by Carolina Mac
TRAVIS AND FARRELL were set up on the next street over from Doctor Kingsley’s residence. The vet lived in a large red brick home on a nice sized lot on a cul-de-sac. He couldn’t go anywhere without exiting his street and then turning either right or left. The dark green unit was parked under a tree in a spot where they couldn’t miss him.
Blaine and Jesse climbed into the camper and greeted the boys. “Anything going on?”
“No, he hasn’t moved,” said Travis. “The only thing we have a tag on, is his vehicle, thanks to Farrell. We need ears in his house in a big way.”
“If he goes out, maybe that will happen,” said Jesse.
“Glad you could join us, boss,” said Travis. “Been a while.” He reached out and shook Jesse’s hand.
“I miss working out of the trailer, and having you boys around hanging with me, more than I miss the actual work,” said Jesse with a smile.
“Lot of fun times at the trailer,” said Farrell. “I miss it too.”
“Ty and Paulie are happy I’m back in the arena. Takes a lot of pressure off them when I finish the horses for the buyers.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Wednesday, December 13th.
BREAKFAST WAS a sad affair for Blaine. Mrs. Flores insisted on cooking for them before she left for the train, and it was a wasted effort. Neither of them ate much.
Blaine loaded her luggage into his truck while she had a last look around the house where she’d raised her daughter. Her eyes brimmed with tears as she gave Lexi one last pat on the head before she went out the door.
Carm was silent as they rode to the train station. At her age, relocation and a major change in her day to day life was going to be a struggle.
At the station, he purchased the ticket, checked her luggage with a porter and stayed until she was seated in the train. She smiled, but it wasn’t a happy smile.
Tears burned behind Blaine’s eyes and at that moment, he didn’t want her to go.
“Adios,” he said, and booked it off the train.
JESSE CAME in from the barn and checked on Charity. She was sleeping peacefully in her stroller parked in the hallway outside the kitchen door. Molly could see the baby clearly from where she stood at the stove.
Jesse poured himself a coffee and joined his brothers in the dining room for breakfast.
“So nice having you at the barn for chores in the morning,” said Paul. “I feel like my world has gone back to normal.”
“Can’t tell you how much better I’ve been feeling physically,” said Jesse, “It’s like starting over for me with a huge load off my back.”
Brian set the Austin Statesman aside and chirped in his two-cent’s worth. “From a medical standpoint, coming home from Coulter-Ross probably saved your brother’s life, Paulie.”
“I’ll drink to that.” Ty tipped up his glass of orange juice and downed it.
“Your face is a little more mellow today,” said Brian. “How’s the soreness?”
“Not so mellow,” mumbled Ty. “Should have known Annie would be trouble. She’s always been trouble with a capital ‘T.”
Charity whimpered in the hall and two cowboys were on their feet. “Eat your breakfast, Jesse,” said Tyler. “I’m finished, and I’ve got her.”
“Anything turn up from the surveillance last night?” asked Brian. “I saw the sketch of your suspect on the front page of Sunday’s paper.” Brian thought for a moment and then asked, “Is there a witness that y’all are protecting?”
“Not really an eye-witness,” said Jesse, “but more of a psychic impression, I guess you could call it.”
“What the hell is that?” Paul reached for another hot biscuit, broke it open and slathered it in butter first, then a thick layer of peach jam.”
“Blacky’s neighbor, Misty, is a psychic and she offered to help.”
“Why would Blacky go for something like that?” asked Bobby, who’d been silent up to that point. “He’s all about behavioral science and criminology.”
“His new girlfriend,” said Jesse. “Guess he didn’t want to hurt her feelings.”
“But it turned out to be a solid lead?” asked Bob. “The sketch matched a real person?”
“Looks that way. We’re hoping to get enough evidence to arrest him and make the charges stick.”
BLAINE DROVE FROM the train station on Lamar directly to police headquarters, only pausing long enough for a Starbuck’s drive-through. Strong coffee was what he needed. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d never see Carm Flores again, and the sense of loss seemed to combine with his repressed grief over Fabiana. Depression over his estrangement from Annie was the icing on the cake—the cake of doom.
