The Eyes Die Last (43 page)

Ed snorted.  “This has nothing to do with you.  It’s all about me.  Me and the job.  I want back on top.  It just so happens I’m having a little fun getting there.” 

“You’re sick.  You need help, Hershey.” 

Ed let go of the pillow and withdrew a gun from his pocket.  “You’ll have to

die, too, you know.  I can’t let you get in the way of my plans.” 

“Hershey, the cops are on to you.  They know you’re the killer.”  Nick scanned Kennedy’s body for signs of life.  He needed to get to her. 

“Don’t try it.”  Ed shook his head with a smile.  “You don’t realize the kind of power I have.”  He raised the gun and pointed it at Nick. 

Taking a deep breath, Nick lunged, knocking the gun to the floor.  He got in a solid punch to Ed’s jaw and a couple good jabs to his abdomen before Ed came apart. 

Grunting, Ed fought like a wild animal, wrapping his arms around Nick’s middle and toppling him over. 

Nick’s head hit the corner of the bedside table as he went down, dazing him. 

Ed grabbed the gun off of the floor.  Smiling, he took aim at Nick’s head. 

But then Kennedy rose from her bed like a warrior goddess.  Eyes wide open, nostrils flaring, she swung her laptop into the back of Ed’s head. 

A loud thwack echoed through the room and Ed’s eyes rolled in his head.  He dropped to his knees and then collapsed face down on the floor. 

Kennedy dropped the laptop and crumpled back onto her bed.  She rolled her head to one side and looked down at Ed.  “You’re not so goddamn great and powerful now are you, asshole?” 

Nick pulled himself up slowly, ignoring the throbbing in his head. 

“I think you’re right.”  He leaned against the bed to pull Kennedy’s covers up. 

Kennedy’s eyes flickered like a light bulb fighting not to burn out.  “I can’t stay awake...”  Her eyes fluttered shut. 

“Irish, are you still with me?”  He shook her gently. 

“Ouch.  Yeah, I’m here.  I had everything under control, Campenelli, didn’t need your help.” 

He gathered her up and hugged her.  “Of course you didn’t, Detective.” 

CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT

BY THE TIME WILDER SHOWED UP TO VISIT, KENNEDY WAS BOUNCING OFF THE WALLS.
  She’d threatened several times to use her trusty Sig to shoot her way out if the doctors didn’t release her.  Unfortunately, it’d been taken for evidence.  Still, she might have actually tried something if he hadn’t shown up.

Kennedy goaded him relentlessly.  “Where’ve you been?  Taking a little vacation?”

“I’ve been nursing a concussion.  Sally’s been in charge and she wouldn’t let me leave the house until I could walk straight.”

“I didn’t think anything could hurt that head of yours.”  “What can I say?  I may be human after all.”

“Jeez, Wilder, couldn’t you have figured out who the killer was a bit sooner?  Do I always have to do all the thinking in our partnership?”

He smiled.  “I didn’t see you taking any fast trains to Solving-The-Case-Ville.  If you’d gotten your butt out of this hospital bed a little faster, you could have put it together sooner and called me in time to save your ass.”  Wilder rubbed his still sore head.  “Might have saved my head from getting bashed in too.”

“What was I thinking, letting a little old stab wound slow me down?”  “I hear Tommy’s been to see you every day.”

“Yeah, Campenelli sends a car to pick him up and bring him here for a couple hours a day.  I’m not sure why Grandpa bothers, though.  He spends most of his time in the waiting room playing poker with God-only-knows-who.”

“Taking every body’s nickels and dimes is he?”

“That’s right.”  Kennedy’s smile faded and she twisted the corners of the top sheet she was holding in her hands.  “What’s happening with Ed Hershey?”

“He’s tucked neatly away in a cell awaiting trial.  He’ll never see the outside of a prison again.  The courts have already rejected his insanity plea.”

“Good.”

“I heard they replaced him at LVTVS with a cute little blonde number.  Some woman Frank Curtis promoted in-house.”

Kennedy took a drink and felt her mood lighten.  “I, for one, won’t miss seeing his ugly face on my tube.”

“I’m with you.” 

“Frank worked with Ed Hershey every day for years, never having a clue what a psycho he was.  Poor bastard must have been shocked as hell when Ed turned on him.” 

Kennedy set down her cup.  “The Lieutenant says
St. Louis
confessed to killing his mother.” 

He leaned back in his chair, crossed one leg over the other.  “If the stupid bastard hadn’t entered the political ring and threatened to rid the streets of prostitutes, no one would have noticed him.  He might never have been nabbed for his mother’s death.” 

“Grandpa says water seeks its own level.” 

“So it does.”  Wilder switched the subject.  “Hey, I hear they’re throwing you out of here tomorrow.  How long are you going to be laid up?” 

“Three to four weeks, I guess.” 

He teased, “Got big plans?” 

“I’m going to look over the files on Da’s murder.  It’ll help pass the time until I can play cops and robbers again.” 

Wilder sat back in his chair and crossed his arms.  “I think I’ve finally figured out why you’re so driven when you’re on a case.” 

“And what’d you figure out?” 

“I think when you father was murdered, you n
ever really healed, especially
since the killers were never caught.  You still feel the
hurt today.  You draw a little
comfort every time you find a killer and save another family
from suffering the
same pain.” 

“I didn’t realize you had a degree in psychology.” 

