Tailspin

by Sandra Brown

  Rawlins joined him to take a look. “Relatively fresh.”

  Wilson called attention to the name on the wall. “In Dr. O’Neal’s parking space.”

  It wasn’t a copious amount of blood, but the quantity didn’t signify as much as its being there at all. The two deputies tracked the intermittent drops as far as the exit, but once beyond the cover of the building, the trail had been washed away by rain.

  “Whoever was bleeding walked out of here,” Wilson said.

  “Then what?”

  “Hell if I know. Maybe somebody just got a nosebleed.”

  Rawlins turned to Wilson, looking skeptical. “Is that what you really think?”

  “No.”

  “Me neither. Based on everything else that has happened, I think we ought to bring in Atlanta PD.” He glanced around, spotting the security cameras mounted at strategic points in the ceiling. “We should have a video of what went down here. I’ll call it in. You get a home address for Brynn O’Neal. We’ll start looking for her there.”

  They were walking quickly toward the SUV when Rawlins’s cell phone rang. “Probably the wife demanding a divorce.”

  But it was Myra. Rawlins put her on speaker. She cut to the chase. “Two things. Thatcher went off duty, so Braxton took over for him at the hospital. He just called. Brady’s bum heart—”

  “He has a bum heart?”

  “Everybody knows that,” she said with exasperation. “It’s giving them some concern. Vitals-wise, he’s lost a lot of ground. His cardiologist is on his way to the hospital as we speak. Marlene’s fit to be tied.”

  “Hell,” Rawlins said, exchanging a worried frown with Wilson. “What’s the second thing?”

  “The license plate number on that black Mercedes.”

  “The café’s camera angle was wrong. We didn’t get it.”

  “That camera didn’t, but the one at the hardware store did.”

  “Across from our department?”

  “Slow day, so I drummed up a project. I had all the cameras downtown checked for pictures of a black Mercedes. It was parked around back of the hardware store for over an hour just before dawn.”

  “While we were questioning Dr. O’Neal and Mallett.”

  “Um-huh. I don’t think that’s a coincidence.” She paused, then, “Is Brynn in trouble?”

  “We’re trying to ascertain—”

  “Don’t feed me that cop crap, Rawlins. Talk to me like a person. I’ve known that girl since before her mama died. I don’t want anything bad to happen to her, now she’s made something of herself.”

  “Neither do I, Myra. But did you ever know her to follow her daddy’s example?”

  “You mean steal?”

  “That’s what I mean.” When she hesitated to answer, Rawlins said, “Tell us straight.”

  “She was a scrawny thing. All knees and elbows. Twelve, thirteen. Thereabouts. She took a coat from the girls’ locker room. Claimed it had been hanging there for several days, nobody missing it. It was cold wintertime.”

  “And she needed a coat,” Rawlins said.

  “She didn’t take it for herself. She gave it to a country kid who came in on the school bus every morning near frozen.”

  Rawlins looked over at Wilson, who rubbed his fingers across his forehead as though it had begun to ache.

  “Okay, Myra. We get your point,” Rawlins said. “Text me that tag number, please.”

  “Will do. But I already got who the car is registered to.”

  “Listening.”

  “Delores Parker.”

  “Doesn’t ring any bells.”

  “I’m not finished yet,” she snapped. “That was her maiden name. Married name is Hunt. Delores Parker Hunt.”

  “Holy shit.”

  Myra snorted. “That’s what I said.”

  6:44 p.m.

  Brynn stared at the vial in her hand with stupefaction, then looked into Rye’s face. “How did you get this? When?”

  “When I was in the cabin bathroom showering.”

  “You’ve had it all this time?”

  He shrugged.

  “How did you get the lock open?”

  “I knew I had those four numbers correct and in sequence, or you wouldn’t have looked sunk when I read them out to you. It occurred to me that I’d missed the first number, not the last. I tried that, and, on the numeral three, the lock opened. Then I found the vial under the lining. It was in my jeans pocket when I came out of the bathroom.”

