Hidden Fire, Kobo

by Terry Odell

  "Succinylcholine," Kovak said.

  "Right. Not to mention side effects of the pain pills," she added.

  Kovak snorted. "They only have side effects if you take them, and my money says the big guy is going to wait until it hurts too much to stand it before he pops one." He kept his eyes on Sarah. "Of course, if you take one before the pain gets too bad, then the pain doesn't get too bad, if you know what I mean."

  "Did you take your ulcer pills?" Sarah asked.

  "Yes, I did. And I will continue to do so, twice a day until they're gone. Damn it, both of you. I'm a grown man and don't need nursemaids." Randy hobbled to the bed and tossed the bag of medications onto the nightstand.

  Sarah hurried over and arranged pillows behind his head and under his leg. He lay back and tried not to let the relief show. His brain had progressed from pea soup to chicken noodle. Thoughts moved more freely, but they kept getting tangled. Drugs would make it worse and he needed to be able to think for a while. He'd had a fitful night and called Kovak to come get him out of the damn hospital first thing in the morning. He needed a quieter environment to think. Sarah had arrived with Kovak.

  He remembered waking up in the emergency room after his helicopter ride and debriefing the local LEOs, although right now he couldn't recall how much he'd been able to tell them.

  "You mind some shop talk, Sarah?" Kovak dragged the easy chair closer to the bed.

  "No, of course not." She brought a glass of water to the nightstand. "If he's up to it."

  "He's up to it," Randy said. "He's also in the room, so he can be addressed directly."

  She blushed. He savored it. He patted the bed beside him. She scooted against the headboard and he interlocked his fingers with hers.

  "You start," he said to Kovak. His throat still hurt from the tube the doctors had inserted while they kept him breathing. If Sarah hadn't come in when she had … The memory of the man hovering over his bed with his evil smile while Randy tried to suck air into his lungs was one he would carry with him for a long, long time.

  "Quite a mess," Kovak said. "We can start with the stars of this little production. First, Hugh Garrigue, who perfected a technique of creating pottery that could hide diamonds. Tracing the smugglers, however, is now out of our hands. Interpol will deal with it. However, his untimely death threw a monkey wrench into the smuggling scheme. He died before he sent Gloria the descriptions of which pieces had the diamonds."

  "Who's she?" Sarah asked.

  "Gloria Osgood," Randy said. "Retired hospital worker and local coordinator. Damn good liar, too. I bought everything she told me. Makes a nasty glass of lemonade. From now on, it's bottled water only—unopened bottles."

  "A lot of this is still speculation," Kovak continued. "But it seems to fit together, especially in light of what Trent Wallace and Gloria Osgood were willing to spill. She worked with Garrigue. He had a great scheme. Nothing large scale, but enough to let him retire to a desert island if he'd lived long enough. He receives the diamonds. Small quantities of investment quality gems. Hides them in pottery. Not many, not too often and in obscure shops not likely to attract much attention."

  Sarah's grip on Randy's hand tightened. He saw indignation on her face. "Not that your shop's obscure," he said.

  She sighed. "No, in the grand scheme of things, it's just a small-town boutique. I know what you mean. And it does seem like a clever scheme." She frowned. "I resent being duped like that. Not to mention considered a suspect."

  "We'll see to it your name is cleared," Randy said. "And I'll make Neville apologize in person."

  "Moving right along," Kovak said. "Gloria Osgood used her hospital connections to recruit greedy pharmaceutical sales reps. They travel a lot and would be told where, when and what to buy. They'd remove the diamonds and take them to a fence. For their efforts, they were allowed to keep a stone. She didn't use the same reps more than a few times. That was part of the beauty of the scheme. Different shops, different parts of the country, different people moving the goods."

  "Voorhees," Sarah said. "He was one of these … what would you call them? Couriers?"

  Kovak smiled at Randy. "She does pick up the lingo, doesn't she?"

  "She watches too much television." He rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand.

  "Right," Kovak said. "We have Voorhees to thank for most of our information. He confessed everything and the cops have been busy following up."

  "I'll say," Randy said. "I hope the town council is suitably impressed that a Pine Hills cop broke the case."

  "I'm still not following everything," Sarah said. "Keep going."

  "Voorhees made his buy at a Garrigue showing a few months back," Kovak said. "He knew the Garrigues were worth something in and of themselves, so after he took out the diamonds, he decided to glue them back together and give them to his aunt at Saint Michael's." He smiled at Sarah. "So, we could say you gave us the break we needed. You knew there was something fishy about the mugs and everything started to fall into place."

