Cold Quarry (20 page)

“I-I,” she stammered, taking a short step back to the safety of the doorway and perhaps meaning to throw the room into darkness again. At least the dogs had calmed down a tad at the warm glow of the lights and the sight of the woman. They still barked, but the change in scenery seemed to have broken their panic and reduced the volume.

“It’s okay, Ms. Grayson.” I lowered my handgun to my side. “It’s Frank Pavlicek.”

“Yes, I-I saw you again yesterday … at the bombing.”

“We came by hoping to talk to Dr. Winston about a recent patient, but no one answered the door at the house. We heard the dogs making a racket here in the clinic and thought we’d check out the building—found a door broken into on the side of the building.”

“I see,” she said, although her look said she wasn’t quite sure whether to believe me. She was looking at me, but she kept glancing at Toronto. She moved to the pens and began reaching out a hand to stroke the head of a German sheperd. “It’s okay, babies. Nothing to worry about.” Tails began to wag and the occasional bark turned into drooling pants with smiles.

“You here after another story?” I asked.

“No, I’m not, actually.” After calming the animals, she turned back toward us. “I volunteer here a couple of times a week. One of the nurses is a friend of mine. She had to go out of town for the weekend so I guess she gave my phone number as backup for the alarm company to call in case they couldn’t reach Dr. Winston. I saw your truck and heard the barking.”

“Brave girl. Why not just call the cops?”

“Kids are always breaking in here because it’s on a major road. Maybe it gives them some kind of a thrill, I don’t know. I just figured it was another false alarm.”

“Did you try calling Dr. Winston?”

“Sure. I tried both the office and the bouse. I got the office voice mail and there was no answer at the house. So I decided I better drive on over here to make sure everything was all right.”

“I take it you have a key to the front door?” I asked.

“Of course.” She seemed to have relaxed a little.

I stepped over to her and she showed it to me. She still had the key ring in her hand. The shepherd and another dog, a black-and-white husky, let out fearful barks.

“Shhh, babies, that’s okay, now, shhhh,” she said, reaching in again to pat the shepherd.

“That Winston’s Range Rover out back in the driveway?”

“Yes.”

“He own any other vehicles?”

“No, not that I know of. You don’t—you don’t think there’s something wrong, do you?”

I glanced over at Toronto, who returned my look.

Her eyes narrowed. “Just what is it you and your friend wanted to talk to Dr. Winston about?”

I was about to answer when a loud bang like a falling pan reverberated from the darkness of the hallway that led toward the set of examining rooms and offices where we’d seen the dim light.

“Get down,” Toronto shouted.

The first shots struck the back wall. Then bullets hit the floor and began to scatter through the cages. One of the dogs yelped, throwing the others into a renewed panic. They were large-caliber rounds; the
tat-tat-tat
bursts of fire from the front of the clinic suggested an AK-47.

I reached out and grabbed Kara Grayson by the sleeve of her coat, pulling her down hard and toward me as we lunged behind a barrel of what looked like kitty Utter on the floor. A bullet slammed into the side of the barrel next to my head. Using the container and my body to shield Grayson as best I could, I twisted the muzzle of my weapon around and fired toward the sound. Toronto had long since dropped into a prone position and returned a flurry of fire at our assailant.

But just as quickly as it had begun the hail of shooting stopped. A couple of seconds later, we heard the glass of the front door of the clinic shattering.

“Runner,” I said.

“I’m on him. Sweep the rest of the building.” Toronto was already up and moving across the room. The sound of his running footsteps faded as he disappeared down the darkened hall.

“You okay?” I asked the reporter.

She nodded slowly, her eyes blank with terror. I helped her into a sitting position and looked her over. No wounds, as far as I could see. I reached for the cell phone in my jacket pocket and could’ve kicked myself—I’d left it on the seat in the truck.

“Do you have a cell phone?”

“What?” She was still trying to process what had happened.

“A cell phone. Do you have a cell phone with you?”

“Yes.” Her voice was flat. “In my purse.”

For the first time I noticed the small black night purse clutched between her fingers. She fumbled with the clasp, managed to undo it, and pulled out one of those folding cell phones and handed it over. I flipped it open, punched in 911, and spoke with the dispatcher, giving her my name and our location.

