Sleep No More

Sleep No More

Susan Palmquist

Published by Coldstream Publishing at Smashwords

Copyright 2015-Susan Palmquist

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Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Social Networks

Back to Top

Chapter 1

March 30, 2005

What would you do if you woke up one morning and knew that just three hours later, you were going to be shot? Would you even bother getting out of bed?

If I’d known I was about to work on my last homicide case, I would have just pulled the covers up over my head.

That morning, I’d overslept, which meant I’d headed out without eating breakfast. By the time I picked up my partner, Detective Ken Russell, I was in desperate need of something heavily laced with caffeine, so I suggested we stop by the local coffee shop.

By coincidence, one of the clerks there had once dated one of my brothers. I was viewing photos of her two kids when Detective Russell walked into the store and signaled we had to leave.

Hey, take these muffins, she said, handing me a bag with my cup of coffee.

I’ll be back to see more of those photos, okay? I said, backing toward the door.

I jumped into the car, opened the bag, and showed the contents to my partner. Want a muffin? They were free of charge.

Are you taking bribes now or what?

The server knows me. She dated Liam for three years, and one day they just broke up. Neither of them wanted to talk about it, so if I can get that information out of her, I’ll be in my mother’s good books for eternity. Sure you don’t want one of these?

He shook his head. I’ve got a dentist’s appointment this afternoon. That damn tooth’s still acting up.

I told you not to be a chicken about going. So what have we got?

Homicide victim over in Beacon Hill.

* * * *

Fifteen minutes later, we walked into the house where the victim had been found.

She’s been identified as Sarah Victors. A pediatric nurse, twenty-seven years old, lived alone, and there’s no sign of a forced entry, a uniformed police officer told us.

Who found her?

I did. A co-worker called in because she hadn’t shown up at the hospital for a few days. According to her supervisor, that was very unusual behavior for Sarah. She wasn’t answering her phone, either, and as no one had a key, they decided to contact us, he replied.

We found Sarah Victors at the bottom of the stairs dressed in a bloodstained nurse’s uniform. I said hello to David, the medical examiner, who was just finishing up.

Looks like she’s been dead about three days, stabbed about a dozen times, he said.

I pulled on some plastic gloves before lifting up her hands. Both had several cuts across their palms and sides. I eased back a strand of bloodied hair from her chin. Pretty girl, I said.

Attractive, despite the fact her face had two three-inch slice marks across the forehead and cheeks.

I’ll take a guess the weapon was a kitchen knife and that she put up one hell of a fight, said David.

Detective Webber, one of the victim’s neighbors thinks that she might have seen someone hanging around the area. She lives across the street. You want to talk to her? asked another one of the uniformed officers at the scene.

We’ll be right there, I said.

* * * *

I greeted the woman who answered the door. Mrs. Burton?

Yes.

I’m Detective Webber. I showed her my ID. This is my partner, Detective Russell. You told one of the officers you saw something in connection with the murder that occurred at the house across the street.

Yes, yes. Goodness, you’ve caught me off guard. I didn’t expect that you’d want to talk to me so soon. I’m in the middle of baking for a party tonight. She wiped her hands down the sides of a blue floral apron. Please come in.

She showed us through to the living room, where both Detective Russell and myself decided to sit and wait.

I won’t be a minute. I have to check on some pastries I’m making. Can I get either of you something to drink?

Not for me, I said.

Me neither, said Ken

She disappeared into another room from which we heard the sound of an oven door opening, and then pans being pulled across racks.

Something smells pretty good, whispered my partner.

Mrs. Burton walked back into the room. Sorry about that. She sat down opposite us.

I pulled out my notebook. You mentioned you saw a stranger hanging around in the neighborhood.

Do you remember we had a heavy fog about three days ago? I just happened to look out of the window to check how bad it was before I headed out, and I saw a man standing in front of Sarah’s house.

Could you describe him? said my partner.

Around six feet tall, brown hair, and wearing a dark jacket.

Any idea of his age? I asked.

Maybe mid-twenties. I’m not…

She stopped in mid-sentence and stared at the spot behind where my partner and I were seated. Whatever she’d seen had made her lose every bit of color from her face.

I looked around and saw a teenager pointing a gun in our direction.

Mrs. Burton jumped up from her seat. Martin, that’s your father’s gun. How did you get hold of that? And what are you doing with it?

Sit down, Mom, and just shut up. I’m dealing with this now.

Mrs. Burton did as she was told.

Detective Russell slowly reached for his gun, but I shook my head at him.

Hey, Martin, I said, slowly getting up from the couch. I turned around to face the boy. We’re not here to hurt you or your mom.

You, just sit down.

