by M. G Scott
He grabbed her hand. “Then we’ve got some work to do before you can truly go home.”
She looked into his blue eyes and melted at the kind words sinking in. Why couldn’t they have met earlier in her life? It would’ve made things so much easier.
Brieman zipped up his jacket. “You ready?”
Sabrina took a deep breath. “Yeah, I think so. But how are we going to get in?” For some reason, it was the thing she worried about the most—other than being attacked.
“Magic,” he replied coyly. He pulled a plastic keycard from his shirt pocket. “Sometimes being a doctor has its privileges.”
“Very nice. You had me worrying since we left the tavern … you know that?”
“Sorry. Slipped my mind,” he replied slyly.
“Probably because you weren’t worried about it.”
“Exactly.”
“Men,” she sarcastically replied. “Never do they tell you what they’re thinking.”
“Yes, but it keeps women on their toes.” He flipped open the car door. “C’mon. I don’t want to hang out here too long and ruin our welcome.”
They hurried across the street to the front entrance. A single pale light sprayed on the door. Without it, they would’ve been grasping at the night air, trying to find the security scanner.
“How did you get the keycard anyway?”
“Sometimes I need to come down if a patient dies at the hospital. And people tend to pass at all hours of the day.”
“Do you know the coroner?”
“Not well. Her name’s Yori Wainer. She’s standoffish at best and a bitch at worst.”
“How does that compare to me?”
“No comment,” he replied, smiling.
“Thanks.”
Brieman chuckled lightly. “I hope you’re used to my sarcasm by now.”
“I hope you’re used to mine.”
He laughed as he slipped the card into the scanner. “Let’s just hope I still have access. I haven’t used this thing in a year.”
“I suppose that’s a good thing.”
There was a click and then the red light casually went green. “See,” Brieman said with a grin. “It’s magic.” He pulled open the brown-painted metal door. “After you.”
She stepped inside a dimly lit waiting area. The only decor was a single window to their left with a hole cut out at bottom, like a teller’s window. “Where to?”
“Down the hall.” He pointed straight ahead. “Through the second metal door. Then take a left. They store their reports in the archive.”
Sabrina led the way into a dimly lit room, the only light coming from a flickering, ornery florescent. She eyed the rows of black, metal cabinets against the back wall. “On paper? Who does that anymore?”
“They use both. They store the reports on paper so it can accompany the body when it’s transferred.”
“Seems like a lot of storage for such a small county.”
“It is. But that’s because it dates back to 1968. When you’re the size of this district, you don’t exactly have the resources of New York.”
She scanned the alphanumerical digits pasted on the front of each file drawer. “Looks like it’s sorted alphabetically.”
He nodded. “It has to be. Chronological would make it a nightmare to find someone.”
She ran her finger across the drawers until she came across S. She gave a tug on the handle. Sage. Sahn. Sanchez. “Here it is.” She tugged on a reddish folder and flipped it open. “Let’s see what we have.”
Brieman leaned over her shoulder. “Case 92-18048,” he muttered. “That’s gotta be it.”
“Yeah, that’s the same report I pulled off Getty’s desk.”
“There’s the cause.” He pointed to the lower third of the report. “Death by asphyxia. It’s right there.”
Sabrina sighed. “That doesn’t tell us anything we don’t already know.” She started flipping through the pages quickly. “Hopefully there’s something I didn’t see in the report.”
Brieman stopped her. “What’s that?” He pointed to a small yellow form paper-clipped to the end of the report.
“I don’t know.” She unclipped it from the back. “Looks like some sort of order form.”
Brieman peered at it. “Looks like a toxicology report. It’s usually required when the facts around the death are unknown.”
Her eyebrows creased. “I don’t understand something.”
“What is it?”
“Look at this.”
He looked where her finger was pointing. “Yeah, that’s interesting. It looks like the pathologist found traces of Atropine in his blood.”
“I’m confused. The coroner’s report I read back at the office mentions none of this.”
Brieman asked, “What’s the date on the toxicology exam?”
“June 20.”
“Isn’t that two weeks after the coroner’s report was released?” He turned and started pacing in the small room.
She eyed him. “Doesn’t Atropine have something to do with the heart?”
“Yeah, it’s a drug that can be used to stop it.”
Sabrina gasped. “That could easily suggest he was murdered,” she whispered. “So Carla’s hunch was right.”
“Yeah, and you were too.”
“Do you know what this means? If a homicide occurred … maybe because of something he knew … that’s probably why he wrote what he did in the journal.” She pulled out her cellphone. “I’ve got to get a picture of this.”
“If it’s not a smoking gun then it’s damn close,” Brieman replied.
“There’s one thing I’m not getting. If the toxicology report comes in after the report’s been released, wouldn’t the coroner rescind the report until it’s right?”
“You mean the cause of death?”
“Right,” Sabrina replied.
A quick nod. “It’s just the right thing to do. That just means she buried it for some reason.”
“Seriously,” Sabrina said, “much to the chagrin of the family and their right to know.”
“And the detective on the case.”
