by Terry Odell
“Yeah. Please. Thanks.”
He checked his phone for any messages from Angie. None. Then he realized she’d have used his personal cell, which was sitting on his kitchen table, waiting for him to find the time to reenter the rest of his contacts. He called Megan back. “Tell Angie to use my work phone.” He gave her the number.
“Sure. Is everything all right?”
I hope so. “Yeah. I’m out on a case. Don’t have my personal phone. When you hear from her, make sure she calls.”
Gordon disconnected. Megan had confirmed Ozzie’s statement. But it didn’t confirm that Angie was actually on her way to Megan’s.
One more call. Get a BOLO out for Angie’s car. Gordon added another note to his mental list. Find out where Metcalf took Wardell. And did Wardell have another set of wheels? A rental? Borrowed one from his parents? Find out, and get a BOLO on those as well.
He pulled into the clinic’s parking lot. No sign of the ambulance.
Visions of Metcalf hijacking the vehicle spun through his head.
You are losing it. They got another call.
Gordon parked and jogged to the emergency entrance. He stepped to the receptionist’s desk, flashing his badge as he interrupted her dealing with a distraught couple. “Sorry. I need to find the patient the medics just brought in.”
“There’s an officer in with him. Look back in curtains,” the receptionist said, giving the couple an apologetic smile. “Police business.”
Gordon slammed through the double doors, looked right, then left. Curtained cubicles defined the treatment areas. Two were open, revealing empty beds. Three were closed. Before he started yanking curtains aside, Gordon searched for someone who could tell him where Metcalf was. A plump woman in scrubs approached. Gordon badged her and asked for Metcalf.
“Gunshot wound? Victim of an attempted murder? He’s in three. Your officer has been waiting.” She gestured to a cubicle. “You catch the murderer? Anyone we should be looking for? So far, this is the only guy we’ve seen.”
Gordon grunted a thanks and told her not to worry. He also decided not to mention that he was the so-called murderer on the loose.
He jerked the curtain aside, then stepped into the cubicle. Metcalf lay propped up on an examining table, a thick bandage around his head. Lloyd Titchener rose from the chair at the edge of the cubicle, snapping to attention.
“Anything to report?” Gordon asked. “He been giving you any trouble.”
“No, sir. One of the nurses was giving him a hard time about using his cell phone when I got here.” Titch nodded toward the small sink in the corner, a cell phone lying on the counter. “Docs have said he’s not going anywhere until they run some tests.”
“And they’d damn well better be quick about it. They said no painkillers until they did some stupid head X-rays. I can tell you they’re not going to find anything.”
As if he realized the joke, Metcalf laughed, then grimaced and put his hand to his bandaged head. He glowered at Gordon. “You know you could have killed me. Don’t they teach you gun safety in cop school?”
“Put a sock in it, Metcalf. That’s not going to work. Small town. People know each other. And they know I’m a cop. Top cop, even.”
Metcalf shrugged. “You bring my shotgun?”
Gordon wondered again if the bullet crease and subsequent fall might have unhinged Metcalf’s brain. “No, I didn’t bring your shotgun. It’s locked up where nobody can get it.” He turned to Titch. “Thanks, officer. You’re dismissed. You can resume your duties.”
“Yes, sir.” Titch didn’t salute—Gordon had been trying to break him of some of his formal attitude—although the way Titch straightened even taller, pivoted, and marched from the cubicle wasn’t much different.
Gordon looked around, found a small stool and wheeled it to Metcalf’s bedside. “I know you’ve heard this before, but nobody’s leaving until I get my answers.”
“I know you’ve heard this before, but you either have to arrest me, or I can walk out of here.”
Gordon smiled. Put on his cop face. “Not until the doctors say you can go. And, if you recall, I said they know who I am. One word from me, and you’ll be here in this little room, no windows, away from all the trees and deer and bears for days. Why are you trying to protect Orrin Wardell?”
Chapter 57
Gordon hoped Metcalf didn’t know as much about hospital procedures as he seemed to know about legal ones. Not as many doctor shows on television these days to mislead the public.