The gun shook in his hand, so I decided to also do as I was told. I’d worked in the juvenile unit for a year, and thought I was good with most kids, but didn’t want to press my luck.

Okay, but let’s talk. You tell us why you think you need that gun.

The drugs. You’re here to bust me for the drugs.

Martin, what drugs? said his mother.

I told you to shut your mouth. He lifted the gun and pointed it directly at his mother’s face as he started to cry.

We don’t care if you have drugs. We’re homicide detectives, not vice. We’re just here to talk to your mom about your neighbor who was murdered, I said, hoping that would buy us enough time to calm him down.

That’s right, said my partner. We couldn’t bust you even if we wanted to.

I slowly stood and turned around to face him again. You know, Martin, I have nieces and nephews about your age. Detective Russell is father to a boy about your age. And I can honestly say that neither of us would want them to get in any trouble—especially with a gun. So why don’t you just give it to me for safekeeping?

I took a step toward him and held out my hand. We’ll forget this ever happened. I took another step.

Tears began rolling down his face.

Careful, Webber, I heard my partner said under his breath.

Martin, do as the detective tells you, said his mother.

They’re here to take me away. Don’t you get that, Mom? I’ve been smoking pot at school. They’re going to lock me up, and you’ll never see me again.

That’s the last thing we want to do, I said.

You’re a lying bitch.

Martin, don’t talk like that. Where are your manners? asked his mother.

Those were the last words I heard before he fired the gun. It felt like the wind had been knocked out of me. Another shot was fired, and I fell to the carpet. I wasn’t sure whether he’d shot me again or shot my partner or even his mother. I looked up and watched as, almost in slow motion, Martin fell to the carpet just a few feet away from me.

He looked at me for a few seconds, and I thought he mouthed the word sorry before his head hit the floor and he closed his eyes. A red puddle formed on the carpet between the two of us, but I didn’t know whether it was oozing from me, him, or a combination of both. His mother screamed, and as my partner shouted officer down.

He rushed to me and quickly turned me onto my side and raised my head. Shit, Webber, I’ve never lost a partner, and you’re not going to be the first. You hear me? Just hang in there.

I can’t remember if I nodded to him or not, but then I started to cough and spat up some red, frothy blood all over his shirt. I started to shiver.

Help’s on the way, so stay with me. He wrapped his raincoat around my shoulders.

Hey, this gets you out of your dental appointment. You should be thanking me, I managed to whisper to him.

He laughed, but then his eyes filled with tears. He pulled me closer and laid his cheek next to mine. It was getting harder for me to breathe. I assumed I was dying, so I reached up, attempting to find the chain around my neck.

Here, let me, said Ken. He lifted it up and placed it in my right hand. As he did so, I noticed his entire hand was now covered in blood.

I squeezed the ring on the chain between my index finger and thumb.

I’ll make sure it’s safe, he said.

Mrs. Burton continued to scream, and the smell of something starting to burn in another part of the house, permeated the room. Suddenly, the sound of a smoke alarm pierced the air. Despite the noise, I could heard footsteps outside, and then saw paramedics entering the room.

What’s your partner’s name?

Niki Webber.

A paramedic’s face suddenly appeared just in front of me. Niki, my name is Sam. I want you to listen to me, okay. We’re going to do some things to make you feel better, and then take you to the hospital.

It seemed like there were so many people doing so many things…cutting off my clothes, checking for wounds, putting an oxygen mask on my face, putting drips into my arm and neck. Someone rolled me onto my side, and then pushed their hands on my stomach. I remember screaming out, and then catching sight of Mrs. Burton sprawled across her son’s body as she sobbed and wailed.

I can’t really remember the ride to the hospital. I do know Ken insisted that he ride with me. I vaguely remember the paramedics getting me out of the ambulance. I looked up and saw dark clouds overhead, and then they were replaced by a tiled ceiling above my head. I recall glancing around to see that the ER was full of cops, two being my dad and brother. I also saw Father Nolan, whom I hadn’t seen since my wedding day, and knew his presence wasn’t a good sign.

Niki, can you hear me? It’s Dad. My father squeezed my hand. Hang in there because we love you.

My brother Sean stood beside Dad with tears streaming down his face.

Who’s the next of kin? someone asked.

She’s a widow, so I suppose I am, said Dad.

Okay, but the two of you are going to have to wait outside, I heard a nurse telling Dad and Sean.

I won’t get in the way. She’s my baby, you see— Dad began pleading with the nurse, but then broke down and cried.

Come on, Dad. We’ll wait out here. She’s in the best hands now, said Sean. He blew me a kiss before he left with our father.

I think I was fading in and out at that point. I remember someone taking X-Rays, drawing blood, asking me if I was pregnant. Then, some guy said he was a sleep doctor and they were taking me to the operating room.

