Chapter 13

That night, Suzi found little comfort in sleep. Tom, Ricky, and Becca took turns watching over her, assisting her to the restroom when necessary. In the early morning hours, Becca aided Suzi in washing away the remnants of dried blood from her body and legs. They found her some comfortable jeans, a sports bra that accommodated the dressing on her side, a pink camouflaged t-shirt, hiking boots that fit, and a Chicago Cubs hoodie. Suzi would have preferred a Yankees hoodie, but they were in Chicago after all.

As dawn approached, Suzi found herself unable to sleep any longer. She could walk around if she took it easy, but bending was a different story. She explored the storefront, uncertain if it was a façade for a more extensive operation or a legitimate store. Shelves and displays scattered with various sporting equipment gave it an authentic look. Yet, Suzi had a hunch that it was merely a front, with no real intention of selling to the public.

Wandering around, she noticed the sunrise and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafting in the air, reminding her of Rio. The previous night, she received a text informing her that Rio was driving in to meet Reed, Owen, and Ruth at the airport. Their flight was only about 45 minutes long, but they had to wait until the morning to depart. Suzi was unsure if they had already boarded their flight out of Missouri.

There was no response from Maeve.

Suzi understood Maeve’s stubbornness. Both of Maeve’s parents were, and still are, very stubborn. But with age comes experience, and Suzi also knew what it meant to hold on to stubbornness and those eventually becoming regrets. She had her own regrets about the loss of her father. After not speaking for over a decade, and never meeting his grandkids, he reached out to her when he found out he was in terminal liver failure from his years of being an alcoholic. They spoke on occasion, but he never wanted her or her children to see him in his failing health, and she refused to see him on his deathbed. Logan flew to see him but was less than an hour late after he passed.

She did not want that for Maeve.

Ricky brought Suzi a hot cup of joe and said, “Thinking about being the next Sammy Sosa?”

She rolled her eyes at him and sipped her coffee.

“When you are ready, I’ll take you to the hospital to see Aiden.”

“I noticed something about this little set-up you guys have here.”

“Oh, this is all Tom.”

“A sporting goods store sells guns and ammo. You guys have everything but that.”

“Are you looking to go hunting?” Ricky deflected. “Shall we go?”

“Sure,” Suzi said, unamused.

“Speaking of ammo – because I know you are going to ask - the bullet Tom pulled out of Ygritte was a nine-millimeter.”

“So, I am hunting for someone with that kind of gun, then,” she said matter-of-factly.

“Yeah. Unfortunately, that is the most common bullet in the world.”

“Can we match ballistics to whatever is in CODIS?”

“First of all, CODIS is a DNA database, not ballistics. Second, you watch too many movies. Matching a bullet to a weapon is very rare because the stria can be easily changed. You might be fortunate that that weapon was used in a previous crime where a bullet was recovered successfully, but lots of guns are disposed of as soon as the crime is committed. Lastly, we are operating outside of the law, so we don’t have access to such things. Local PD might, but most of that data is going to be at the federal level.”

“Ricky…,” Suzi said pensively.

“Yes?” he replied.

“You’re not a fucking artist.”

She playfully nudged his shoulder, instantly regretting the action as he barely budged, causing a twinge of pain in her side. As they meandered towards the back storeroom, Ricky gestured towards some archery equipment, suggesting she might find bow hunting entertaining. She took note of his transition from barefoot to combat boots.

She exchanged morning greetings and farewells with Tom and Becca. Suzi was uncertain about the nature of their relationship - whether it was romantic or merely a close professional bond. Regardless, she was grateful for their presence in Ricky’s life and their assistance during her time of need. She knew she could never repay them for their kindness. She spent a moment with Ygritte, who was awake but unable to move. Ygritte licked the tears off Suzi’s face as they trickled down her cheeks. The sight of Ygritte’s smiling face and wagging tail filled Suzi with joy.

As Ricky drove her to Chicago South Hospital, he attempted to prepare her for what lay ahead. “So, listen. I heard from Phineas about Aiden,” he said.

“Who?”

“Oh, sorry. ‘Poodle.’ Detective Phineas Wilson. Tom’s little brother. He and his partner are taking over Aiden’s case as a personal favor.”

“Why does he call him ‘Poodle’?”

