Target on Our Backs
Page 52

Corlears Hook Park runs along the shoreline. It's a small park, compared to some of the others in the city, so it isn't hard to find where I need to be. Dozens of cop cars surround the area, lights on, a section quartered off by crime scene tape. I pull my car up toward the entrance, jumping the curb and just leaving it there.
They're lucky I bother to shut the damn thing off.
"Sir? Sir! That's not a parking spot!"
"Tow it, then," I say, walking right past him, grabbing the police tape and ducking under it, heading right for the crime scene. I can see an ambulance not far from me, near a small concrete building. The officer tries to stop me, grabbing my arm, but I yank away from him, continuing on.
He radios for help. I hear him, desperately shrieking that someone's entered the perimeter, and I see others turning their focus my direction, like they're about to come after me. Detective Jameson steps around the side of the building then, directly in my line of sight, right in my path, and calls them down. "It's fine, gentlemen. He's the victim's husband."
Victim.
"Where is she?" I ask.
"Like I said, she's fine." He motions toward the ambulances. I can make out two, which tells me she wasn't the only victim here. "She's still being seen."
I walk right past him, but he jumps in front of me, in my path. "Wait."
"So help me God, Jameson, don't try to stop me from seeing her."
He holds his hands up defensively. "I'm not. I'm only asking you go that way."
He points the long way, around the other side of the building, and I start to argue, but I get it. If I keep going, I'm going to trample right through his crime scene, and he still pretends to care about integrity and justice.
So I do it, this small concession, because he's well within his right to throw me to the ground and arrest me right now for interfering, and I've got more important things to worry about.
The first ambulance is locked up tight, the lights off. The one right beside it is wide open, officers surrounding it. Dead center, standing in front of the back door is Jameson's partner, Andrews. I can't see Karissa past all the cops and medics, but I'm guessing that's where I'll find here, so I head right there.
They part when they see me coming, like they're afraid of what I'll do if they don't. They all move out of my way except for Andrews, but it doesn't matter, because I shove right past him. The moment he moves, the moment I get a good look at the ambulance, my heart drops right to my fucking toes.
She's sitting there with her feet dangling, a dazed look on her face. Blood stains her clothes. Her hair's even matted with it, but I don't think it's hers. Thank God it isn't hers. There's a bandage on her cheek, and her eyes are bloodshot as they seek me out.
The moment she sees me, she closes her eyes.
She closes them, and breathes deeply, like she's overwhelmed with relief.
I don't hesitate. I grab her. I yank her off the back of the ambulance and pull her right into my arms. Her feet can't touch the ground, and I'm probably going to break her back with as hard as I'm squeezing, but I can't help it. Because I feel it, the relief she's feeling. I feel the deep breath she took. I feel it in my soul.
She starts sobbing as she nuzzles into my neck, clinging to me right back.
"It's okay," I whisper. "Just keep breathing and you'll be all right."
"Mr. Vitale?" Andrews chimes in. "If you don't mind, we still have a few questions for your, uh… wife."
"Does she look like she's in any condition to answer your questions?"
Karissa pushes away from me, and I loosen my hold, setting her on her feet.
"It's okay," she says, her voice strained as she tries to pull herself together. She wipes her tears away with the back of her hand, grimacing as it tugs on the bandage. "It's fine. I just… I don't know what else I can tell you. I was in the cab, I was taking it home from school, and I wasn't really paying attention… next thing I know, we're going the wrong direction, and a car is following us. He came here; I don't know why… to hide, maybe? But there they were, and here we are, and there he is, and here I am."
I glance over toward the building, seeing the yellow cab, windows busted out with blood surrounding it. A body lays on the ground beside it, covered in a sheet, the crisp white material soaked with red.
"And the other deceased gentleman?" Andrews asks. "Where did he come from?"
"Other guy?" I chime in. "What other guy?"
"The cab driver is still in the car," Andrews offers. "The second was found deceased beside the cab when we arrived."
Karissa's eyes dart my way nervously. "He was one of them… one of the guys following us. There were five of them, maybe six. I'm not sure. He pulled me out of the back of the cab, and he had a gun to me, and I thought he was going to shoot me." She lets out a cry, but holds her hands up to stop me when I try to pull her into my arms again. "No, it's okay, I'm okay… he had me and then he said something to another guy, something about it not being a problem, it being easy, and then the guy shot him. He just shot him!"
"So his own friend shot him," Andrews says, jotting that down. "Why would he do that?"
"How's she supposed to know?" I ask. "She's not psychic."
"How about you let her answer, Vitale."
I step toward him. "How about you stop interrogating her while she's distraught."
"And how about you don't tell me how to do my job."
"Your job is to get justice, not traumatize women… unless, of course, you get off on that sort of thing."
He doesn't like that. His cheek twitches, eyes glazing over with anger. "You want to talk to me about traumatizing people? Let's talk about the things you've done! In fact, it wouldn't surprise me a bit if you were involved in this!"
"Me?" I glare at him, raising my voice. "You think I'd do this? That I'd hurt my own wife? I'd never."
"How am I supposed to know?" he asks, throwing my words right back at me. "Not a psychic."
I almost swing.
I almost hit him.
If Karissa weren't standing between us, I would.
"Guys, guys... can't we all just get along here?" Jameson asks, coming around the side of the building, approaching the ambulance.
Andrews mutters something, something I can't make out.
"What was that?" I ask him. "Couldn't quite hear you."
"I said we'll get along when your ass is finally behind bars." He closes his notebook, shoving it in his coat pocket. "Your wife, too, if she's withholding evidence."
"Relax," Jameson says, slapping his partner on the back. "I'm sure she has told us everything she knows. Isn't that right, Mrs. Vitale?"
"Yes," Karissa says quietly. "There's nothing else I can say."
"So is she free to go?" I ask, "or is your partner going to hound her some more?"
"She actually needs to be transferred to the hospital," Jameson says. "Tried to send her earlier, but she was insistent we wait for you."