  “All the time we were asleep and you were clutching the box?”

  “I didn’t make the transfer till I saw Goliad’s car coming up the drive toward our cabin. I ripped open the seam in my jacket and slipped the vial inside before waking you up.”

  During this exchange, he had pulled on his jacket and was herding her toward the hotel room door. She was resistant. “Hold on. I’m trying to think this through,” she said. “You knew it was a drug even before I told you.”

  “No I didn’t. I had the vial, but it’s all wrapped up. I didn’t know what was in it, or what you planned to do with it. It actually could have been poison for the hot dog meat.”

  “Okay, but then after I explained what it was, why didn’t you tell me you had it? That whole long ride to Atlanta, I was miserable.”

  “And I couldn’t figure out why. Why were you unhappy about handing it over to Lambert? For all I knew, you and your daddy had intended to blackmail him with it, or you had a higher bidder. Something. If whatever you were up to was illegal, you’d made me culpable. I couldn’t leave with that hanging over my head.”

  “So you texted me in the hope of beating a confession out of me.”

  “Which I did. Now I know you’re only a little crooked.”

  “And that’s okay with you?”

  “The difference being motive.” He looked at his watch. “You know it’s going to hit the fan when Lambert discovers his wonder drug has been heisted. He might have already. We shouldn’t have trouble getting a taxi or Uber outside the hotel.”

  “You’re coming with me?”

  “Assuming Lambert realizes by now that he’s been had, Goliad will be only a phone call away. I’ll see you safely to Violet, then there won’t be anything Lambert or the senator can do without blowing the whistle on themselves.”

  He pulled her coat off the hanger in the closet and held it for her. She zipped the vial into an inside pocket.

  “Where is Violet?” he asked.

  “While she’s been undergoing radiation, she and her mother have been staying in an outpatient facility on the hospital campus.”

  “Does Lambert know where she is?”

  “Of course. He examines her routinely.”

  “That’ll be the first place he looks for you. We’ve got to beat him there.”

  He opened the door and pushed her through.

  7:15 p.m.

  In the distant vaulted entry hall, a grandfather clock chimed the quarter hour. Other than that, the silence following Nate Lambert’s declaration was so profound, Delores actually felt the pressure of it against her eardrums.

  She and Richard sat side by side on the sitting room sofa. Nate was standing before them, the luckless messenger imparting the news that the castle had been breached.

  Delores said, “What do you mean, it wasn’t there?”

  For all Nate’s apparent uneasiness, his voice remained waspish. “I put it in words that couldn’t possibly cause confusion, Delores.” Spacing the words out, he enunciated, “The vial wasn’t there.”

  “How did that happen? Did it ever leave the lab?”

  “On the way over, I called the pharmacologist. He swears he did exactly as I instructed.”

  “Only he, you, and Dr. O’Neal had the combination to the lock?”

  “I gave it to her over the phone last night, but not within hearing of—”

  “Oh, for Christ’s sake, Nate. We can stop dancing around it, can’t we? She fucking stole it!”

  De
lores stood up, went over to the bar, and splashed whiskey from a decanter into a glass. She shot it, then poured another, and carried it over to Richard.

  “He probably shouldn’t be—”

  “Shut up, Nate.”

  With a nod of thanks, Richard took the glass from her and drank the scotch with only slightly more temperance than she had, then set the empty glass on the coffee table.

  “We all know what happened,” he said. “The question is, what are we going to do about it?” He looked first to Delores and caught her lighting a cigarette. In view of the crisis, he didn’t rebuke her. “Where is Goliad?” he asked.

  “Once the box was delivered, I dismissed him for the night.” She gave Nate a scathing look. “Little knowing that his services would be required again so soon.”

  Nate leaped to his own defense. “You two can’t blame me for this.”

  Delores arched a penciled brow. “Blame you? I want to draw and quarter you.”