“I’m not trying to protect him,” Metcalf said. “I owed him. But after tonight, our debts are paid in full.”
“And since you don’t owe him anything, you can help me. You do know that being cooperative will get you a lot closer to your shotgun and the great outdoors, right?”
Gordon took his recorder from his pocket. “To make sure I don’t misconstrue anything you say, I’m going to record this.” He scooted his stool closer to Metcalf and set the recorder on the edge of the counter beside the examining table. He dictated the date, time, and their names.
“Where is Orrin Wardell, Mr. Metcalf?”
Metcalf gazed at the ceiling. “I told you. Probably in Castle Rock.”
“Probably. What makes you say that? You said you picked him up. Did you drive him to Castle Rock?”
“No. I gave him some cash, dropped him off on the outskirts of Highlands Ranch. He said he knew people there, but I have a feeling he was on his way home to Mommy.”
“And speaking of Mommy. You said she’d have him locked up again. What did you mean by that?”
“He goes crazy in the head every now and then. You know, a little too much character, not enough Orrin. He goes to some treatment center, they straighten him out, and then he gets on with his life.”
“He didn’t mind?” Maybe he wasn’t going to Castle Rock at all. He could just as easily have hitched his way back to Mapleton. A frisson ran down Gordon’s spine. Could he have come back to Mapleton, grabbed Angie? Still delusional, thinking she was Roni?
Metcalf eyed the cell phone. “Mind? Nah. He calls it his regrouping time. And he says he picks up a lot more character bits for his bank. It’s kind of like he’s ninety percent on the planet most of the time. Needs a little looking after.”
“Do you know a Jase Blackhawk?”
Metcalf’s expression of puzzlement at the question was genuine. “No. Should I?”
“You never heard Orrin Wardell mention the name?”
Metcalf shook his head. “Not that I can recall. He might have mentioned it if it was a character he was going to play. Can’t say I paid a lot of attention.”
“Wait here, Mr. Metcalf.” Gordon shut off the recorder and stepped into the hallway. He called the station, updated Connie on Wardell’s possible whereabouts, stressed that it was possible he had Angie with him. “I don’t think he’d be hitchhiking if he has her. He might be driving hers.” Or anything else, which would make him next to impossible to locate. He forced his mind away from the myriad possibilities and went back to a task where he was in control. Questioning Metcalf.
He set up the recorder again. “Next question, Mr. Metcalf. What did Orrin Wardell mention about the family he was visiting in Telluride?” As if he’d have said, “Oh, I’m going to kill my uncle.”
Metcalf glared at the recorder. Gordon waited. Metcalf sighed.
“Not much. He didn’t say anything about who or why. Said he’d be in Telluride, visiting family, doing research for his next play, did I want to connect. I already told you that.”
“Confirming for the record,” Gordon said. “This connecting. When did it go from a maybe if it works out to a done deal?”
Metcalf squinted. “Two weeks ago, ten days maybe. I like Curecanti, it was nothing out of my way to schedule a visit to match his timing.”
“How did you find Orrin at the Yardumians’? You said you had a reservation, but they had no record of one.”
He shrugged, pulle
d one hand from behind his head, studied his fingernails. “I didn’t know if they’d be full. Figured if I claimed to have a reservation, they’d find a place for me.”
“And how did you know to go there?”
“Orrin called me.” Metcalf eyed his phone again. “Said he’d been in an accident, gave me the name of the place. The weather sucked, so I figured some walls and a roof over my head beat camping for a night or two.”
“And the story about his missing wife? Do you know her?” Gordon watched Metcalf for a reaction. He got nothing other than an eye roll.
“Roni? Never met her, but Orrin yammers about her enough. Roni this, Roni that. Always Roni, Roni, Roni. She was supposed to be on this trip. I wanted to meet her—you know, to see if she was the little miss perfect Orrin was always bragging about.”
Wardell had certainly foiled Gordon’s cop bullshit meter, and nothing in Metcalf’s demeanor said he hadn’t bought Wardell’s story, too. Gordon shifted topics. “In the garage, you said you needed a little more time, and that’s why you knocked me into the tree well. Time for what?”
