Capitol offence bk-17 Read online

  "But Joslyn is in trouble and-"

  "And you can't help her if you're behind bars. Go!"

  Barely suppressing his rage, Dennis grabbed his coat and headed out the door. He had never felt so helpless. They had worked so hard to put their lives together. Slaving away at the university, saving every penny, getting Joslyn through medical school, building their dream house. They had a good life, damn it. What right did these people have to act so cavalierly? What right did anyone have? How could they stand idly by while he lost everything he loved?

  He threw himself behind the wheel and slammed his car door shut. He would drive all night. He would search every road, then search it again. He would hire a detective. He would never rest.

  Until this moment, he had not fully realized how much he cared for his wife. She was everything to him. Everything that mattered.

  Hang on, Joslyn! Please hang on! I will find you. I will!

  2

  I 've been trapped here for seven days now. How can I still be in my body? How can I still be trapped in this metal cauldron of eternal torment?

  I know so much about the human body's ability to handle pain. I knew there would come a time when the sensory neurons could no longer process so much negative stimulation, when they would shut down and I would feel some alleviation, however artificial. Somehow I would find some measure of release.

  That release has not come. The agonizing aching has changed, mutated from the sharp splitting pulse to a hollowness, a sense that something has been lost. It still hurts, but it is a different hurt, perhaps more tolerable physically, perhaps more unbearable spiritually. It is as if I were swimming in the ocean, struggling against a sudden overpowering wave that carries my body away and slowly crushes the life out of it. I have swum too far from the shore. My hands are numb, aching, bloody. I can no longer swim, not even tread water, and I know I will never see land again…

  I no longer deceive myself into thinking it will all work out. I don't seek miracles. It would be good to see Dennis again, to tell him what he needs to know, but I realize that is unlikely. Death has consumed my body, my brain, my very blood. It is what I have become. It is omnipotent. It is Krishna. It is God.

  I don't seek the miracle of rescue. I seek the relief of oblivion.

  Four hours ago I realized I still had my cell phone in my jeans pocket. How much charge could it have after so much time? And what difference did it make when I was so powerless to get it out? Aren't I?

  I thought about it for hours before I even attempted movement. The mere act of concentration made my head hurt, my brow sweat. It was too hard, too impossible…

  I moved a finger.

  Only the index finger of my left hand. But it moved. Twitched, perhaps more accurately. Could I possibly do more?

  Two fingers this time. My hand was pinned down, pressed against my side. My fingertips lay perhaps six inches from my pocket. Surely this is a distance they can traverse. Surely I can make this so.

  I moved my whole arm, but oh God how it hurt. Something had happened to that arm. The shoulder above was dislocated and the clavicle was broken and all movement sent lightning bolts of pain radiating through my arm and the rest of my body. This is so hard. Why is this happening to me?

  Is this perfect? My spiritual teacher in Malibu tried to convince me that everything was perfect. The Universe does not make mistakes. That's why the Universe has lasted so long and will continue to do so. Everything happens for a reason. Don't greet misfortune with despair; try to discern what you will learn, how you will grow from the experience.

  Like most all-encompassing worldviews, it is too easy to poke holes through. The Universe continues to exist because there's a natural scientific progression from creation to extinction, perfect or imperfect. How can this cheesy philosophy encompass huge tragedies such as starvation in Africa or the Holocaust? Did millions die so the world could learn a lesson? Can we seriously believe that's perfect? But my teacher was not moved by my protestations. When I stop objecting and accept, he said, I will see the truth. Because bad things will happen to all people. Do you let them destroy you? Or do you choose to let them make you better?

  This is not perfect! It hurts! Dear God, how it hurts!