The dogs were still barking. A painful whimper sounded from one of the cages. It was the German shepherd. Kara Grayson rushed to its pen, undid the latch, and went to the animal’s side. The big dog lay on its side in a growing puddle of blood, its breathing labored, its huge chocolate eyes searching ours for answers.

Grayson applied pressure to the creature’s wound to stop the bleeding.

“Can you look in that gray utility closet over there?” she asked, pointing toward the corner with her free hand. “I think that’s where the bandages are kept and I could use some gauze.”

It was good she could concentrate on helping the wounded animal. Her momentary disorientation after all the shooting had passed and focusing on the dog would help dull the sting of the news I was afraid she was about to hear.

I stepped over to the cabinet, pulled open the door, and found what she wanted.

Toronto reappeared in the doorway. “Lost him. He went into the woods in back. Might’ve been able to start tracking, but I heard sirens and figured I better give it up for now.”

“So you decided to stick around this time?”

“Figured it’d be hard to explain the slugs from my gun being in the wall and all my fingerprints if I don’t.”

“Just one shooter?”

“Far as I could tell.”

“You get much of a look at him?”

“Fast. Looked like he was wearing some sort of dark outfit.”

“All right,” I said, handing him the cell phone. This was shaping up to be a repeat of the day before with Farraday. “You stay here with the woman and keep the line open with the dispatcher.” I pushed the phone into his hand. “I’m going to have a look around.”

“But what about Dr. Winston?” Grayson asked. Her face was scratched from where I’d pulled her down so roughly on the concrete floor.

“I’m hoping he’s okay.” But even as I mouthed the words I felt an icy knot twist in the pit of my stomach. I knew I was lying. I knew what I or the police would probably find, either here in the vet’s office or somewhere back in the house.

The German shepherd would live, but Dr. Gregory Winston, MRCVS, hadn’t been so lucky. I discovered the young veterinarian slumped over the desk in his office at the end of the hall, a large ragged bullet hole through the right posterior quadrant of his head, suggestive of a weapon fired at close range. There were contusions and cuts on one of his arms as well as marks on his wrists from having been bound, and his bloodstained mock turtleneck was torn at the sleeve. The man had not gone down without a fight.

What’s more, the room was torn apart. A large tiling cabinet drawer had been overturned on the bloodstained carpet in front of the doctor’s desk. Charts and notes and other miscellaneous pieces of paper littered the carpet, a small table and lamp were overturned, and most of the desk drawers had been opened, their contents thrown to the floor as well. The perp had been looking for something and apparently had found it. A priority mail bag, its contents gone and the shipping label missing, lay cut open next to the vet’s outstretched hand.

Those test results from Elo? Did they confirm what I’d learned from Chester’s note, possibly corroborate the massive presence of ammonium nitrate and fuel oil ingredients? As Winston had said, it wouldn’t take much for a falcon’s sensitive olfactory system to react to the strong chemicals, if they were present somewhere in sufficient quantities.

I wasn’t going to get the chance to speculate any further, however, or try to search for more evidence in the room, because you could feel the shattered glass on the floor of the office vibrate a little as the whoop-whoop of the police sirens closed in on the parking lot outside.

Back in the dog’s pen, I was just bringing some more gauze over to Kara Grayson when two county sheriff’s deputies, their weapons drawn, stepped into the room.

“Freeze! Drop the weapon!”

I realized I was still carrying my gun in my other hand. I raised the hand with the gauze in the air and slowly bent down and placed my revolver on the concrete. “It’s all right, Officers. I’m a PI. Frank Pavlicek—the one who called.”

“He’s okay,” Kara Grayson said. “These two gentlemen saved my life. But I’ve got a seriously wounded animal here.”

“Yeah?” The deputy who spoke was the older of the two and clearly in command. He had red hair and a bushy brown mustache. He looked at my face. “Jesus. You’re the same guy who was up there with that truck bombing yesterday, the same one who claims he got slugged with the shotgun the other day.” He shook his head. “Must be trying to set some kind of world record.”

Toronto turned slowly to face the deputies, which only caused their stances to stiffen. His big Beretta was now tucked into his waistband.