“What the hell is wrong with you, Blacky?” Lopez looked up from the pile of murder books and clutter on his disorganized desk and zeroed in on Blaine’s mood.
“Had to say goodbye to somebody and I wasn’t ready.” He moved a stack of folders and set the tray of containers on the corner of the desk. “Brought you a coffee, Detective Nielsen.”
“You are God’s gift to homicide, Blacky.” Nielsen grinned and reached across his desk. The space was so tight for two desks, Nielsen was wedged in close to the wall.
“You here with good news or bad news?” asked Lopez, “Your face says it couldn’t be fuckin worse.”
Blaine tried to smile but failed miserably. “An update. Jesse made the connection for us. He said to check the vets that the victims used, and this morning I confirmed with the husbands that they all used Doctor Kingsley.”
“Does he look like the sketch?”
Blaine nodded. “I checked out his web page and there’s a picture of him on there with a dog and a cat. It’s him.”
“Why haven’t you brought him in?” asked Nielsen.
“No evidence. Only circumstantial so far. The three girls took their dogs to his clinic for treatment—along with a couple hundred other people. The court won’t accept the identification based on Misty’s impression alone. We need more.”
“Maybe we could get something during an interrogation,” said Lopez, “but only if he doesn’t lawyer up.”
“Let’s bring him in,” said Nielsen. “It will make the Loot happy if we have a suspect.
“Yeah, him and the media,” said Lopez. Those vultures are waiting to pounce on anything.”
“One big problem I see with bringing him in,” said Blaine. “We brace him, have nothing to hold him on but suspicion, and then we have to let him go. He’s pissed when he leaves here, but knows we have nothing. That boosts his ego to a higher level. He congratulates himself and all we’ve done is given him a green light. Bingo—victim number four.”
“Fuck,” said Lopez. “Bad to worse.”
“We have to make a move,” said Nielsen. “I vote to take our chances. Bring him in and sweat him.”
“I’m not arguing with your logic, Blacky, and we don’t want another victim, that’s for damn sure, but we’re under a huge amount of pressure from above. We need a suspect.”
Blaine shrugged. “If you guys are sure that’s the way you want to go, I’ll have Travis and Farrell pick him up when he leaves his building for the day. That way he won’t be able to sue me for embarrassing him in front of his customers.”
Lopez grinned, then had another thought. “We got the okay from the hospital to pick up Ogilvie. We’re transporting him today.”
“Good. Annie won’t be able to visit him anymore.”
“Hope you enjoy having him around.” Blaine drained his coffee and got to his feet.
“He’ll be in the infirmary,” said Lopez. “We won’t have to look at the big tattooed bastard.” He held his Starbuck’s container up in a salute as Blaine left.
On his way to the exit, Ben Charles, a crack online investigator, stopped him in the hall. “Hey, Blacky, thanks for the email on Schofield. What a gift that was.” He reached out and shook Blaine’s hand. “His list of customers alone was a freaking gold mine.” He smiled. “Not
asking how deep you had to go into cyber darkness to get that. You have skills, man.”
“A couple.” Blaine grinned. “Have you arrested him?”
“Oh, yeah. He’s out on bail, but he’s toast. I guarantee it.”
“Another guy that hates me,” said Blaine. “Love it.”
RACE LOWERED HIMSELF into the wheelchair, the cuff dangling from its mate attached to his left wrist and clanking against the arm of the chair. The pretty brunette nurse pushed him to the elevator with a cop keeping pace on either side of her, chatting her up and trying to make points. Neither one of the assholes was as good looking as he was. She should have been smiling at him.
I never look at other women. Why the hell would I?
Outside, the Austin PD squad car was parked at the curb in the pickup loop. The December day was cloudy and cold. Race didn’t have a jacket, and no one gave a flying fuck if he froze to death or not. They treated him like an animal.
One officer opened the back door and stood guard. Race struggled to stand and before he had his balance on his good leg, the other asshole pushed him into the squad. “Ow, don’t touch me fucker. Watch my leg.”