  Randy's insides warmed with the fresh blush that spread to Sarah's face.

  "Go on," she said.

  "Our next star," Kovak said, "was Sebastian." He looked at Sarah. "You knew him as Mr. Pemberton. He was one of the couriers, but he was trying too hard to be smart."

  "I thought he was a little too Masterpiece Theatre to be real," Sarah said. "A caricature of a stereotype."

  "When crooks think they're being smart, they're usually being stupid," Randy added. "Like killing someone to shut him up."

  "Your dead guy?" Sarah said.

  "Right. Walter Young. Bit player who was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Janitor of sub-par intelligence. But intelligent enough to put two and two together, either by hearing something or reading something when he was cleaning Garrigue's studio. We'll probably never know how he found out, but he hightails it up to Pine Hills and has the misfortune of running into Sebastian, who's waiting for the curtain to rise, in a bar. Young's studying a sketch of Garrigue's mug, and he's a talkative drunk to boot. Sebastian recognizes the pattern in the sketch, realizes Young's going to mess things up. He helps him get drunker, perhaps, lures him to a quiet spot and drugs him. Tosses him in the trunk of the guy's car, which the county sheriffs are, even as we speak, examining for trace, thanks to our tall friend's alert."

  "You talk too much, you know," Randy said. He reached for the glass on the nightstand and took a sip of water. "Sebastian had been reading about the Triple X murders in the Portland paper and decided to copy them. That's where being smart turned into being stupid, because it created enough of an uproar to involve a lot more agencies than a simple drunk dumped in a field would have."

  "He had some bum luck, too," Kovak said. "Turns out the key we found was to a safe deposit box at his hotel. Since he lost it, he had the mugs with the diamonds in his room so they were found during the evacuation. We've matched it with his prints and he's going to damn well show up in an IAFIS search from now on, assuming he ever gets out of prison. We can charge him with attempted murder for starters. The attack on Randy will be a slam dunk to prove. But we're going to shoot for murder in the first for killing Young."

  "What about Trent Wallace? How did he get involved?" Sarah asked. "Wait. I think I know. He found Garrigue's body. So he could have found out about the smuggling. And that the diamonds would be in my shop."

  "Right," Kovak said. "Trent found out about the diamonds and saw some of the unfinished mugs. He put two and two together, went up to buy the mugs, but he didn't know they were only in specific ones. He didn't want to call attention to himself by buying all of them, so he bought four. But, apparently those didn't have any diamonds in them, so he went back to get everything else he could."

  "He still didn't need to break my stuff," Sarah muttered under her breath.

  "Cops had a warrant and found two cartons of your Garrigue pottery at his apartment," Kovak said. "He and his girlfriend planned to pack up and leave with their ill-gotten gains
after the semester was over. I'm afraid their plans have been thwarted."

  Sarah grinned at Randy. "Does he always talk in jaded clichés? Or did he eat a thesaurus for breakfast?"

  "You wound me," Kovak said. "Here I thought I was being eloquent. Waxing poetic."

  "Not to change the subject," Sarah said, "but how's everything with your jobs?"

  "Status quo," Kovak said. "Highly underpaid civil servants, but we live to serve."

  "Overtime back in effect?" Randy asked.

  "Plus a small raise to atone for their sins. Looks like Janie won't have to rush back to work. And there are a few new faces on the town council."

  Things were good, Randy thought. He looked at Sarah. She shifted her gaze to Kovak.

  "One more thing," she said. "Who shot at us last night? I was with Rachel—Officer Michaelis. We were almost to campus and people started shooting."

  Randy tensed. "What?" He glared at Kovak. "What the hell happened?" He cut his eyes back and forth between the two of them. "Why didn't you tell me?

  "It's all right," Sarah said. "We didn't get shot. Only shot at. The cops caught them. I wanted to know who it was."

  Randy's head ached anew. "Kovak. Talk."

  "Actually, it wasn't Sarah who got shot at. It was a poorly executed attempt to free Trent Wallace. His girlfriend thought she could create enough of a ruckus and Trent would escape in the mêlée." Randy glared. Kovak raised his hands. "Sorry. Fracas? Skirmish?"

  "How about confusion?" Randy said.

  "Yeah, but it didn't get confusing enough. One of the cops let go of his dog and that was that. It's not like we run away when someone shoots a gun."

