by Carolina Mac
He flicked on his blinker and arrived at his destination.
Hope this ain’t gonna take all fuckin day.
He’d been in a foul mood ever since Misty had refused to move to the estate with him. In retrospect, it could have been a good thing, but the fact that she turned him down pissed him off every time he thought about it.
She wanted to live in her own house where she conducted her business. Tarot readings, palmistry lessons and all manner of things Blaine didn’t put much stock in but tolerated because he thought he loved her. Why he’d been attracted to a person, older than him by a few years, and so far from his mental picture of ideal, he hadn’t figured out. Misty was different and strong willed—and stubborn as a mule. The relationship was awkward at best—him a master criminologist trusting in science and Misty’s world based on feelings and visions floating out of the air and into her blonde head. Why in hell were women so fuckin hard to deal with?
A flash of his cred pack to the guard on the hospital’s front gate—a gaggle of guards swarming around at the gate—the first indication that something had run amok.
Jesus Christ, did one of the killer loonies get out? Fuckin hope not. That throws the city into a goddam frenzy.
He parked in the empty visitor’s lot, turned off the engine, pressed Mary’s number and woke her up. “I’m dealing with something, Mary. Keep some time open for me.”
“Will do, Blaine. Any hints?”
“Nothing yet. Going inside now.”
“Inside where?”
“State Hospital.”
“Shit. I’m up.”
ANNIE WOKE beside Declan and a smile played around her lips as she watched him sleep. A wonderful man and a fantastic lover.
I’m not going to blow this one. This might be my last chance to get it right.
Declan must have felt her eyes on him. His eyelids fluttered, and he stared back at her with dark orbs. “What?”
“Nothing. Admiring the whole package, that’s all.”
Declan winked and pulled her close. “How late did you play?”
“Three thirty.”
“Any progress?”
“Still getting to know the regulars. Have to separate the players from the predators. I have one possibility, but no evidence—based purely on a feeling.”
Declan kissed her forehead before getting out of bed. “I don’t want you getting hurt.”
“Won’t happen. I’m undercover for information. Nothing more.”
Dec shook his curly dark head. “As if I believed you were only an observer, darlin. That’s a joke. Who’s your backup?”
“One of the Junkers, I guess. Haven’t seen him around, but they tend to keep a low profile.”
“The boss is taking advantage of your poker skills, and I can’t say that I’m pleased. I know it will lead elsewhere.”
“Work keeps me from thinking about what a mess I’ve made of things.”
Dec stood naked beside the bed in a don’t-mess-with-me stance. “You have the ranch, the horses and the safe-house, as well as a young son to raise. That should be enough for any woman.”
“You’re right. It is enough. The big guy only calls on me once in a while when it’s a job that suits my talents.”
Dec grinned. “Hope he never finds out about the other talents you possess. The ones I admire so much.”
Annie giggled. “Nope. He never will.”
DOCTOR MCINTYRE stood in the lobby of the hospital conferring with the head of security and surrounded by a sea of dark blue uniforms. Chief of staff for the State run facility, McIntyre was a tall, slim man with bleached platinum hair and a silver cross dangling from his left ear. With his athletic build and deep tan, he resembled a golf pro more so than Doctor Freud.
Blaine pushed through the herd of cops, chains clanking on his Harley boots and his creds held high for any doubters to see. “Doctor McIntyre, I’m Blaine Blackmore.”
“Excellent. Let’s talk in my office, sir.” McIntyre broke away from the clutch of cops and headed down an austere beige corridor.
Pine disinfectant seared the back of Blaine’s throat as he followed the doctor, recalling the time he’d brought Race Ogilvie to this very building for an assessment. McIntyre had a different look than he’d had a couple of years before. What the hell?
McIntyre assessed Ogilvie. Another fuckin nut case.
And look how that turned out.
McIntyre rounded his desk and sank into his chair with a sigh. “Mister Blackmore, I’m sure you’re qualified,” he stared at Blaine’s tattoos then back at the shoulder-length hair, “but may I ask who sent you to intervene in our little problem?”