“Shut up, Ogilvie.” He slammed the back door and climbed into the passenger seat. In his hurry to get going, he didn’t bother to cuff Race’s hands together.
The radio blasted out police calls and static all the way north on route seventy-seven. Race had tossed it around in his mind for the past few days and didn’t see a way out of the spot he was in, unless he had help—and he didn’t fuckin have any. In the old days, when he was king of The Rule, his club would have had him out of this stinking squad car by now.
They slowed for a bit of construction, then picked up speed again. Race leaned back and closed his eyes and it startled him awake when the fat cop in the passenger seat hollered, “Look out.”
Race didn’t see a damn thing, but he felt the car swerve, then the impact when they hit whatever it was they tried to miss. Next thing he knew—they rolled. He hit his head on the roof on the first rotation down the embankment, then the back door ripped off with a high-pitched keening sound and he was propelled through the air. His right arm hit a tree as he was thrown clear. Bark ripped layers of skin off his arm slick as a skinning knife and he felt blood rushing to the surface. A loud groan escaped from his throat as he hit the ground hard and lay winded in a pile of pine needles. He waited for his vision to clear. Dizziness swirled in his head. He leaned to his right and puked into the dead leaves beside him. Seconds later he heard the crash when the cruiser came to a dead stop at the bottom of the hill.
Got to get going.
Using the trunk of the tree beside him, he pulled himself to his feet. Not used to holding his weight, his wounded leg buckled under him. “Fuck, it’s better, but not good enough yet.” Ignoring his blood-soaked arm, and the screaming pain in his leg, he scrambled through the woods as fast as he could go, using a one-arm and one-leg kind of crabwalk. Without a clue which direction or where in hell he was going, one thought filled his brain—get as far away from the accident as possible.
Race pushed himself until he couldn’t take another step. Thirsty and exhausted, he came out of the trees and looked around trying to get his bearings. Rows of mobile homes. A lot of single units and a few double-wides. A trailer park. Okay, that had possibilities. He’d hunker down in the woods, wait until dark and find somewhere to hole up.
BLAINE WAS HEADED back to the office when he got the call from Sheriff Cumberland, the guardian of Lee County. “Hey, Sheriff, my Mom in your jail again?”
“Wish that was it, Blacky, but no. Something worse.”
“My day is already shit. Lay it on me.”
“Four longhorns broke out of Evan Reese’s field and charged into a passing vehicle. The vehicle rolled into a ravine and two of Austin’s finest are in the hospital.”
“Jumping Jesus, don’t fuckin tell me they were transporting Ogilvie.”
“Yep, that’s what I’m telling you alright.”
“Was he killed in the crash? Could I be that fuckin lucky?”
“No, y’all are not that lucky. He’s gone and I’m organizing a search team. Want in on it?”
“Sure do. I’ll bring the dogs. Give me directions.”
He phoned Coulter-Ross and got Farrell out of bed. “Hey, bro, I know it’s not time for you to get up yet, but Austin PD lost Race on the transfer from Fayette Memorial.”
Farrell sounded groggy. “How could that fuckin happen?”
“Longhorns. I’ll fill you in when you get there.”
“Where’s there?”
“Cumberland was kind of sketchy, but from what I could gather, south of Laguna Palms on route seventy-seven.”
“Okay, got it.”
“Bring the dogs and wake Travis up.”
“Roger, boss. I’m up. Heading for the shower.”
Next call: “Lopez, more bad news.”
“You are having a shit day, Blacky. What now?”
“Your transfer vehicle was involved in an accident and they lost the prisoner.”
“You’re fuckin kidding me.”
“I’m heading down there now to help with the search. Farrell is bringing the dogs.”
“I’ll see if we can spare any bodies.”
“Uh huh. Something else you can do, pick up Kingsley when he closes up for the day. Travis was assigned to do it, but he’s going to be busy with Bluebelle.”
“I’ll make a note of it.”
“And check Kingsley’s whereabouts for the three murders. If one of his alibis is weak, that will give us a starting point.”
“I’ll start Nielsen on that.”