“I’m serious, Kenny.  At least think about it.  Maybe visit with the department shrink.  Time to let it go.” 

“I’ll think about it, but don’t hold your breath on the shrink shit.” 

He uncrossed his legs and scooted forward in the chair.  “It’s all I can ask.” 

Lights
from the TV flickered across Kennedy’s face in the dark as she enjoyed the thirty-six channels of cable TV the hospital provided.  Not quite three hundred and fifty-two, but thirty-six cable channels more than she got at home. 

The newly repaired hospital door squeaked open and Nick walked in, carrying a gift box for her.  From all the way across the room, she could smell the sweetsour scent of grape taffy. 

He smiled, revealing his dimples.  “You look good.  How are you, Irish?”  “I’m great.  Let me have that box.”  She held out her hands. 

“You need to practice up on your manners.  Sometimes, I feel like you only let me visit because I bring taffy.” 

“What’s your point?” 

“You wound me, Detective.  A knife through the heart.” 

“Yeah, well get over it.  You’re crying to the wrong cat.  I’ve already had a knife

through the back.  Big deal.”  She held out her hand.  “Now give me the taffy or hit

the road.” 

“I’m overwhelmed by your gratitude.”  He drew up a seat next to her and offered up the box. 

Her mouth watered as she took it. 

Nick took her other hand and placed a small stone in it.  She looked down at it.  “Where’d you get this?” 

“You were holding it in your hand when I found you, the night you were stabbed.  I thought it might be important so I kept it for you.” 

She rolled it around and rubbed her thumb over the smooth surface.  “My worry stone.” 

“I’d say it’s your lucky worry stone.”  “Yeah, maybe it is.” 

“I was just in to see John.  Since he didn’t have any drugs on him at the time they brought him in, there’s nothing the DA can charge him with.  I convinced him to agree to rehab when they let him out of here.” 

“I hope it works for him.”  She really did wish him well.  He’d run Hershey off and probably saved her life. 

“I hate that he got this bad before I noticed, but I’m glad he was there when

Hershey stabbed you.  You’d probably have bled to death if he hadn’t been looking

for a hit.” 

“I know.  I’ve been over to his room a couple of times to thank him.”  “He told me that.” 

She felt a pain, but not from her injury.  The pain of admitting she’d needed Nick’s help was almost impossible to bear.  Best get it over with. 

“I guess I should thank you for coming to the hospital in time to stop Hershey from finishing me off.  I may have been a little slow on my feet that day.  I owe you.  Thanks.” 

“No problem, Irish.  I can only imagine how hard it is for you to say that.  I’m just glad I could help.”  He winked at her, damn him.  “You can pay me back later.” 

“Pay you back?”  Everyone wants a payback. 

“That’s right.  You just said you owed me.  I plan to collect.”  “Oh yeah?” 

“Oh yeah.”  His voice was low, deep and promised nothing but good things. 

Oh yeah, payback. 

“Jeez
, Elvis, you’re like Hitler on drugs trying to rid the world of all its dust bunnies.”  Kennedy was sprawled on her couch with a bag of taffy. 

“Detective Gorgeous Eyes, your apartment was an absolute dive before I got here.  I don’t know how any human can live in such a disorganized mess.” 

“It’s organized disorganization.  I know where everything’s at.” 

Elvis placed a hand on his apron-covered hip and stared her in the eye as he tapped his foot. 

“Okay, almost everything.  But, now that you’ve cleaned, I’ll never find anything.” 

“While we’re on the subject of you, let me just say you also have terrible eating habits.” 

“I have to admit, I did like that casserole you brought for dinner.” 

He took off his apron and hung it on a refrigerator hook-magnet.  “Well, I think I’ve cleaned everything I can for tonight.” 

“Thanks, Elvis.” 

“Tomorrow we’re taking down that God awful murder board of yours.  And I must say, I do appreciate you taking down the pictures of Priscilla before I had to see them.” 

“And I appreciate the help, but it’s really not necessary.  You’ve cooked, cleaned and done enough laundry to last me a year.” 

“You found my Priscilla’s killer.  I’ve vowed to be your slave for life.”  “Oh joy, my own Suzie Homemaker in the flesh.” 

“The one and only.”  He eyed the files scattered across the coffee table.  “I’ll leave you to your research.  I hope you find whatever it is you’re looking for.  See you tomorrow.” 

I think I’ve found all I’m going to find.  Wilder is right.  It’s time to let Dad go. 

Kennedy let out a sigh of relief as Elvis left.  Everything was so...  so clean.  She wasn’t yet accustomed to opening her underwear drawer and finding clean panties.  She had another two weeks of sick leave and after that her life would get back to normal. 

She grabbed a bottle of water and another handful of taffy, and lay on the couch with her trusty remote flipping mindlessly through her limited TV stations. 

She’d just settled in to a re-run when a solid knock on her apartment door drew her attention. 

“Go away.  I’m not home.” 

The voice on the other side of the door was both warm and firm.  “It’s Nick.  Come on, Irish, let me in.  In the hospital you said you owed me for saving you.  I’ve come to collect.” 

She looked down at her ragged shorts and t-shirt, no makeup and imagined her hair probably looked like the poster child for bedhead.  “Not now.” 

“I’m not leaving until I see you.” 

“Oh what the hell.” 

She unlocked the door, threw it open, and looked up into Nick’s dark eyes.  “I want to see that tattoo of yours.” 

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