Page 81 of Shadow of Death
“Life,” Sandy said. “Because Regan might not have a life after this!”
Amy stepped around him, gently laying an arm around the girl’s shoulders and leading her to take her seat again as she perched by her. “Regan is here, in surgery. There’s a lot of hope at this point. But we do want to see justice. Can you tell us what happened, how, and where? First, what’s your full name?”
“Sandra Davidson. And Regan is Regan Turnbull. And we’re—we’re student down here at the University of Miami. We’re both in the fine arts. I’m a music major, and Regan is in photography and art. He’s from Ohio and I’m from Arizona—and we met at school and...we’ve been together since our first year. We graduate next year. Anyway, Regan is crazy about ibises.”
“Ibises—the birds?” Hunter asked.
She nodded. “Sebastian the Ibis is our official mascot at school. And they apparently don’t have many in Ohio. Regan loves to come to the Everglades in both Miami-Dade and Broward Counties so that he can photograph birds—mainly the ibis—but he loves others, too. And one day—of course, we kept our distance—but we saw a Florida panther, and Regan got a great photograph. Someone told him if we came up 27 and pulled off the road, there were tons of birds because of the water coming through the different hammocks and the areas of marshy grass. So, we just came to enjoy being here, going out just like we’ve done dozens of times with nothing. We know how to come out here, how to be careful, how to respect nature, but...”
She broke off, huge tears forming in her eyes again.
“Sandra, it’s all right, you sound like wonderful people, people who do respect the ecology and the wildlife. I’m sure Regan’s photographs are wonderful—and I’m willing to bet you’re a wonderful musician. Voice? An instrument?”
“I’m an okay alto, and a darned good piano player,” she said. “I can manage a lead guitar, and I really love a ukulele. I want to write music, and I—I don’t know if I’ll ever want to do anything again if Regan doesn’t make it!”
“This is a wonderful hospital. He has the best chance in the world here,” Amy assured her. “And I’m grateful, we’re grateful, for your help.”
“I’m grateful for his help,” Sandra said, indicating Hunter. “He got me away from the monsters, and if Regan does live...” She noted Sean, who had been sitting there quietly, and quickly added, “And I know you helped stop the bleeding until the EMTs came. Please, believe me, it’s not that I’m ungrateful, I’m just...”
“Scared,” Amy said. “And I’m so sorry. I know the feeling. But how did they get to you?”
“We—we were following a bird that was just so funny. Nothing was wrong with it—he was just a curious little thing, looking at us, hopping around. And then, suddenly, when we were on that almost nonexistent path where they shot Regan, those two men just jumped out from the brush and grabbed me. Then one of them shoved Regan, and he got mad. When the one guy grabbed me and started laughing about just needing to cut my heart out to save my soul from sin, Regan was really angry—and he went to wrench me away, telling the guy I was the kindest human being in the universe and didn’t have sins. The guy laughed, and said that just looking at Regan, he knew the guy wasn’t just a huge sinner, that his face was a sin in itself. They both started laughing and the guy went to grab me again, and Regan burst between us and—they shot him! He fell, and they dragged me away. I kept fighting and the one guy kept hitting me, the one who got away.”
That explained the bruises forming on the girl’s arms.
“He didn’t get away,” Hunter told her.
“You caught up with him?” Sandra asked, surprised.
“I, um, didn’t have to. He apparently crossed an Everglades creature and...he’s dead, Sandra. There’s nothing to worry about anymore from him,” Hunter said.
“He was—eaten?” Sandra asked, swallowing hard. She didn’t wait for his answer; she probably didn’t really want it. “He was the one who shot Regan. I know I shouldn’t be glad for anyone’s death, but... I’m glad. That’s terrible, isn’t it? To want anyone dead?”
“It’s understandable under the circumstances,” Amy assured her. “Okay, Sandra, did you have any idea of where they came from or where they were taking you?”
“They came out of the brush and the trees, and it was crazy. I know I was wondering if they had a hidden house really close because the one guy—that shot Regan—was wearing ridiculous sweatpants and sandals! Who wears that in the Everglades?” Sandra asked.
Hunter felt motion behind him and instinctively swung around. It was just the nurse’s aide who was taking names and managing the number of those coming into the waiting room.
She smiled uneasily, knowing they were law enforcement, and nervous just because of it. “I, um, I wanted to let you know that Mr. Turnbull is out of surgery.”
“Oh, my God! And?” Sandra asked.
“He’s stable.”
“Can I see him?”
“I’m afraid it will still be a little while before anyone can see him. He’s in recovery and he’ll go to intensive care. When he’s there, you may see him. But briefly. The doctors had to repair several organs, and he must be very careful in the next few days,” the nurse’s aide told them.
“But—but he’ll...live?” Sandra asked on a whisper.
“Yes, he should eventually make a full recovery, but you’ll need to speak with his doctors and they’ll be in here in a few minutes.”
She smiled again, nodded, and left them.
Sandra had been standing. She seemed to deflate and fell back in her chair.
“See,” Amy said gently. “He will be fine.”
