Last Dance. David Russell W.Читать онлайн книгу.
had rendered him essentially speechless. Just for good measure, I picked up my pace even more to make sure he would remain breathless.
“He’s just heading off to teach his classes like nothing’s happened,” Andrea replied, though to the best of my knowledge, neither knew who the other was.
“I think maybe we need to talk first,” McFadden said.
“I think I need to talk to him before he goes any further,” she replied forcefully.
“Who are you anyway?” McFadden had stopped. Andrea stopped briefly to introduce herself. By this time I had made it to a side door and was halfway up the stairs before they were able to come inside. I burst into a slight run to my classroom, hoping to surround myself with students and make it awkward for my interrogators to conduct their business. I didn’t really think it would work, but I was quite surprised when neither Andrea nor the administrators came to my door. I managed to buy myself at least a brief reprieve.
By the time the bell went at the end of the day, I was almost suspicious that they hadn’t tracked me down. True, during the lunch hour I did hide in the custodians’ office behind the boiler room making small talk with a janitor I’d never met before, but really, if they’d wanted to find me they could have. I managed to get out of the building in record time, and after a couple of quick phone calls from the car, I determined that Tim had been taken to Children’s Hospital on Oak Street, the facility kids of all sizes generally went to when their injuries were severe. At Tim’s age, for him to be at Children’s meant the damage was at least serious.
By the time I had found a place to park and walked to the hospital, a springtime rain was falling again. Springtime rain in Vancouver is different to most other seasons’ rain only by the calendar; it can be pretty grim no matter the time of year. In May, it was a bit warmer than November, so while I was still damp and looked like hell as I strode into the lobby, at least I wasn’t shivering. A uniformed police officer was standing guard in the hallway. I had already reached into my wallet and grabbed one of my old lawyer business cards, which I dutifully gave to the kind officer, and while never actually claiming to be Tim’s counsel of record, I didn’t dissuade him from thinking it. He was just about to slide the card into his shirt pocket when the door to Tim’s room opened and Andrea stepped out. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” she said.
“What?” I asked her.
My friend threw a disappointed look at the obviously freshly minted officer. “I don’t want anyone but identified family in that room unless they’ve been expressly cleared by me. Understood?”
If he was bothered at being dressed down by Andrea in front of me, he appeared too scared to show it. “Yes, ma’am,” he replied. “It’s just that I thought —”
“— you thought he was the victim’s lawyer, I know,” she interrupted. “Any idea why the victim of the attack would have felt a need to call for defence counsel?”
He seemed stunned by the question. Of course, I had been counting on that. “Do you want me to arrest him?” he finally managed.
“I would prefer that you shoot him. He can’t talk his way out of that.”
I sighed. “Are you done with the Dirty Harry routine? I’ve only got so much time on the meter.”
“Like you paid for parking.”
“It’s more the principle of delay to which I was referring.”
“Come here,” Andy demanded, and before I could protest, she took me none too gently by the arm and guided me a few feet down the corridor.
“How’s he doing?” I asked.
“He’s awake. He’s going to survive. But he took one hell of a beating.”
“So I could tell.”
“Which reminds me, why the hell did you take off on me this morning?”
“Because you were going to scold me.”
“I was,” she confirmed.
“You were going to tell me that I had gotten involved in something that was becoming dangerous.”
“I was,” she confirmed again.
“You were going to further direct me not to encourage this lawsuit between the student and the school and to focus on teaching in the classroom and allowing the business of making decisions about the school dance to be made by the people in charge.”
“All of this is true. And you didn’t want to hear it?”
“Kinda seemed redundant.”
“You forgot the part where I was thinking about trying to spring some departmental time to put a watch on you.”
“My own bodyguard? Can I pick her?”
“Her?”
“Remember that constable we ran into at Starbucks? The one you said had been on the job just a few months but showed real promise?”
“You thought she was cute?”
“I thought she was yummy.”
“Yummy? My god, you’ll never marry again. I’m serious, Win. For the time being, I really think you should try to lay low on this.”
“You still don’t think this is some kind of kid stuff?”
“Win, have a look at the kid. He’s lucky he doesn’t seem to have permanent brain damage or something. Whoever did this to Tim was pretty determined to send him a very clear message.”
“Come on, Andy. A gay student gets beaten up? That’s hardly organized crime material. We’re talking about thugs.”
“Who didn’t stop all that short of killing your student. Your name keeps popping up in this, those same thugs may well do the same to you.”
“Schoolyard fights are one thing. Attacking a teacher is something else.”
“Winston. Listen to me.” When she called me Winston, it meant she was especially serious. Her tone took on a slightly motherly quality. “Whether we’re dealing with Einsteins here is irrelevant. They’re muscle, and they’re not afraid to throw weight around. I need you to watch your back and try to stay out of trouble, at least until I can track them down.”
“All right,” I said resignedly. “I will be extra special careful and look both ways when I cross every street.”
“I’m serious,” she insisted.
“Me too, especially about that cute cop you’re going to send me as a bodyguard.”
“I said she had potential, I didn’t say she was there yet. Besides, the captain wouldn’t spring for any cash. Seems the VPD doesn’t consider you particularly worth protecting from a good beating. So you’re getting the real McCoy for the evening.”
“Oh no,” I protested.
She turned from me and headed towards the exit. “I’ll be there in a couple of hours. Try to stay alive until then and order in some decent food. I’ll be hungry protecting your ass.” Defeated, I turned and headed back to Tim’s room, the still-puzzled police officer still holding my old business card and not bothering to slow my access to his protected patient.
Inside the bleak, cream-coloured room, Tim was surrounded by a woman I assumed to be his mother and by none other than his high-school-aged, uncertified legal advocate, Sara. Both looked glum. Tim, who had wakened earlier in the day, was trying to cheer up his two visitors. “Look who’s here,” he declared to the room. “Can’t a guy get a break from school even in the hospital?”
“Mr. Patrick,” Sara exclaimed. “Can you believe this?”
“No. I really can’t.” Turning to Tim’s mother, I attempted to introduce myself, to no avail. If she heard me, she made no notice of it