Next call—Annie: “Mom, a word of warning.”
“What honey?”
He went through the story again and heard Annie gasp. “Alert Jose and whoever is on the gate. I don’t think Race will risk coming to Coulter-Ross. He knows the cops will look for him there, but be careful.”
“Will you let me know if you find him?”
“As soon as he’s back in custody, I’ll let you know.”
“Thanks for calling, sweetheart. I love you.”
THE TOWTRUCK DRIVER was hooking onto the squad car when Travis and Farrell arrived at the crash site with the dogs. He was a tall guy with short brown hair dressed in dark blue coveralls. The name on his pocket said Abe.
“Hey, Abe, can I let the dogs get the prisoner’s scent from the back seat of the squad before you take it?” asked Farrell. “Would help them out a lot.”
“Yeah, have at it. I’ll have a smoke until y’all are done. Not looking forward to getting it out of this hole anyway.” He frowned as he cast a gaze up the steep embankment. “I’ve had better call-outs.” He stood to the side and watched Farrell talk to Red.
When Farrell was done, Travis let Bluebelle into the car. He stood beside Farrell and asked in a whisper. “Do we get to shoot Ogilvie on sight?”
Farrell fingered the bandage on his throat. “Don’t see why not. He’s an escaped murderer. Be my pleasure.”
“Maybe the boss will want to do him,” said Travis. “He hates the fucker, but not more than me.”
“You’ve got the right, partner. I’ll leave him for you.”
“Long as we’ve got it straight,” said Travis. “Thanks.”
“The dogs are anxious,” said Farrell, “Let’s get started.”
From the crash site, the dogs headed deeper into the woods. With their sensitive noses to the ground, they both followed a trail that stayed a long way back from the highway.
“He’s not going near the road,” said Travis.
Red stopped at one point and sat down. Farrell patted his head and gave him a biscuit. He had to search hard to see what Red was telling him, but then he found it. “Blood here on the ground, partner. Maybe his leg has opened up.”
“How much blood?”
“Not a lot. A smear.”
“He could have been hurt in the crash too,” sai
d Travis. “Sheriff Cumberland said the cops were banged up real good. Both of them have broken bones.”
“True enough,” said Farrell, “I didn’t think of it until now, but he could have new injuries and be hurt as bad as the cops in the front seat.”
“All the better,” said Travis. “Slow the bastard down a little so we can catch him.”
BLAINE CAUGHT up with Sheriff Cumberland on the shoulder of route seventy-seven. The tow-truck driver had finally succeeded in getting the wrecked cruiser to the top of the hill.
“Hey, Rafe, nice to see you again so soon.” Blaine shook hands with the sheriff.
The Sheriff was a large man, about two hundred and fifty pounds, ruddy complexion and red hair turning to gray. He’d been the under-sheriff when Jesse had been sheriff of Lee county for a short time, and they’d all worked together on several cases in the past.
“Any point in me looking at the crash site?” asked Blaine. “I’m sure your people have gone over it with a fine-toothed comb.”
“Nothing down there, and I think your boy didn’t hang around long enough to leave any clues. I was down there when the boys took off with the dogs and they went deep into the bush.” He pointed. “To my way of thinking, they’ll be fixing to come out behind Laguna Palms.”
“Shit,” said Blaine. “If that’s where Ogilvie is coming out, we’ll have to do a DTD and warn every one of the fuckers in that park.”
“Already got two deputies doing just that. Don’t want any ugly surprises kicking me in the ass.” He grinned.
“When Race Ogilvie is involved,” said Blaine, “things can turn ugly fast—too fuckin fast.”
The sheriff gave Blaine a hard stare. “Heard through the grapevine that Ogilvie was aiming for you when he took the DEA fella out by mistake. That true?”
“Yep. True enough. Still feel bad about Enright. Jesse and I had just hired him on.”
MISTY WAS STIRRING a big pot of marinara sauce—her mother’s special recipe—thinking that when Blaine came home, they’d stay in instead of going out for dinner. Sometimes after a day of three or more readings, exhaustion took over her body and mind.
