My Kind of Town
The key question
>> 2002 Wilder
By the time Dr. Laurie Tang raced back up to the 15th floor and burst into her condo, HPD Detective Sherlock Gomes had bound the intruder's hands and ankles with duct tape.
"Oh my God," she whispered. Someone had indeed broken into her condo while she and Sherlock were up at the pool, and here he was, his right eye ripped open and bloodied. And Sherlock was bleeding from his left shoulder.
Gradually, in disconnected glimpses, she saw that their encounter had also left its marks on her home. A chunk of concrete gouged by a bullet from the living room wall. A kitchen cabinet -- and the crystal wine glasses inside -- shattered by another bullet. The front of the refrigerator pierced by two other bullets.
Over the years Laurie had seen some pretty grim things in the ER and long ago learned how to steel her emotions, but it's different when it happens in your own home, when you know how close you came to being dead, when someone you're falling in love with gets shot.
"Oh Sherlock," she said, going to him, throwing her arms around him. And then, "Let me see about that shoulder."
"That one needs help more than I do," he said.
While she bent over the intruder, Gomes and his Glock went down the hall, checked her master bedroom.
"He's alone," Gomes said a minute later. "How's the eye?"
"Gone. Nothing I can do but put a bandage over it."
"Bad luck, pal," Gomes said, dialing the direct line to HPD dispatch.
"Patsy, Gomes here. There's been a shooting. I've got the suspect in custody and everything's under control. Cancel the backup, but you'd better get the crime scene boys over here. And we're gonna need an ambulance."
With the emergency kit she kept at home, Laurie cleaned Gomes' wound, sutured it shut, applied a bandage.
"Good thing I wasn't wearing my shirt," he said. "Would've ruined it."
"That is not even remotely funny," she said and held him close.
"Much as I enjoy this, I want to check something."
He stood over the bound intruder, still holding his Glock. "So how'd you get in here?" No reply. Gomes kneeled, checked the guy's pockets. No ID, just a money clip, a set of car keys and a plastic key card.
"Well, this is interesting. Laurie, you recognize this?" He handed her the card, on which was printed "2002 Wilder" and an identification number.
"That's Donovan's key! I gave it to him, but didn't have a chance to get it back yet. How did he ..."
"So the question is, pally, did you steal it from the senator or are you working for him?"
Given their appointment tomorrow, Gomes was guessing the latter.
Don Chapman is editor of MidWeek.
His serialized novel runs daily in the Star-Bulletin
with weekly summaries on Sunday.
He can be emailed at dchapman@midweek.com