Criss Cross

By Joseph DeMark

The City of Brotherly Love is stunned by the sniper killing of an EMS Technician as he administers aid to victims of a previous shooting.

Walter Spotsman (Spots), is a hardened Chief of Detectives with the Philadelphia Police Department. A dying man’s whisper, ‘criss cross’, echoes a chapter of Spots’ past, and projects him into a harrowing chase for justice. Unlike most Chief of D’s, Spots personally takes charge of the investigation, engaging in a tenacious pursuit to apprehend the shooter. Utilizing his Marine sniper experience, Spots tries to anticipate every move of the shooter responsible for the cold blooded murder of his close friend and EMS Technician, Vince Scardini.

When the river docks and the Badlands of Philly become the final venue of the chase, the two legged rats of the city comprehend Spots’ true tenacity.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu Publishing Services
• Release date: Apr 7, 2014
• ISBN: 9781483410043

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DEMARK

Copyright © 2014 Joseph DeMark.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted by any means—whether auditory, graphic, mechanical, or electronic—without written permission of both publisher and author, except in the case of brief excerpts used in critical articles and reviews. Unauthorized reproduction of any part of this work is illegal and is punishable by law.

ISBN: 978-1-4834-1005-0 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4834-1004-3 (e)

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Lulu Publishing Services rev. date: 03/19/2014

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CONTENTS

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Ninteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty One

Chapter Twenty Two

Chapter Twenty Three

Chapter Twenty Four

Chapter Twenty Five

Chapter Twenty Six

Chapter Twenty Seven

Chapter Twenty Eight

Chapter Twenty Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty One

Chapter Thirty Two

Chapter Thirty Three

Chapter Thirty Four

Chapter Thirty Five

Chapter Thirty Six

Chapter Thirty Seven

Chapter Thirty Eight

Chapter Thirty Nine

Chapter Fourty

Chapter Fourty One

Chapter Fourty Two

Chapter Forty Three

Chapter Forty Four

Chapter Forty Five

Chapter Forty Six

Chapter Forty Seven

Chapter Forty Eight

Chapter Forty Nine

Chapter Fifty

Chapter Fifty One

Chapter Fifty Two

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CHAPTER ONE

T HE SOUND OF EMS TRUCK sirens was echoing throughout East Philadelphia, responding to a reported sniper shooting in the Badlands. The EMS team stationed closest to the scene of the reported sniper shooting was Vince Scardini and Holly Romans. They raced several city blocks to the location provided by the EMS dispatcher. When they reached their destination, a convenience store with barred windows, the victims lay in front of them. Two men, still seated in a car, had been mortally wounded by sniper fire. A third victim, approximately five feet from the car, was crumbled over in a heap. He had gunshot wounds to his chest and neck, but was, miraculously, still breat hing.

Anyone know who these guys are?…Vince shouted, turning his head in every direction… We gotta get some ID. Holly, can you get another alarm out; we need help here!

Holly was thirty eight years old, a veteran of the Gulf War, an experienced Medical Technician, and knew the protocol. Her trim, muscular build allowed for rapid movement during trauma events. Vince was a ten year veteran of the EMS squad, and assigned to East Philly when he was honorably discharged by the Marines. He also was a veteran of the Gulf War, and no stranger to gunshot wounds. Vince was the typical tall, dark and handsome type, who was always being sought after by women eager to make a date. They quickly triaged the victims. One victim appeared to have the possibility of surviving the brutal attack. Vince kneeled next to him. He bent over the man, and shined a small flashlight into the victim’s eyes. The wounded man’s eyes, not totally dilated, responded with a blink. Vince worked frantically, compressing layers of gauze on the neck wound. The bleeding began to slow, virtually to a stop. Vince straightened from his kneeling position, scanning the scene for other victims. Then, without warning, a bullet slammed into the left side of Vince’s chest, exiting his back, and leaving a gaping hole in the back of his EMS uniform. The impact hurled Vince backward onto the grimy pavement. Another shot ripped into his neck. A third bullet missed Vince, and entered the other victim’s car. The sounds from the gunshots were not heard, and no one saw where they came from. The blue EMS shirt, partially torn from his back, was blood soaked. Vince was on the ground screaming in excruciating pain…Help me. I need help. Holly, help me.…Vince’s voice choked, as he tried desperately to speak.

