head down until she heard a deep voice calling her name. She looked up and inwardly groaned. Standing just a few feet away from her was Michael Buchanan.
FOUR