  I think my wrist may be broken, too, but somehow I managed to ease it sideways, pivoting it around until the fingertips touched the mouth of the pocket. Baby steps, that's all I needed. An inch at a time, a micron even. Slowly my fingers oozed into the portal. Gently, tenderly they slipped inside until they touched the cold, hard shell. Naturally I opted for the sleek Razr, so damn hard to get a grip on…

  My whole arm trembled, throbbing, and my forehead bled as I closed my fingers around the phone and tried to ease it out of the pocket. My leg was pierced, possibly severed, just a few inches below the phone. Every movement was torture. The slightest twitch was excruciating, unbearable, but somehow, I tensed enough hand and wrist muscles to close those fingers around the phone and slowly draw it out. My hand was slick with sweat and my arm shook violently, but still I continued to pull the phone out of that damnable pocket.

  Until it was free. Inserting my index finger under the phone, I flipped the lid upward and turned it on. I heard the beeping sound that told me it still had power, however slight. Even though I could not turn my head enough to see it, I sensed the flickering illumination provided by the screen. Hand trembling, I groped for the button that would alert the police…

  Noooooo! Dear God, no!

  The cell phone glittered on the floor mat, shining, twinkling, beckoning, impossibly far out of my reach.

  "She didn't make this charge. I did."

  Sergeant Torres looked up from his paperwork, blinking. "Huh?"

  Dennis slid the credit card receipt across the desk. "It was me buying gas. We share the credit card. If I hadn't been so upset, I would've realized that immediately. See? Here's the receipt. With my signature on it."

  Torres took the translucent slip of paper and held it up to the light. "You bought gas after your wife disappeared?"

  "Repeatedly. Because I was driving around looking for her all night long. Have been all week."

  "She still hasn't come home?"

  "No. Not all week. Seven days. No one has seen her at work. Her family hasn't heard from her. Nothing. Vanished."

  "No history of drug use, or-"

  "None. I've already answered those questions. Can you please do something? I've been in here every day, begging. I know I look terrible. I've barely slept. I must seem crazy, but I'm not. I'm worried about my wife."

  "I'll take you to see Detective Sentz."

  "No!" Dennis held out his hands, pleading. "I already know what he will say. He's said it every day this week. And no one will let me talk to anyone else."

  Torres peered down at him. Dennis thought he seemed sympathetic. But he had no way to help. "I'm just the front desk clerk here. I don't make policy decisions. Detective Sentz-"

  "Wouldn't budge if I had a ransom note from the Taliban."

  "That's not true. We have to follow procedures-"

  "Do you know who my wife is?" Dennis asked, his head tilted at an angle, his throat pulsing. "Do you?"

  "I believe her first name was Joslyn…"

  "Dr. Joslyn Thomas. She's an oncologist. Works in the cancer ward at St. Benedict's."

  "She must be a very strong woman."

  "She's a saint. That's what she is. A saint." Tears appeared in his eyes. "You think a policeman's job is tough? Try spending every day watching the people you care for slowly slip away. Watching them die. She works with women primarily. Trying to ease their suffering. Sometimes the cancer goes into remission, usually not. Even when it's gone, it all too often returns, like a bottled imp that keeps pushing the cork out. But she never gives up. Never. No matter how hopeless the case."

  Dennis leaned across the desk, water streaming down his face. "And that's why it's so important that you look for her, Officer. Because I know that no matter what has happened to
her, no matter how bad it is, she will never give up. She is not a quitter, not my Joslyn. She's still out there, somewhere, waiting for me to come get her." His voice cracked. He laid his head down on the desk. "Please help me, Officer. Please help me find my Joslyn."

  Torres stared down at the crumpled man crying on his desk. He laid his hand against his chest.

  "I suppose… we could put out an APB on her and her car. But honestly, if she were out there, stranded or something, she would likely have been spotted by now. I don't think-"

  "What about her cell phone?"

  "I assume you've tried to call her."

  "Yes, and there was no answer. But when I called today I didn't get the quick cutoff voice mail message you get when the phone is turned off."

  Torres's eyes flashed. "If her cell phone is active…"

  "I know." Dennis slid forward a folder filled with pages printed from his computer. "You can track her down from the signal her cell phone emits."

  "It's not that simple. Even if her phone is active, if she's too far from the signal tower-"

  "Will you please just try? Please!"

