Eleventh Hour

walked down the long, wide, very pleasant corridor. Landscapes lined both sides of the white walls. He wondered about Weldon DeLoach. How was he involved in all this? Did someone hate him so much as to implicate him so directly in the murders?
    Nick said quietly so Ms. Weaver wouldn’t hear, not looking at him but at the soft watercolor landscapes, “How can Weldon be the monster? Can he be that good with disguises?”
    “We’ll find out.”
    “Here’s Captain DeLoach’s room,” Ms. Weaver said, and raised her hand to knock. They heard a groan from inside. Dane didn’t hesitate, he was through the door in under a second.

TWENTY
    The old man was on the floor beside his overturned wheelchair, moaning softly, a small rivulet of dried blood on his face that had dripped off his chin and onto the floor.
    Dane turned to Nick, but she was already gone, probably with Velvet Weaver, to the nurses’ station to get help.
    “Captain DeLoach,” Dane said, leaning close, “can you hear me, sir? Can you tell me what happened?”
    The old man opened his eyes. He didn’t look like he was in pain, just dazed.
    “Can you hear me, sir? See me?”
    “Yes, I can see you. Who are you?”
    “I’m Special Agent Dane Carver, FBI.”
    Slowly, very slowly, the old man lifted his trembling, deeply veined hand, and he saluted.
    Dane was charmed. He saluted him back. Then he gently wrapped his hand around the old man’s and slowly lowered it. “You fell out of your chair?”
    “Oh no, Special Agent,” he said in a voice that sounded otherworldly it was so whispery thin. “He was here again and I told him I wouldn’t keep quiet anymore, and he hit me.”
    “Who, Captain? Who hit you?”
    “My son.”
    “Hey! What happened here?”
    A nurse fell to her knees beside Captain DeLoach, feeling his pulse, cupping her hand around his ancient face. “Captain, it’s Carla. You fell out of your chair again, didn’t you?”
    The old man groaned.
    “All right. Now, let me clean the blood off your face, see how bad it is. You’ve got to be more careful, you know that. If you want to run around the room, just call one of us and we’ll steer you. We’ll even hold races if that’s what you’d like. Now, just lie still, Captain, and I’ll take care of everything.”
    Captain DeLoach’s eyes closed. Dane couldn’t rouse him.
    His son?
    Weldon DeLoach had hit his father and knocked him out of his chair? But Velvet had said Weldon hadn’t been around for a week. She also said that the old man usually didn’t know his own name. Dane held the old man’s hand until Carla came back into the room. An orderly, a big Filipino man, lifted him in his arms and carried him to the bed. The old man looked like a bunch of old bones barely knit together, his pale, veined flesh wrapped in a bright blue flannel shirt and baggy pants. There were thick socks on his feet, and only one bedroom slipper. The other slipper was lying near the TV. The orderly laid him on his back, very gently straightening all those old limbs.
    “All right, I understand from Velvet that you’re FBI agents,” Nurse Carla said, not looking at either of them. “Would you mind telling me what’s going on? What do you want with Captain DeLoach?”
    Dane said, “We came to the door, heard moans, and I immediately opened the door and came into the room. Captain DeLoach was lying on the floor, just as you saw.”
    “He’s always falling out of the chair, knocking it over,” she said. “But this is the first time he’s hurt himself. Nasty cut on his head, but it won’t need stitches. I hope he doesn’t have a concussion. That could really take his brain right out of commission.”
    Dane and Nick watched her wash out the cut, then apply an antibiotic and a bandage. Nick patted her own Band-Aid that covered the graze made by the bullet and flopped her hair back over it.
    Carla said, “Captain DeLoach? Can you hear me? Open your eyes.”
    The old man didn’t answer her, just lay there, occasionally moaning.
    “He spoke to me,” Dane said. “He was quite lucid. He said that someone hit him. Is it possible that that cut isn’t from his fall?”
    Carla snorted. “Not likely. His only visitor is his son, and Weldon was here last week. Weldon’s like clockwork, never more than two weeks go by before he comes to visit.” She frowned up at Dane. “You say he was lucid? How could that be? He hasn’t been lucid in days now.”
    “He was. Excuse me a moment, I’m