Metcalf pulled his other arm out. Fixed his gaze on his hands. “Orrin said he’d lost a backpack. Said it had some personal, confidential stuff in it. I told him I’d look for it. He’d said he left a purple scarf to mark the place, but damn, the weather was horrendous, and I thought I’d hit the B and B first. Touch base. See if maybe he’d already found the pack.”
“Why didn’t you take him instead of me?”
“Are you kidding? I already told you, the guy’s an accident magnet. He needs too much babysitting.”
“You couldn’t have asked me to help you find it? Instead, you had to nearly kill me?”
“Look who’s talking about nearly killing someone.”
Gordon held up his hands. “Fine. That subject is dropped. But why the extreme measures?”
“I told you, Orrin said it was personal and confidential. He trusted me, but he didn’t know you. He’d told me where to find it, more or less.” Metcalf snorted. “Mostly less. I thought I could get there and back while you were in the tree well, but when it wasn’t where Orrin described, I was afraid to leave you there.”
“So, what was in it?”
Metcalf looked at Gordon, an exasperated expression on his face. “You know for a top cop, you’re awfully dense. I said it was personal and confidential. I didn’t look. I brought it back. Like your phone.”
“Which you … stretched the truth … about.”
Metcalf toyed with his fingers again. “Okay, so I had a momentary lapse and thought I might like a new phone. Could use a free upgrade. But I thought better of it and said I’d found it in my truck so you wouldn’t wonder why I’d said I hadn’t found it when we were looking.”
Metcalf definitely had a strange sense of ethics.
“But Orrin said the pack wasn’t his,” Gordon said.
“Well, if it had personal and confidential stuff in it, he wasn’t going to grab it and admit it was his, was he? Have to explain how it got where it did? Or maybe, in whatever role he was playing, he’d decided his character didn’t have a backpack, and that’s why he denied it was his. Typical of Orrin. Total immersion, he called it, and he’d told me to play along with whatever he did. I left him to his fantasy. I reckon he fetched the pack later.”
Gordon wasn’t sure where to go next. He had as much of a lead on Wardell’s whereabouts as he could count on. Which put Wardell anywhere between here and Castle Rock, or maybe he was going someplace entirely different.
“How much cash did you give him, Mr. Metcalf?”
He lifted a shoulder. “Five hundred, give or take.”
Which would give Wardell enough of a cushion to hide out in a motel for a few days, or hop on a bus or a train. Rent a car. But, if his normal pattern was to go to the facility, maybe they’d get lucky.
“That’s a lot of money,” Gordon said.
“I owed him, like I said. Had some trouble making ends meet for a while, and Orrin came through for me. I’ve loaned him money before. He was always good for it.” Metcalf rubbed his bandages. Winced. “Right now, five hundred is a small price to pay to get rid of him. He’s been way too wonky this time. Hey, you think you can pull cop rank and get someone in here to get off their ass and run the damn tests. My head is killing me.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” Gordon switched off the recorder and slid it into his pocket. “Thanks for your cooperation, Mr. Metcalf. When the doctor gives you the all clear, we’ll deal with the not-so-small matter of you breaking into my house and pointing a weapon at a police officer.” And the inevitable paperwork that accompanied an officer discharging his own weapon. His gut said Metcalf was a man for whom the lines between civilization and his preferred natural environment blurred. Maybe Metcalf could use a little time in a mental health facility. Pointing a gun at Gordon might not seem any different from pointing one at a deer. But then again, Metcalf would have killed the deer. This one would be up to the legal folks.
Gordon had a thought. “You said Orrin was researching his next play. Do you know what it is? Where it’s going to be?” If the man was as consummate an actor as he seemed, it was highly unlikely he’d skip out on a chance to perform.
“Not sure,” Metcalf said. “I think he said it was an original play, or a remake of something. Some kind of mystery adventure. Midnight Rover, maybe. Midnight something. Said it was the life of some guy called Silver. Or maybe Salvador. That’s all I remember.” He glared at Gordon. “Must be getting shot in the head messed up my memory.”