  Torres breathed heavily. His eyes darted around the station, as if his heart was in conflict with his head.

  "Detective Sentz is out on a call. I know his assistant. I think I might be able to persuade him to do… something. At least see if we can get a trace on that phone."

  Dennis's eyes closed. "Thank you. Thank you so much."

  "Save the thanks until we accomplish something. It's still a long shot. Especially when she's been gone so many days. Statistically, it's still most likely that she's somewhere of her own accord."

  "But you will look?"

  Torres began the paperwork. "Yes. Of course we will."

  I dropped the phone. I should have seen that coming. How could I not, given my current state, my arms, trembling, unable to steady even for a second, my hand and fingers barely operational? It was hopeless. Now that little pink hunk of metal lies at my feet and there is simply no chance I will ever be able to retrieve it. My last hope is gone. My final dream is shattered. I am well and truly dead.

  Perhaps it's better this way. Did I ever believe I would be rescued? What have I told my patients so many times? Sometimes acceptance is best. It is not perfect. But perhaps it is my finest choice. The dead can only expect so much.

  The pain has subsided somewhat, but I'm not foolish enough to imagine that means I'm getting better, or that my efforts at meditation have saved me. The serotonin sedation must be kicking in. Still, it does help to have that training, to know how to reach a better place and stay there, as long as may be necessary. My teachers taught me to find my inner strength, not physical strength but something better, something more important, more than the recognition of constant pain, the realization that this is my body's final resting place.

  I had a dream just a moment ago. A hallucination, perhaps. There was a clamor outside, the thudding of boots, the flashing of lights. A rescue fantasy, no doubt. I even thought I heard Dennis calling for me. Ridiculous. But I think I will not resist. Perhaps this is the final gift the Universe has for me. Perhaps I will feel his arms around me one last time, if only as an illusion. I loved you, Dennis, and I know you loved me with a greater need and passion than I could ever match. Can you feel my arms around you, just as I feel yours? The little light I have left is fading, but with my final breath I send this wish to you. Accept what has happened. Don't give in to despair. Don't let it change you, ruin your life. Move on. Find the lesson. Tell yourself it's perfect, even if you don't know why.

  I worry about you, Dennis. I worry so much.

  Do not let this destroy you!

  There is pain in dying, as I know now, as I have always known. But the pain of living can be greater.

  Please, Dennis! Outwit… outwit… "Joslyn! Do you hear me? Honey! Can you hear me?"

  It's starting over again, the whole dream fantasy sequence. I wonder if I have the power to alter it. Make it more immediate…

  "We're coming, honey. I'm sorry it took so long. Your car ran off the road and plummeted down a very deep ravine. There was thick brush all around the car, blackberry hedges. I couldn't see you! I drove by here a hundred times, but it looked as if nothing was there. I didn't know!"

  "Sir," Officer Torres said, "I need you to move away from the car."

  "Can't you get her out of there?"

  "We're trying, sir, but she's wedged in but good. Strapped down by her seat belt, pinned by the air bag, something stabbing her leg. We're going to have to have to cut the roof off to get her out."

  "Then do it!"

  "The equipment is on its way. We just have to-"

  "What in God's name is going on here?"

  Dennis and Torres whirled around and saw Detective Sentz marching toward them.

  Torres stepped forward. "We've found Dr. Thomas, Detective. We're trying to extract her-"

  "I didn't authorize this operation!"

  This is new, Joslyn thought, smiling a little. Interesting. A nice bit of plot thickening. Heightens the drama. My Dennis is so sweet…

  "No, sir, but-"

  "In fact, I expressly refused to open a file. Didn't meet the criteria."

  "Doesn't matter, sir. We found-"

  "Doesn't matter? I'll decide what matters!"

  "But-"

  "Have you received a sudden promotion I don't know about, Sergeant? Or am I still your superior?"

  Torres's eyes narrowed. "You're still my superior."

  "I'm glad to hear it. Consider yourself on probation. Suspension without pay until-"

  Dennis jumped in between them. "Would you stop this? My wife is trapped in that car. That's all that matters!"