Holly was attending to the live shooting victim when she heard Vince’s cry for help. She grabbed her EMS bag, and ran toward Vince. She pulled several large rolls of gauze from the bag, pressed them on the largest part of the wound in an effort to stop his bleeding…My God, this is huge, Holly thought… The gauze, and hand pressure she was applying, had little effect. The blood was hemorrhaging from Vince’s body onto Holly’s uniform. Her efforts seemed useless. Holly heard the eerie sounds of numerous sirens in the distance…Vince, help is coming, hang in there. Hang in there. Holly said, softly. Her hands pressed the gauze down with all the strength she could raise up. Holly’s hands were soaked in Vince’s blood and she watched his large framed body stiffen.

Oh My God… No. No, Vince. No. Holly screamed, pulling him close to her chest. Vince’s blood soaked body lay clinging to life in Holly’s arms.

When the second EMS team arrived, they were accompanied by several black and white police cars. The uniformed police rushed to the shooting scene, their immediate task was to control the crowd, and round up witnesses. Every law enforcement officer available was dispatched to the scene…Over here. Over here! Holly screamed to the EMS crew, her blood stained hands waving wildly over her head.

When the EMS team reached Vince, they immediately started trauma procedures. They witnessed one of their own down, and bleeding profusely. The EMS crews labored frantically for several minutes. Judging by their experience with gunshot wounds, the possibility of saving Vince was not good. Finally, the lead EMS Tech looked at Holly … Holly, Vince is gone. He’s gone.… He said, shaking his head in disbelief.

Chief of Detectives, Walter Spotsman, Spots, as his close friends on the force called him, brought his vehicle to a skidding stop in front of the convenience store. Chief Spotsman was on his way home from a formal event in the city, when the call came in regarding a Badlands sniper shooting. This was the first and, hopefully, the last time he would show up for a shooting in his tuxedo.

Who’s in charge here? Who’s in charge here? Spots shouted, his head swiveling from side to side, looking and listening for someone to respond. What the hell happened here? Spots screamed again.

Spots raced his six foot, one hundred ninety pound frame, toward Holly and Vince. As though by reflex, he simultaneously opened his tuxedo jacket, and pulled a three fifty seven magnum revolver from his shoulder holster. He started barking out orders to the uniformed officers. Get the EMS bus over here, NOW. You, officer.…Spots pointed at one of the uniformed officers…Get over here, and help hold this man. Spots holstered his weapon.

Who the hell’s in charge here? Spots shouted again. Son of a bitch, can’t anyone hear me?

Chief, it’s too late. Vince is gone. Holly said, her eyes fixed on Vince…He’s gone. He’s gone.

A voice shouted out. I’m in charge here, Chief.

Spots looked up at Sargent Oscar Rodriguez. Rodriguez is a hard-nosed veteran of twenty years with the Philadelphia Major Crime Unit in the East Philadelphia Badlands. He is known by the nickname O. Rod. He has witnessed more than his share of violence in this part of the city, but never on an EMS team.

O. Rod, where the hell is the shooter? Spots shouted, looking directly at O. Rod. Did anyone see him?

One of the detectives, who had arrived earlier with O. Rod, shouted from a few feet away. We don’t know where he is. He’s still out there, sir. We set up a six block perimeter with every uniform we could get. They’re out combing the whole neighborhood. No one’s forthcoming yet. We’ll find him, sir. the detective said, positively.

Shit, he’s probably in New Jersey by now. Spots replied. Keep looking for whatever evidence you can find. You guys.…Spots pointed at the Crime Scene Unit… Make sure you bag anything, anything at all. I don’t want this bastard getting away from us."

