Hornet's Nest - Cornwell Patricia (читать книги онлайн бесплатно полностью .txt) 📗

It was important for Brazil's peace of mind and spiritual development that he know Hammer had, in fact, driven straight home. He could not trust her unless he knew, with certainty, that she would not betray him and the world by stooping so low as to sneak around with Denny Raines. Brazil drove quickly through Fourth Ward. He was stunned to see an ambulance parked in front of Hammer's house, and her dark blue police car gleaming in the driveway. Brazil's heart was boxing his ribs as he parked some distance away, staring in horror and disbelief.

How in God's name could she be so blatant?

A madness invaded Brazil's otherwise sound mind. He got out of his BMW and strode toward the house of the woman he worshiped but no longer respected or would ever speak to or think of or wonder about again. He would air his righteous thoughts, but there would be no violence unless Raines started it. If so, Brazil would sock him to Oz, ace him, smash him. He tried not to think about Raines's size, or that the paramedic did not appear to be scared of much. Brazil was having second thoughts when Hammer's front door opened.

Raines and another paramedic wheeled out a stretcher bearing a fat older man. Chief Hammer followed and seemed in shock, and Brazil was stunned and baffled in the middle of Pine Street. Hammer was distraught as practiced hands loaded her husband into the ambulance.

"You sure you don't want me to ride with you?" Hammer asked the fat man.

"I'm sure." The fat man was in pain and sluggish, perhaps from whatever was dripping into him intravenously

"Well, have it your way," Hammer told him.

"I don't want her coming," the fat man instructed Raines.

"Not to worry." Hammer sounded hurt as she walked back to the house.

She stood in the doorway, watching the ambulance drive off. Squinting, she noticed Brazil on her dark street, staring at her. She recognized him, and it all came back to' her Oh Christ. As if she didn't have problems enough.

"I tried to get you earlier. Give me a chance to explain," she called out to him.

Now he was completely baffled.

"Excuse me?" He stepped closer.

"Come here." Hammer wearily motioned to him.

He sat on her porch swing. She turned out the light and sat on the steps, certain this young man must think she was the biggest, most dishonest bureaucrat he had ever encountered. Hammer knew this might be the night her controversial community policing project would go to hell along with everything else.

"Andy," she began, 'you've got to believe that I said nothing to anyone. I swear I kept my promise to you. "

"What?" He was getting a very bad feeling.

"What promise?"

She realized he did not know.

"Oh God," she mumbled.

"You didn't hear the news tonight?"

"No, ma'am. What news?" He was getting excited, his voice rising.

Hammer told him about Channel 3 and Webb's scoop.

"That's impossible!" Brazil exclaimed.

"Those are my details! How could he know the stuff about the bloody money, the washcloth, any of it! He wasn't there!"

"Andy, please lower your voice."

Lights were blinking on. Dogs were barking. Hammer stood.

"It's not fair. I play by the rules." Brazil felt as if his life were over.

"I cooperate with you, help as much as I can. And get crucified for it." He got up, too, the swing moving, slowly swaying, and empty.

"You can't stop doing what's right just because others do things that are wrong," she spoke quietly, and from experience, as she opened the door that would lead her back inside her fine home.

"We've done some pretty wonderful things, Andy. I hope you won't let this ruin it."

Her face was kind but sad as she looked at him. He felt the ache in his heart, and his stomach was doing something strange, too. He was sweating and chilled as he stared at her, unable to imagine what it must have been like for her children to be raised by such a person.

"Are you all right?" Hammer thought he was acting oddly.

"I don't know what my problem is." He wiped his face with his hands.

"I think I've been trying to get sick or something. It's none of my business, but is your husband all right?"

"A flesh wound," she replied, weary and depressed again as moths fluttered past, into her house, where soon they would die from pesticide.

Misfires rarely occurred with double-action revolvers. But when Hammer had demanded that Seth return the. 38 to her, he had gotten angry and mean. He'd had enough of being bossed around by this woman, who next would begin searching him and his bedroom. There was no way out.

Unfortunately, she'd walked in before he'd had a chance to stash the gun in a place she couldn't find it. Worse, Seth had been sleeping in a drunken position that had resulted in tingling and numbness in his right hand. When he had decided to send this same hand down to his crotch to fish out the revolver, it had not been a wise move. It was also Seth's bad luck that the one time he did not want the cartridge lined up with the firing pin was precisely then.