  Sarah dropped Randy's hand. She traced the pattern on the bedspread. He was afraid to meet her eyes. He knew what she'd be thinking. That in his job, he ran toward gunfire. After yesterday's events, she must be having second thoughts about living with a cop.

  Kovak stood and put his hand on Randy's shoulder. "You look like hell, big guy. Get some rest. I've got another session with the locals before heading home." He winked. "Don't wear him out. He's not as young as he used to be."

  * * * * *

  Sarah saw Kovak to the door and turned the safety latch. She tried to digest everything they'd talked about but knew it would take days, maybe months, to get it all straightened out in her head. There were still missing pieces, questions that might never be answered. Unwitting or not, she'd been an accomplice in diamond smuggling. She smiled to herself. Her weekly conversation with her mother would be interesting this Sunday, no doubt about it.

  Something else flashed through her mind.

  "What?" Randy said.

  "I didn't say anything." Maybe if she joined a community theater group she'd learn how to conceal her every thought from the man.

  "You didn't have to," he said. "What are you thinking?"

  "I was wondering if there are any innocent customers who don't know they have a fortune in smuggled diamonds. And what they'd do if they found them."

  Randy looked thoughtful. "Interesting. I suppose the media would love the story. I can see hundreds of people breaking pottery hoping to find diamonds."

  "They're illegal, though. Isn't it against the law?"

  "The lawyers would love to get their hands on that one. Nobody's going to admit to being the owner of the stones, because they're smuggled into the country and contraband to begin with."

  "Like when you confiscate drugs?"

  He gave a quiet laugh, then coughed and picked up his water. He sipped. "I wonder if they'd sit in an evidence room. Maybe the police departments could sell them for better equipment."

  She met his gaze. "If I'd had more time, I would have had better records and you could have traced all of the sales and maybe you'd have caught these creeps and you wouldn't be here now. I'm sorry."

  "Sarah, this is not your fault. Is that what's bothering you?"

  She shook her head. She'd thought it through last night and she'd made her decision. There was no point in putting it off. Randy was a cop. He could get killed on the job. She wasn't a cop and she'd almost been killed, too. Life happened no matter who you were, and she knew no matter how short their lives might turn out to be, she wanted to spend every remaining minute with him. That love couldn't be set aside because there were risks. And if Randy died, she couldn't bear that he would take everything that was Randy with him.

  "I want to get married," she said. "Right away. And I want to stop taking the pill and I want to have your baby. Babies." Well, that certainly didn't sound the way it had in her head at three in the morning.

  His mouth dropped open. Then he grinned. "Aren't you supposed to get down on one knee? And where's my ring?"

  She knelt beside the bed—on both knees. She took his left hand in hers and kissed the spot where a ring would go. "I love you. And I love us. Say yes."

  "Yes," he said, right before he pulled her to him and kissed her down to her soul.

  Acknowledgments

  Without help and encouragement from the following, this book would never have been written. Thanks go to:

  Mark Hussey, Darrell McCaskill, Michael Kispert and Thomas Stroup of the Orange County Sheriff's Office. Your advice and company gave me those bits of realism I needed. Apologies for things I adjusted for the sake of the story.

  Major Thomas Fuller, US Army for the XY help.

  Wally and the gang at Crimescenewriters for answering questions about anything and everything.

  To Sandra McDonald, for her support from day one.

  The Novel Alchemy group for their keen eyes.

  CJ Lyons, MD, for her medical assistance.

  My ever-patient crit partners, Dara Edmondson and Julie Salvo, and all the support from the ladies of CFRW.

  To Jessica for the pottery expertise.

  And, of course, to Dan who helps with absolutely everything.

  About the Author

  Terry Odell began writing by mistake, when her son mentioned a television show and she thought she’d be a good mom and watch it so they’d have common ground for discussions.

  Little did she know she would enter the world of writing, first via fanfiction, then through Internet groups, and finally with groups with real, live partners. Her first publications were short stories, but she found more freedom in longer works and began what she thought was a mystery. Her daughters told her it was a romance so she began learning more about the genre and craft. She belongs to both the Romance Writers of America and Mystery Writers of America.

  Now a multi-published, award winning author, Terry resides with her husband in the mountains of Colorado.

  Her website – http://terryodell.com

  Her blog –http//terryodell.com/terrysplace

  Facebook -http://www.facebook.com/terry.odell

  Twitter - http://twitter.com/authorterryo