The cubicle curtain parted. A middle-aged man with hair that was probably once carrot-red curling over his ears shuffled into the room. His rumpled lab coat’s buttons strained to meet at his ample middle. Reading a chart, nodding his head, he nudged a pair of tortoise-shell framed glasses up the bridge of his nose. He set the chart aside. “I’m Doctor McGregor, Mr. Metcalf.” The doctor’s words were delivered with a hint of a Scottish burr.
“You here to run the damn X-rays, or whatever you have to do so I can get out?” Metcalf said.
“That’s right.” He pulled a penlight from his lab coat pocket and moved toward the exam table. “If you’ll wait outside, please?” the doctor said to Gordon.
“I’ll be in the waiting room,” Gordon said.
He pushed through the doors and settled into one of the plastic chairs, trying to avoid the sneezers and the coughers. He attempted to block out the drone of the television set, which seemed to be nothing but commercials. A quick check with Connie told him they’d made no progress finding Orrin Wardell. He tried Angie’s number again. Still voicemail. He kept an eye on the door, tapping a foot, waiting for Metcalf to appear so Gordon could get rid of him and back to work.
He occupied himself by listening to a playback of Metcalf’s interview. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. He stood and raced toward Metcalf’s cubicle.
Chapter 58
Shoving his way past the man trying to keep him out of the treatment area, Gordon had his Glock drawn as he rushed down the hallway. “Police business. Stay back,” he shouted. He jerked the curtain to Metcalf’s cubicle aside.
Doctor McGregor stood beside Metcalf’s exam table holding a pillow over the face of the struggling man. Gordon grabbed the phony doctor, yanked him around, and shoved him to the ground. “Don’t move, Wardell.” He pressed his Glock to the back of Wardell-the-doctor’s head.
Wardell went limp. “Okay, okay.”
“You all right?” Gordon asked Metcalf.
Metcalf gasped for breath.
“Can I get a doctor in here?” Gordon shouted. The place wasn’t that big. You’d think someone would have heard something. “Stat,” Gordon added. Maybe that would help. Meanwhile, he grabbed his last plastic zip cuff and secured Wardell’s wrists behind his back.
“Need some help, Chief?”
Gordon spun at Solomon’s voice. “Not anymore. Get this guy processed for a nice visit to County
lockup. I’ll be there shortly with his … friend.”
Solomon tugged Wardell to his feet. “Orrin Wardell, I presume?”
Wardell shook his head and stiffened in indignation. “This is an outrage. I’m Doctor McGregor. Here on a medical exchange program. From Glasgow.” His Scottish burr grew more pronounced with every word the man uttered.
“And is suffocation part of the Scottish medical procedure for treating a concussion?” Gordon asked. “I’ve had it up to here with you and your friend. Metcalf, you’re coming with me. Solomon, I need a pair of cuffs.”
Solomon provided them, then escorted Wardell, still protesting a case of mistaken identity.
“Total immersion,” Gordon muttered.
A genuine doctor showed up, apologizing for the delay, blaming it on a three-car pileup. He proclaimed Metcalf fit to travel.
“You’re coming to the station with me, Metcalf,” Gordon said. He cuffed him and walked him out to the parking lot.
“You’re not going to leave me with Orrin, are you?” Metcalf asked. “He’s been a bit of a flake before, but I think he’s lost it this time. He really tried to kill me.”
“For once, I think you’re right,” Gordon said.
~~~
At the station, Metcalf protested being put in their one holding cell with Wardell. “He’ll have his cuffs on, and there will be an officer in plain sight. It’s only until transport from County can get here.” And get the both of them out of his hair.
Angie had called, saying she’d left her original message telling him she was going to Megan’s on his personal phone. “I’m sorry. I assumed you knew. Traffic was a bitch, and I wanted to hit the mall for some real shopping before I got to Megan’s. Hope you didn’t worry about me.”
If you only knew.
“Nah. I was tied up with the case—I think we caught your burglar, by the way—and wanted you to know how to get in touch with me.”
“That’s great. Who did it?”
“Orrin Wardell.”