Spots had been on the job for almost twenty five years. His instincts told him this was not a simple drug deal gone wrong. There was a hell of a lot more to this than drugs, he thought. Spots knew Vince from the time Vince returned from the Gulf War and went to work with the EMS Group. On occasion, Vince did some undercover work for Spots, and always came up with information no one else could find, or wanted to find. An EMS person could roam around the city looking for information, undetected, easier than any other informant. Spots capitalized on the information Vince gave him numerous times.

Spots, out of habit, slid his hand into the left side of his open jacket, and felt the holstered revolver. He pushed down on the revolver handle, making certain it was holstered tight. He moved closer to Holly, took his jacket off, placed it gently over her shoulders, wrapped his muscular arms around her, and drew her head softly to his chest. The effect was that Holly almost disappeared under Spots’ large frame.

Vince is gone. Vince is gone. Holly sobbed, burying her face against Spots. Her arms were draped limp at her side from mental and physical exhaustion.

Spots held Holly tightly, comforting her from the horrors of the night. Spots could feel the blood from Holly’s uniform slowly seep onto his white tuxedo shirt, and onto his chest. The sight of a friend’s cold, red, life giving blood ran chills through him. Spots had all he could do to keep his composure… Holly, you need to get some help; go to the hospital.

I can’t. Not now, I gotta find out what happened.

Spots knew trying to find the shooter now would be impossible. If this was a set up to assassinate Vince and the others, there was no possible way they were going to catch the shooter tonight, or who gave the order to shoot them.

Why Vince? Why wasn’t Holly gunned down too, Spots wondered. There had to be a reason…a motive. The only person who could be of any help was on his way to Saint Anne’s Emergency Room with several holes in him, fighting for his life.

O Rod. Get an EMS bus over here for Holly. I want her taken to the same hospital as the shooting victim, and keep a guard with her at all times. The shooter might think she saw something.

Yes sir, right away.

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CHAPTER TWO

W HEN SPOTS ARRIVED AT SAINT Anne’s Emergency Room, Holly and the lone shooting victim were in the ER being treated. He rushed past an army of news reporters and television cameras. He trotted to the front door, pushing the media people out of his way. The reporters were running backwards, in front of him, shouting for Spots’ atten tion.

Chief…Chief. They hollered. What happened? What’s going on? Were drugs involved? The reporters asked, bumping in to each other.

One of the female reporters pushed a microphone in front of Spots’ face, screaming, "Give us something, Chief! What happened?"

No comment, Spots barked. No comments damn it. Step out of the way.…Spots knew if he stopped, even briefly, anything he said would be on record, and on TV live for the shooter to see.

Holly lay in a fetal position on a bed in a room divided only by white curtains encircling the entire bed. Her hands, still covered in Vince’s blood, were folded between her knees. A large plastic bag, hanging from a metal stand, was administering saline and anti-shock meds into Holly’s arm.

As Spots slowly pulled the curtain open, he realized the full effect of the trauma Holly received. He walked slowly, tip toeing into her room.

Holly. Spots whispered. Holly…It’s Spots.

Chief, what am I going to do? What am I going to do? Holly asked. Vince is gone.

Spots had never before noticed the beautiful gray-green of her eyes, which seemed to change with variations of light. They were framed by long, dark lashes, now soaked by tears. He extended his hands to hers. Holly you need to get some rest. I’ll think of something. First I want to ask the guy in the next room what the hell went on. He’s got a hell of a lot of questions to answer. That is, if he is still alive. Holly, try to relax, I’ll be back in a few minutes.…He softly touched her shoulder and left the room.

Spots entered ER room number two. A man with mortal wounds to his body was stretched out on his back. The ER table was soaked with blood. There were several doctors and nurses feverishly working on the severe wounds in an attempt to stop the bleeding.

Get the hell outta here. Get a mask on! One of the doctors shouted, holding a scalpel, and staring at Spots.

I’m the Chief of Detectives. I need to ask this guy some questions, now! Spots shouted back at the doctor.