Blaine shook his head. “Nope.”
“I see.” McIntyre leaned his elbows on his desk. “I’ve already told the officers out front everything I know,” he stared at the folder on his desk and tapped the laminated tab over the name, “which amounted to nothing. Zachary Fisher is insane. For the past eleven years, he’s been confined to the highest security wing of the facility along with others just like him, and...”
Blaine made a note of the escapee’s name. “And what?”
“He can’t get out.” McIntyre sounded like he might cry. “Fisher has been subdued these last few weeks, sinking more and more into himself. I feared I was losing him and he would shortly become comatose.”
“Could he have been faking?”
McIntyre shook his blond head. “Oh, no,” he said emphatically, “I would have seen through that.”
“Uh huh.”
“You sound doubtful, but this was a man I saw every day for the past eleven years. I could read his moods as well as I could read my own.”
“Let’s start with three things—a basic description, a copy of his file and an article of his clothing. Then I need to see his room.”
“Zachary is forty-six years old, five feet seven inches and I’m not sure of his weight but he’s stocky and strong. I didn’t see him this morning, so I have no idea what he was wearing.”
Blaine looked up from his notes. “Clean shaven or beard?”
“Beard. No razor for Mr. Fisher. And you won’t be allowed access to his file.”
“Don’t worry about it. I don’t want to know about his treatment. I can get what I need from his police jacket.”
A knock sounded on the door and the doctor admitted Travis and Farrell.
“We’re here, boss, if you need us,” said Travis. “Jesse will be here with the dogs in a minute or so.”
“Okay, when y’all are ready, start in Fisher’s room and work your way out. I’ll go talk to the guard who was on duty when he ran out the gate.”
Blaine stood up to leave and McIntyre asked with a pained expression, “Will you have to kill him when you find him? He was making great progress.”
“I won’t kill him unless he tries to kill me,” said Blaine. “That’s how it works.”
JESSE PARKED at the front steps of the hospital and gazed at the hundred and fifty-year-old edifice as he rounded the Range Rover. Impressive architecture and well preserved, but he felt more relaxed on the outside looking in.
He opened the hatch and unloaded Red and Bluebelle from the back where they lay comfortably on their shared blanket. The boys gave a shout out and bounded down the steps to help him.
“We’ve got it, boss,” hollered Farrell.
Travis took Bluebelle’s leash and Farrell took Red. Always excited to work, the dogs whined and fairly pranced around the boy’s legs.
“Give them time in the guy’s room,” said Jesse. “Bring a shirt or something he’s worn recently with y’all.” Winded from unloading the dogs, Jesse leaned on the Rover.
“Yep,” said Farrell, “we’ve got this, boss. Take it easy.”
INSIDE FISHER’S ROOM the dogs sniffed around while Doctor McIntyre paced outside in the corridor. Bluebelle alerted first and tugged on her leash. Travis followed her out the door of the room, down a hallway to the end, down a flight of stairs, the
n left at the bottom. Sure of herself, Bluebelle jogged along the hallway the opposite way they’d come in. She took a right at the end of the long run of beige walls and matching beige floor tiles and sat down at a door marked kitchen waiting for Travis to open it for her.
Travis gave Farrell a wave. “Through the kitchen, partner.”
McIntyre was out of breath as he caught up. “Patients are not allowed in the kitchen. The door is always locked from the inside.”
“Bluebelle says he went this way,” said Travis. “Have someone unlock it for us, please.”
After a five-minute wait for hospital personnel with authority to open the kitchen door, Bluebelle was off and running again. She blasted across the massive food prep area with its huge commercial stoves and refrigerators, and she stopped dead and sat down in front of the door to a walk-in freezer.
“Fisher stopped here,” Travis said to Farrell. “Open the freezer door, partner.”
Farrell told Red to sit while he put on a latex glove and cranked open the heavy stainless-steel door.
McIntyre let out a stifled cry. “No. I can’t believe Zachary would do that.”