“I honestly have no idea. All I know is that it pisses Phineas off when he does.”

“Is his partner Detective George Bradshaw?” she inquired.

“Yeah, how did you know?”

“They are the detectives working the Dr. Adamson case.”

“Well, that might help them. They will meet us at the hospital.”

“Okay.”

“Suz – Aiden is in a bad way.” He shot her a sincere glance to her but kept his attention mainly on the road. “They have him in a medically induced coma after the surgery to allow him to heal a bit and not be in pain. They have him listed as Critical but Stable condition.”

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“Okay,” she repeated as she swallowed hard and mentally prepared herself.

“God, I hope they didn’t break his dick. That was one of his best features. Or worse, castrate him!” Annie inappropriately commented.

“His eyes and sense of humor were his best features,” added Suzanne.

“No. It was his mind and his intelligence,” interjected Judith.

“His smile was….” began Spike.

“He’s not dead!” Suzi blurted out, bursting into tears.

Ricky quickly pulled the car onto the shoulder of the road and pressed the hazards on. He leaned over and hugged Suzi across the console.

“Hey, hey. No, he’s not dead. He’s tough. He’s strong. We’ll find who did this.”

Suzi released a torrent of pent-up emotions, her sobs soaking Ricky’s shoulder and leaving damp patches on his pristine Chicago Bears sweatshirt, a recent acquisition from Tom’s store. After a moment, she regained her composure, dabbing her eyes with her hoodie’s sleeve before sinking back into the passenger seat. She retrieved a pack of travel-sized tissues from the car’s console, blew her nose, and then sat quietly, her gaze fixed on her lap.

“You good to go on?” Ricky asked her.

“Yeah. Let’s go.”

Ricky deactivated the hazard lights and smoothly reintegrated into the flow of traffic. After a few minutes, the hospital loomed into view.

“I can go in first if you’d like,” he offered.

“No, I’m fine now. It’s just been a lot to process in such a short span,” she confided.

They made their way into the hospital, checking in at the front desk, where they were directed to the ICU. The hospital records did not list him as Aiden McCord but retained the ‘John Doe Beverly’ placeholder. They ascended to the ICU floor in the elevator and were greeted by Detectives Bradshaw and Wilson.

“Phin. How’s it going?” Ricky said, shaking Detective Wilson’s hand.

“Can’t complain, Rick. How’s the art?” he replied.

“Good,” Ricky said.

“Can’t complain? You complain all goddamn day,” the older detective joked.

His clothes were much nicer than when Suzi first met him.

“George,” Ricky said and nodded, shaking the elder detective’s hand.

“Mrs. McCord?” Wilson said to Suzi, shaking her hand.

“It’s Burch. Suzi Burch. We met the other day. I was in the hospital after Dr. Adamson’s shooting.”

“Ah, yes. I thought I recognized the pink hair.”

“You are married to Mr. McCord?” Bradshaw asked Suzi as he motioned for everyone to move to a small sitting room Suzi knew all too well.

This room, and others like it, is where doctors would update families about the status of their loved ones or deliver horrible news. The walls and doors have extra soundproofing to help reduce the wails that leave the room. The fact that the detective used the term ‘are’ instead of ‘were’ was a good sign. His leaving the door to the room open once everyone was in was a bonus.

“Yes. We have been married for 25 years.”

“Here are the facts—,” he continued, reading from his little notebook, “your husband was found naked, badly beaten, and mangled in Beverly Park last night, just north where you reported him last seen.”

“Located,” she allowed the Judith personality to correct him.

“Excuse me?”

“That was where he was located, or at least his phone. I could not reach him, so my daughter used a GPS app to find him. She told me he was between 105th and 106th on Western Avenue.”

“—just north of where you reported him last located, then. He was hypothermic and mistaken for dead until a patrol officer showed up and called for paramedics. They rushed him here where they did have to perform life-saving measures. He also had to have a few surgeries and they have him now medically sedated to keep him alive and help him heal. Do you want a list of his injuries?”

Suzi said nothing but nodded slowly.

