Jane watched the video of McKenzie from Esposito’s phone. Twice. When Jimmy asked why they had framed Rob and then waited to do anything about it, McKenzie, even starting to fade, actually choked out a laugh before croaking, “Because we both liked it so much, we wanted to do it again.”
Then they knew that Rob Jacobson’s DNA would be in the system once they’d done a less elaborate frame on the Gates murders. After that, they were prepared to sit back with their popcorn and watch the movie play out, even if they had to sit through the same movie twice.
“It must’ve been when they started to worry that you might get him off that they tried to kill both of us,” Jimmy says.
“They both hated Rob that much,” I say, almost in wonder.
Jimmy says, “McKenzie just hated him longer.”
Then Jimmy tells me something we both heard on the tape.
“And if you got him acquitted again, they were just gonna kill him this time,” Jimmy says. “And then probably us.”
He raises his glass of Scotch.
“But they were just the latest to find out how hard we are to kill, Janie,” he says.
I raise my own glass, clink it gently against his, and then smile at my partner.
“And they might have gotten away with it,” I say, “if it hadn’t been for the hummingbirds.”
We drink to hummingbirds then.
It’s the last thing I remember before I wake up in the ambulance, sure I’m dying.
ONE HUNDRED EIGHTEEN
WHEN I OPEN MY eyes, Jimmy Cunniff is sitting next to my bed.
“Hi,” he says.
He puts up his hand, in a small, almost sheepish wave.
“Hi,” I say.
Groggy as I am, I look around and can see I’m in a hospital room.
“How long was I out?” I ask.
“Since last night,” he says.
I can see I’m hooked up to an IV and to a heart monitor that is hopefully doing efficient, heart-monitoring things.
“I remember being in the ambulance,” I say. “And then nothing after that.”
“I was there with you, till you went out again,” he says. “Ben and me. I had to practically pull a gun on them to let us ride with you.”
I slowly lift my hand, the one with the IV port attached to it, the same kind they used on me for chemo. My arm feels so heavy, like I’m trying to lift up the back of my car.
“What happened to me?” I ask.
From the other side of the room, I now hear the voice of Dr. Sam Wylie.
“A whole bunch of bad shit,” she says, “all at once.”
She comes around my bed now and stands behind Jimmy.
“Is that your professional opinion, doctor?” I ask her.
