Chapter Twenty-four
I woke up with a start at about eight p.m., I turned around to see Max, and to my surprise he was wide awake.
“Aren’t you supposed to be working right now?”
“I texted one of the off-going guys and asked him to cover me for a couple hours, but I do need to get to work.” The whole day felt like a dream I didn’t want to wake up from. The ride home with Max was euphoric, as we sat together sharing more easy conversation. Before I realized it, we were parked outside my house. Reluctantly we said our goodbyes for the evening, and I floated over the sidewalk and up to the front porch.
I looked at my watch, and it was just after nine on Friday. I walked over to Seth’s garage and peeked in the window - his car was gone. So much for checking in to see how he and Amanda were getting along.
I debated whether to go into my house or not. I grabbed my cell phone and decided to call Paul to see how his night was going.
Paul said, “Seth and Rachael went out to get your graduation present. I was thinking of going out for a coffee. Do you want to go with me?”
I definitely didn’t want to hang out with my parents on a Friday night. Who knew when Rachael or Seth would be back, and Max would be working all night. Coffee and conversation sounded pretty good right now. “Sure, if you don’t mind picking me up?”
Ten minutes later Paul’s car pulled up in front of my house. He told me about his day and helping his grandmother in the yard. He seemed to be paying an awful lot of attention to his rear view mirror as we drove.
I finally asked, “Is everything all right?”
“I keep seeing a gray sedan, like we’re being followed.”
This didn’t make any sense: if he was now cooperating with the police, had given a full statement, provided an alibi, why would they be following him now? It couldn’t be that they didn’t believe him? I couldn’t help but be obvious when I angled myself so I could get a better view of the sedan behind us through the passenger side mirror. What possible reason could the police have for following him? He was out on bail. They could search him anytime they wanted.
Scenarios started playing through my head: a rogue detective who didn’t believe Paul’s statement, a rookie cop who was trying to make a name for himself, someone personally connected with the victims using his authority to influence the investigation. I’d seen all these scenarios on television and in movies, but something kept making me angle and re-angle the mirror to try to get a better look at the driver. As I was adjusting the angle, the car eased back, from about four car lengths back to a city block. I saw its turn signal before it disappeared around a corner.
“Holy crap, Paul! Are you trying to make me a nervous wreck? The car just turned. We weren’t being followed.”
Paul made a right hand turn into an alley, driving to the back of the alley where there was a small parking lot big enough for maybe six cars. He looped around the lot so he was able to drive the car into a dark shadow and cut the lights. From fifteen feet we were nearly invisible, but we could see the lighted street clearly. “Sorry, Lauren, I just feel like…”
I cut him off, “Like you’re going stir crazy, like you’ve been watching too much TV? Maybe your mind is playing tricks on you, you know? I get that this has been a hard week on you, and I don’t blame you a bit for going a little schitzo, but how long are we going to sit in this alley?”
“If it was a cop, he would have flashed his lights for me to pull over. But if for some reason,” he stopped in mid sentence. Slowly a gray sedan eased past the alley. The occupant was looking down the alley right in our direction – as soon as I was starting to believe he had found us his head swung abruptly to the left as he peered down a dark alley on the opposite side of the street. My heart leapt - The way it did only when Max was within a few yards of me, then began racing so fast it felt like it was going to pump clean out of my chest.
In a very calm authoritative voice, one I didn’t even know I was capable of, “When he clears the alleyway, slowly drive forward. Don’t turn your lights on until right before we’re on the street. Stay on the main street. See if you can get close enough to him to read his license plate.”
Paul nodded in agreement, but I could see the color had completely faded from his complexion. In my mind I called to my voice of reason and screamed, “Rewsna – what should we do?” To my frustration I heard nothing in return. I picked up my cell phone as we approached the mouth of the alleyway, the sedan nowhere to be seen. The entire street was empty except for a couple walking hand-in-hand toward us. I dialed Officer Johnson’s number, but it went straight to voicemail. I hung up without leaving a message. I concentrated as hard as I could and, in my mind, asked as clearly as I could, “Rewsna, what should we do?” Nothing, no advice, no whisper, no feeling at all that she was even following this turn of events.
“I’m going to take you home.”
