in his system.
That was exactly what he had in mind.
It wasn’t hard to swipe a green orderly top and bottom and change into it in the disserted locker room. For good measure, he grabbed a stethoscope hanging in an open locker and slung it around his neck.
The man said hello to Juan Ortiz, the young officer seated outside Robert Manville’s hospital room on the second floor and chatted with him, asking him how the pervert was doing, telling him that he needed to check his vitals.
“He’s sleeping, but you can try.” Ortiz said doubtfully. “Do you mind if I go get some coffee and use the restroom? It’s been a while since I had a break.”
“Absolutely,” the man said congenially. “I’ll wait here until you come back, but take your time. I’m in no rush.”
The officer thanked him and left. The man watched Ortiz leave the floor and then turned and stood just inside the doorway.
Robert Manville, formally of the Chicago PD, lay sleeping in his hospital bed in dimmed lighting. An IV bag hung on a metal arm over the left side of his bed, and the tubing led to a port that had been inserted into his left forearm. His chest rose and fell in steady rhythm, and he had a slight grimace on his face. Every so often, his leg would twitch, as would his cheek.
He had been arrested and had been taken into custody when the boys were freed from captivity from the building in Chicago. He was found in one of the locked rooms with Tim and then was dragged off the boy and thrown on the floor and cuffed by Waukesha Police Detective Jamie Graff with FBI Agent Pete Kelliher backing him up.
At some point early that morning during the siege, someone, perhaps more than one person, had taken his nightstick and shoved it up his ass all the way to the handle, and then had taken his tazer and shot him, frying his penis into something that resembled a burnt hotdog. Hence, the hospitalization and the sedation using Dilaudid as a pain medication.
The man took the three centimeter syringe out of his pocket, which had already been preloaded with twelve milligrams of the drug.
He moved to the side of the bed and inserted the syringe into the port and depressed the plunger. Within seconds, almost instantaneously, Manville’s breathing slowed and then stopped. His face slacked, and his body went limp.
Quickly, but not desperately, the man wiped the syringe clean and dropped it into the bio-hazard container that hung on the wall. He watched Manville for any tell-tale signs of life and when satisfied that there weren’t any, stepped to the doorway and looked in both directions. Satisfied that he didn’t see anyone paying any attention to him, he walked down the hallway. He had never intended to wait for Ortiz.
Who he didn’t see was Tim, who had walked out of Johnny’s room just after the man left the cop’s room. Tim saw him from the side and then stopped to watch him walk the length of the corridor, thinking that he had seen him before.
Puzzled, he turned and walked to the other end of the floor and paused before he went through the doors back up to the third floor to find Brett, Stephen and Mike.
What Tim didn’t see was the man in disguise stop, turn and look down the hallway just before he went through the doors. He spotted Tim before the boy had disappeared into the far stairwell. As he watched Tim leave, the man wondered if he had been spotted and recognized.
If so, this would be a problem that would need to be taken care of.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Chicago, Illinois
Johnny
That was exactly what he had in mind.
It wasn’t hard to swipe a green orderly top and bottom and change into it in the disserted locker room. For good measure, he grabbed a stethoscope hanging in an open locker and slung it around his neck.
The man said hello to Juan Ortiz, the young officer seated outside Robert Manville’s hospital room on the second floor and chatted with him, asking him how the pervert was doing, telling him that he needed to check his vitals.
“He’s sleeping, but you can try.” Ortiz said doubtfully. “Do you mind if I go get some coffee and use the restroom? It’s been a while since I had a break.”
“Absolutely,” the man said congenially. “I’ll wait here until you come back, but take your time. I’m in no rush.”
The officer thanked him and left. The man watched Ortiz leave the floor and then turned and stood just inside the doorway.
Robert Manville, formally of the Chicago PD, lay sleeping in his hospital bed in dimmed lighting. An IV bag hung on a metal arm over the left side of his bed, and the tubing led to a port that had been inserted into his left forearm. His chest rose and fell in steady rhythm, and he had a slight grimace on his face. Every so often, his leg would twitch, as would his cheek.
He had been arrested and had been taken into custody when the boys were freed from captivity from the building in Chicago. He was found in one of the locked rooms with Tim and then was dragged off the boy and thrown on the floor and cuffed by Waukesha Police Detective Jamie Graff with FBI Agent Pete Kelliher backing him up.
At some point early that morning during the siege, someone, perhaps more than one person, had taken his nightstick and shoved it up his ass all the way to the handle, and then had taken his tazer and shot him, frying his penis into something that resembled a burnt hotdog. Hence, the hospitalization and the sedation using Dilaudid as a pain medication.
The man took the three centimeter syringe out of his pocket, which had already been preloaded with twelve milligrams of the drug.
He moved to the side of the bed and inserted the syringe into the port and depressed the plunger. Within seconds, almost instantaneously, Manville’s breathing slowed and then stopped. His face slacked, and his body went limp.
Quickly, but not desperately, the man wiped the syringe clean and dropped it into the bio-hazard container that hung on the wall. He watched Manville for any tell-tale signs of life and when satisfied that there weren’t any, stepped to the doorway and looked in both directions. Satisfied that he didn’t see anyone paying any attention to him, he walked down the hallway. He had never intended to wait for Ortiz.
Who he didn’t see was Tim, who had walked out of Johnny’s room just after the man left the cop’s room. Tim saw him from the side and then stopped to watch him walk the length of the corridor, thinking that he had seen him before.
Puzzled, he turned and walked to the other end of the floor and paused before he went through the doors back up to the third floor to find Brett, Stephen and Mike.
What Tim didn’t see was the man in disguise stop, turn and look down the hallway just before he went through the doors. He spotted Tim before the boy had disappeared into the far stairwell. As he watched Tim leave, the man wondered if he had been spotted and recognized.
If so, this would be a problem that would need to be taken care of.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Chicago, Illinois
Johnny
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