  Sentz pursed his lips, obviously angry. "You can't initiate an emergency rescue operation without the authorization of a senior officer or-"

  "She's dying!"

  That's my Dennis. Always a fighter. To the bitter end. Give him what for, Dennis!

  Sentz took a deep breath. "Mr. Thomas, it might be best if you waited beyond the perimeter."

  "I will not!"

  "You will do as instructed, or I will regretfully-"

  "I'm not moving an inch until my wife is out of that car."

  "You are interfering with a police operation, leaving me no choice but-"

  "Why are you doing this?" Dennis screamed, blocking his path. "Do you know how long she's been trapped in there? She's dying, and you're bellowing about regulations and-"

  The detective moved so quickly Dennis did not know what had happened until it was over. Detective Sentz lifted him off his feet and threw him sideways. He fell face-first onto the ground.

  Dennis screamed, clutching his face, bloodied on the right side. "Why are you doing this?"

  Sentz ignored him. "I want to talk to the operations officer. These things have to be handled carefully. One false move could kill the person you're trying to rescue."

  Are you still there? Is it over already? This isn't a very satisfying ending, Dennis. But, it's too late. I know that. I can feel it inside. I can feel the transformation coming, the passage. And I'm ready. But I would like to talk to you, Dennis. One last time. I have a message…

  "We got her!"

  Dennis rushed forward, still holding the right side of his face. "How is she?"

  "Not good," Torres replied, "but she's alive. Barely." He led Dennis past the barricade back toward the car, where attendants were lifting Joslyn's broken body onto a stretcher. "Medics say she has broken bones, a severely lacerated and infected leg. She's dehydrated, malnourished. Judging from her skin color, she's got liver damage, with the resultant buildup of toxins."

  "Will she be okay?"

  "They just don't know. We've got to get her to a hospital…"

  Dennis rushed forward, grabbing the gurney. "Joslyn! Can you hear me? Can you hear me?"

  Her eyelashes fluttered briefly, barely signaling a trace of life still residing inside.

  "Joslyn,
I'm sorry I took so long. I'm sorry! But we're going to get you well. You're going to be fine, honey. I promise. You'll be just like new. Back to your patients in no time."

  One of the medics stepped forward. "I'm sorry, sir, but we have to get her to the hospital."

  "Of course. I understand. Just-"

  Joslyn's right hand suddenly wrapped itself around Dennis's arm.

  "I'm here, honey," Dennis said, eyes bulging. "I'm here. I'll stay with you."

  Slowly her lips pressed together. He could see she was trying to say something, but she barely had the strength to make it happen.

  "What is it, Fizz? What?"

  He leaned forward until his head was barely an inch from her lips. Her voice was more breath than sound.

  "Out… wit…"

  "Outwit? Is that what you're saying?"

  "… stars…"

  He felt the grip on his wrist loosen, then felt her hand fall away altogether.

  "What's happening? What's happening to her?"

  The chief EMT rushed forward. "Get me an oxygen mask, now. And the defibrillator."

  "They're in the ambulance. Up on the road."

  "Then hurry!"

  The paramedic in charge gave her an injection. "Something's wrong."

  "What is it?" Dennis asked desperately. "What's happening?"

  "How can I know? I haven't had a chance to examine her properly. She's been trapped in her car for seven days. Most people wouldn't have lasted this long."

  "There must be something you can do!"

  The attendant pounded on her chest. "I assure you… I'm doing… everything I know… how to do…"

  "Please!"

  Across the gurney, Dennis saw the paramedic in charge step away, shaking his head. "She's gone."

  "What?" Dennis's eyes went wild. "She can't be gone. She's alive. I'm telling you, she's alive!"

  Dennis felt a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, sir, you need to move away and-"

  "She can't be dead. She can't be!" He turned and saw Detective Sentz peering across at him.

  "It's a tragedy." Sentz cleared his throat. "We did everything we could."

  "Everything? You didn't do anything!"