  “The blame lies entirely with Brynn.”

  “Like hell it does. I told you not to trust her. You didn’t listen.”

  “I wouldn’t have sent her up there last night, had I known then what I’ve learned since.”

  She propped a hand on her hip and tilted her head. “Well?”

  “Criminality runs in her family. Her father has a long record.”

  Richard looked at him through narrowed eyes. “This woman worked with you, she treated your patients alongside you.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “She treated me!” Richard’s voice vibrated with restrained wrath. “And you allowed that, knowing nothing of her background?”

  “Her credentials were impeccable. It never occurred to me to check her family tree. Clearly a mistake.”

  “Clearly a catastrophe,” Delores said.

  Richard stood up and rounded the sofa. He braced his hands on the back of it as he would a podium and lowered his head. Delores remained quiet, not wanting to break his concentration. When Nate seemed about to, she shot him a look that muted him.

  Eventually Richard raised his head. “It’s not catastrophic until the life span of the drug expires. We’ve got a bit over twenty-four hours to find Dr. O’Neal and retrieve it.”

  Delores flew into action. “I’ll call Goliad. You,” she said, pointing her cigarette at Nate, “start writing down any places Dr. O’Neal might have gone when she left you. Is she in contact with her outlaw father?”

  “I wouldn’t imagine that—”

  “Don’t imagine, Nate. Find out. In the meantime, call that pharmacologist and tell him to mix another dose. The weather has cleared. We’ll send our jet for it.”

  “He won’t do it, Delores.”

  “Offer him more money.”

  “It’s not a matter of money.”

  “Oh, that’s funny,” she said. “Tell me another.”

  Nate gave a stubborn shake of his head. “He’s a scientist. He’s motivated by positive lab results, and actually feels corrupted for taking money to mix the one dose. What money he did accept will go toward covering the cost of the components. The only way he would agree to make more would be with the company’s authorization for an FDA compassion exemption. We would have to go through the proper channels and apply.”

  “Do it.”

  “I would have already, Delores, except that you were adamant about anonymity. These clinical tests are meticulously documented. There’s no way I can keep Richard’s name out of it.”

  “No,” Richard said without taking even a moment to consider it. “If it gets out that I’m terminally ill, it would empower every enemy I have in Washington.”

  “Perhaps enough hush money would buy confidentiality,” Nate ventured.

  Richard scoffed at that. “What planet are you on? I’m in public life. Fodder for the media. Anybody along the chain would leak this tidbit in a heartbeat. You would probably sell the story to the tabloids yourself.”

  Nate drew himself up to his full height and gave the hem of his European suit jacket a tug. “I’ll overlook that insult because you’re my patient, you’ve suffered a disappointment, and you’re overwrought.”

  He paused as though waiting for Richard to apologize. When he didn’t, he continued. “I advise you not to dismiss the suggestion out of hand. Your name on the application would add considerable cachet.”

  “No.”

  Delores said, “Richard—”

  “No, Del.”

  She turned to Nate. “Richard has spoken. Sweeten the pot. Your laboratory friend might not be quite as high-minded as you believe. You can use the desk there.”

  Nate did as told and got on his phone.

  Richard retreated into the bedroom. Delores ground out her cigarette and followed him. He said, “Close the door.”

  He took one of the matching overstuffed chairs in front of the window overlooking their private terrace and the landscaped grounds beyond. She took the other. Seeming to be deep in thought, he drummed his fingers on the padded armrest.

  Delores was itching to spin into action, but she gave him time to contemplate. Eventually he asked if she had called Goliad.

  “I was about to. I wanted to hear your thoughts first.”

  Still thoughtful, he nodded. “This started out as a last-gasp effort to save my life. Nevertheless, I’ve had occasional twinges of guilt, some reservations regarding the morality of this…undertaking.”

  “I’ve tried to assuage those twinges and reservations.”

