“Then this is the bow.” He stepped aside to let Ramsey out.
Ramsey walked down the hallway. She knew it was Goodfellow behind her because when she stopped suddenly on the threshold of the outer office, he gripped her by the upper arms and moved her aside so he didn’t bowl her over.
She was bowled over anyway, and she believed it was likely the same for the trooper. He certainly seemed to have lost the power of speech.
With the aid of a walker and a thigh-high black leg brace, Paul Shippensmith stood in the channel between the rows of desks. The on-duty officers were crowded around but not so as to block the view from were Ramsey, Goodfellow, and the chief were standing. Behind the Ridge store manager and a little to one side, Sullivan Day had adopted an at-ease stance.
Ramsey would have abandoned all semblance of dignity and jumped in Sullivan’s arms if Paul hadn’t been in the way, and she still might have shoved her manager aside if he hadn’t been handcuffed to his walker. It was simply one obstacle too many.
“I’ve already terminated the BOLO,” the chief told Goodfellow. He jerked his chin in Sullivan’s direction. “Tell John where you found Mr. Shippensmith.”
“He was being fitted for his brace in the ER while Buddy and I were sitting with the shooting victim. I got up for a drink at the same time the attending was pulling back the curtain on Mr. Shippensmith’s cubicle.”
“So, what? Right place, right time?” asked Goodfellow.
“Yes, sir.”
“Perhaps we should all aspire to your level of dumb luck.”
“I don’t know about that, sir. Not a lick of good police work involved. I can’t take any pride in it.”
“Well, you did shoot someone,” the chief said. “You’ve got that.”
Sullivan managed not to grin. “Mr. Carpenter is going to be fine, by the way. Buddy’s still at the hospital. He asked me to remind you that he needs to be relieved and he needs a ride.”
Bailey pointed to the man closest to the door and made an exit gesture with his thumb. He nodded at Paul but spoke to Sullivan. “What did they give him for pain?”
“Morphine sulfate. Low dose. I was assured it’d be out of his system in a couple of hours, and he can take a combination of one five hundred tab of acetaminophen and a two hundred tab of ibuprofen for pain.” Now Sullivan did give up an ironic grin. “He kept asking for fentanyl.”
“All right. Make him comfortable in holding until he’s ready for some questions. Who was with him at the hospital or did he drive himself there?”
“His wife. She went home. I don’t believe she plans on visiting him any time soon.”
Paul’s features were a series of deeply etched creases, his dark eyebrows a puckered line above his eyes. His mouth was set in a grimace. No one looking at him doubted that he was genuinely in pain, which is why no one suspected that he would be able to thrust himself forward with the walker and one good leg and throw himself at Ramsey.
Goodfellow threw an arm sideways in an effort to protect Ramsey from the assault while Chief Bailey made to step in front of her. Ramsey avoided both of their efforts by ducking and twisting in order to keep herself the target of Paul’s rage. Under her breath, she said, “I’ve got this, guys.” She had no idea if they heard her, but when Paul lifted the walker to make a hard jab at her, neither the detective nor the chief interfered. Ramsey grabbed one of walker’s forward legs, pivoted, and forced Paul to rotate with her. Remarkably, he kept his balance and thrust again as he tried to knock her off her feet.
Just as if there were not eight men with badges in the room who could take him down faster than anyone could say Caribbean Coast, Paul growled at her as he punched forward. “Bitch! You did this!”
Ramsey did not retreat. She grabbed the walker’s other leg and this time didn’t pull or pivot. This time, she pushed. Paul teetered, hopping in an ungainly fashion to stay upright. He held the walker in a white-knuckled grip and was able to remain standing only because she held onto the legs.
She suspected Paul knew what she was going to do the same instant that she decided to do it. She offered him a brightly mocking smile and released the walker.
Paul would have landed hard, perhaps hitting his head on the corner of a metal desk on his way to the floor, but her smile had telegraphed her intent to the person who knew how to read it the best, and Sullivan was there with both arms to catch Paul and lower him to the ground. Ramsey had to take her satisfaction where she could get it. The walker toppled, and by virtue of Paul still being handcuffed to it, trapped him like a cage. It was a nice ending for now.
44
The Ridge managerwas taken to the regional jail and arraigned two days later. He pleaded not guilty and posted bail. His wife was not at the arraignment and refused to pick him up. His attorney arranged a ride for him, but when he arrived home, Cheryl would not let him in the house. In his absence, she’d changed the locks and the passcodes for both garage door pads. He had graduated from walker to cane and used it to raise enough of a ruckus that neighbors called the police. Karl Longabach took his time arriving at the scene and left Paul standing out in the cold when he was invited inside to reason with Cheryl. It required all of Karl’s superior negotiating skills over a cup of Constant Comment tea before Cheryl, in consultation with her lawyer, agreed Paul could come in and stay the night. Karl gave her his solemn promise that he’d check on her throughout his shift.
Although on the face of it, their crimes were vastly different, Jay Carpenter’s trajectory through the legal system was not so different from Paul’s. He was released from the hospital into police custody the day after the shooting and transported to the regional jail. He was provided a public defender once he made it bitterly clear he could not afford an attorney. The defender did a fair job of representing him and prior to the arraignment worked out several plea deals that reduced the shot that he took at Ramsey to reckless brandishing of a firearm. Ramsey’s written statement regarding being forced to drive him to her home as well as her previous encounters with him were all part and parcel of a stalking charge. What remained was all of the financial voodoo that Jay had been doing in his job at Willow Garden Health Systems. Willow Garden terminated Jay’s employment and vowed to weather the negative publicity in order to be seen doing the right thing by supporting his prosecution.
A few days after the arraignment, Ramsey went to see Jay. She did not ask Sullivan to accompany her, nor did she speak to her lawyer before going. It was important to her that she go alone and prove to herself and to Jay that she was unafraid. She knew he would think her courage was due to his present circumstances wearing an unflattering orange jumpsuit and sitting behind a plexiglass shield, but that was the least of it as far as Ramsey was concerned. She was going to take away his power for good.
There was no exchange of pleasantries, no inquiries about health and welfare. Sitting down with Jay had more in common with a business meeting than a visit. The first overture he made was to request that she provide bail, and the only surprise there was that he framed it as an appeal to her better nature rather than making a demand. He set his teeth together hard when she said no, but to his credit, he didn’t threaten or whine. She was pleased with his silence.
Her visitation time was brief. She shared some details about her statement to the police of which he’d been unaware, and because those details—or rather the lack of them—worked in his favor, it would have been self-defeating for him to argue. Still, throughout her explanation, she observed him looking for a crack that he could exploit. There wasn’t one.
Satisfied with the outcome, Ramsey stood, wished him well, and left. When he shouted after her, she didn’t look back.
