He heard loud voices and looked up to see Ruth and Sherlock barreling toward his office, excitement pouring off them.
Sherlock yelled out, “We found him!”
47
ST. LUMIS
MAJOR TRUMBO’S B&B
TUESDAY AFTERNOON
Mrs. Trumbo eyed her up and down. “So, it’s you again. I suppose I shouldn’t call you Ms. Cinelli any longer, Agent Cinelli, excuse me, Special Agent Cinelli. Yes, Maude Filly called me, told me who you were and all the questions you had for her. I’d like to know why I had to hear this from Maude.”
“Yes, Mrs. Trumbo, I’m Special Agent Pippa Cinelli.”
Mrs. Trumbo studied them, then turned to Wilde. “I suppose you were in on this deception as well, Chief Wilde? You knew she was coming here under false pretenses, spying on everyone?”
Wilde shook his head. “No, ma’am. Agent Cinelli was sent to St. Lumis undercover. I only found out when she came to me for help after she was attacked yesterday in that abandoned grocery store out on the edge of town.”
“We’d like to talk to you about everything that’s happened, Mrs. Trumbo.”
Mrs. Trumbo clearly wasn’t ready to make peace. She huffed, tried to smile, then jerked her head toward the living room. “All right, for all the good it will do you. I don’t know a blessed thing about who sent you that stupid puzzle of Major Trumbo you told Maude about, nor do I like my place or my guests being spied on, well, not that you’ve been spying on any of my guests, but still.”
Mrs. Trumbo sat herself in a large wing chair opposite them. “Now, Agent Cinelli, Chief Wilde, say what you have to say.” She looked down at her watch. “I have a pot roast in the oven for dinner, and it needs watching.”
Wilde said, “Mrs. Filly told us you disliked Major Trumbo as much as she did. She told us he was a cheater, and that’s how he met you.”
“That’s right. I met him when he came to Baltimore on business and stayed at the Wilson, the hotel I managed. He was very smooth. Until after we married.” She snorted.
Pippa pointed to the urn on the mantel. “Then why did you put his urn in a place of honor?”
Mrs. Trumbo shrugged. “It was the most expensive urn the funeral home had, perfect for the mantel, a lovely reminder the old coot’s dead. Do you know, I picture him in that urn sailing down the River Styx, on his way to hell. It’s enough to make me smile.
“Now, you said you wanted to talk, so talk. I have a pot roast in the oven, as I told you. By the way, will you be staying here tonight, Agent Cinelli, or will you be going back to Chief Wilde’s lovely little cottage?”
Pippa said, “Since you serve such wonderful breakfasts, Mrs. Trumbo, I’ll be staying in my honeymoon suite. You mentioned you spoke with Mrs. Filly about our visit to her this morning.”
“Of course, Maude called me right away. She thought nothing this exciting had happened in St. Lumis in years.” Mrs. Trumbo sat back in her chair, crossed her arms over her ample bosom, and waited.
“Mrs. Trumbo, no one here in St. Lumis knew I was an FBI agent, not even Chief Wilde. As he said, I was here undercover. Yet within a day and a half, someone found out who I was and attacked me. Did you happen to see anyone go into my room while I was out at the Halloween party at Leveler’s Inn?”
Mrs. Trumbo gave her the stink eye. “So the two of you think I’m a dim bulb? Why not say it right out? You have the gall to wonder if I snooped around in your honeymoon suite, found out who you really were, and then told everyone the FBI had invaded St. Lumis?”
Wilde said, “So did you, Mrs. Trumbo?”
“Well, of course I went into her room Saturday night. I go into everyone’s room to straighten up, make sure there are clean towels, fluff pillows, and the like. Saturday night was no exception. Did I search your things? Of course not. Neither would my daily woman, who does all the deep cleaning. I do not search my guests’ rooms. And if I did, I certainly wouldn’t brag about it.”
Pippa said, “Mrs. Trumbo, I left my tablet on the table by the sofa. I was in a hurry so I suppose I could have left it on, which I try never to do, and that’s on me if I did. Did you look in my tablet, Mrs. Trumbo? Happen to notice what I was reading?”
“No, I did not.”
Pippa hardened her voice. “Then tell me this, Mrs. Trumbo. Do you know of anyone other than yourself or your daily woman who could have gone up to my room?”
