by Polly Iyer
“Well,” Scanlon said in a high-pitched voice.
“Exactly.”
Chapter Forty-Three
The Weak Link
Abby and Collyer remained alone in the room after Mrs. Gentry and Scanlon fled the building. Her nose hurt like hell but, surprisingly, she maintained her calm.
“So what now?” Abby asked. “You’re going to rig an explosion, giving yourself enough time to get away?”
“Very good, Doctor Gallant. I’m afraid I must leave you to go upstairs. Pharmaceutical labs are loaded with volatile chemicals. Perfect raw materials for setting off explosives.”
“And what about all the innocent people in the building? You’re about to commit mass murder. Don’t you have a conscience?”
“A man in my position can’t afford a conscience. Besides, it won’t be the first time. Mrs. Gentry’s confession leaves me no choice.”
“You won’t get away. The whole country will be on the hunt for you.”
“And who will be left to implicate me? Certainly not you. Not Stewart either.”
“Scanlon will talk. He’s the weak link.”
“Frankly, I’d like to take him out. But I’ll be long gone before he causes me problems. Now, enough chatter. I’m locking you in this room, but before I do, I’m going to inject you with a little something to make your final moments more enjoyable. I’ve grown to admire you, ma’am. You have guts. It’s the least I can do after all I’ve put you through. This way, you won’t feel a thing.”
Collyer grabbed her arm. She yanked it free and backed away, slammed into a desk. Collyer latched on tight as she fought to free herself. She felt the prick of the needle in her arm. Where are you, Luke?
“No, don’t.”
“Don’t fight it, Doctor Gallant,” he whispered. “Relax. Let it take you away.”
“Nooo.” But it was too late. The liquid seeped into her vein like slithering ice, up her arm, until a rush of adrenaline exploded in her brain. A kaleidoscope of colors flashed in front of her, the first true images in eight years. She fell back and watched, mesmerized by the streaks of reds and blues and yellows. Powerless to fight the euphoria that captured her, she floated along.
“That’s right. Go with it.”
Collyer’s hot, clove-scented breath wafted in her face. She closed her eyes, her senses on high alert, body tingling.
“See, you won’t feel anything, not even the fire. In fact, you’ll enjoy the experience.”
He walked to the door, the sound of his footsteps like boulders crashing down on her head.
“Enjoy your flight, ma’am.” The click of the lock reverberated like a gong, magnified, as was her breathing, as were all the sounds that echoed in her head from a far-off place. She was falling, falling. Colors filled her head, spiraling like a kaleidoscope.
Mesmerized, she watched, as the drug’s poison leached into her, prickling the pores of her skin. No. She couldn’t let them win. Marshaling all her strength, she rose to her knees and crawled toward where she imagined the door, swiping her hands in front of her. She felt airborne, apart from the floor, soaring above it. The tendrils of a living, breathing entity touched her burning face, still stinging from Collyer’s assault. She reached out her hand, only to clasp her other hand, separate from her body, disconnected. One hand, she didn’t know which, moved to clear the blood crusting her swollen nasal passages so she could breathe better, but her face wasn’t there. It had disappeared like all the colors that had temporarily filled her vision. Like all the light that once illuminated her life.
* * * * *
“One of the men found a property in the name of Mark Cavanaugh in the general location Barnette described,” Norm said.
Luke didn’t catch the name. “Who’s that?”
“Carlotta Gentry’s son-in-law.”
“The missing link,” Jeff said.
“Matt said a lawyer had to be involved,” Luke said. “He gave the nod to the son.”
Norm scoffed. “All Martin Junior cares about is golf. He hasn’t the interest or the brains to be his mother’s consigliere. Cavanaugh, however, is ambitious, very low key. If you didn’t know he came from a working class family, you’d think he spit out a silver spoon at birth. Never flaunts his wealth, or his wife’s wealth, more specifically, although he does fine in the Gentry law firm. Mrs. Gentry did right to home in on him.
“Come on, let’s go. You guys take your own car. I don’t want any glitches because I brought civilians along on police business.”
Luke grabbed Norm’s arm. “But I’m a cop.”
