Brown, Dale - The Tin Man by Brown Dale

Author:Brown, Dale [Brown, Dale]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781568956848
Publisher: Wheeler Publishing
Published: 1999-04-06T04:00:00+00:00

University of California-Davis Medical Center,

Stockton Boulevard and Forty-Second Street,

Sacramento, California

the next morning

When Patrick arrived at the UC-Davis Medical Center the next morning, he was startled to find a crowd of reporters and TV cameras at the entrance. “Mr McLanahan!” they shouted. “Over here, Mr McLanahan! What do you think of the court’s decision?”

Patrick always tried to avoid the media, but they were everywhere this time, and he could not hide the confusion on his face. “Mr McLanahan, you heard about the appeals court’s decision, didn’t you?”

“No, I haven’t,” Patrick responded, curious now.

“A judge in the state appeals court has overturned the superior court’s no-bail ruling for the two defendants charged with murder in the Sacramento Live! shootout,” the reporter said. “He said there’s insufficient evidence to hold them on an attempted-murder charge.”

Patrick gasped. “What?” he exclaimed. “No—that can’t be!” The reporters circled him like sharks around a wounded marlin. He knew he shouldn’t react, should conceal the horror he felt, but he couldn’t contain his disbelief. This can’t be, he said to himself. The best, the only opportunity to discover more about who had attacked Paul and killed the two Sacramento police officers seemed to be slipping out of their fingers.

In a daze, Patrick pushed his way through the knot of reporters and into the entrance. There were more of them at the nurses’ station on Paul’s floor but the policeman on duty cleared a path for him as he made his way to the room.

Jon Masters was already there, together with a technician who worked with Carlson Heinrich. Paul was sitting up in bed looking apprehensive, on his lap the ever-present notepad he used for communicating. A lot of the bandages and dressings had been removed from his neck and throat. The most horrible parts were his shoulder and left arm. Despite three separate surgeries, the shoulder, unprotected by his bullet-proof vest, could not be repaired, and the damage to the left bicep and elbow was too extensive. A month ago, the decision had finally been made to amputate the arm. Paul had taken the news stoically, but the nurses told Patrick in private that they had seen him silently weeping when he was alone at night, and more than once he had buzzed them for something to alleviate the pain in the arm that was no longer there.

“You hear about the court decision?” Jon asked.

“Just did, from the reporters outside,” Patrick said, sitting down beside the bed and clasping his brother’s right hand, “but no details. What in hell happened?”

“The appeals court said there wasn’t enough evidence that the suspects had anything to do with the shooting.”

“Then they must know who they are,” Patrick said. “Did they say?”

“They’re former German soldiers,” Jon said.

Patrick nodded—he had figured that professional soldiers were involved in the attack. “Let me guess: They work for some mercenary group or drug gang, and they sneaked into the country and planned the robbery…”

“Nope. What Chandler said that night on the tape is true; they have valid Canadian entry and work visas, and a valid Canadian residence and employer.

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