The Last Hour (Thompson Sisters) by Sheehan-Miles, Charles (reading well .txt) 📕

me wonder if something was changing. But whatever it was, it was gone, and I swallowed. I’d do anything to make this vision of her being back with her sisters a true one.

I heard voices outside the waiting room and stuck my head out.

Not again. Major Smalls was out there, along with an Army sergeant. They were facing an older, balding man in a cheap looking grey suit. I looked back in the waiting room. Daniel was uneasy, and I said, “Stay here with Sarah.”

His eyes swiveled to her, a little alarmed.

In the hall, the man in the suit had a deep frown on his face. “I don’t get it. Why are you guys here, anyway?”

Smalls said, “Detective, this is an Army issue.”

“Why?” the guy in the suit said. “Because both of them were in the Army? Don’t matter to me. A crime takes place in the District, it’s my jurisdiction. And you two are interfering.”

Smalls spoke in a low voice. “One of the victims is a witness in an ongoing trial.”

“Yeah? That’s nice. From what I understand, he’s not going to be much of a witness for anything now, and I’ve got an investigation to conduct, so if you’ll….”

He was cut off by Dylan, who apparently overheard the conversation and walked out of the waiting room, pulling the door shut behind him.

“No,” Dylan said. “Leave Carrie alone.”

The detective turned to Dylan. “Who the hell are you?”

Major Smalls said, “Mr. Paris, we need to question Dr. Thompson-Sherman about the accident.”

“It can wait,” Dylan said, ignoring the detective.

“No, it can’t,” the detective said. “And I suggest, whoever you are, that you mind your own business.”

By this time the confrontation caught the attention of a nurse, who approached rapidly from the nurses’ station.

“I don’t know what’s going on here,” she said, “But you all need to lower your voices, this is the intensive care unit.”

The detective turned to the nurse and said, “I’m Detective Johnson, District of Columbia Homicide. I need to ask some questions about an accident that took place earlier today.”

Homicide? What the hell?

“You’re not going to question anybody right now,” Dylan said, his voice hostile.

The detective turned to Dylan and said, “And you’re going to stay out of it.”

Smalls closed her eyes. I could see her patience was about to wear out completely. “Detective, can we speak for five minutes, please?”

“I’ve got a job to do,” he said, and started to push his way past Dylan toward the door.

“Bullshit,” Dylan muttered, shoving his way back in front of the detective and blocking the door.

No one was prepared for the sudden response. The detective grabbed Dylan by the arm and threw him up against the wall, then twisted Dylan’s arm up behind him.

“Son of a bitch!” Dylan cried out.

“Tell you what, kid,” the detective said between clenched teeth. “How about I take you to jail, then I’ll come back up here and question whoever the hell I want?”

“Detective,” Major Smalls said. “Please ... I’m asking you to give me five minutes. We can resolve this situation peacefully, and both of us can get the answers we need. Mr. Paris here’s highly emotional, that’s his best friend and brother-in-law in the operating room.”

The detective looked back and forth between Smalls and Dylan and finally said, “Fine.” Then he released Dylan with a small shove. Dylan stumbled. That’s when they all noticed Alex standing in the doorway. She ran to Dylan, saying, “Are you all right?”

“Yeah,” he said.

“What is it with you and cops?” she muttered.

Smalls looked at both of them and said, “Look. I know this is unpleasant for all of you. But the DC police need to ask Carrie some questions. And so do I. We can go through all the trouble of getting warrants and all that stuff, or taking her to the police station and making it a big formal thing, or you guys can just cooperate.

“I don’t understand why you can’t just leave it alone,” Dylan said. “It was an …” His face turned bright red, as he struggled to the word. “An… accident. Can’t you just ask her whatever tomorrow or the next day? Or, measure tread marks or whatever the hell it is you do?”

Smalls took a deep breath and said, “It may not have been an accident.”

Dylan and Alex both froze. And to be honest, so did I.

“What did you say?” Dylan asked.

“She said it may not have been an accident,” the detective repeated. “As in ... I’m with the homicide department, not a fucking traffic cop.”

“Wherever you’re from,” the nurse said, “you’ve all got thirty seconds to take this discussion off the ward or I’ll call security.”

“Oh for Pete’s sake,” the cop said. “Fine. You got an office or something where we can talk?”

“Yes,” the nurse said. “Come this way.”

So the nurse led all of them down the hall and opened a door. It was a bare room, with a few seats and a small table. “You can use this space. But if I hear any more shouting, you’re all out of here.”

 Smalls said, “All right. Here’s the deal. We have good reason to believe it wasn’t an accident.”

“What reason?” Dylan asked.

“Obviously I can’t discuss that. But we need to ask some questions and find out more. So does Detective Johnson here. My suggestion is that we get it over with now as painlessly as possible for everyone. Detective, you can take the lead on whatever questions you’ve got. And you let me sit in. Fair enough?”

“Fine,” said Johnson. “Why don’t we start with this kid here?”

Dylan said. “Someone gets to stay with Carrie at all times. Otherwise you’re going to have to go get that warrant. Her husband’s in there having his brain operated on, all right? Have some compassion, for Christ’s sake.”

Alex put her hand on Dylan’s shoulder as he spoke. Then she said, “I can stay with her.”

Johnson shrugged. “Fine. Whatever. But we start with this joker,” he said, pointing at Dylan. He gave a pointed look to Alex. “Him