Mrs. Trumbo drew a deep breath. “All right, I remember Grizzlie Cole was here to check on the heating in the guest rooms. You know old Grizzlie, Chief. He was here for only a half hour, made a few adjustments, and charged me thirty bucks. Thirty bucks! It’s a crime.”
Wilde said, “So besides Grizzlie, only guests went up those stairs?”
“That’s right.”
“Did anyone come in and ask about Ms. Cinelli?”
“No, no one.”
Pippa said, “Mrs. Filly mentioned you had a son, a textile artist who works on a loom. He lives in Baltimore.”
“That’s right. He’s very talented. Baltimore is his home. But he visits me on occasion.” She studied Pippa a moment. “Tell me, Agent Cinelli. Did you bring your gun into my house? Would I have seen your gun if I’d gone searching?”
Her sarcasm made Pippa smile. “No, ma’am. I had my gun with me until the man struck me down and took it, along with my cell phone and my wallet.”
“I don’t suppose you saw the person who struck you?”
Pippa started to say no, but instead, “His face? I tried to do a sketch with Mrs. Trout, but I didn’t see him well enough. I might recognize his voice, though. It’s pretty clear he’s involved with whoever sent the FBI the bizarre Major Trumbo puzzle.”
“Maude told me someone sent that silly puzzle in three parts, in red boxes of all things. Of course, I have an original puzzle here somewhere, but I can’t imagine why anyone would want to do such a thing.”
Pippa said, “Mrs. Trumbo, do you remember meeting a young woman named Marsia Gay, perhaps at the Wilson hotel in Baltimore when you were manager there? Since I don’t have my cell phone, Chief Wilde can call up her photo on his.”
Wilde had no trouble finding a photo of a Marsia Gay and handed his cell to Mrs. Trumbo. Mrs. Trumbo looked at the photo, studied it a moment, then shook her head.
48
HOOVER BUILDING
CRIMINAL APPREHENSION UNIT
TUESDAY AFTERNOON
Savich was on his feet in an instant. “What? Who did you find, Sherlock?”
Ruth said, “Dillon, we found Gary Duvall, the guy whose blood was at Zoltan’s house. Not twenty minutes after Sherlock put out the BOLO, we got a call from Porterville, Virginia, about forty minutes northeast of Richmond. A Porterville police officer named Theodore Janko saw the BOLO, realized he’d seen Duvall bent over, walking up the outside stairs to the second floor and into a side door of a Dr. Milton Hodges’s office on High Street. He called it in to his chief, Walt Collette, who called us.”
Sherlock picked it up. “Turns out Officer Janko is young, six months on the job, and, well, now we’ve got complications.”
Savich sighed. “I can see it all. Janko knew Duvall was wounded, so he figured he could take Duvall down himself. Right?”
Ruth said, “That’s it exactly. So our boy wonder roared right in, didn’t wait for backup. And now we have a hostage situation. Duvall is holding Dr. Hodges, a nurse, and Officer Janko in the office and is threatening to kill them. Says he isn’t going back to Red Onion prison and he’s ready to put slugs in the heads of all three of them. That’s all the Porterville dispatcher knew.”
Savich grabbed his leather jacket off the coat rack. “Ruth, we’ve only got the Porsche, so follow in your car unless you want Sherlock on your lap. Sherlock, you call Chief Collette, let him know we’ll be there as soon as we can. And I’ll concentrate on getting us to Porterville in one piece and in record time.”
Thirty-four minutes later, Savich pulled his Porsche behind a Crown Vic
on High Street, on the edge of a heavily wooded area three blocks off the small Porterville downtown, Ruth’s silver Audi behind him. The area was cordoned off by four cop cars, an ambulance, and a gaggle of police officers and EMTs, all focused on the medical building. And someone who looked to be the hostage negotiator had a cell phone in her hand.
Ruth said, “All these trees, even with next to no leaves, are so thick it’s hard to see clearly. Hard for Duvall, too. We should be able to get close.”
A tall man in uniform, fit and straight as a flagpole, broke away from a group of cops and strode quickly toward them. He was in his late forties with thick graying brown hair, no doubt Chief Walt Collette himself. Savich would bet he was ex-military. Collette snapped to a stop, looked at them with a dispassionate eye before he quickly introduced himself. He only glanced at their creds. “The cock-up is our own fault. We can’t try a direct assault, can’t take the chance he’ll kill all three hostages.”