“He had some brain swelling and had to remove part of his skull to release the pressure. He has a broken left orbital bone and disconnected cornea in his left eye, broken jaw, ruptured spleen, collapsed lung, eight broken ribs; four on each side; a fractured arm, six broken or dislocated fingers, severed little finger on his left hand, a broken hip, compound fracture of his right femur, and broken tibia and fibula of his left leg. He’s got some second- and third-degree burns all over various parts of his body. He’s got a long road to healing.

“Many of his injuries, with the exception of the burns, are consistent with a fall of approximately 50 to 70 feet or getting hit by a car at about 50 miles an hour, but there was very little in the way of trace evidence that was found to corroborate either of these scenarios. They did find something that looked like tool marks on his broken fingers as if someone was perhaps torturing him. The burns, I’m told, were all done with the same item. Something metal, heated then laid against his skin. He is either extremely lucky to be alive, or whoever did this was calculated and knew exactly what they were doing.”

Tears flowed freely from Suzi’s eyes, beginning with the detective’s use of the word ‘skull’. She held her hands up to her mouth to try to stifle the sobbing.

“They have him on a ventilator to breathe for him and because of the evidence of torture, we have a patrolman on duty at all times. I hate to ask this, but do you know of anyone who would want to do this to your husband?”

“No. No one would want to hurt him,” Suzi told the detectives through her sobbing. “I think they were after me, or rather something I had.”

“Which is?” Detective Wilson looked at Ricky.

“When you returned my belongings, Dr. Adamson’s phone was with them. I charged it and turned it on but could never get into it. Later, someone called it, and I accepted the call but didn’t say anything. They knew it was not him and I disconnected the call but left the phone on.”

“Do you have it now?” Wilson asked anxiously.

“No. It was at the apartment when I was rushed to the hospital after falling on a mirror. Aiden went back to clean up the blood when he was taken.”

Wilson added, somewhat officially, for Bradshaw’s record, “Mr. Moore has already provided security footage of the night in question. We have tag information, but registration was to an investment company.”

“So, it’s safe to assume it’s not in your apartment now?” Bradshaw asked her.

“I don’t know. I went there after I got out of the hospital yesterday and found my dog half-dead. I grabbed her, and Ricky took us… to a vet clinic,” she looked at Wilson, whose facial expression did not change as she suspected he knew she was lying.

“Good. Let’s get a unit over there and process her apartment. Find that phone,” Bradshaw said to Wilson.

Wilson left the room pulling his own phone from his pocket.

“Ok, Ms. Burch. I hate to ask, but your alibi is that you were in the hospital at the time of your husband’s alleged abduction and subsequent beating, correct?”

“It is. There was a nurse named Sylvia on duty that night—“

“Ahhh. Good ol’ Syl.” Annie reminisced.

“—and a doctor, but I don’t remember his name. The doctor who discharged me the next morning was Alcott.” Suzi’s phone vibrated and dinged in her pocket while Bradshaw jotted down the new information and flipped between several pages.

A minute later, he asked, “You said your daughter located him between 105th and 106th on Western?” He did not wait for a response. “That is the same location as your incident, where you reported Adamson shot, or very close. What time did she say he was there?”

“Yes. I called her from the hospital because I didn’t have mine, but it must have been about 7 a.m. I got home a little after 10 a.m., and I knew he was still close to his phone because his ring was still connected, and he was reporting that he was in distress.”

“How long was he in distress?”

The app! She had completely forgotten to check it, so she opened it.

As it loaded, she explained, “It wasn’t until I got to my apartment that my ring connected to my phone, so I didn’t see it until then, but the app records the vitals and locations.”

The app opened, Suzi opened the history record, and then she went pale. She dropped the phone on the floor and fell back into her chair, crying into the arms of her hoodie. Ricky picked up her cellphone gave it a quick look, swallowed hard, and handed it to the detective.

“Wilson!” the elder detective yelled after taking the phone and taking a minute to understand what he was seeing on the screen.

“…10-4. Thanks. Bye,” Wilson said as he rounded the corner. “S.W.A.T. is on their way to her apartment to do a sweep and get the lab geeks in there.”

“Let’s find out what we can about Adamson’s building,” Bradshaw said as he handed Suzi’s phone to Wilson.

Wilson looked at the app and the data on the screen. It showed that for 12 hours, from midnight to noon, Aiden was in medical distress, and his location put him inside Adamson’s building. His pulse was at zero several times during the last few hours of that time.