Page 47 of Her Final Hours
He hadn’t arrived in the plumber’s van.
Meanwhile, Callie had made her way to the building doorway, attempting to gain entry. However, it was locked, preventing her from progressing any further.
“Hey, Patrick! You want to open up. We need to speak with you again,” Callie called out, her voice full of determination.
In an instant, chaos erupted.
An explosion of gunfire shattered the calm wintry air as someone fired a shotgun, narrowly missing Callie. She swiftly drew her Glock, her training kicking in as she took cover.
Reacting fast, Noah moved around the van, his service weapon at the ready, searching for movement in the windows of the building. Another round was fired through a window, prompting Noah to return fire, aiming to neutralize the threat.
Amidst the chaos, Callie seized the opportunity to kick open the door with a powerful blow, causing it to swing in. She rushed into the building, her senses heightened and her gun poised for action.
Through the shattered window, Noah caught glimpses of the intense confrontation inside. Callie engaged in a firefight with an assailant, her actions swift and precise. Moments later, she disappeared out of view.
Noah hurried to the doorway to find her standing over a subdued figure with her gun still trained on him. “Just try it, asshole,” she said, pointing to the shotgun close to his hand, gloved in blood.
Glancing across the room, Noah spotted Patrick huddled behind a counter on the ground, his hands raised in surrender, appearing frightened and vulnerable.
It was strange.
Two hours later,they found themselves at the hospital, staring through a window at Eduardo Felipe. Callie held in her hand a tablet and was swiping up on it. “Guy has a record a mile long.”
“Let’s see what he has to say.”
They entered the room where a Hispanic male lay in thebed. He was in his late 30s with short, dark hair and a slight beard. His features reflected a mixture of exhaustion, defiance, and pain.
The steady beep of a medical monitor created a constant background rhythm. A soft hiss of oxygen flowed through tubes, mingling with the distant sound of medical staff conversing and the occasional shuffle of footsteps in the hallway.
The room was small and sterile, with white walls and a faint scent of disinfectant. A narrow window let in a sliver of sunlight, casting a muted glow on the room. Nearby were an IV stand, a heart rate monitor, and a tray of medications.
Eduardo had his functioning hand cuffed to the bed. Outside, a sheriff’s deputy kept watch over him. Once he was cleared medically, he would be transported to the local jail.
“Oh, come on, man. Don’t I have rights?” he protested, pressing the call button on the device beside the bed.
Noah calmly responded. “I’m afraid that won’t work. They’ve been informed that we are here to have a conversation. You also gave up your rights when you shot at law enforcement.”
Callie positioned herself on one side of the bed while Noah stood on the opposite side, adopting a no-nonsense stance.
“I still want to speak with a lawyer,” the man insisted. Noah nodded, acknowledging his request.
“And you will. Don’t worry about that. I can’t wait to hear your lame-ass excuse.” A hint of amusement tinged Noah’s voice. He knew that the man’s defiance was futile in the face of mounting evidence.
Eduardo chuckled, his smirk revealing a touch of arrogance and one gold tooth.
“Now, in the meantime, you can tell us why you were using Patrick’s van and what you know about the attempted abduction of a young girl here at the hospital.” Noah raised an eyebrow, expecting a reply.
“I can do one better for you,” he replied, his tone cocky and defiant.
Noah tilted his head, curious. “Yeah?” he prompted, eager for any lead to shed light on the case.
“I can tell you where to go fuck yourself,” the man retorted, a grin on his face. “Get me my lawyer.” Noah chuckled, appreciating the man’s audacity.
“Come on, let’s go,” he decided, realizing that attempting to gather information from him without grilling Patrick first would do little.
As they prepared to leave, Eduardo made a taunting comment toward Callie. “Hey, mamacita. Maybe next time I’ll put you on the floor,” he jeered, hinting at a physical confrontation. “I bet you’d like that.”
Callie turned back, her expression unfazed. A smile danced as she shared in the dark humor. She leaned over, playfully pressing down on the man’s wounded hand, eliciting a brief groan before she released it. “Oh, sorry. They don’t give you much space in this room. Well, you sit tight. I’ll get your cell ready and find that lawyer,” Callie said, full of sarcastic sincerity.