My heart was still racing, and it was moving so fast I was in danger of hyperventilating. I managed to stutter out, “No, we don’t know who this is. Go to the police station.” Paul turned in that direction, and when he made his left turn the same gray sedan was again behind us, but this time following very close. I grabbed my cell phone and tried Officer Johnson a second time, but it went directly to voicemail again.
The car began to overtake us on the left side, the driver rolled down his passenger side window and ordered, “Pull over, now!” He put a blue light on top of his car – the kind detectives use that are held on by magnets.
But every unmarked car I had ever seen had lights built into the car’s grill. When Paul began to pull the car over, I nearly came unglued, “No, go to the police station, now!”
“I can’t, I’m out on bail – if a cop wants to pull me over and I don’t comply, I go straight back to jail.”
Paul pulled the car over on the nearly deserted street, the couple I had seen just a minute ago nowhere in sight. A man was refilling a metal newspaper box halfway down the street, but he had his back to us. Paul put the car in park and reached for the ignition, I reached across and put my hand over the keys. Quietly, but with authority in my voice, “Do not shut the car off, put it back in drive. Roll your window up so it’s only open far enough to talk through. Do not get out of the car, and do not shut your engine off until you see his ID.”
The policeman walked up to the driver’s side and motioned with his hand for Paul to roll the window down. In as polite a voice as I had ever heard Paul use, “I’m sorry Officer, could I see some identification?”
The policeman pointed at the gray sedan directly behind us with the single flashing blue light on top, in a condescending tone, “That son, is my identification, now roll your window down.”
Paul reached for the power window, but I grabbed his elbow and as quietly as possible warned, “A photo ID, Paul.”
Paul looked back at the policeman and nervously squeaked out, “I’m sorry sir, I’m not trying to be belligerent, but I would really like to see a photo identification.”
The policeman stood there for a few seconds staring through the nearly closed window. In an instant I saw him reach his left hand from behind his back. He had pulled the trigger twice before I even realized he was holding a gun. On sheer instinct I grabbed the gear shifter and yanked it into the drive position, reached my left foot over to the driver’s side and punched the gas. Smoke rolled from the tires as we were barreling down the street with me driving from the passenger side. I didn’t look at Paul but could hear a soft gurgling sound as he breathed. I didn’t look behind us to see if he was in pursuit. I fumbled for my phone and was able to dial 911.
“911 Dispatch, what’s your emergency?”
“My friend’s been shot - what should I do?”
“What’s your location, ma’am?”
For the first time I looked at Paul, as I was driving from the passenger side and balancing the cell on my ear. “I’m
not sure, some guy said he was a cop and pulled out a gun and shot him. There’s blood everywhere!”
“Ma’am, I need you to remain calm. Is he breathing?”
I could hear heavier gurgling as he struggled to take in air. “Yes, but it sounds like he has blood in his lungs or something.”
“What’s your location?”
“I don’t know, I’m driving: 23rd Street, I think. I’m not sure.”
The dispatcher told me, “Ma’am, pull the car over at the next intersection and tell me where you are.”
I did as I was told, looking in all directions for any sign of the grey sedan, “I’m on the corner of 23rd and King.”
“Ma’am, what’s your name?”
“Lauren, Lauren Davis…What should I do?”
“Lauren, you need to stop the bleeding. Find where he was shot, use a jacket or a shirt and apply pressure to get the bleeding to stop.”
“I can’t find where he was shot. There’s blood everywhere. It’s coming out of his mouth. It’s all over his neck. I can’t find the bullet hole!”
“Lauren, calm down. You can’t help him if you aren’t calm. Take a deep breath. Help is on the way, but I need you to try to find where all the blood is coming from and get it to stop. Can you do that for me, Lauren?”
In my mind I could hear, “Relax, Lauren, calm yourself.” I took a deep breath and without moving him began to scan every inch of him, beginning with his head, neck, shoulders, then as if the hole could not have been more clear, I could see it. It was huge. “I, I…found the bullet hole, it’s in his chest. Blood is pouring out of it.”
The dispatcher asked, “Okay, good job. You need to apply pressure to the wound, to stop the bleeding. Are you applying pressure?”
