The orthopedic floor was still and dark. No one rushed around, pushing carts and checking vitals. Casey could hear the hum of machines, but other than that it was as if the floor were deserted. She had opted for the stairway, figuring the elevator would open right at a desk, and she was glad she’d thought of it. A young man in green scrubs—of course not blue—stood at the counter with his back to her, examining an x-ray on a lighted screen.
From the numbers Casey could see by the room doors, Bruce Willoughby’s would be down the hall. Casey would have to go past the man at the desk.
“Here’s where the costume comes into play,” Death whispered.
“Or I just wait till he goes to the bathroom.”
“By that time, someone else will be there.”
True.
A rolling desk with a computer sat just down the hallway—the kind used by nurses when making their rounds. Casey figured the staff didn’t need to worry about patients on the ortho wing running off with it. Casey began pushing it down the hall, checking the room numbers. As she went past the desk the man glanced up, and Casey nodded, much as she had nodded to Dr. Shinnob only minutes before. The man nodded back, and returned to the x-ray he was examining on the lighted screen.
Nods were coming in very handy.
“Here,” Death said, pointing into a room. “Your guy.”
Casey stopped outside the door. “I wonder why there’s no cop stationed here?”
“Not exactly a flight risk,” Death said. “Plus, the only thing he did—that the cops know about—was get beat up at Davey’s junk yard. By the time they got to him, he had no gun or anything.”
Casey peered in the door’s window, hoping Bruce would be asleep. No such luck. He had his hand on a remote, and his face was lit up by the television.
Death held up a finger. “Lights, camera—”
Casey slid her bag onto the shelf of the rolling desk and backed into the room, pulling the computer behind her, right up to the bed.
“Again?” Bruce whined. “How many times do I have to pee in a cup?”
“No peeing,” Casey said, and she turned around.
“Then what?” Bruce kept his eyes on the TV. “Blood pressure? Temperature? Sponge bath?” He leered at that one.
Casey pinched the top of his shoulder on a pressure point, and his eyes went wide. She relaxed her grip enough he could turn to look at her. It took him a few moments, but recognition hit him like a brick. “You?”
“Yes, Bruce. It’s me.”
He fumbled for the nurse button on his bed, and Casey grabbed his arm. “If you so much as think about pushing that button, I’m going to do this.” She tightened her fingers, and he dropped his hand.
“Good,” Casey said. “We understand each other. Now, you are going to answer some questions.”
He shook his head, as much as he could with his nerve pinched.
“No?” Casey laid her hand on his destroyed knee, and he whimpered. She wasn’t really going to do anything to his poor leg, but the threat should be enough. “I think the people in this hospital—as well as the cops—would be very interested to know how you and your buddies came to the scrap yard with guns and threatened the owner.”
He opened his mouth, but she continued. “There are witnesses, Bruce. Now, what’s your name?”
“You seem to…know it.” He panted in-between words.
“Just a test. Tell me.”
“Bruce. Willoughby.”
“Good. And the name of your boss?”
He shook his head.
“I already know that, too. After seeing him at the scrap yard I looked him up.”
Bruce’s forehead smoothed. “Him? That’s Randy. Randy Westing.”
So he wasn’t Bruce’s boss. Just an underling, of some sort. “And the other guy? Craig?”
Bruce sneered. “Dumbass.” He looked her up and down, trying to look tough. “Knocked out by a girl without a fight.”
Casey twisted his shoulder. “At least he’s walking.”
Bruce had no response for that. Not that he could’ve responded at that moment, anyway.
“So,” Casey said. “Where is Randy camped out? Where is he waiting for you?”
“Don’t know. He called. Said he’d…be in touch.”
Casey nodded. “And what was it you were looking for at the scrap yard and at the accident? You wanted something in Evan’s truck.”
Bruce’s eyes flicked away, and then back. “Something Randy wanted. I don’t know what.”
Casey shook her head and leaned ever so slightly on his knee. “You disappoint me, Bruce. I was expecting more.”
