Real Novel Chapter Six
From PenguinWiki
Chapter Six
Sergeant Anderson made his way back to Julian Keepsake's room, just in time to see him wheeled him away under a white sheet. "Son of a motherless goat," Anderson muttered to no one in particular, hand pounding against a wall in frustration.
"I'm terribly sorry Sarge. He nosedived. There was nothing we could do but keep him comfortable." Anderson bit back an urge to yell at the man, and instead reluctantly nodded. The doctor bowed his head before leaving Anderson alone in the room with his thoughts.
Anderson swore to himself again. To himself. To God. To the overweight nurse outside in the white hallway. Where did this leave him? The last lead to the whereabouts of Tony Scolletti had just been wheeled away to the morgue. When in doubt, stick to the book, that was the key. Anderson trudged slowly down the long white corridors towards the morgue, his mind filled with dark thoughts.
Finding the morgue unlocked and deserted he slipped inside and after a quick browse he found the body of Keepsake resting beneath plastic sheeting on an autopsy table. It looked like nothing so much as one of those cheap microwave dinners with the plastic wrap still on. Carefully, he removed the plastic covering from the corpse revealing a body criss-crossed with multiple scars, multi-colored bruises and overlaid with the precision cuts from the recent surgery. However, it wasn't the excessive damage to the body that captured his attention but the inky scrawl high up on the hip. He leaned in closer to get a better look. Very interesting, very interesting. He flipped out his notebook and faithfully replicated what he saw. Keepsake's house might provide him with a lead, and there was no point in hanging around here any longer. As he began to leave the hospital, he again saw the irritating little surgeon. He thought about where his case was now, and it fired his anger. "I thought you said his chances of survival were 70/30?" Anderson snapped, jabbing an accusing finger at the doctor's chest.
The surgeon shrugged, "I really thought he might pull through, sergeant, but as I explained earlier, he took an unexpected turn for the worse a while after you stepped out - shortly after his visitors left."
"Visitors? What visitors?"
"A stylish brunette woman, carrying a cat of all things. I didn't approve of the animal, of course, but she mentioned you by name, said you had asked her to visit. Is there...sergeant?"
Anderson wasn't stopping to listen to the rest of the man's idiot prattle, however. He was already racing towards the hospital exit.
He sprinted around the corner in time to see the back of a familiar figure slip out the big automatic doors. "It couldn't be" he thought to himself, heart pumping louder and louder. He picked up the pace and made it to the door just in time to glimpse Kate Cafelnakov sliding into the back of a gray sedan.
In the comfort of her chauffeured car, Kate Cafelnakov pulled a cigarette from her purse and placed it on her lips. A lighter followed from the purse, and then a photograph. As she exhaled, Kate turned her head from the creased image to the passing cityscape, remembering Carlo. She left when they were too old to be playmates, and too young to be considered a match for life. Times change - older, wiser, and having learned how to stop traffic with a single sultry look, she was ready to create a major disturbance. Destination? Carlo, and with that she lowered the window and gave directions to the driver. Leaning back in her seat, Katie let out a series of smoke rings and smiled. It was so easy. She knew Anderson watched her get into the car and knew he would be looking for her. Stroking the head in her lap, she mumbled "He should have known better." Her companion turned his head and stretched across the back seat. Nightlight didn't really like the smoke, but Kate had long since stopped taking directions from men, and she'd be damned if she was going to start taking them from a cat.
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