Make Them Sorry by Sam Hawken

Author:Sam Hawken
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Little, Brown and Company
Published: 2018-08-08T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirty-Nine

IT WAS QUIET in the house. Ignacio was gone, and with him the other detectives and all the technicians and uniformed cops. The bodies had been zipped into rubber bags and carted off. Only the bloodstains remained, and the tattered carcass of her sofa, the remnants of which were scattered over every surface in the room.

Camaro waited until she was absolutely certain no one was coming back. While the cops were there, she was dressed in sweats and bare feet. Now she changed into jeans and a T-shirt worn a little too long to hide the .45 on her hip. She nestled the karambit in its place in her left boot. She swept her hair back into a ponytail, checked herself in the mirror one time, and left the house.

The morning sun was intense as it cleared the ocean and lanced across the low-lying expanse of Miami. The night’s humidity worsened as the air heated. The whipping wind on her arms as she rode her bike kept sweat from her bare skin, but she felt the heat on her back.

She rode to the hospital. Inside it was twenty degrees colder than it was outdoors. She didn’t need to ask for directions. She made her way to Faith’s room directly. Questions churned in the back of her mind, driven by things Ignacio had said when they were alone.

She opened the door to the room and knew immediately Faith wasn’t there. A different scent lingered in the air, a tang of age and infirmity. She saw the old man lying in the bed where Faith had been. He was asleep, monitored by three different machines and fed oxygen through a tube in his nose.

Camaro headed down the hallway to the nurses’ station. A round-faced Asian nurse spotted her. “May I help you, miss?”

“Down the hall,” Camaro said. “A patient. Faith Glazer. Where was she moved?”

“Ms. Glazer? She wasn’t moved. She was discharged.”

“On her own?”

The nurse nodded. “Her injuries weren’t life-threatening, and the doctor felt she was able to care for herself.”

“When did this happen?”

“Last night. Is there something I—”

Camaro walked away. She took the stairs instead of the elevator, stalked across the lobby, and burst out into the parking lot. Back on the bike, she skidded the rear tire pulling away, and headed south once she hit the road.

It took too long for her to reach Faith’s apartment. She rolled into an open spot next to Faith’s car, sitting undisturbed in its place. Camaro crossed the lot. The police tape on Faith’s door had been torn down and was hanging in streamers from the frame. The door itself had been replaced. Camaro banged her fist on it.

No one answered. Camaro tilted an ear toward the door, but there was no sound. She tried the knob. It turned in her hand.

She drew the .45 and held it low, ready. She stepped to one side, bumped the door wide with her left hand. The front room was visible, furniture still overturned or destroyed. No one had done any cleaning.

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