Blaine caught up and crossed the kitchen to view the body of the victim in the freezer. “I’ll call Chief Calhoun and have him send a team.” To McIntyre: “Do you recognize the woman, Doctor?”
“Of course, I do,” McIntyre snapped. “It’s my job to know all hospital personnel. That poor lady is Leslie Pruitt. She’s been on the early morning kitchen shift for years.” The doctor took a step closer and leaned forward.
“Don’t touch her,” said Blaine. “There will be decent prints on the knife.”
“Such a big knife sticking out of such a small woman,” said McIntyre. “I don’t think Zachary did this.”
He sure as hell did, Doc. Looney as the fuckin day is long.
Blaine touched the doctor’s sleeve and steered him out of the freezer doorway. “Why don’t you rest in your office and let us take care of things? This has been a stressful morning for you, sir.”
“Perhaps I will do that,” he mumbled and turned away from the grizzly scene. “I’m feeling slightly dizzy.”
Jesse caught up and took stock of the scene in the freezer. “Keep going, boys. I’ll secure the scene and wait for the ME, homicide and the crime scene techs.”
“We’re gone, boss,” said Farrell. Red followed Bluebelle through the kitchen, through a large storage area behind the kitchen and out the door onto a loading dock that ran along the back of the hospital.
Blaine watched as Bluebelle kept her sensitive nose to the ground, her huge ears dragging and picking up skin cells and showing her the way. She picked up speed, tugged on the leash and Travis broke into a jog. The big former marine had worked himself into fantastic shape since his last brush with death had left him virtually crippled.
They ran through the doctors’ parking area without a pause, and directly to a bench near the gate.
Blaine stopped to talk to the two security guards at the gatehouse. “I’m sure y’all have told your story to the first officers on the scene, but once more for me, if you could.”
The taller guard, an older Hispanic man with gray hair and a matching thick moustache looked Blaine up and down, taking in his jeans, tats and long hair. “You that Blackmore Ranger guy?”
“That’s me.” Blaine had grown tired of being recognized and questioned at every turn. Any hint of celebrity put him over the edge of his patience. “Tell me what you saw this morning.”
“Nada. Never saw a goddam thing until Doc McIntyre drove through the gate. Then I saw, or more truthfully, thought I saw, a flash. Somebody or something squeezed through the few open inches as the gate closed, then disappeared into the row of trees lining the road into the property.”
“Which way did he go?” asked Blaine.
The guard shrugged. “Sorry, can’t say. I hollered for him to stop but it was too late. Next thing I did was turn to the panel and sound the alarm.”
“Don’t matter,” said Blaine. “The dogs will tell me.”
TRAVIS REACHED the gate with Bluebelle in the lead.
Blaine waved an arm towards the road, “You guys go. I’ll get the truck and follow behind.”
Travis and Farrell took off with the dogs and Blaine jogged back to visitors’ parking. As soon as he slipped behind the wheel he called Lily. “Morning, Lil. Everything you can find on Zachary Fisher. Been in the State Hospital for eleven years. Go back and get family and addresses, then get a copy of his police file sent to my laptop.”
“I’m on it, boss. Back to you as soon as I can.”
THE SUN ROSE like a fireball in the sky and the gray June day turned rosy. Zach huddled under the Congress Avenue Bridge catching his breath and wondering what to do next. “Mary had a little…” he sang to himself as he tried to figure it out.
For the past eleven years his day had been structured. Breakfast at eight fifteen. Session with Doc McIntyre at ten. Lunch at twelve. Free time in the day room with his friends and some annoying assholes that were not his friends until four in the afternoon. Dinner at five forty-five.
Busy staring at the water rushing under the bridge, Zach didn’t hear the guy sneaking up behind him. The metal bumper of the shopping cart dug into his back and sent a jolt of pain to his brain. The momentum propelled him forward and he slid down the bank. With nothing to grab onto to stop his descent, Zach rolled forward and hit the freezing cold water with a splash.