“Not here, you aren’t.” Norm got in his car and made a U-turn in front of the precinct.
Luke and Jeff got into their car and followed close behind. Jeff tugged on Luke’s shirt, but Luke didn’t care what he was saying. He didn’t care which lawyer pimped for Mrs. Gentry or whether he was her son or son-in-law or the man in the moon. All he cared about was finding Abby before something happened to her. He brushed aside any thought that it had already happened. He could handle anything now, except losing her. Jeff tapped him on the arm, forcing him to look.
“A detective in Norm’s squad stopped one of the license plates on the list right near where we’re going. Norm said from the description, it’s Scanlon. We’re five minutes away.”
Five minutes. A lifetime. “The little ghost trembled like Barney Fife when I saw him at his clinic. With cops all over him, he’ll fold.”
“Let’s hope so,” Jeff said. “We need someone to talk. You know it ain’t gonna be Collyer. Guys like him don’t rat. He’d rather go stoically to his grave.”
Jeff spoke from experience. Luke knew he’d been captured in the Afghanistan mountains by the Taliban. His friend never spoke of it, but the men imprisoned with him did. Shackled and tortured, he somehow managed to overpower his captors and free his fellow prisoners. Jeff spent two months in a hospital recovering from his wounds and six months in rehab. He’d never relinquished any information to the enemy and never received recognition for his bravery because he worked for an underground organization not sanctioned by the United States government. Yes, Jeff knew the Collyers of the world. He used to be one of them.
Jeff smacked Luke’s arm and pointed, but Luke’s sights were already riveted on the three police cars, lights flashing, that had pulled over Herbert Scanlon’s car. Jeff maneuvered behind Norm’s car, but neither he nor Luke got out. Scanlon sat hunkered into himself, trembling like the coward he was.
“He’s a weird little guy,” Jeff said after another whack on Luke’s arm. “Looks like one of the crazies in a comic book to screen movie.”
“He is. I can’t stand it; I’m getting out.”
Luke escaped Jeff’s attempt to grab him, and he bounded from the car. He saw Scanlon mouth the word lawyer, studied Norm’s mouth as he walked toward him.
Norm looked around to see if anyone heard, nodding to Luke as he approached. He stood so Luke could read him. “Dr. Scanlon, I’m asking you politely to tell me what I want to know, or I can take you to the station and let you sit until someone gets around to you. If you choose the latter and innocent people die, I’ll see you’re held as an accessory to murder. Now, one more time—where are Abigael Gallant and Stewart Gentry?”
“Do you know who I am?” Scanlon blustered. “I’m Dr. Herbert Scanlon. I want a lawyer; it’s my civil right.”
“Absolutely, Doctor.” Norm turned to one of the uniforms. “Take him in, officer. Check to see how long we can hold him before he can see a lawyer.”
Scanlon’s eyelids fluttered like a hummingbird’s wings. “What do you mean, how long?”
Luke’s frustration bordered on explosive. Scanlon went on, but Luke couldn’t follow what he was saying. The arrogance in Scanlon’s posture propelled Luke to push Norm aside and reach through the open car window to grab the psychiatrist by the shirt collar, almost yanking him through the opening. “Look here, you scrawny, colorless sack of shit. Tell us where Abigael Gallant is
right now or I’ll make sure when you get to prison, every gangbanger in there will want you for his sex slave.”
“That’s disgusting,” Scanlon said. “This is police brutality. I’ll have your badges.”
Now Norm pushed Luke aside. “This man isn’t a police officer here. He’s a civilian. So much for police brutality. I have to go, and so do these officers. I’ll leave you with him and his friend until someone comes back to take you to the precinct to make a statement. That’s if you can still talk.”
Scanlon tried to start the car, but Luke reached in and snatched the keys.
“You…you can’t leave me with him. He’ll k-kill me.”
Norm grinned, focused on Luke. “You wouldn’t do that, would you?”
“Huh? I can’t make out what you’re saying.”
Norm sneered at Scanlon. “I said I’m going.”
“Jeff and I will watch him for you. It’ll be like a citizen’s arrest.”
