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4
WASHINGTON, D.C.
WASHINGTON MEMORIAL HOSPITAL
TUESDAY EVENING
Ben said, “An SUV ran a red light, swerved suddenly, and broadsided her passenger side, sent the Volvo into a spin. She ended up rear-ending a fire hydrant.”
Savich saw it clearly in his mind. She’d had an instant of awareness, and then wham—the rest would have been a blur. He’d bet Sherlock didn’t even know exactly what had happened. She was an excellent driver, but spinning backward into a fire hydrant? Shut it off. He had to know more, had to see. “Do you have photos of the accident?”
Ben hesitated and Savich merely stared at him. “All right.” Ben pulled out his cell and scrolled down, past a dozen shots of Callie, his wife, smiling that wonderful smile of hers, tickling their baby daughter, Taylor, who was showing all her gums she was laughing so hard. He stopped and handed his cell to Savich. “There are several videos witnesses forwarded to us, so, if you wish, you can watch some of what happened after the accident. Since Sherlock is well known, you can bet people will upload some videos on YouTube.” He handed Savich his cell and watched him stare at the totaled Volvo, the fire hydrant rammed into its rear, the smears of blood across the windshield.
“That’s not her blood, Savich. The blood on the windshield is on the outside, which means the Volvo struck someone when it was out of control.”
The next shot was of two paramedics lifting an unconscious Sherlock out of the driver’s side. Then a video of a woman somewhere in her thirties, her hair in black tangles straggling down nearly to her shoulders, wearing a brown trench coat, of all things, in the middle of summer. She was limping slightly as she walked past a paramedic and away from the smashed front end of a big black Escalade. She was holding her arm, and looked to be talking a mile a minute.
Savich felt killing rage, swallowed. “This woman’s the one who hit her, isn’t she?”
“Yeah.”
“And you’re telling me she walked away? With what? A broken arm and a limp?”
Ben said, “Yes, and some bruises. She’s downstairs in the ER with two officers, along with one other person who was hurt. The woman’s name is Jasmine Palumbo, age thirty-six. She works as a security engineer for the Bexholt Group, going on eight years.”
Savich nodded. The Bexholt Group was a communications security company owned by Garrick Bexholt, headquartered in Maryland.
“Witnesses told Officer Malone how Palumbo came barreling through the intersection like a bat out of hell. Palumbo swears she didn’t see the red light, didn’t see Sherlock until it was too late, said she tried to stop, but maybe her brakes failed. We’ll check out the brakes. Sherlock saw her coming at the Volvo passenger side at the last second and instinctively jerked the wheel left, so she was hit at an angle, and that sent her into a parked car, then into a spin. Thankfully there wasn’t a lot of traffic in either direction, but still, in all she clipped a Tesla, a Ford F-150, and two sedans before spinning backward to smash into the fire hydrant. The airbag saved her life.
“As for Palumbo, the paramedic told Malone he thought she would be fine. Still, they’re doing a tox screen, checking to see how badly her leg and arm are injured. After she hit Sherlock, she swerved and crashed into a kiosk, injured a couple of passersby and the man selling newspapers. She’ll pay a hefty fine for reckless driving, but she won’t go to jail unless she was on drugs or drunk. It’ll be ruled an accident. I don’t know anything more yet. I’ll forward her insurance information.”
“What about the blood on the windshield, Ben?”
“Now, there’s a question I can’t answer yet. All we know for sure is that according to a couple of witnesses, a man ran out into the street in front of Sherlock as she was spinning and she struck him. He was thrown up onto the hood and into the windshield, bounced off the other side. It wasn’t her fault, of course. But after that bounce, he disappeared, seems to have run off. There was pandemonium, as you can imagine, people calling 911, rushing to help, shooting videos, you name it. So far he’s not on any of the videos. We don’t know who he is.”
“You have a description?”