He closed his eyes and turned his head away. “I can’t…tell you what…I don’t know.”
Casey glanced up at Death, who shrugged. “Maybe he’s just stupid.”
Casey thought there was a good possibility of that.
“So who are all the others, Bruce?”
“Others? What…others?”
“The guys with you at the crash site? And why are they bothering the truckers?”
“Bother— Look, lady, you need to…get your facts…straight.”
“So straighten me out.”
Something flashed on the television screen, and his face went deathly pale before reverting to the blue. “We ain’t bothering any truckers. The only trucker involved was Evan, and he ain’t bothered anymore.” He smiled wickedly.
Casey restrained herself from snapping his knee. “And how did you know Evan? Did he drive for Class A Trucking?”
Bruce blinked. “How do you know about that?”
“Evan. How else?”
His mouth dropped. “So you did find his stuff?”
Casey kept her hand on his knee and bent down to retrieve her bag from the computer desk. She dangled it just out of his reach. “It’s all in here. Maybe you can help me decipher it.”
She picked up her other hand and held it just above his knee. He nodded. “I ain’t going anywhere.”
Keeping a close eye on him, she reached into the bag and pulled out the first thing she found—a photo of Westing and Dixon sitting across from the Halvestons, the trucker couple.
“That’s Randy,” Bruce said. “And Dix.”
“And who are the other people?”
His eyelids fluttered. “Don’t know.”
Casey licked her lips, watching him steadily. She set down the photo and pulled out another one. “How about him?” Pat Parnell.
A look of disgust flitted across his face. “Don’t know.”
“Um-hmm.”
She pulled out another photo, and another. “I suppose you don’t know any of these people, either.”
“No, ma’am, not by name. Just Randy and Dix and Craig.”
“And a few others of your group.”
He hesitated, then nodded.
“Okay. I suppose you have no idea why these people are in the photos with your friends. Or with you, for that matter.” She held up one of him with Hank Nance.
Bruce swallowed. “I suppose they could be…truckers?”
Casey gasped and clapped her hands twice, slow. “Good answer, Bruce. Now, try again. Why are you guys bothering the truckers?”
He shook his head.
“Are the truckers driving with fake licenses?”
He bit his lips together.
“And who is your boss?”
He lifted his chin. “Look, lady, I don’t know who you are. You show up in Evan’s truck, and we don’t know why, or what you’re doing there. Well, I ain’t telling you anything more. And you can’t make me.” He clenched his jaw and stared at the ceiling.
Death’s forehead furrowed. “He’s not going to answer you. He’s made up his mind and he ain’t changing it.”
“Okay, Bruce.” Casey patted his thigh. “Here’s what we’re going to do. Hey. Look at me.”
He did.
“You’re going to get in touch with your buddies—”
“—I don’t know how—”
“—and you are going to tell them I have what they’re looking for—” she dangled the bag where he could see it “—and that I want to deal.”
“But—”
She placed a finger just above his mouth, not touching him. “I am going to call you tomorrow. If you’re in surgery I’ll call back. You are going to tell me where and when to meet them and…” She held up a finger to keep him from talking. “You are going to give me a number where they can be reached.”
“And if they don’t call me before then?”
She leaned close, whispering. “Then I’ll be back.”
He whimpered. “Lady, who are you?”
“You shouldn’t be worried about me. You should be worried about that.” She pointed at Death.
Bruce looked where Casey was pointing. “The television?”
Casey opened her mouth, then shut it again. “Remember what I said about the nurse’s button. Don’t even breathe on it until I’ve been gone several minutes.”
He shook his head. “I won’t. I promise.”
“Good.” She held up the bag. “Until tomorrow then. I’ll be talking to you.”
Casey exited the room, leaving the rolling computer desk beside Bruce’s bed. As the door eased shut, she glanced back. Bruce was turned toward the TV, but she would’ve bet none of it was registering.