Scanlon shook uncontrollably, his words a series of stutters that Luke could barely understand. “You…you can’t…important man. I-I have rights.”
Norm switched places with Luke, never flinching at Scanlon’s threats. “Then tell me what I want to know.”
Scanlon appealed to Luke and Jeff, fear blazing in his eyes. “It’s that…that building there, all by itself. She’s on the second floor. Collyer’s there. I think he’s going to blow up the place.”
“What about Gentry.”
“He’s, he’s…”
“He’s what?”
“Dead. He’s dead. Collyer killed him. I had nothing to do with it. Nothing. You have to believe me.”
“Yeah, I believe you,” Norm said. “You get that, Luke?”
Luke watched the ghost-like runt through the front windshield. He pushed Norm aside. “What about Doctor Gallant?”
“She’s alive. At least she was when I left.”
“Where on the second floor?”
“In back. On the opposite side there are three rooms with other people.”
“How many people?” Norm asked.
“I don’t know for sure. About a dozen, I think.”
Jeff stuck his head into the car. “What’s Collyer driving?”
Scanlon dodged back. “A black Honda, I think.”
“Sure. Like a million other cars on the road. Smart bastard.”
“He mentioned something about Richmond,” Scanlon said.
Luke waved the keys in his hand. “Which key opens the front door?”
“The big brass one. You believe me, don’t you?”
Luke turned toward the building. Norm grabbed his shirt, making sure he saw every word. “You yank one of my suspects like that again, and I’ll bring you up on charges myself.”
“Do it,” Luke said. “I won’t give a shit if Abby’s dead.” Then he turned and ran.
Chapter Forty-Four
Can Anyone Hear Me?
Abby fought blacking out. I can’t let them win. Not again. She crawled toward the door and inched her rubbery body up against it until she was on her feet. She couldn’t see the room spinning, but she felt it, recalling the one time in college when she drank so much she had to sleep with one foot on the floor to keep the world from spiraling away. She remembered thinking later that she must have fallen asleep with her eyes open because closing them only made the merry-go-round worse. This was different.
She groped the door for the knob. It wouldn’t turn, but she kept jiggling it, expecting it to magically open because she willed it. When it didn’t, she pounded on it.
Doors need keys to open. I have keys in my purse. But doors open from the outside not the inside. She found the crack of the door. “Help. Is anyone there?” A potent smell seeped into the room. With every breath she inhaled more fumes that burned her lungs like fire in her chest. “Help.” Her voice came out in a hoarse whisper.
Have to get away from the door.
She tried putting one leg in front of the other, but nothing worked, so she slid down to the floor and started crawling. Away from the door. Get away from the door. Her eyes burned and flames shot from her nostrils, like a medieval dragon. I can’t really see that, can I?
“Can anyone hear me?”
* * * * *
Luke smelled the chemicals as he got close to the door.
Jeff pointed and forced him to pay attention “Lights on the third floor. Abby’s on the second. The bastard’s mixing a brew. He won’t do it if he’s still in there. Now watch me, Luke. This is important. With all the chemicals in there, he’s probably rigged a slow burn to give himself time to escape. You and Norm get Abby and the others out of the building. I’ll search the third floor for the incendiary device. Norm’s called for the bomb squad, but we can’t wait. If he’s set some kind of timer, I’ll know how to defuse it. Do you read me, Luke?”
Luke forced himself to pay attention. “I read you. Be careful.”
Norm joined them, and the three men clasped hands. Luke slid the key into the lock. They were in. The smell inside brought him back to the night the explosion of the meth lab took his hearing. A wave of panic shot through him.
Abby.
“To hell with the third floor,” Jeff said. “It’s too late. When those vapors fill the building, this place will blow sky high. We need to find Abby and the others before they succumb to the fumes. Put something over your nose, a handkerchief, your jacket, anything. You two take the side of the building where Scanlon said Abby was; I’ll head to where the others are. Call if you need help, and so will I.”