I don’t care who the hell you are, get a mask on, the doctor shouted.

A nurse rushed over to Spots and quickly handed him a mask. Spots fumbled with the tie strings trying to get the mask on. The nurse reached around Spots’ neck and tied the strings together. Stay out of the surgeon’s way, she whispered.

No I don’t have to stay out of anyone’s way. Now let me talk to him. I need to talk to him before he dies.

Spots moved closer to the victim, who was uncontrollably bleeding out on the table. He could see the wounds were fatal. Spots knew there was very little time left. The wounds to the man’s chest and neck returned Spots to his military days in combat, where death was the routine of the day, not the exception. The ER team was unable to control the victim’s bleeding. His eyes were glazed, almost completely dilated, and he was mumbling. Spots leaned over the dying man, putting his ear close to the man’s face. The man started to move his lips again, ever so slowly, then stopped.

The doctor pushed Spots out of the way with just one hand. Get away, get away. The doctor shouted. If you can’t act appropriately in this ER, you need to leave.

Doctors and nurses scrambled around the man. The doctors were shouting simultaneous commands, frantically trying to save the patient’s life. Ten milligrams Epi…push. The ER doc screamed.

The man on the ER table looked up at Spots and, with a very limp finger; gestured for Spots to come closer. Spots inched his way in closer to the ER table, and leaned his ear next to the dying man’s lips.

Criss Cross, the man whispered. Criss Cross, he repeated. His eyes rolled upward and closed. The man tried again to whisper more words, with his last breath of air, to no avail.

The head ER Doctor turned and shouted. Give me the paddles, stat.…He rubbed lubricant on the paddles, slapped them, with a clap, on the man’s chest…Clear.

The limp body jumped violently, shaking the ER table.

Clear! the doctor shouted again.

The victim’s body jumped again. The doctor waited for several seconds. There was no positive response from the vital signs equipment. The lines on the stainless steel monitor all showed flat, with one deafening tone, signaling the man’s demise.

Ok, can someone give me a time? the ER doctor in charge asked.

Time of death, eleven thirty-six pm, the lead nurse replied loudly.

Spots turned away from the man on the table, visibly shaken. His face turned red, and his eyes stalled in a momentary blank stare. Oh my god, he thought. What the hell is going on here? The silence in the room was deafening. Spots turned around, looked at the sweat covered doctor, and shook his head…Did you just hear what that man said to me?

No. Should I have?

I want to see any bullets you find in this guy, as soon as you can dig them out. I don’t want any news releases from you, or anyone else, no leaks. Do you understand? I’ll have the ME here soon to take the body. Till then, no one touches the body or his clothes. Spots ordered.

Did everyone hear that? The head surgeon shouted, looking around the room.

I repeat. Did everyone hear that? The doctor asked, taking his latex gloves off methodically, one finger at a time, and tossing them into the hazmat bag…I didn’t hear everyone.

Yes, everyone in the room replied.

Spots walked slowly back to Holly’s makeshift ER room, stopping only for a moment to regain his composure, and thinking what a dying man said to him. He made his way into Holly’s room. He sat down in a hard, straight back chair, close to Holly’s ER table. He placed his still blood stained a hand on the white sheet of the bed, and looked at Holly. Spots was feeling old, and today’s events were sure to add many additions to his new crop of graying hair.

Holly. Spots spoke in a soft voice. The guy in the other room didn’t make it. I never got to ask him anything. The bastard had too many big holes in him. Spots said, declining to say anything more. Spots thought it wasn’t essential for Holly to hear what the man said to him. She wouldn’t know what the words meant anyway.

It doesn’t matter. Vince is gone. Holly replied. Chief, what am I going to do now? Holly asked. We were close partners for years. It will never be the same. She whimpered, brushing the tears from her eyes.

Holly you need to get some professional help. You can’t work this out by yourself. The department has a program for emergency type personnel. I’ll arrange a safe place for you to stay and get the best doctor money can buy. It’s important to keep you out of sight. Spots said calmly. Holly, the bottom line is, we need to get you out of here and find somewhere away from this craziness.

