Eleventh Hour

make her a real danger to the murderer.”
    “What shouldn’t she have seen, Weldon?”
    “The murderer just after he killed the priest in San Francisco.”
    “Hey, does she think it’s you?”
    Weldon was still blond today, deeply tanned, his eyes a pale blue. Nick wasn’t at all good with guessing people’s age, but if she had to, she’d say he was easily in his forties. Was it makeup? Contacts? Or was this the way he really looked? Nick simply didn’t know if he was the man she’d seen in the church. Maybe disguised, but she knew she’d be useless in court. She held the gun steady, knew she had to get him down to the floor, get him tied up so she could breathe again, so she could think, get help. She was scared, almost as scared as she’d been when she had faced John Rothman.
    Still, she had to try. She said, “To be real accurate, Weldon, yes, I saw you.” She continued, now looking back at the old man, “Sir, I saw Weldon in a church just after he’d murdered Father Michael Joseph. And he’s killed other people as well. He wrote TV scripts, then copied them in real life. I’m sorry, but he is a very evil man.”
    Captain DeLoach said, “Hey, you really mean that? Nah, that doesn’t make any sense. Weldon’s a pussy. No spine in that back of his, just mush. You really a homeless woman? Fancy that, I won’t have to pay you, will I? You don’t expect anything because you’re not an officer, right?”
    “Right, this is for free,” Nick said, not looking at the grinning old man, who really did sound pleased as punch.
    “You said Weldon is a murderer? He’s really a criminal?”
    The old man laughed. “Listen to me, girl, you’re all wrong about this. Weldon couldn’t kill a roach if it crawled over his bare feet and started gnawing on his toe. He’s a coward.”
    “Sir, please be quiet.” She adjusted her aim with the SIG just a bit and said to Weldon, “I want you to lie on your stomach on the floor. Now.” It was aimed right at his chest.
    “No,” he said. “I can’t. I haven’t killed anyone. Don’t you see? It’s this filthy old man who’s the monster. You can’t believe the havoc he’s wrought. This is justice, dammit.”
    “What are you talking about?”
    Captain DeLoach laughed. “Yeah, tell her, Weldon. Tell her why you want to murder your dear old dad.”
    “No, she doesn’t need to know. Listen, I’ve got no bloody choice. Believe me, sister, this crazy old man richly deserves it.”
    “Why does he deserve to die?”
    Captain DeLoach started laughing again, spittle pooling in the corners of his mouth, flecked with blood.
    Nick said, “Come on, Weldon, what on earth are you talking about?”
    In that moment, Weldon grabbed the arms of Captain DeLoach’s wheelchair and shoved hard. Nick had only an instant. As the chair rammed into her, she fired. The shot went wide, shattering the TV screen. Captain DeLoach’s arm flew up to gain balance, and he struck her wrist. The SIG flew out of her hand and skidded across the floor to land just beneath Captain DeLoach’s bed.
    Nick froze, expecting Weldon to pull out his own gun and shoot both of them. There’d already been one shot, why not more? But he didn’t have much time. Nursing home staff would burst in there in just a couple of seconds. She had to protect the old man. She raced around in front of Captain DeLoach’s wheelchair.
    But Weldon didn’t try to shove her aside, didn’t draw a gun to kill her. He just ran out through the glass doors, yelling back at her, “You’ve made the worst mistake you’ll ever make in your life!”
    Seconds later, Nurse Carla, a cop behind her, burst in to see Nick Jones racing out the glass sliding doors, a gun in her hand.
    Captain DeLoach was sitting in his chair. He was smiling, looked happy as a clam, singing “Eleanor Rigby.”
    Nick saw Weldon racing toward a small black car, Japanese, she thought, maybe a Toyota, but she couldn’t be sure. Where was that cop who was supposedly out here smoking a cigarette? She didn’t see anyone. She yelled, “Stop, Weldon! Or I’ll shoot, I mean it!”
    But he didn’t. Nick raised the gun, then realized she didn’t need to fire at him. She aimed at the tires of the black car just as he flung open the driver’s-side door and threw himself in.
    She fired, hitting both back tires just as he gunned the engine and roared out of the parking spot, rubber and smoke spewing out of the tires. Soon he’d be driving on the rims