~~~~~~~~~~

Four hours of sleep, an hour at the gym and a muscle-pounding shower. Sheriff Derek Oleson felt ready to tackle the case of Debra Padget's murder with renewed enthusiasm.

He'd contacted the detectives of the Special Task Force and ordered them to Headquarters at 08:00 hours. His first stop, though, was the hospital.

It would take a miracle for Stanley Eisner to be awake and alert. Derek put a hold on his mounting anxiety that the one person who could provide a link to Debra Paget's murder might die before they could even talk with him. 

Briggins Medical Center had tripled in size during the ten years of Derek's tenure as County Sheriff. Its rare, Lloyd Wright-inspired architecture had recently been the subject of heated debate between preservationists and the hospital's directors. The last he'd heard, they'd still not come to satisfactory terms.

Heads turned as he entered the main entrance. Derek headed directly for the bank of elevators. He pushed the button for the fourth floor and, hands on hips, waited for the door to open. He felt someone's eyes on him and turned to meet the hard stare of an elderly man bent over a walker.

The man's puffy features and bulbous nose spoke of a fondness for booze. His chin angled toward his breast-bone as he shot a suspicious glare over the top of his smudged spectacles.

"What you poh-lees-men doin' to catch the killer of that lady?"

Derek met the man's look even as he recognized  the challenge of his words.

"I've got my best people on it, Sir. We expect a break in the case very soon."

"Better hope so. Pervert's prob'ly sizin' up his next victim, waitin' to pounce like a barn cat in heat."

The elevator bell set the old man in motion. Moving fast as a fish off a hook, he pushed his way past Derek. Before taking up residence in the middle of the elevator, he punched the number of his floor and the close-door button. The sheriff was forced to put out his forearm to stop the doors' momentum. He reached around to tap the number four and gave the gent a wide berth.

The door opened on the second floor and the man stepped out. Derek thought about his question and the emotion behind it in on his ascent to the fourth floor.

Probably more scared than angry. Good, it'll keep him home with his doors locked until we can make an arrest.

He located a sign with directions to the cardiac unit. Passing a well-lit waiting room, Derek observed a frail, elderly woman with a wad of Kleenex in her fist trying to keep up with the tears rolling down her cheeks. Next to her was a teenager with long, greasy black hair and torn jeans, thumbs clicking a message into cyberspace.

He turned away from the all-too-familiar scene. Too many damned times he'd been the one to deliver news that hit the receiver like an atomic blast.

A good cop never gets used to it.   

Turning right, he faced the doors of the Cardiac Intensive Care Unit and pressed the metal disc on the wall. The security door whooshed open, revealing Detective Newstead positioned in front of the nurse's station. All his attention was on the pretty blonde seated on the other side of the desk.

The younger man turned to see who was approaching. He straightened, pivoting to face Derek. There was an alert gleam in the younger man's eyes. He seemed no worse for the wear of a night spent keeping guard over Stanley Eisner.

Derek led his detective to a corner out of sight and hearing of the medical personnel.

"Quiet night?"

"Yes, Sir. Mr. Eisner was in surgery for five hours. He's been on monitors ever since leaving the recovery room. I stayed with him as much as possible -- there's a visitor limit in Cardiac Intensive Care."

Derek nodded his approval.

"After I explained to his surgeon that the subject, I mean Mr. Eisner, was a possible witness in a murder investigation, he agreed to allow an officer to be present for safety purposes. It's amazing how much can be overheard when you make yourself blend into the surroundings." He smiled in that smug way Derek disliked.

It's probably too much to expect empathy from someone on the short side of thirty.

"The old guy's in pretty bad shape. They had to open him up and do what they could to repair the damage to his heart. He looks like he's been beaten by a pipe-wielding gang."

"Who's taking the next shift?"

"Officer Poole." Detective Newstead looked at his watch. "He should be arriving any minute."

A white, middle-aged male emerged from one of the side rooms and approached the detectives.

"I've noticed you hanging around like you're doing surveillance or something." He moved close to Detective Newstead, dropping his voice to a pseudo-whisper. "I'll bet you have some famous criminal stashed away in one of these rooms."

Prickles of energy moved along the fine hairs of Derek's arm, and he had the notion that he should memorize the man's features.

A commotion at the end of the hallway drew the detectives' focus away from the man. The officer who arrived for duty appeared to have earned the disapproval of the blonde nurse who was insisting he present some identification.

Derek approached the desk, nudged Officer Poole aside and addressed the nurse.

"It's commendable that you take your job seriously, ma'am."

Her smile was tight and brief. "I just want to be sure no one is pretending to be a policeman. It would help if you provided us with photo identification of your detectives, so we can focus on the well-being of our patient."

The sheriff placed his elbows on the desk and leaned closer. "That's an excellent idea..." he glanced at her tag, "Ms. Roberts."

Her stiff manner thawed with his words of approval.

"I can personally vouch for Officer Todd Poole as being the real deal. We'll do our best to stay in the background and out the way of all you professional folks. If you have any problems at all, here's my card."

She snatched the card and tucked into the pocket of her electric blue scrubs. "Thank you for understanding."

"You're welcome. Do you have any idea when Doctor Drake will be coming to see Mr. Eisner?"

"He'll be in surgery for most of the day. However, he has a nurse practitioner who monitors cardiac patients throughout the day. Would you like me to call you when Mr. Eisner's surgeon gets here?" she offered.

"That's not necessary. Officer Poole will keep me informed."

Remembering the inquisitor from earlier, Derek looked around but there was no sign of him lounging about.

Strange.

He gave a brief physical description to the nurse. "He came out of one of the rooms at the end of the hallway. I realize you can't give me his name, but can you confirm if someone meeting that description is here, right now, visiting one of the patients?"

"That area is currently being renovated. And no one from maintenance will be here until after nine o'clock."

He took Officer Poole's arm and pulled him aside.

"Be on the lookout for a middle-aged white male with a goatee, diamond studs in his earlobes and a tattoo circling his neck. He's a person of interest as of now. I want him brought in for questioning. And, Todd, no one gets in to see Mr. Eisner without clearance from the supervising nurse."

