Critical Judgment (1996) (50 page)

Thanks to Graham DeShield, she had Ezra Black’s number at Feather Ridge. Now, all she needed was a phone that wasn’t tapped and a car. Then, suddenly, she thought about Alvarez’s truck. She always kept a spare set of keys to the Mazda in a kitchen drawer. If there were keys for the truck somewhere in the house, she had both the transportation and the phone.

After a brief search of the den and a more extensive search of the kitchen, she gave up. Then it occurred to her that although she couldn’t
start
the truck, she could certainly bludgeon her way inside it. And inside it were two things she needed very much at this point—the cellular phone and the rifle that had been fired at her.

She raced upstairs and grabbed the hammer she had used to break into the locked room. Then she put her rain slicker on black side out, cautiously left the house, and jogged painfully toward the barn. She had just reached the side door when she sensed someone nearby.

“Freeze! Right there! Drop the hammer!” the hoarse, almost inhuman voice barked out.

Abby did as she was told and turned slowly. Bracing himself against the corner of the barn, the muzzle of his gun pointed shakily at the center of her chest, was Josh.

T
hrough the fine rain, illuminated from the side by the back-door light, Josh was an apparition. Abby recoiled a step from the man with whom she had shared her life and her bed for two years. This was not the fire-eyed demon of her nightmare—far from it. Josh’s face was drawn and ashen, his eyes little more than black hollows in his skull. His speech was strained and halting. The gun he was pointing at her—some kind of military weapon—seemed too heavy for him. The barrel would shake, then drift. Then he would regain control and fix it once again at the center of her chest.

“Josh, I … I’ve been really worried about you.”

“I can take care of myself.”

He was no more than ten feet away. Abby strained to get a sense of his anger—of the danger she was in.

“Why are you pointing that at me?” she said finally. “Did you come here to kill me?”

“Yes … no … I mean, I don’t know.”

She spoke slowly, evenly, wary of saying anything that might set him off.

“Did you find Bricker and the others?”

“Yes.”

“And did you … ?”

She held her breath.

“Kill them? I should have.… They were right there.… Bricker and Gentry.… Both of them … I should have blown them to hell.”

Abby felt a flood of relief.

“But you didn’t?”

“No. I … I shot up the ceiling of the garage and some cars, and then took off.… Abby, why didn’t you just let me
do
it? … Bricker deserved to die.… He stole my life.”

Abby took a tentative step toward him. Seeing him this way, she felt a consuming sorrow—and an unbridled fury at Lew Alvarez.

“You did the right thing, Josh.”

Once again the muzzle of the gun sagged toward the ground. This time Josh made no effort to pull it back up. Abby turned her flashlight on, handed it to him, and motioned to the barn door.

“Come in where it’s dry so we can talk,” she said. “I’ve been worried sick about you.”

He hesitated, then followed her inside. His clothes—sneakers, jeans, and a dark sweatshirt—were soaked through. Abby could appreciate now that he had the frightened, bewildered, wild-eyed look she had seen any number of times in patients who were dying. He stood five feet away from her, braced against the wall, holding the gun now with both hands. It was almost impossible to connect him with the loose, graceful man she had watched holding his own in playground basketball games with youths half his age.

“You should have let me kill them,” he said again.

“I’m glad you didn’t. How did you find me here?”

He squinted at her, then released the gun with one hand and rubbed at his eyes. Abby sensed she could have simply reached out and taken the weapon from him. Instead, she stood her ground and waited.

“I drove past the house.… The police are there.… Two cruisers. They’re looking for me.”

“Maybe so, but they’re also looking for
me
. And if they catch me, they may kill me. How did you know about
this
place? Have you been here before?”

“Once.… Where’s Alvarez?”

“Josh, why don’t you sit down before you fall down?”

“Shut up! … Where’s Alvarez?”

“At the hospital.”

“Everything would have been all right … if you had just let me kill Bricker.”

“Killing someone wouldn’t have made anything all right. Josh, you’re sick. You’ve been poisoned—with cadmium. You need help. You need treatment.”

“Are you two lovers?”

“Josh—”

“Are you?”

“No.”

“You are! I can tell.”

“Will you please put that gun down? Josh, we’ve got to get you to a hospital.”

Josh rubbed at his eyes again and stumbled back a step. This time, when Abby gently implored him to sit down, he did so. The semiautomatic was awkwardly heavy for her. She set it aside, then knelt beside him and supported him with her arm around his shoulders. She could smell alcohol on his breath and clothes.

“Are the headaches bad?” she asked.

Josh buried his face in his hands, then pressed in at his temples.

“I can’t take them anymore.… If I had killed Bricker and Gentry, they … would be gone.… Why did you stop me?”

“I didn’t want you to kill, that’s why. Josh, where’s the Jeep?”

“In the woods … a mile from here.… It’s out of gas.”

Abby cursed under her breath. There was probably a filled gasoline can somewhere around the barn or in one
of the sheds. But no doubt the Jeep was a police target as well. Whether they ended up trying for San Francisco or Feather Ridge, their best bet was clearly the truck. But with no key, that meant dealing with Alvarez.

Perhaps that’s the way it should be
, she thought.