“If the detective knew about this, I’m sure the case would still be open. There’s just no other way,” Sabrina said. “Maybe Mona and Carla would still be alive today.”
A buzzing sound near the front entrance interrupted them.
Sabrina’s covered her mouth. “What’s that?”
“I don’t know,” Brieman replied before a door clicked open. “Shit,” he said. “Somebody’s here.”
“This late at night?” she whispered. “Could it be the coroner?”
“Doubtful. Get the report back in the cabinet!” He spun around, searching with his eyes. “There’s nowhere to hide in this damn room.”
“Then we’ve got to confront them,” she replied after slamming the cabinet shut. “We don’t have another choice.”
Brieman moved closer to her, clearly intending to keep his promise to protect her. Nudging her shoulder, he whispered, “I’m not sure who the hell it is but we’re going to have to talk our way out of this. Let’s keep the conversation short. And when I see an opening, let’s take it.”
She swallowed hard. Could the end be near?
They waited, bracing for whoever was here.
They didn’t have to wait long.
A woman burst into the room, stopping abruptly when she saw the two of them. “Excuse me!” she said. She met Sabrina’s eyes for a moment then turned toward the door. “Mannheim? I think we have something here.”
“Who’s Mannheim?” Sabrina blurted.
The woman ignored her.
Idiot, Sabrina thought. Drawing attention was not the way to go. She eyed the woman. Where had she seen her? And then it hit her: The tavern.
Mannheim appeared in the doorway. He sized up both of them as he pulled black gloves tight over his wrists. He took a step forward, his frame towering over everybody in the room, his biceps bulging from the tight-fittin
g black T-shirt.
Sabrina shuddered. It was clear they were both professionals.
“We need to get to the point. Quickly,” Mannheim stated.
“Excuse me,” Brieman interjected. “You’re not—”
“Shut up.” Mannheim swung his hand hard across Brieman’s face, sending him crashing into the cabinets. “You’ll talk when asked.”
Brieman stormed toward him, right into the eye of a revolver. Brieman froze, then threw his hands up. “Okay. I get the point.”
The man swung the barrel toward Sabrina. “No more tricks,” he growled. “From either of you.”
“It’s our understanding you have came across some property that isn’t yours,” the woman stated.
Sabrina reached out and grabbed Brieman. She had a sinking feeling about the next few minutes. “I don’t know what you want but we really need to leave,” she replied nervously.
The man looked irritated. “Cut the bullshit. The black book. Where is it?”
“I don’t—”
Mannheim cut her off. “The damn journal. Mona Frederick gave it to you.”
“Look, the woman said she needs to go. What don’t you get?” Brieman’s stubborn tone suggested he was ready for a fight.
Mannheim’s face lit with anger and he walloped Brieman’s stomach hard with the butt of his gun.
“Ough!” Brieman gasped, stumbling backward. But it was the chance he wanted. As Mannheim retracted his arm, Brieman lunged forward, sending Mannheim tumbling onto the concrete floor. Sabrina, not missing a step, jump kicked the woman in the stomach, sending her crashing into the room’s window blinds.
“Let’s go!” Brieman yelled as he grabbed her hand. They flew through the door, down the hall, and into the night air. They ran across the vacant street and vaulted into the Porsche. Brieman kicked the engine into gear and sped through downtown Pacific City, back toward Highway 101.
Brieman glanced at the rearview mirror. “I hope we lost them. I’m not seeing anybody.”
Sabrina turned around. “Yet,” she whispered.
He swung a hard right onto Brooten Road. “Why do I get the feeling those two are tied to the Sanchez deaths?”
“No doubt. And probably Mona too.” Sabrina paused. “And I don’t think they like what Eric Sanchez wrote in his journal.”
“Can we assume they’re hired hands of BioHumanity?”
“You don’t need to convince me.”
Brieman shook his head. “I just don’t get it. Who in BioHumanity is behind this? You just can’t go around knocking people off.”
“Unless BioHumanity has a huge bug up their ass.”
Even though their situation was serious, Brieman couldn’t help a chuckle. “That’s the New Yorker I know.”
She peered at the boyish face, his hair flowing freely in the night air. He had protected her, just like he said he would. “Thanks.”
He glanced at her, smiling a second time. “It wasn’t all me. Somebody in this car knows how to kick box.”
“I learned in New York. Had to.” After her sister’s murder, learning kickboxing meant she could protect herself next time.
“How come?”
She wasn’t about to recall that night anytime soon. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
An awkward pause followed. Then Brieman said, “You know, that’s the second time you’ve said that when I’ve asked about your past.”
Sabrina shook her head. She was mad at herself. “You’re right.” Maybe she should trust him, and open up. “I should tell you—”
Suddenly, a car roared onto the road, just behind them. Sabrina spun around as Brieman grabbed the rearview mirror. It was a black Jeep and couldn’t have been more than fifty feet behind them.
“Is it them?” Sabrina asked.
“I don’t know. I can’t tell.”
“It’s gotta be.”
“I’d prefer not to find out.” Brieman popped the clutch into a higher gear. He then jerked the wheel, launching them onto the 101.
She looked behind them. Nothing there. “Did we lose them?”