The sensation took him by surprise. He opened his mouth wide to holler when he should have kept it shut and held his breath. He sank like a rock. Down he went until his feet hit bottom. He shoved off and fought his way to the surface, flailing his arms and legs, gasping and sputtering. His lungs cried out for oxygen as he pushed upward. His head broke the surface and he greedily sucked in a big gulp of oxygen.
Wham.
Something cracked him on the head and down he went for the second time. Dizzy, his strength zapped from struggling against the current, he moved more slowly than the first time he surfaced. He filled his starving lungs with a grateful breath and let himself drift with the flow of the river. If he played dead, maybe nobody would bother with him.
BLUEBELL HELD the lead heading west, with Farrell and Red running behind. The dogs led them across private yards, through alleyways, zig-zagging back and forth with no apparent direction.
“The guy is running wild,” hollered Farrell. “Doesn’t know where the hell he’s going.”
When they reached the bridge on Congress Avenue, Bluebelle turned sharply away from the street, and bolted down the bank, almost jerking Travis off his feet. She ran to the river’s edge and approached a homeless man wearing a parka with a fur trimmed hood and a watch cap pulled low over his eyes. Nice outfit for eighty-five degrees.
The homeless man saw Bluebelle coming and took off running, pushing his cart ahead of him as fast as he could go.
“Hold up,” hollered Farrell. “Stop. I need to talk to you.”
The guy ran faster, left his cart caught up in a clump of weeds and crawled up the bank on his hands and knees. He disappeared over the berm before the boys caught up.
Bluebelle sat down on the river bank, lifted her big head and bayed.
“Shit,” said Travis, “we lost the looney toon.”
NEARING THE BRIDGE, Blaine got the call from Farrell. “Lost him, boss. He’s in the river.”
“Fuck,” hollered Blaine and thumped the steering wheel with the heel of his hand. “Follow the bank and see what happens. He has to climb out somewhere.”
“Roger that, boss.”
Blaine’s next call was to Lily. “Hey, Lil. Set up a meet with Mary Polito and print off a dozen copies of the latest picture you can find of Fisher.”
“Where should I meet Mary?”
“Meet her at DPS. I’ve got to meet with the Chief and go over Fisher’s file to get a read on him. I’ll see you there.”
“I’ll bring you coffee.”
>
“I love you, Lil.”
JESSE DROVE to headquarters after dropping off the dogs at the hospital for the boys. On the way, he did a Starbuck’s drive-through and picked up the Chief’s favorite blend.
Wish I was with the boys working the dogs. Guess I’ll never be able to do that again.
Before going inside to meet with the Chief, Jesse called Molly at the ranch and checked on Charity.
I hate being away from my baby. Hate it.
SHIVERING AND GASPING for air, Zach lay soaking wet on the riverbank. Paralyzed by the icy water he was unable to move. Food and dry clothes were immediate needs. Until he had those two items, there was no point worrying about anything else. He was crazy, but he wasn’t stupid.
“Those fucking dogs almost had me,” he mumbled to himself. “I’ve got to lay low until they call off the search.” He rested on the hard ground for another ten minutes before he was able to stand. Even then, he was as unsteady as a toddler on ice skates.
Easing away from the river, and trying to blend in with his surroundings, he hummed as he found himself in Austin’s downtown core. Taking it slow and sticking to back alleys and side streets, he squished along with water-soaked runners and dripping hair. “Mary had a little…”
Halfway down a long alleyway between two tall buildings, a black kid jumped out at him and held a knife to his throat.
“Get off my turf, Aqua man. What you singing anyways? I don’t know dat tune. I got bidness to do here. You best scat.”
Zach grabbed the knife with a powerful left hand and throat punched the kid with his right. The kid fell to the ground and didn’t move. Skinny and not too heavy, Zach easily dragged the kid behind the dumpster, stripped off the dark blue hoodie and searched the droopy pants for a wallet. The kid’s wallet was full of cash, and in the other pocket he had a phone. Zach jerked the kid’s high tops off his feet and tried them on. Too tight, but they were dry, and he’d always wanted red shoes.