~~~~~~~~~~ 

Detectives Burke, Morales, Jolly and Epstein sat quietly studying their notes and keeping their own thoughts. A coffee carafe and a box of cinnamon scones -- Jana's contribution -- were the table's only decoration.

Detective Skeets Epstein slid the box closer to himself, speared the middle of a scone and lifted it from the box.

"Jana, you do know it's not manly for guys to eat scones, right?"

"When have you ever turned down free food, Epstein?" Jana shot back.

He dropped the scone and turned a sorrowful look in her direction. "I'm what they call an 'emotional' eater, Jana. This case has my insides all twisted up. The perp is out there just laughing his ass off while we stumble around like blind mice." 

Their boss chose that moment to enter. 

"Everyone manage to get a few hours sleep?" he asked. Except for Jana, they nodded in the affirmative.

The senior detective searched her face, noting the tight lines at the edges of her mouth and a hint of something different in her manner. She blushed under his lingering attention.

Derek crossed to the mounted evidence board and leaned his back into it.

"We've caught a break." 

Detective Jolly blurted, "Then we're wasting precious time."

"Ron, you know the dangers of over-zealousness in a case. Besides, I only just got the information late last evening."

"Father Brian DeShano has suggested a motive for the murder of Debra Padget."

The four seated detectives appeared stunned by the source of the break.  

"The priest's had the knack for being one step ahead of us from the beginning," Detective Morales remarked. "How has he managed to do that?"

"At the moment, I want you to focus on the what and not the how," Derek replied sharply. "The lead is worth following up, but will require us to resurrect an old case."

He picked up a marker and wrote in red: Monsignor Lewis Flaherty.

"Shit," Detective Morales mumbled.

Derek walked to the head of the table. "You and Ron did some solid police work on that case, Rick."

"Yeah, and I remember how it tore apart this community, especially among the older Catholics," Detective Jolly added.

Derek handed a sketch of the man from the hospital to be passed among the detectives. "Make sure you each get a copy and take it out with you on interviews. He's a person of interest at this point."

When Jana Burke held the sketch in her hand, her pulse jumped. The facial features had been hidden in her dream, but the dragon tattoo was the same one worn by the menacing hooded figure.

What in hell are we dealing with? 

~~~~~~~~~~