"His left buttock," Hammer was explaining to Brazil, who was inside the house with her now, because she could not leave her front door open all night.

Brazil looked around at vibrant oriental rugs on polished hardwood floors, at fine oil paintings and handsome furniture in warm fabrics and rich leathers. He was standing in the foyer of Chief Hammer's splendid restored home, and no one else was around. It was just the two of them, and he began sweating profusely again. If she noticed, she did not let on.

"They'll X-ray, of course," she was saying, 'to make certain the bullet isn't lodged close to anything important. "

There was a dark side of +P hollowpoints, Hammer thought. The objective of their design was for the lead projectile to expand and rip through tissue like a Roto Rooter. Rarely did the bullets exit, and there was no telling how much lead was scattered through Seth's formidable lower region. Brazil was listening to all this, wondering if the chief would ever get around to calling the police.

"Chief Hammer," Brazil finally felt compelled to speak.

"I don't guess you've called this in?"

"Oh dear." It hadn't even occurred to her.

"You're absolutely right. I guess a report has to be taken." She began pacing as the reality hit.

"Oh no, oh no. That's all I need! So now I get to hear about this on TV, the radio. In your paper. This is awful. Do you realize how many people will enjoy this?" She envisioned Cahoon sitting in his crown, laughing as he read about it.

No one would be fooled, not for a minute. A depressed, unemployed, obese husband in bed with his wife's. 38 loaded with only one cartridge? Every cop who worked for Hammer would know that her husband had been flirting with suicide. All would know that there were serious problems in her house. Some would even suspect that she had shot her husband and knew exactly how to get away with it. Maybe it wasn't his left buttock she had been aiming at, either. Maybe he had turned around just in the nick of time. Hammer went into the kitchen and reached for the phone.

There was simply no way she was dialing 911 and having the call broadcast to every cop, paramedic, reporter, and person who owned a scanner in the region. She got the duty captain on the line. It happened to be Horgess. He was fiercely loyal to his boss, but not especially quick-thinking or known for shrewd judgment.

"Horgess," she said.

"I need an officer over to my house ASAP to take a report. There's been an accident."

"Oh no!" Horgess was upset. If anything ever happened to his chief, he'd answer directly to Goode.

"Are you all right?"

She paced.

"My husband's at Carolinas Medical. I'm afraid he had an accident with a handgun. He should be fine."

Horgess immediately grabbed his upright portable radio. He ten-fived David-One unit 538, a rookie too scared to do anything other than what she was told. This decision would have been good had Horgess not failed to overlook the reason Hammer had called him, the duty captain, directly.

"Need you over there now to take an accidental shooting report," Horgess excitedly said into his radio.

"Ten-four," Unit 538 came back.

"Any injuries?" ~ "Ten-four. Subject en route to Carolinas Medical;' Every officer on duty, and some who weren't, and anyone else with a scanner, heard every word of the broadcast. Most assumed Chief Hammer had been accidentally shot, meaning Jeannie Goode this very instant was the acting chief. Nothing could have sent the force into more of a panic. Hammer had a base radio station in her kitchen and it was on.

"Horgess, you idiot!" she exclaimed in disbelief to no one in particular, inside her kitchen.

She stopped pacing. It struck her that Andy Brazil was still standing in the doorway. She was not entirely sure why he was here and suddenly doubted the wisdom of a handsome young reporter dressed like a cop being in the house with her, in the wake of a domestic shooting. Hammer also knew that her entire evening shift was heading toward her address, flying to investigate the fate of their leader.

W Goode never kept her radio on at home or in her car, but a source had tipped her off, and she was already putting on her uniform, preparing to take over the Charlotte Police Department, as Unit 538 sped through Fourth Ward. Unit 538 was terrified. She worried she might have to stop to vomit. She turned on Pine Street, and was stunned to find five other police cars already in front of Hammer's house, lights strobing. In Unit 538's rearview mirror, more cars came, miles of them, speeding through the night to help their fallen chief.

Unit 538 parked, shakily gathered her metal clipboard, wondering if she could just leave, and deciding probably not.

Hammer went out on the porch to reassure her people.

"Everything is under control," she spoke to them.

"Then you're not injured," said a sergeant whose name she did not recall.

"My husband is injured. We don't think it's serious," she said.

"So everything's okay."

"Man, what a scare."

"We're so relieved. Chief Hammer."