The next few minutes seemed like an eternity. Finally, two EMTs nudged her aside. Stella stepped back. They took vitals, started an IV, and applied a pressure bandage. By the time they loaded Brody onto a gurney and wheeled him into the ambulance, Stella’s legs were trembling and queasiness stirred in her belly like a toxic brew.
Lance rushed into the store, and Stella gave him a quick summary. Then she stumbled to the back of the store, went into the restroom, and heaved her afternoon snack.
She added Ring Dings to her list of foods never to be eaten again. Last time it had been apple cider donuts. At this rate, all her favorite sweets were going to be off-limits.
After washing her face with cold water, she opened the door. Bill the pharmacist was standing outside. He handed her a bottle of mouthwash. “Thought you might need this.”
“Thanks.” She went back into the bathroom and swigged a capful.
Second shooting of her career. Second after-shooting hurl. At least she consistently got the job done before letting adrenaline take over.
“Thank you. For everything.” She handed Bill the bottle and went outside. Three SFPD cars lined the street. Forensic techs crawled over the lawns under portable floodlights, and a mixed crowd of gawkers and reporters gathered behind sawhorses.
Lance led an elderly man with a cane to Stella. “This is Mr. Kiel. He’s the owner of the property. Lives in apartment one.”
Skinny, stooped, and sweatered, despite the blistering heat, Mr. Kiel could have been anywhere from seventy-five to a hundred years old. He squinted at Stella through Mr. Magoo glasses.
“Do you know where Mr. Crawley is?” Stella asked.
“Hold on.” He reached to his ear. A tinny sound, like feedback on a microphone, came from his head. “Sorry. I turned off my hearing aid to take a nap.”
“Where is the tenant for unit four?” Stella repeated.
He leaned both hands on the top of his cane. “Jim died of a massive heart attack last week. His kids live in Florida. They took his personal stuff with them, but they arranged to have the furniture donated. Someone is supposed to pick it up by the end of the month.”
“What about the unit below his?”
Mr. Kiel sighed. “That’s been empty for two months. With two empty units, I don’t know how I’m going to pay my bills.”
“Did anyone inquire about the empty unit recently?”
He nodded. “Got a call this afternoon. First bite in weeks.”
“Can you tell me anything about the voice?” she asked.
“Sounded like a man.”
“Do you have Caller-ID?”
“No,” Mr. Kiel said.
She’d have to request his phone records. Stella realized the sheer ridiculousness of her next question as she asked it. “Did you see or hear anything earlier today?”
He laughed. “I can barely see and hear you, darling, and you’re standing right in front of me.”
“Thank you,” Stella said. “We’ll be in touch if we have any more questions.”
The old man tottered away.
“Let’s get some uniforms knocking on doors.” Stella eyed the maze of juniper bushes and rhododendrons that covered the landscaping. The chances that the neighbors saw the suspect were slim. The shooter had plenty of time to walk away while Stella was busy keeping Brody alive. But she spent the next hour interviewing the residents of the surrounding houses anyway. No one saw the shooter. The uniforms were still canvasing the rest of the neighborhood when she gave up and found Lance in the street.
“I’m going to the hospital,” she said.
“Any word on Brody?” Lance asked.
“No. I’ll text you when I have news.”
Church bells rang as Stella walked to the car. As she turned toward her vehicle, her eyes drifted toward the sound. A few blocks away, a church spire towered over the neighborhood. She hadn’t realized Our Lady of Sorrows was this close.
A reporter broke through the line, jamming his microphone in Stella’s face. “Detective Dane, can you identify the officer who was shot? Was it Detective McNamara? Is that his blood?”
Her hand rose in front of her face in reflex. She glanced down, her stomach recoiling at the splotches of red soaking her clothes.
A large body blocked him. Lance. Before Stella could blink, he sent the reporter sprawling with a shove to the chest. The jerk landed on his back in the street. His microphone flew from his hand and skidded across the pavement.
Stella stepped in front of Lance. She put two hands on his chest, but he plowed forward. Her shoes slid on the blacktop. “Lance. Stop. Please.”
Rage widened his eyes. Breathing hard, he stepped backward. His fists opened and closed at his sides.