I found a wadded up gym towel on the floor in the back seat and pressed it to his chest. “Yes, I’m applying pressure. He isn’t breathing.” I could hear Rewsna clearly through my thoughts. “Remain calm, pay attention to your surroundings.” I looked in all directions while I had both hands holding a towel against Paul’s chest. I didn’t see the gray sedan. I started blaring the car horn with my free hand trying to get someone’s attention.
Paul reached out and grabbed my arm with one of his hands. “Not a cop. Ms. McMasters’ barter…” He took two deep breaths and released. His entire body went limp in that second. I held the towel to his chest but knew there was no reason to. Paul had died right there in front of me.
I heard sirens before I could see anything. I sat there with my back to the windshield, facing Paul’s body, still holding the towel. I was getting tunnel vision as if I were getting ready to pass out. I knew I needed to focus. I couldn’t black out. I needed to wait for help. My body felt so heavy, then I heard Rewsna in my head, “Pay attention to your surroundings: what do you see? Now! Child, look around you.” I willed myself back to reality. My back was still to the windshield, but I took a long look around me. There was no gray sedan in any direction.
I blared the car horn another seven long bursts. I saw someone approaching the car, wearing sweatpants and a too-large t-shirt. He wore something on his head. As he approached, his pace sped up the last twenty feet when he realized that my blasts were for help. On the other side of the street, another man was watching me but made no movement to provide assistance. He was watching, holding his position.
I couldn’t tell how tall he was from that distance, but he was standing next to a parking meter. He seemed relatively short because the top of the meter was even with his chest. His hair was dark. He was wearing dress slacks with a sweatshirt, an odd combination. The first man who had come to assist was asking me questions that I didn’t respond to. I could hear a siren drawing closer.
I lost focus on the man across the street long enough to look at the man who had trotted over to help and was leaning in through the driver’s side door. He asked, “Miss, are you okay?” I nodded numbly but looked back to where the observer had been standing and saw that he was now walking into an apartment building with his back to the street.
An ambulance arrived. When I saw it pull up, I felt a huge sense of relief knowing Max would be here to tell me everything would be all right. Paul sat motionless on the seat beside me. I heard a lot of shouting, but I couldn’t make sense of the words. I kept searching the faces looking from one to another but couldn’t find Max. Where was Max? I felt a hand hold my wrist and remove it from Paul’s chest. I heard a voice talking to me but still couldn’t make out the words.
A paramedic was here, but it wasn’t Max. “Ma’am, do you know what day it is?” I didn’t. “Ma’am, do you know where you are?” I nodded but couldn’t make words form; my voice had disappeared. Another paramedic was now at the passenger side door shining a light in my eyes, taking my pulse and talking to me. It wasn’t Max either.
I tried to comprehend what all had happened. Paul was dead. I heard the paramedic say, “She’s in shock. We need to get her to the hospital.” At this I looked straight at him and tears began flowing down my cheeks as if someone had turned on a faucet. I managed to get out, “I . . . need . . . to talk . . . to M-M-Max Meyer.” I started shaking like crazy. I couldn’t be sure if I had said it loud enough for him to hear, so I said again, “I . . . need . . . Max Meyer.”
“Who is Max? Was Max driving the car?” A third man, maybe a detective, was standing there with a note pad. I shook my head and reached up and grabbed the paramedic’s shirt. I asked, “Where’s Max? He’s working tonight. Where’s Max Meyer?”
The paramedic looked in my eyes, “You mean Max Meyer that works with us?” I nodded quickly and he answered, “Hold on.” I waited a couple minutes. I could see the paramedic was talking on a handheld radio, but I couldn’t hear what he was saying. He walked back over to the car and told me, “Max is working tonight. What’s your name?”
“He’s my boyfriend. Tell him I need him.”
The paramedic nodded, “You’re in shock. We need to take you to the hospital. I’ll radio ahead and tell Max to meet us there, okay?” The tears that I had almost under control flooded my eyes again as I nodded. “What’s your name?”
“Lauren.”
“Do you know what happened to your friend?”
I nodded again and was able to get out, “Paul Stratford, he got shot by a cop, I think. He’s dead, isn’t he?”