“Doubtful!” he yelled over the noise of the engine. He glanced at the odometer. “We’re at a hundred. I don’t know how far I can take it before we hit somebody!” He swerved left and then right, barely avoiding a blue Ford.
Sabrina grabbed his arm. “Scott! The truck!”
He pulled the wheel right, just missing the tail of the semi.
“Where you going?
“Back to Neskowin, but you’ve got to get on the phone to Urbina and tell him what’s going on.”
“No! We’re almost there with this, and I can’t risk anybody messing it up.”
He glanced at her strangely. “Even if it kills you?”
“Look, we’re really close to solving this thing. I can feel it.”
“But you could be a victim, just like them.”
“Then that’s the risk I’ve got to take.”
He shook his head. “Something’s got you going, that’s for sure.”
“How much longer?” Sabrina asked, pulling her seatbelt tight.
“A few miles.” The road cleared so he kicked the speedometer past 110. He glanced in the mirror. “Shit! They’re on our tail.”
Sabrina whipped her head around. “How did they catch up?” Suddenly, a faint pop-pop-pop echoed behind them. “What was that?”
And then it became obvious. A back tire exploded. The steering wheel began shaking terribly. He grabbed the wheel as tight as he could but the car lurched left then right before fishtailing. “Hold on!” He slammed hard on the brakes as he tried to corral the wild machine.
And then he lost it.
The Porsche spun out of control, hit the guardrail on the opposite side of the road, and then whipped back across the highway, smashing into a sand barrier near a bridge.
The airbags popped, sending their bodies slamming into the inflating nylon. Debris exploded everywhere. An eerie silence followed.
Minutes passed.
And then Sabrina heard footsteps. A voice shouted, “We’re going to need an ambulance!”
Chapter 42
Mannheim adjusted the high-powered binoculars as he leaned on the hood of the Jeep. They were perched on a hilltop, just up the road from the accident.
“Is the assignment complete?” the woman asked.
“I don’t know. I’m not seeing any movement … at least not yet,” he replied bluntly.
“Does it matter at this point?”
He peered at her. “If you mean the journal, yeah, that was easy. Once they hit the bridge, it wasn’t hard to reach in the car and grab it.”
“Where was it?”
“In the glove box, just where I saw her put it when they left the bar.”
The woman shook her head. “All Mona had to do was tell us.”
Mannheim spun around and glared at her. “Don’t go soft on me. We agreed it didn’t matter what she said. She needed to be disposed of because of her relationship with Sanchez. Anything tied to him is toxic. You know that.” A pause. “And that’s where … we draw the line.”
She refused to back away. “Maybe so, but I’m noticing hesitation in your voice.”
“The problem is the reporter. She knows too much.”
“You mean if she’s still alive?”
“Right … there’s a lot she could say, especially if she figured out how Sanchez really died.”
“But who’s she going to tell? We’ve got them all locked up … they’re on our side.”
“Urbina. She seems to have developed a relationship with him.”
Sirens wailed below them. They peered at the developing scene and the collection of emergency vehicles.
“I’m seeing movement in the car,” the woman said. “Do you?”
“You’re right.” Mannheim grabbed the binoculars. “I think it’s the woman but they’re blocking my view.”
“So she’s alive?”
“I don’t know. Wait.
Yes. She’s sitting up,” he replied irritably.
“What about the doctor?”
“Don’t know yet … they’ve got him on a stretcher.”
“Are they rushing him into the ambulance?”
Mannheim labored to get a better look. “Hard to say. If one of the paramedics moved, that would make it a lot—”
“What is it?”
“They’re talking to him.” He slammed the binoculars onto the ground. “Fuck.”
“Oh for two today.” She ticked them off on her fingers. “The bar. The accident—”
“Shut up!” His eyes flared with rage.
She held her ground. “If that bitch starts talking to the right people, the whole thing is going to be over.”
“Nobody’s going to believe her … at least initially. It’ll buy us some time,” Mannheim replied calmly.
“But you just told me you’re worried—”
“I’ve thought more about it.”
“Really.”
“Trust me, nobody’s going to believe her. It’s too crazy of a story.”
“And the doctor?”
“He doesn’t have a single thread of evidence—he only has what the reporter’s told him. She’s the only living link to exposing everything.”
“So what’s your plan?”
“We have the journal. All we need to do is find the right time and the right place to finish her off. Once she’s gone, that will eliminate any corroborating evidence to support whatever story the doctor tells.”
“How do you propose to do that?”
“A single bullet to the head should take care of things.”
“Beautiful.”
Mannheim smiled. “Precisely.”
And he wasn’t just talking about the reporter.
Chapter 43
The bandaged area over Sabrina’s left eye was tender to the touch and throbbed with pain, but she couldn’t care less. She took a deep breath and looked around the small hospital waiting room, half wondering if the other visitors were as worried about their loved ones as she was about Brieman.
He’s just got to be okay.
She had to believe he would be, otherwise she was never going to make it through the day. It was a terrible feeling watching him being rushed into the emergency room—with colleagues he probably knew better than his own family.