“Tell us what happened, Chief,” Savich said.
Collette said, “A nurse who got out, Glennie Franks—she’s standing over there by her mother—told us Duvall came dragging in through the side door, bent over, holding his side and moaning. She said he screamed at her to get a doctor and to keep the other patients away or he’d shoot them all. He pulled a gun, she said, waved it around, and Glennie saw thick gauze wrapped around his middle, black with dried blood. It was obvious he’d tried to take care of the wound himself but was afraid he might die unless he got himself to a doctor. Dr. Hodges was already treating Duvall when Teddy, Officer Janko, came rushing into the office reception area, waving his weapon, asking questions, and ordering everyone in the office to leave. That’s all she could tell me.” He paused a moment, his jaw working. “I can see the young idiot rushing in and getting himself in trouble. His mom will skin him, after I get through with him. There’s been one shot, about twenty minutes ago, only one, with a lot of loud cursing and a scream. It was probably Jenny Connors, the nurse, who screamed. I’m praying Duvall hasn’t already hurt her. He’s hardly talked with our hostage negotiator, Eliza, keeps hanging up, but he sounds violent, screams at her he’s not going back to Red Onion prison. He sounds like he’s near the edge, could go off at any time.
“Come with me, and I’ll show you what we’ve got.” They trotted through the woods to the side of the medical building. Collette continued in his clipped sergeant major’s voice as they walked to the edge of the oak trees, “As you can see, the building is older, built in the eighties, two floors. The medical suite on the second floor has both a front and a side door. You see the upper floor overhangs the patients’ parking and more than half of the ground floor. Thankfully, there are only a few cars since it’s late in the day and our people finished clearing the building. There’s an elevator and stairs that go up to the second floor. We might get as far as the office door using the stairs before Duvall would know about it, but that would be dangerous. He’s probably barricaded in one of the exam rooms, which means we couldn’t get to him before he shot the three hostages. We called the SWAT team from Richmond, but they’re still a ways out. I don’t know how useful they’ll be, too many trees in the way, no clear shot even if Duvall pressed himself against a window and called out.”
Sherlock asked, “Where is the fire escape?”
Collette pointed upward. “On the far side, actually connects to Dr. Hodges’s office, only one or two rooms away from where we think Duvall has the three hostages. He could have moved them, we don’t know. The fire escape works, but it’s old, probably creaks, and we’re worried Duvall would hear us given where we believe he is. We decided it’s a no-go.”
Sherlock said, “You said he screamed he wouldn’t go back to Red Onion. On our ride here, I called Warden Hendricks myself, spoke to him about Duvall. Hendricks said Duvall thought of himself as a badass, but he isn’t that big, plus he’s good-looking and was always fighting off the bigger guys. He’d go into rages, and everyone knew he’d kill without hesitation. The warden said he was arrested with an ancient Colt and a stiletto. And he was unpredictable. Hendricks has no doubt he’d murder the hostages.”
Chief Collette said, “None of that surprises me.” He looked through the thick trees toward the medical building. “We know we can’t let Duvall go free, no matter what happens. Any ideas?”
49
Savich said, “Chief, you know Duvall had to be in pain from his gunshot wound by the time he got in there, his only hope that Dr. Hodges could fix him up and he’d get out of there fast. The first thing he’d have asked for is some pain meds, morphine from the doctor’s medical cabinet, once the doctor started treating his wound. It would have been enough to make him woozy, and that gives us a chance. Chief, do you have plans to the building?”
Collette nodded. “Marvin brought them over. They’re in my patrol car. I’ll show you.”
Collette took the rolled-up plans from a young man with oversize glasses falling down his nose, thin as a Popsicle stick, his uniform perfectly pressed. Collette said, “This is Marvin, my right hand, young enough to keep my brain on track. He’s the one who thought to bring the plans.” Collette spread them out on top of his Crown Vic. Sherlock pointed at a small electrical room. Savich nodded, but he wasn’t looking at that. He stepped back and stared at the medical building. Sherlock opened her mouth to ask him what he was thinking when Chief Collette laid three photographs on top of the plans.