Spots reached out to Holly. He gently helped her from the ER table, and onto her feet, still in her blood soaked clothes. Suddenly, the white curtains slid open with a swooshing sound. A large, burley man, with a dark complexion, short beard, and wearing a full length white smock, was standing in the doorway. His determined eyes were focused on Spots.

Where do you think you’re going? He took two steps in, and was now standing totally in Holly’s room. We’re not done with the patient. Get back into the bed, miss. We need to run more tests before we can discharge you, the man ordered, pulling a clipboard from the holder at the foot of the bed.

Spots, not used to taking orders, sprung out of the chair…And who the hell are you? I’ll move this lady anytime I want, and you, or anyone else, are not going to stop me. Spots said, raising the decibels of his voice.

You are not moving anyone anywhere. I’m Doctor Sadide Ishmall, Chief of Staff for this hospital. Doctor Ishmall replied, running his hand through his well-groomed beard.

Well, I’m Walter Spotsman, Chief of Detectives, Philadelphia Police Department, and I can piss higher than you. Get the hell out my way.

The doctor slowly moved aside. I’m not responsible, nor will the hospital be, for anything that happens to Miss Romans. You’ll need to sign her out, now, before you go anywhere.

Give me the paperwork. I’ll sign it. Spots snarled. He scribbled a signature, which no one could read if they wanted to.

Now, please, get out of our way.

Spots pushed the curtain aside with one stroke. He lifted Holly’s arm gently around his neck.

Holly, put your weight on me; I’ll get you out of here. Spots said, bracing for her weight.

Chief, I can’t move. My left leg hurts. I can’t move it. Holly whimpered, reaching down to touch her leg. It hurts.

Spots looked down at Holly’s leg. There was a small stream of blood trickling down her left leg. Spots gently helped her back onto the bed. He searched the room for gauze he could rap her leg in. He didn’t want to alert anyone for fear the hospital would keep her overnight.

Chief, oh God…Holly jerked her leg…It hurts too much for me to move. Why didn’t someone see this blood when I came in? I didn’t know I was bleeding. Holly said, grimacing in pain.

There was so much of Vince’s blood on you, they didn’t know your blood was there too. A bullet fragment must have hit you when Vince was shot.

Spots knew the shock meds were wearing off. If he was going to move her, it had to be now. Just as he was about to maneuver his arms into place, the curtains flew open. Doctor Ishmall, the burly Chief of Staff, was standing at the open curtain. I heard the noise. Ok, now will you listen to me? I want to readmit her, and do additional testing. Doctor Ishmall said, looking directly into Spots’ eyes.

Spots glared back at the man. He realized the doctor was right, and looked back at Holly…Holly we need to find out where, in your leg, the bleeding is coming from. We need to know how bad the wound is. I’ll stay here with you until they release you. Ok, doc, you have a patient. She’s very special. Also, there are people who might want to come in here and harm her. I don’t want any leaks about her staying in this hospital. I want someone that can keep their mouth shut. Do you understand this is a Police Order?

Doctor Ishmall’s dark eyes squinted at Spots. Yes, I understand. I’m the best, and I can keep my mouth shut. I will personally take her case.

Thank you. Spots replied. By the way, I apologize for the way I acted earlier.

No problem, I am sorry as well. We’ll get started right now. That was all Doctor Ishmall had to say for now, so he turned and left the room.

Holly, I’m going to leave you here. I need to go home, take a shower, and get some rest. I want to have an early start in the morning. You seem to be in good hands with Dr. Ishmall.

Holly’s eyes were partially closed. The new pain meds the doctor ordered were starting to take effect. Holly slowly nodded an ok.