  “For the most part, you have, though some lingered. As recently as last night. But these complications, one piled on top of the other, have given this a different slant. It’s become a challenge. It’s taken on the properties of a campaign.”

  “You’ve never backed down from a challenge or—heaven forbid—lost a campaign.”

  “No, and I don’t intend to.” He reached for her hand. “You know what’s required to win?”

  “A cutthroat attitude.”

  He smiled. “You’ve been listening.”

  “For the past sixteen years. Listening and learning. Take no prisoners. Win at all costs. To you, it’s more than a motto with a nice ring to it.”

  “It’s a credo.”

  “I’m the most faithful of disciples.”

  “I want to win this one, Del.”

  “You will. It’s a certainty.”

  “But not enough. I need to win…and leave the slate wiped clean.”

  They exchanged a look of mutual understanding, and she sealed it by squeezing his hand.

  “I’ll recall Goliad to duty, and alert him that we will be requiring his special services.”

  The senator nodded.

  Delores reached across and patted his knee. “You rest, darling. Leave everything to me.” She slid off her shoes, curled her legs up under her, and relaxed into the chair as she placed the call to Goliad. He answered right away. She explained the situation.

  “Dr. O’Neal has proved herself adept at disappearing. We need you to find her again.”

  “Understood, ma’am.”

  “You know where to start, and there’s no time to waste. Go now. Take your sidekick with you.”

  “Timmy is indisposed.”

  Delores’s voice turned as brittle as an icicle. “Indisposed?”

  Richard was instantly alert to the change in her tone. He gave her an inquiring look, but she raised her index finger, indicating that she would fill him in after the call.

  Goliad said, “Timmy provoked Mallett. Mallett didn’t take it lying down.”

  The details were sketchy, but he went on to describe a fight in a parking garage.

  “Timmy cut the guy. His hand was bleeding. But in the end, he was upright and okay enough to leave in a run.”

  “And you let him?”

  “Yes, ma’am. There were security cameras everywhere.”

  “I see.”

  “Anyway, Timmy’s peeing blood.”

  “I don’t care if it’s gushing from
every orifice. Get him up and out, and find that doctor. Get the vial, then deal with her. I could do without any more bother from the pilot, too. Do you understand what I’m saying, Goliad?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’ll take care of it. Of both.”

  “See to it immediately. And don’t keep us in suspense, either.”

  “No, ma’am. I’ll let you know.”

  Delores clicked off and recounted the conversation for Richard. “I fear you were right about this Timmy,” she said. “If he’s going to be violent, he should at least be effective. Mallett should be dead.”

  Richard laughed softly. “Goliad will take care of it.”

  “Of course he will.”

  He would. Goliad would do whatever she asked of him. He was madly in love with her.

  Chapter 20

  7:38 p.m.

  In order to avoid the bedlam in the hotel lobby, Brynn and Rye had used a side exit. They’d had to wait only a few minutes until the car he’d called for arrived, but they were prevented from moving as fast as they wished because of heavy traffic on the freeway. At times their speed was reduced to a crawl.

  Rye had been right: It was mandatory that Brynn get to Violet before either Nate or the Hunts stopped her. The snail’s pace contributed to her stress.

  After a lengthy silence, Rye startled her by asking, “What about nurses? Staff? You show up on Thanksgiving night, won’t that arouse suspicion?” Apparently, he’d been thinking about possible obstacles she might face.

  “This facility is like a hotel. There’s an attendant on each floor with basic nursing training. They can replace IV bags, take and record vitals, but they’re there largely to notify the patient’s doctor or emergency staff of any drastic change in a patient’s condition.”

  “You have her parents’ permission to use the drug on her, even though she’ll be the first patient it’s been tried on? You’ve discussed it with them?”

  “You ask that now?”

  “Well?”

  “Of course I’ve discussed it with them. None of the stem cell donor registries have found a suitable match for her. Not even her family members came close enough. Her parents see this drug as a lifesaver. They were involved in the application process for the exemption.”