“Please take the weapon out and place it on the ground, sir, just like your friend.”

“Not a problem,” Toronto said. He did as they’d instructed.

More sirens arrived outside.

“You’ll find that both weapons have been discharged,” I said. “We were defending ourselves. May I take this gauze to Ms. Grayson here for the dog?”

“Go ahead,” the redheaded cop said. He nodded to his partner and they both lowered their weapons. He turned and spoke into the microphone strapped to his shoulder. “Dispatch, this is eight. We’ve got an animal down here at the clinic. Looks like there’s been some shooting but the situation is now stable.”

“Roger, eight. All units stand down, except four and eleven. Eight, be advised I also have Nitro rolling.”

“Copy that.”

I ripped open the package of gauze, stepped into the pen and gave her the bandage.

“Thank you,” Kara Grayson said.

Her coat and hands were covered with blood, but she didn’t seem to care. She quickly switched hands and used the new compress to apply pressure.

More deputies were entering the building—you could hear the sound of them moving toward us with their gear.

“Anyone else in the building?” the deputy asked.

I exchanged looks with Toronto. Kara, still bent over the dog, looked up at me as well. She seemed to hold her breath.

“The doc’s in the other room.” I squatted down to make eye contact with Kara. “I’m sorry,” I said. Her hand went to her mouth in horror.

I stood and faced the two cops. “He’s in the office,” I said. “You’ll want to make sure you secure the scene. No need to rush.”

22

Deputy Bobby Nolestar leaned against the clinic waiting-room door and exhaled a line of smoke through his nostrils. He went to an empty Coke can someone had deposited in the corner and snuffed out his cigarette.

“I don’t quite get all this,” he said. “You guys in the habit of entering someone else’s private property with your guns drawn? You’ve got yourselves an assault, a car bombing, and now a firefight.”

“Don’t forget two more murders,” I said.

He shook his head in disgust.

“You got people checking the woods for the shooter?” Toronto asked.

“We’re searching … nothing so far.”

“Not even any footprints?”

“Look, I’ve had it with being polite. We’re talking about obstruction or something here. I ought to cuff you both right now.”

“Where’s Grooms?” I asked.

He stared at me. “Oh, don’t worry, I’m sure he’ll be here directly. Had to go back up to the regional office in Pittsburgh this morning for some kind of meeting with the FBI.”

That explained why he hadn’t been hounding me.

“Something’s about to go down.”

“No shit, Sherlock. What you think we’ve all been doing around here, picking our noses?”

“What I mean is, something’s about to happen, and it may not be what you all are thinking it’s going to be.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means Chester Carew wasn’t killed because he knew about the Rangers’ plans.”

“What?” Nolestar looked at Toronto then at the floor, thinking it over. He had already taken statements from Toronto and me and confiscated our weapons. A shift commander had also shown up and helped take charge of the crime scene. A couple of technicians had arrived shortly thereafter, and by now had been in and out of the doctor’s office a few times. A female sergeant had also arrived and seen to it that Kara Grayson and the German shepherd were taken care of. The sergeant had been on the phone with an emergency animal hospital elsewhere in the city and two officers had taken both Kara Grayson and the dog off in their squad car.

It was late and I was suddenly bone tired—the adrenaline had long since ceased to flow. “I’m telling you, deputy. …” I tried to keep my tone neutral.

“You let me worry about what’s going to happen or not happen, Pavlicek. Tell me again what the two of you were doing here.”

“As I told you before, we were looking for Dr. Winston. We heard the dogs barking and after we’d left the note at the house we went to check it out. Found the door and it had obviously been jimmied. That’s when I sent Jake for the guns.”

Nolestar shook his head and rubbed his eyes. He subconsciously patted his jacket pocket. He looked like he wanted another cigarette. “You guys are just wonderful,” he said to himself. “Just what I need here. Cool Hand Luke and his sidekick Arnold Schwarzenegger.

“Okay,” he continued. “Let’s say everything you’ve been telling me today is the truth. You and your pal here still haven’t explained to me why the weapon he just so happened to be carrying wasn’t registered. We could get you both on a weapons charge right there.”