“We know it’s a man, age undetermined, but young enough and fit enough to run fast. He looked like a tourist—shirt, jeans, sneakers, a watch cap. We have people out looking for him, checking with other ERs to see if he took himself to one. One woman told Officer Casspi the guy was running out of an alley between two buildings, looking back over his shoulder, like someone might be chasing him.
“Obviously he has to be hurt, what with the hard impact, all that blood on the windshield. Maybe there was someone chasing him, they picked him up and hauled him away? Don’t know yet. No one’s reported seeing anything like that, but again, all the attention was on Sherlock.
“I have two men backtracking him, checking to see if there was a robbery, anything hinky to set someone after him. If he did manage to walk away on his own, there’ll be a blood trail. I hope. We should find him soon.”
Ben saw Savich’s hands clench, flex. “Listen, Savich, when Palumbo is cleared from the ER, the officers will take her to the Daly Building until her tox screen comes back. I’ll have control.” Again Ben touched his shoulder. “A favor, Savich, don’t get involved with Palumbo, it’ll keep things cleaner. It sounds like she wasn’t paying attention, probably looking off at something, got distracted. If she was high, I’ll clap the irons on her myself and haul her to a cell.”
Savich managed a ghost of a smile. The two men sat side by side, quiet now. Savich couldn’t get the image of Sherlock’s beautiful hair soaked with blood out of his mind. He wasn’t about to call her parents until he knew more. He swallowed, he had to call his boss, Jimmy Maitland.
Within twenty minutes FBI agents began to arrive, among them Davis Sullivan, Lucy McKnight, and Shirley Needleham, the CAU secretary, with Mr. Maitland at their head. Ben had to repeat what had happened three more times. When Dr. Loomis walked in an hour later, the surgical waiting room was full, everyone coming to their feet when she appeared in the doorway. She smiled at them. “Agent Sherlock’s CT scans were completely normal, except for the superficial injuries. No intracranial bleeding, no broken bones, no sign of internal bleeding. She suffered a concussion, of course, and a cut on her head we stitched, and as Agent Savich knows, there are considerable upper-body contusions and bruising. But with some luck, she’ll be fine.” Given the photos a police officer had shown her of the crash, Dr. Loomis was amazed Agent Sherlock survived, but she didn’t say that. She knew Agent Savich, probably all the agents in this waiting room, had seen the photos. She added, “Given the severity of the accident, she’s very lucky. Right now, she needs quiet and rest. We won’t know more about how bad her concussion is until tomorrow morning, when any remaining symptoms could manifest themselves. I’ll review what we can expect privately with you later, Agent Savich. I want to monitor her closely throughout the night, so I prefer she stay in the ICU. If you wish to stay with her, I’ll have a cot brought in for you. As you know, the cubicles are small and I doubt you’ll get much sleep.
“As for the rest of you, alas, I can’t offer you the five-star accommodation we’re offering Agent Savich. I can assure all of you she will get the best of care.” She smiled really big. “After all, she’s famous, isn’t she? The heroine of JFK.”
Dr. Loomis looked at all the relieved faces, some smiling back and nodding at what she’d said.
Agent Davis Sullivan raised a finger. “May we see her in the morning?”
Now, this young man could raise a flutter, Dr. Loomis thought, not immune. She said, “Check with Agent Savich first. He’ll let you know if visiting tomorrow is a good idea.” She turned to Savich, who still looked white around the gills, and something else, too. He was angry. She didn’t blame him. She’d heard the woman who’d struck Agent Sherlock’s car was downstairs in the ER. She’d walked away with a sprained arm, now in a sling, and nothing but bruises on her leg. Didn’t that just figure? “Agent Savich, I’ll send an orderly in to take you to her.”
When she left, everyone started high-fiving and talking at once. Savich shook Ben’s hand, started to thank everyone for coming, but when a skinny young black orderly with thick glasses and a goatee showed up, he only nodded and left. The orderly had to double-time it to keep up. Savich knew exactly where the ICU was, he’d been there often enough over the years. He couldn’t help himself, glanced at the man’s name tag and asked, “Did you see her, Malcolm?”