* * * *

By the time I was able to comprehend what was going on and who everyone was, it was three days later. A nurse stood by my bed. I started to talk to her, but it seemed like no words would come out of my mouth.

It’s okay, Niki. You’ve just had the tubes pulled, and your throat’s going to feel like hell. How about I fetch you a pen and some paper?

I nodded.

Did the boy die? I wrote.

She didn’t answer me. You know, your family hasn’t left this place. They’ve taken turns sitting by your side. And your partner’s been here every day, too. Plus a couple named Tony and Lucy have been here most of the time. You’re a really popular lady.

I lifted my hand to my throat.

Your dad’s outside. Would you like to see him?

I nodded.

Dad entered the room. I was sure he was dressed in the same clothes I’d seen him wearing in the ER. It looked like he hadn’t washed or shaved for days. He lifted my hand and kissed it. I took the pen and wrote:

What happened to the boy?

That’s typical of you, isn’t it Niki? You’re at death’s door and asking about someone else.

I held the pad of paper up right in front of Dad’s face and tapped the pad to ask him the same question again.

He didn’t make it, said Dad.

A tear dropped from my eye. I wrote quickly.

It’s my fault.

No, Niki. You’re never to think that.

And the boy’s mother, how is she doing?

She’s doing as well as can be expected. She wants to come and see you.

Please, let her.

* * * *

I was told that for a while, it had been touch and go. My left lung had collapsed, and they’d had to remove my spleen during surgery. That meant I would tire easily and be susceptible to infections, but I could live a perfectly normal life without it. I’d been visited by just about everyone—family, friends, fellow cops, Internal Affairs, and oh, yeah, the police shrink.

Martin had been just sixteen years old and his parent’s only child. He’d never been in any trouble at school or with the police. His mother had been baking that day to celebrate his father’s fiftieth birthday. That was a day he was probably never going to forget. Martin’s mother came to see me and wouldn’t stop apologizing, but in a way, I knew it should have been me telling her how sorry I was for her son’s death.

Most people might think it was my bad luck to go to that particular house on that particular day, but I don’t think that’s the case. It was Martin’s bad luck to have me stop by and talk to his mother.

After my first session with the psychiatrist, I realized I hadn’t really gotten over my husband’s death. I was a grieving widow and I should have taken time off, but I hadn’t. I think in the back of my mind, I may have wanted to die, too, but being a good Catholic girl, suicide wasn’t an option for me. Subconsciously, I may have put the decision to end my life into that boy’s hands.

To this day, I still don’t know the answer, and I will live with that question for the rest of my life. I’d also let my partner down. He could have been shot—killed, maybe. And because of my foolishness, he’d been forced to take a young boy’s life—something no cop ever wants to do. And I will be in his debt for the rest of my life. And Martin’s, too. I visit his grave at least once a month and ask him to forgive me.

I was released from the hospital two and a half weeks after the shooting. The doctor dropped by to discharge me and to give me my final instructions.

We gave you a lot of blood, so you should have a blood test to check for AIDS or hepatitis during the next year.

Ironic. That’s how this whole mess started.

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Chapter 2

June 12th, 2007

Hey, will you turn that TV down. We’re trying to get some sleep in here.

Two loud bangs on the wall behind my head made me realize I still had my finger on the volume button of the remote control. Alone in a motel room just outside of Port Angeles, I hadn’t been able to sleep, so I’d decided to get out of bed. I’d sat in a chair, and because I couldn’t think of a single thing to do, I’d turned on the TV. I’d obviously been pressing away at the volume button while I was deep in thought.

Sorry, I called back.

I was about to give sleep another try when the telephone rang. Someone else had no doubt heard the TV blaring and probably contacted the manager to complain. I picked up the receiver, fully prepared to face the consequences.

Hello.

Ms. Webber?

Yes.

It’s Elizabeth Reeves. I know I have no business phoning you at this unsociable hour.

No, please, don’t worry about it, I said, wiping a bead of perspiration from my forehead.

I thought I should let you know there’s no need to look for Chloe anymore. The police called about an hour ago. Her voice suddenly started to sound muffled. She… She paused for a few seconds, and I assumed she was having a tough time getting the words out. She committed suicide yesterday.

I hadn’t seen that one coming.

Mrs. Reeves I’m so sorry to hear that.

I didn’t know what else to say to her. I mean, I hardly knew this woman; I hadn’t even met her in person. The previous day, I’d been in my office when I received a phone call from her.

Hello, can I speak with Niki Webber.

This is she, I said, spinning around on my chair so I could see what the seagulls outside my window were fighting about.

I wonder if I might hire you.

"I’d