They bypassed the elevator and took the stairs three at a time. Luke called Abby’s name. He assumed the others were doing the same, though he wouldn’t hear any of them. Jeff left them in the dust, splitting off to cover his side of the massive old warehouse with the speed of an Olympic sprinter. Luke and Norm bypassed the open doors of small offices or empty rooms and concentrated on the closed doors.
“Do you hear her, Norm?”
Norm shook his head.
Luke, his eyes burning, mind frantic with the thought of Abby trapped or worse, took one end of the long corridor while Norm took the other. Empty. They moved to the next. Jeff joined them.
“Anything?” Norm asked.
“A few rooms of frightened people, but no sign of Abby. I let them out. We’ll catch up with the attendants later. Bastards.”
The three men pushed against closed doors, found offices and labs but no people. No Abby.
Luke knew Jeff and Norm were talking, but he couldn’t take the time to read them. His eyes and nasal passages were watering acid.”
Jeff stopped him. “This side’s worse. The burn must be upstairs. We’d better find her soon or we’re all dead.”
They divided into different corridors, staying on the backside of the building.
“Abby’s supposed to be here. Where the hell is she? Abby, can you hear me?” Luke shouted. “Abby,” he repeated, knowing he couldn’t hear her response, but that the others might.
He found a locked door and thrust himself against it, but it held fast. The acrid fumes were making his head spin. He shook it and hit the door again. Norm appeared from the other side and signaled they go together. The two men synchronized their approach and the door burst open.
“Abby.” She lay unconscious on the other side of the door clutching her purse. She’d torn off part of her blouse to cover her nose and mouth. Luke felt the pulse on her neck. “Her breathing’s shallow, but she’s alive. Hurry, we have to get her out of here. Abby, can you hear me?” The sight of her curled up on the floor, face bloody and swollen, cleared Luke’s head. Nothing mattered now. Not the searing fire in his throat, not the red-hot burning in his eyes. All that mattered was getting her out of the building and into the fresh air. All that mattered was keeping her alive.
Jeff appeared from the other side, lifted Stewart’s lifeless body, and threw him over his shoulder. Norm said something, but Luke didn’t stop. He ran toward the stairs, carrying Abby�
��s limp body, talking to her, trying to rouse her from unconsciousness.
The three men ran for the exit while the vapors filled the building. Meeting the stragglers from Scanlon’s experiments, some impaired by illness and drugs, Norm urged them toward the entrance. Pushing. Prodding. In one case, he lifted an old man and carried him. Bursting through the front door, they hustled everyone past the car. Across the street. Onto an empty lot. They kept going.
Luke never heard the sound of the blast behind him, but he felt the ground-shaking vibration. He turned around. The top floor of the building erupted into the stratosphere. Debris flew everywhere. Bricks and wood and glass rained down in every direction. Desks shot from the windows in pieces. Fire licked the sky like a thousand streaks of lightning. Subsequent explosions rocked their retreat—additional solvents igniting in the heat of the fire. A series of blasts followed inside the lower floors. Toxic chemicals saturated the air, adding to the burning sensations everyone thought they’d escaped. Luke, carrying Abby, moved the others even farther back until, out of harm’s way. They all collapsed onto the ground.
Luke didn’t hear the sirens wailing, but then fire engines and ambulances were right on top of them, filling the streets. A few pulled up next to them. Paramedics zeroed in on Abby and administered oxygen. Because she’d been nearest to the upstairs lab, she was the only unconscious survivor, although a few others teetered on joining her.
Patients huddled on the ground, dazed, unsure what was happening. One of the attendants tried to sneak off in the confusion, but Jeff grabbed him and brought him to the attention of the police, who now covered the area. No one would escape.
Luke remained focused on Abby. He helped a paramedic lift her onto a gurney and into the ambulance.
“Will she be all right?” Luke asked.
“Her vitals are good,” the paramedic said. “I think you got her out in time. But when I was putting in an IV, I noticed this. See? She’s been injected with something. Does she do drugs?”
Luke leaned over and inspected the puncture wound. “No,” Luke said. “Never.” Anger swelled inside him. If either Crock or Collyer were anywhere near, he’d kill them with his bare hands. “Bastards,” he said under his breath.
