Midnight Pass: A Lew Fonesca Novel (Lew Fonesca Novels) by Stuart M. Kaminsky Page B

I woke them up.”
    “I’ll go take a look. You go back to your kids and give me your room card.”
    “Why?” she asked.
    “Because I’m asking you,” I said. “I won’t take long. If the phone rings, it’ll be me. Answer it.”
    She brushed her hair back with her long fingers and pulled the room card out. I took it and let her back into my room. The television was on. Kenny had switched to an old Dick Van Dyke rerun, the one where Rob goes off to a cabin to write a novel. The episode, as I recalled, was funny. Sydney was asleep and Kenneth Jr. wasn’t laughing.
    I went down the fire stairs and made my way to the room on the seventh floor. I opened the door and wiped the door handle clean with my shirt. Then I kicked the door closed. The lights were on. There was a vague body shape under the blanket on the open hide-away bed.
    I moved alongside the bed and pulled the blanket back. Andrew Stark lay there, bloody, eyes closed. His T-shirt had a picture of a grinning cartoon turkey on the front. The turkey was covered in blood. A knife was plunged deep into his chest. Stark was naked from the shirt down.
    I didn’t touch anything else. I looked around the room and into the bedroom. There was a teddy bear and stuffed elephant lying back on a pink blanket. I went back into the room where Stark was lying, checked my watch, and started for the door.
    The moan wasn’t loud, but it was clear and it came from the supposedly dead Andrew Stark. I went back to the body and knelt. Stark’s eyes opened and moved in the general direction of my face. I didn’t bother to tell him not to move.
    I could have just called 911, but a few minutes probably wouldn’t make much difference. At least that’s what I told myself.
    “You’ll be all right,” I assured him as I examined his wound.
    He looked around the room as if he had no idea of where he was. He smelled of alcohol. There was plenty of blood.
    “You’ll live,” I lied. “I’m going to try to stop some of this bleeding. Then I’ll call an ambulance.”
    His right hand came up suddenly and gripped my wrist. For a dying man, he was damned strong. I tried to pull loose as he croaked, “Why?”
    “You want to live?”
    “Why?” he asked.
    Since it was the same question I’ve asked myself a few thousand times since my wife was killed, I had no good answer for him, but I had the feeling that his “why” didn’t mean the same thing mine did.
    His eyes began to roll. A very bad sign.
    He whispered something I couldn’t hear, pain in his face…Then he closed his eyes and I leaned over to be sure he was still breathing. He was.
    I picked up the phone, not worrying about fingerprints any longer, and dialed my own room. Janice answered before the second ring.
    “Yes?” she said with a quivering voice.
    “It’s me, Fonesca. Get down to your room fast. Leave the kids there.”
    “What…?”
    “He’s still alive.”
    She didn’t answer and I had no time to talk to her now.
    “Fast,” I said.
    I hung up, checked my watch, sat on the bed, and said, “Stark, you still with me?”
    His groan suggested that he was. I checked my watch. Almost a minute passed. If she didn’t show up fast, I’d have to call 911.
    The knock was soft, but it was a knock. I let her in. She was a ghostly pale, beautiful vision of white and blood red. I closed the door and she walked over to Stark, who hadn’t moved.
    “Andy?” she asked.
    He groaned in response.
    She turned to me and, voice and hands shaking, said, “I didn’t kill him.”
    “You’ve got to call 911,” I said. “You’ve got to call now. Just tell them a man has tried to kill himself. Tell them where we are. Don’t answer any more questions.”
    She shook her head no. I picked up the phone and handed it to her. I hit 9 for an outside line and then 911.
    I could hear a voice on the other end because the phone wasn’t close to her ear, but I couldn’t make out the words.
    She said exactly what I had told her to