The paramedic nodded. That was it, everything went black. The next thing I knew I was in the ambulance. The paramedic’s name tag read “Phil.” Max rarely talked about the people at work other than his partner, so Phil wasn’t familiar to me. He saw that I was again coherent. “Hi, Lauren, how are you feeling?”
“Okay.” Paul and I were pulled over by someone that may or may not have been a policeman. That person killed Paul right in front of my eyes and could have killed me. I’m on a trip to the hospital, again. “Where’s Max?”
“I spoke with Max. He’s at the hospital now, waiting for us. You’re going to be fine.” His smile was reassuring.
Phil was right. We were no sooner through the doors at the hospital and there was Max. He grabbed my hand tightly then lifted my eyelids with his other. I was able to focus on him, and he smiled a forced smile back at me. I was strapped on a gurney being wheeled into an exam room. He walked alongside me asking medical questions about me to Phil while a nurse was walking with us taking notes. I found the only thing I wanted to concentrate on were Max’s eyes.
We got to an exam room, and now that I was with Max, I somehow felt stronger. I could focus on what people were saying around me, about me. He was still holding my hand, and it felt as if my strength was somehow coming from him. Max, Phil, the nurse and the doctor were all talking about me when I felt like my voice belonged to me again.
All eyes in the room were on me when I told them, “I’m okay, I wasn’t hurt. I need to talk to the police about what happened.” Max squeezed
my hand and smiled at me, his normal smile this time, not the one he had forced himself to wear when I got here.
The doctor told me, “Lauren, you’re in shock. We’re giving you some fluids and a sedative to calm you down a little.”
I all but shouted, “No, please, no sedative. I need to talk to the police. Max, can you call Officer Johnson for me? I need to talk to him.” Max nodded that he could. “Doctor really, I’m fine, I was just freaked out by what happened, but I’m okay. I need to tell the police what happened right away.”
The doctor nodded and motioned to the nurse, “The police are waiting outside. Let them know she can talk to them right away.”
I didn’t recognize the person that came into my room. Max stayed with me. I was sitting up in the bed. The man held out a hand to me, “Hi, Lauren, I’m Detective Dixon.” I shook his hand and forced a smile. The man who shot Paul pretended to be a policeman, or maybe he was a policeman with a strange sense of justice. I’d never heard of Detective Dixon. I cautiously asked, “Detective Dixon, do you have any photo ID on you?”
Detective Dixon reached into the breast pocket of his jacket and pulled out his credentials. I looked at them, and they appeared to be genuine. “Thanks.” Under normal circumstances I would trust what my eyes were showing me, I would put more credence in the fact that my body wasn’t giving me any warning signs, I would simply believe that this detective was exactly who he said he was, . . . but there was nothing normal about the last couple hours. “Can you get Officer Keith Johnson on the phone?”
Max instinctively moved between the detective and me and looked like he was ready to brawl. Detective Dixon pulled out his cell phone without a word, dialed a number and said, “Good evening, Sergeant, I need a twenty on Keith Johnson. Is he on tonight?” There was a pause while the Desk Sergeant must have been speaking to the detective. “Great. Can you patch me to him? Thanks.” Another short pause and then I heard, “Keith, this is Dixon, I’ve got Lauren Davis at the hospital and she wants to talk to you. I’m going to hand her the phone.”
His expression was neither condescending nor frustrated when I took the phone from his hand. I asked, “Officer Johnson, is that you?” into the receiver.
His familiar voice replied, “Lauren, what’s going on? What’re you doing at the hospital? I saw I missed a couple calls from you and hadn’t had a chance to call you back.”
“You recognize the detective, right?”
“Sure, what’s going on?”
“A cop . . . a guy . . . a guy I think was a cop . . . shot Paul. He just . . . he just walked up to the car and shot him.”
“Lauren, I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”
“Yeah, a little freaked, but okay.”
“Can you put Detective Dixon on?”
I handed the phone to the Detective. The two talked briefly, then I heard, “I’ll get her statement and meet you at the station as soon as I’m done here. Yeah, I’ll tell them.”
While Max stayed in the room, I relayed the events of the night in as much detail as I could remember. I wasn’t able to give a good description of the man that had impersonated a policeman and shot Paul. The detective asked me questions throughout. After I had relayed the whole story, he asked me a few more, “Did Paul seem to recognize the person that shot him?”