“Here are the hostages. This is Teddy, the young idiot who wanted to play cowboy. This is Dr. Milton Hodges, an older man who’s not so spry anymore, near retirement, but still a good doctor. And this is his new nurse, Jenny Connors. She’s twenty-six, married two months, husband’s an EMT.”
Savich said, “Make sure to circulate those photos to the SWAT team when they arrive.”
“Will do. You put out the BOLO, so Duvall is part of an FBI case? What can you tell me?”
Sherlock said, “Duvall was hired to murder a witness, a loose end, if you will, and got himself shot instead. We don’t know how badly he was wounded, only that there was a lot of blood.”
Savich said, “We need to speak to Eliza, your negotiator.”
Chief Collette introduced the three of them to Sergeant Eliza Crumb. They saw she topped out at no more than five feet tall on a good day. The Kevlar vest she was wearing over her black turtleneck made her look like a tough sort of dumpling. She was remarkably pretty, with big liquid gray eyes, and when she spoke, she sounded six feet tall. She said right away to all of them, “I keep trying to engage him, but he either screams at me or curses up a blue streak and hangs up. He claims he didn’t shoot anyone, says it was a warning. I heard a woman’s scream, and it had to be Jenny Connors. He sounds drugged up to his eyeballs but he still knows what he’s doing. Guys, I’m scared he’s going to lose it if anything sets him off.”
Savich said, “Do you think you could call him again? I’d like to hear his voice.”
Eliza set her cell to speaker, punched in the number, and drew a deep breath, slowly letting it out. She nodded to Savich and said, “Mr. Duvall, we were all concerned when we heard Jenny scream and you fired off that shot. Are you sure Jenny’s all right? Are Dr. Hodges and Officer Janko all right?”
“Shut up about her. Ain’t none of your business what I do with these yahoos.”
Eliza talked over him. “Why did you fire your weapon, Gary?”
Hot silence, then, “I wanted to see if the sucker still worked. It belonged to my granddad, and he always said his old Colt wouldn’t fail me.” He laughed, a manic laugh. “He was right.”
“Are you ready to talk to me again, let us resolve this situation so no one gets hurt?”
“You sound like one of those idiot shrinks at Red Onion, the brainless dicks. You want me to pour out my guts to you, keep me busy so you can get cops in here before I kill these cockroaches. Ain’t going to happen. I’m running this show.” He muttered to himself, then said, his voice calmer, “I’ve made up my mind. I w
ant out of this place, it stinks like antiseptic. I want fifty thousand dollars and a helicopter here in thirty minutes or you’ll have three dead folk, none of them worth anything to me, but maybe something to you. Move it, bitch, or you’ll hear three gunshots, not one. Hey, sweet Jenny, they want to know you’re all right. Do you want to say hi to hubby?”
They heard a young woman’s fierce voice clearly over Eliza’s cell. “You’re crazy up in your head, you know that? My hubby will twist your skinny neck off and stuff your brains down your pants. That wall is thin, only a painted wallboard partition, what with us dividing up the one exam room into two, so he’ll hear you if you try anything with me.”
They heard him hiss out curses, fast and loud as a machine gun, but nothing else. No gunshots.
Savich grinned like a bandit. Thank you, Jenny.
“That’s my girl,” Eliza whispered to Collette. “Guts and grit.” She said calmly into the cell in her negotiator voice, “Gary, we can get the money, but you know it takes time to get a helicopter here, has to fly in from Andrews Air Force Base.”
“Don’t you lie to me.”
“No, Gary, I’m not lying. I need at least an hour to get the helicopter here.”
They heard him arguing with himself, then, “Forty minutes and that’s it. I’ll shoot these bozos or maybe stab young Jenny in her belly with one of the doctor’s scalpels here? Stick it in deep, then rip it out, you know? Let her watch her blood pour out through her fingers.
“I’m thinking I might take the boy cop with me, make sure none of his buddies lose it.” Duvall’s voice had gone from mocking and flat to colder than death.
Eliza said, her voice firm as a hanging judge, “No, you will not take Officer Janko with you. That’s non-negotiable. Look, Gary, I’ll call the authorities, see what we can do to speed them up. But let me make myself perfectly clear. If you kill any of the hostages, you won’t be leaving; you’ll be killed. You know that, don’t you?”
Deadlock Page 23
