“Whoa!” Jesse Kemper said. He managed to keep a steaming cup of Starbucks coffee from splashing into his lap as his partner, Vince Garbon, bottomed out their cruiser on the lip of the driveway going into Pierson’s Electrical Supply. It was located a few blocks away from Costa’s Diner.
Jesse was in his middle fifties and was still athletic. Most people thought he was no more than forty. He was also an imposing man with a bushy mustache to offset the thinning hair on the dome of his large head.
Jesse was a detective lieutenant for the city police and was well liked by his colleagues. He’d been only the fifth African-American on the force, but encouraged by his record, the city had commenced a serious recruiting effort toward African-Americans to the point that the department now racially mirrored the community.
Vince pulled the unmarked sedan around the side of the building and stopped outside an open garage door next to a city squad car.
“This I got to see,” Jesse said, alighting from the passenger seat.
Coming back from a coffee run, he and Vince had heard on the radio that a repeat, small-time crook by the name of Eddie Howard had been found after having been cornered all night by a watchdog. Eddie was so well known at the police station that he was almost a friend.
Allowing their eyes to adjust from the bright sunlight to the dim interior, Jesse and Vince could hear voices off to the right, behind a bank of massive floor-to-ceiling shelving. When they walked back there they found two uniformed policemen lounging as if on a cigarette break. Plastered to a corner was Eddie Howard. In front of him was a large black-and-white pit bull who stood like a statue. The animal’s unblinking eyes were glued to Eddie like two black marbles.
“Kemper, thank God,” Eddie said, holding himself rigid while he spoke. “Get this animal away from me!”
Jesse looked at the two uniformed cops.
“We called and the owner’s on his way in,” one of them said. “Normally they don’t get here until nine.”
Jesse nodded and turned back to Eddie. “How long have you been in here?”
“All freakin’ night,” Eddie said. “Pressed up against this wall.”
“How’d you get in?” Jesse asked.
“Just walked in,” Eddie said. “I was just hanging out in the neighborhood and suddenly the garage door back there opened by itself, like magic. So I came in to make sure everything was okay. You know, to help out.”
Jesse gave a short derisive laugh. “I guess Fido here thought you had something else in mind.”
“Come on, Kemper.” Eddie moaned. “Get this beast away from me.”
“In due time,” Jesse said with a chuckle. “In due time.” Then he turned back to the uniformed officers. “Did you check the garage door?”
“Sure did,” the second officer replied.
“Any sign of forced entry?” Jesse asked.
“I think Eddie was telling the truth about that,” the officer said.
Jesse shook his head. “More weird stuff happened last night than you can shake a stick at.”
“But mostly in this part of the city,” Vince added.
Sheila Miller parked her red BMW convertible in her reserved spot near the emergency-room entrance. Flipping the front seat forward, she eyed her stricken VCR. She tried to think of a way of getting it, her briefcase, and a separate stack of folders into her office in one trip. It seemed doubtful until she saw a black Toyota utility vehicle pull up to the unloading bay and discharge a passenger.
“Excuse me, Mr. Henderson,” Sheila called out when she recognized Pitt. She made it a point to know everyone by name who worked in her department, whether clerk or surgeon. “Could I see you a moment?”
Although obviously in a hurry, Pitt turned when he heard his name. Instantly he recognized Dr. Miller. Sheepishly he reversed directions, descended the steps from the loading dock, and came over to her car.
“I know I’m a tad late,” Pitt said nervously. Dr. Miller had a reputation of being a no-nonsense administrator. Her nickname was “Dragon Lady” among the lower-echelon staff, particularly the first-year residents. “It won’t happen again,” Pitt added.
Sheila glanced at her watch, then back at Pitt. “You’re slated to start medical school in the fall.”
“That’s true,” Pitt answered with his pulse rising.
“Well, at least you’re better-looking than most of the ones in this year’s crop,” Sheila said, hiding a grin. She could sense Pitt’s anxiety.
Confused by the comment, which sounded like a compliment, Pitt merely nodded. In truth he didn’t know what to say. He had a sense she was toying with him but couldn’t be sure.
“I’ll tell you what,” Sheila said, nodding toward her back seat. “If you carry that VCR into my office I won’t mention this egregious infraction to the dean.”
Pitt was now reasonably certain that Dr. Miller was teasing him, but he still felt it better to keep his mouth shut. Without a word he reached in, lifted the VCR, and followed Dr. Miller into the ER.
There was a moderate amount of activity, particularly from a few early-morning fender-benders. Fifteen to twenty patients were waiting in the waiting area, as well as a few more back in the trauma section. The staff present at the front desk greeted Dr. Miller with smiles but cast puzzled looks at Pitt, particularly the person Pitt was scheduled to relieve.
They walked down the main corridor and were about to enter Sheila’s office when she caught sight of Kerry Winetrop, one of the hospital’s electronic technicians. Keeping all the hospital’s monitoring equipment functioning was a full-time job for several people. Sheila called out to the man, and he obligingly came over.
“My VCR had a seizure last night,” Sheila said, nodding toward the VCR in Pitt’s hands.
“Join the club,” Kerry said. “You and a bunch of other people. Apparently there was a surge in the TV cable line around the university area at quarter after ten last night. I’ve already seen a couple of players that people brought in early this morning.”
“A surge, huh,” Sheila remarked.
“My TV blew up,” Pitt said.
“At least my TV’s okay,” Sheila said.
“Was it on when the VCR blew?” Kerry asked.
“No,” Sheila said.
“Well, that’s the reason it didn’t pop,” Kerry said. “If it had been on you would have lost your picture tube.”
“Can the VCR be fixed?” Sheila asked.
“Not without essentially replacing most of the guts,” Kerry said. “To tell you the truth it’s cheaper to buy another one.”
“Too bad,” Sheila said. “I’d finally figured out how to set the clock on this one.”
Cassy hurried up the steps of Anna C. Scott High School and entered just as the bell announced the beginning of the first period. Reminding herself that getting freaked out was not going to help anything, she rushed up the main stairs and down the hall to her assigned class. She was in the middle of a month-long observation of a junior English class. This was the first time she’d been late.
Pausing at the door to brush hair from her face and smooth the front of her demure cotton dress, she couldn’t help but hear the apparent pandemonium going on inside the room. She’d expected to hear Mrs. Edelman’s strident voice. Instead there was a mishmash of voices and laughter. Cassy cracked the door and looked within.
Students were haphazardly sprinkled around the room. Some were standing, others were sitting on the radiator covers and on desks. It was a beehive of separate conversations.
Cracking the door further, Cassy could see why there was such chaos. Mrs. Edelman was not there.
Cassy swallowed hard. Her mouth had gone dry. For a second she debated what to do. Her experience with high school kids was minimal. All her student teaching had been at the elementary-school level. Deciding she had little choice and taking a deep breath, she pushed through the door.