I paused for a minute and thought about it. “Right before Paul died he said something that didn’t make sense. He said ‘Not a cop, Ms. McMasters’ something, then he died.”
“Where were you when Paul made this statement?”
“The intersection where I stopped the car – 23rd and King.”
I replayed the events over and over in my head, answering all the questions the best that I could, giving even the minutest details. At the end of the interview it felt like I had been answering questions for hours. The detective asked, “Did you see anything else that could help in the investigation?”
“I was so scared I’m not sure how or even if this is relevant. When I was waiting for the ambulance to come, I saw a man across the street watching our car. I had blared the horn a bunch of times to signal that I needed help. The man I saw just stood across the street staring, without coming over. It seemed weird at the time because another guy came to help. I wouldn’t have thought anything of it, except the man who was watching left before the police and ambulance arrived. You know, if he were really interested in what was going on, he would have stayed and watched, right?”
The detective scribbled something in his book and asked, “Did you see where he went?”
I nodded, “Yeah, he went into an apartment building right behind him. It might be nothing, and I wouldn’t mention it at all except it looked like he was wearing a sweatshirt with dress pants.” The detective stopped writing and looked at me confused. I explained, “Well, it’s way too hot for a sweatshirt this time of year, and who wears one with dress pants?”
The detective stood up. “I think I’ve got everything I need. Thanks for all your cooperation. I’ll fill Keith in on everything.”
The detective left, and the nurse came back into my room and checked my vitals. “Nurse, I’m really feeling much better. I don’t think I need to be here. Can I go home now?”
The nurse pursed her lips and looked from me to Max, “I think we should have the doctor take a look at you again. If he says you’re clear, I can start your discharge, but going into shock is nothing to take lightly. He may want to keep you here for observation tonight.” She walked out leaving me with Max.
Max was at a loss, “Can I get you anything?”
“No. I don’t want to stay here.”
“Do you want me to call Molly?”
“Wait to see what the doctor says.” He nodded. No sense calling to tell her a whole lot of nothing.
“Are you okay?”
Tears leaked down my cheeks. I looked away. “I’m okay.”
Max squeezed my hand, “You’re going to be fine. I won’t leave you.”
The tears streamed faster, “I was really scared until I saw an ambulance pull up tonight. I must be the only person in the world who looks at an ambulance and feels relief. When I saw the paramedic wasn’t you, I thought I was going to have a melt-down.”
Max hadn’t let go of my hand the whole time since I arrived at the hospital, and he squeezed it gently again. “I could hardly believe what Phil was saying to me over the radio, that you had been in a car where the driver was shot and you were in shock. I started yelling questions to him, but then for no reason I got really calm: I just knew you were okay.”
Max and I talked about everything but Paul. We talked about Seth, Rachael, my parents, how they were all going to react to this latest incident. We talked about graduation, which was tomorrow, and finally our trip to nowhere special.
The doctor came back in to check on me and cleared me for release. When I asked Max if he was in trouble for not going back to work, he answered, “No, my boss started my leave of absence tonight instead of tomorrow. I’m done working until we come back from our trip.”
Max called my parents. He must have talked to my dad because the conversation was really short. “It’s Max. Before I say anything else, I want you to know Lauren’s okay. She was driving with a friend, Paul Stratford, tonight, and he was shot while she was in the car. She was brought to the hospital because she was in shock.” There was a pause where Dad must have asked Max a question, “No, she’s coherent, and the doctor said she’s fine for discharge. I was going to take her back to my apartment just so I can keep an eye on her tonight, if that’s okay?” Another long pause, “Yes, I’ll bring her by in the morning so she can get ready for graduation. I’ll see you then.” Max put his cell phone away and helped me to my feet, “I hope you don’t mind, but I would feel better if I was with you tonight.”
A uniformed police officer was standing at my door. “Ma’am, I’m Larry Phillips. Keith s
ent me as a protective detail.”
“That’s nice but not necessary. If the guy wanted me dead, he would have killed me a couple hours ago.”
Max held out his hand to the policeman, “Hi, Larry, I’m Max. She’s going to stay at my place tonight. You’re welcome to come along.”
I was so emotionally drained I didn’t even try to argue.