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CHAPTER THREE

S POTS UNLOCKED THE DOOR TO his bachelor apartment and headed directly to the half full bottle of Jack Daniels sitting in the corner of the kitchen counter. He pulled a high ball glass from the dish drying rack, blew into the glass, filled it half way, took a long swallow, and shook his head. He carried the glass to his bedroom, took another gulp, and put the glass on the small night stand, one of a pair which sat on either side of the king sized bed. Spots looked at his reflection in the dresser mirror and saw the blood stains smeared on the front of his tuxedo shirt. He pulled at the partially unbuttoned shirt, ripping off most of the clip style buttons, and threw it into a waste basket next to the dresser. He couldn’t stomach seeing Vince and Holly’s blood on him. Spots grabbed the glass and put it to his mouth. The glass was empty. Damn. He returned to the kitchen, picked up the bottle and lifted it to eye level, shook it to see how much of the Jack was left, and carried it back to the bedroom. After refilling his glass to the top, he took a sip, and placed it on the dresser…That’s be tter.

Spots’ mind raced. Why was Vince shot? Why wasn’t Holly shot? Who was the victim at the hospital that died? There was one very big question on his mind, how the hell did he know about Criss Cross? Spots knew he had to find the answers to these questions, and fast. There are only seven people in the world who know about Criss Cross.

Spots picked up the partially filled glass of Jack, walked to the bathroom, reached into the shower and, with his free hand, turned the water on. Still carrying the glass, he walked toward the bed and kicked off his Florsheim shoes. He slipped the revolver from the shoulder holster, laid it on the bed, pulled the Velcro held ankle holster off his ankle, slid the S & W out, flipped the cylinder open, checked the rounds, and carefully laid the snub next to the .357 revolver. Spots finally put the glass on the vanity, making it ready for another sip after his shower. This has been his nightly routine for twenty years. He did it all with one hand, and with the precision of a Swiss watch. The only change in the nightly ritual was the extra Jack in the glass, and the frequency that he filled it.

When Spots reached into the shower, he could feel the warm spray of water on his hand. The water was just the perfect temperature, soothing and relaxing. He entered the shower, placed his hands flat against the shower wall, and leaned forward under the soothing stream. He let the warm spray flow over his head and down his tired body. He saw little trickles of red on the shower floor and closed his eyes.

Spots stepped out of the shower, grabbed the almost empty glass of Jack, and finished it with one gulp. He found some sweats in the dresser drawer, spread them over the side of the bed, and headed to the bottle for one last night cap. Spots paused for a moment, holding the glass close to his mouth. He couldn’t stop thinking of Holly lying in the hospital ER. He couldn’t get her safety, or the lack of, out of his mind. His cell phone was on the bed table next to the bottle of Jack. He couldn’t resist the temptation to check on the men’s alertness. Spots picked up the phone and dialed the hospital ER. A female voice answered, Saint Anne’s Hospital, ICU, how may I help you?

Dr. Ishmall, please. Spots replied, sternly.

Thank you sir, I’ll see if he’s in. A few seconds passed. The soft female voice was replaced by a loud baritone.

Dr. Ishmall.

Spots held the cell phone close to his mouth.

Doctor, this is Chief Spotsman. How’s Holly Romans doing?

We don’t have a Holly Romans at this hospital, sir. Doctor Ishmall replied.

That was the exact response Spots wanted to hear…Ok, thanks Doc.

Spots touched the off button on his cell phone. He was relieved the doctor was alert enough not to fall for any phone calls asking about Holly. He went to the side of the bed, slid the sweats on, sat on the edge of the bed, slowly laid back, rubbed his hand through his hair, rolled over, and immediately fell into a deep sleep.

When Spots awoke, he tapped the off button on the top of the alarm clock before it went off. He jumped out of bed, went into the bathroom and took a quick shave. He put on a fresh suit, strapped his shoulder holster in place, and shoved his .357 magnum into the holster. Ritualistically, he took his other weapon off the night stand, spun the cylinder, and strapped the snub nosed thirty-eight S and W to his leg. Spots allowed himself one last look in the mirror, fixed his tie, looked at his watch, and went out the apartment door.

Spots took the flight of stairs from his second floor apartment, instead of the elevator, and headed