Prior Bad Acts

36

“WHOSE CLUSTER FUCK is this?” Kovac demanded as he stormed into the ER and made a beeline for Liska. He had been mobbed by the press swarming all over the ambulance bay. Four large uniformed officers were keeping them from rushing the door.

“It’s a fucking feeding frenzy out there,” he snapped.

“I’m taking responsibility for the whole thing, Detective Kovac,” Lieutenant Dawes said, coming away from a coffee vending machine across the room.

Kovac pulled up short and grimaced. “Lieutenant.”

“Way to stick your foot in it, Kojak,” Liska said, rolling her eyes at him.

Dawes didn’t react at all.

“I personally called Mr. Scott this morning to tell him Stan Dempsey was at large, but I only got his voice mail,” she said. “I then dispatched two officers to go to Mr. Scott’s home and tell him in person if he was at home, and to wait if he wasn’t.”

“So what went wrong?” Kovac asked.

“A call went out to all units to respond to a sighting of Karl Dahl not far from where the officers were.”

“They took the priority call,” Kovac said.

“Which turned out to be a false alarm. But in all the confusion of trying to run down the suspect, there was a collision involving the officers’ car and a minivan-”

“And the coppers are still giving their statements and filling out paperwork,” Kovac said.

“One of the officers was killed,” Dawes said soberly.

“Oh, Jesus,” Kovac said. Add that charge to Dahl’s indictment, he thought-another person dead because of that creep.

“And the ball got dropped,” Dawes went on. “By the time I found out and drove to Kenny Scott’s home myself, it was already dark. The basement light was on. If not for that one screwup on Dempsey’s part, Scott would still be bound to a chair.”

“Is he alive?”

“Yes,” Dawes said, leading the way down a corridor. “It wasn’t Dempsey’s intent to kill. Turns out he just wanted to make a statement.”

They turned into the room where Kenny Scott had been brought for treatment, and Kovac was instantly taken aback by the putrid smell of burned flesh.

Kenny Scott lay propped up on the hospital bed with an IV dripping something into his arm. His hands and feet were grotesquely swollen. Ligature marks dug deep into his wrists and ankles. But by far the most shocking injury Stan Dempsey had inflicted on Karl Dahl’s lawyer was literally burned across Scott’s forehead.

One word: GUILTY.