She looked down at Josh and wondered how much he could be counted on. With surprise and Alvarez’s rifle or Josh’s gun on her side, it was just possible she wouldn’t need him.

She found a coil of clothesline hanging on the wall and some duct tape on a shelf. She set them both beside the truck. Then she stripped off the tarp, smashed in the driver’s-side window with the hammer, and used the ski mask to sweep the fragments of glass onto the hay-strewn floor. Across from her, Josh was now slumped against the wall, asleep or unconscious.

Abby hefted the high-powered rifle, then pulled open the magazine, loaded it with three rounds, and used the bolt to thrust one bullet into the firing chamber. As a kid, she had done a little riflery in summer camp—strictly twenty-twos. But since then, the only time she had ever pulled the trigger of a gun was in amusement parks. She opened the barn door and peered through the telescopic sight at the rooster weather vane mounted on the roof of the house. The metal head of the bird, a dark shadow against the lighter sky, filled the scope. The O in Stanford—that’s what Gould had said the sniper could have hit had he wanted to. Now she understood. She took a step through the door to shield Josh from the noise. Then she braced herself, set the crosshairs on where it seemed the rooster’s eye might be, and fired. The recoil was like a heavyweight punch to her shoulder, but she was balanced for it. Almost on top of the sharp report from the rifle, there was a muted clang. The vane spun like a pinwheel.

Piece of cake
.

Abby stepped back inside the barn. Josh stared at her briefly with exhausted eyes, then slumped back against
the wall. Abby set a new shell in the chamber and laid the rifle down by the rope. Then she fished out her wallet from the pocket of her slicker, found the slip with Ezra Black’s number on it, and called. She wondered if, at this hour, Black would answer his own phone.

“Feather Ridge,” a cultured voice said.

Abby pictured the skeletal houseman.

“This is Dr. Abby Dolan. I’d like to speak with Mr. Black.”

“Is this an emergency?”

“It is.”

“One moment, please.”

In fact, it was almost a minute before Black came on the line. There was no hint in his voice that he had been sleeping. And Abby sensed from his first words that he was well aware she had penetrated the lab.

“So, Doctor, did you abuse your degree with the operator again, or do I have to get this number changed?”

“You can keep it.”

“Might I ask how you came by it?”

“We have more important things to talk about, Mr. Black.”

“Such as?”

“I’m in some trouble here in Patience.”

“So I’ve been told. Attempted murder is a very serious charge.”

“Kelly Franklin and I were on the same side. We both wanted to get at the truth. There’s no way I would have hurt her. It was Lyle Quinn who tried to kill her.”

The momentary silence that followed was telltale. Black didn’t know! Quinn might or might not have told him about Abby’s finding the lab but had not been honest about Kelly.

“And just who tried to kill Mr. Quinn?” he asked.

This time the silent pause was Abby’s.

“A man who was trying to save my life. What’s Quinn’s status?”

“His assistant told me that his knee has been shattered
by an arrow from a high-powered bow. He’s going to require surgery.”

In spite of her situation and her sensibilities, Abby smiled at the news.

“He tried to kill Kelly Franklin. And I’m certain his men are out looking to kill me right now.”

“Is that what you called to say?”

“No. I need you to call off Captain Gould and the rest of the people who are after me.”

“If you’re wanted by the police, Dr. Dolan, I would suggest the prudent thing to do would be to give yourself up.”

“I don’t feel safe doing that. Mr. Black, you impressed me as being tough, but not the sort of man who would allow his employees to go out and murder people.”

“I’m not.”

“In that case I don’t think Lyle Quinn has told you everything. I’m calling now because I have a trade to offer.”

“Go on.”

“Sir, I spoke to you yesterday about my belief that your son was inadvertently poisoned with cadmium by some sort of accident at the plant.”

“And I told you what I thought of your theory.”

“And you were right. I know now that there was nothing inadvertent about it, and that it wasn’t Colstar’s fault. Ethan was
intentionally
poisoned. I have absolute proof of how, who, and why. Mr. Black, your son was no more responsible for assaulting that farmer with a baseball bat than he was for jumping out that window.”

Abby could feel Black dissecting her revelation about the farmer. It didn’t take him long.

“Dr. DeShield will feel the sting of abusing his relationship with me,” he said. “And I
will
have this number changed.”

“Mr. Black, we’re talking about your son and his murderer.”

“And exactly what is it you want from me in exchange for your information?”

“I want the dogs who are chasing me called off. I want something done about the laboratory in the old Patience mine. And I want justice for Lyle Quinn for whatever happens to Kelly Franklin.”

This time the silence was prolonged.

“Have you anything else to say to me?” Black asked finally.

Abby felt her hopes sink. She had clearly read the man wrong.

“No,” she said. “That’s it.”

“Well, first of all, if the police have a warrant out for your arrest, it would behoove you to turn yourself in before you get hurt. Second, I know nothing about any laboratory in a mine. And as far as Mr. Quinn goes, his situation is no different from your own. If he’s charged with a crime, he will have to answer for it. In the meantime, as far as I know, he is not. I’m his employer, not his judge, jury, or executioner.”

“Good-bye, Mr. Black.”

“If what you’re saying about my son is true, Doctor, I promise you that one way or the other I’ll find out.”

The thinly veiled threat was chilling, but Abby’s frustration and anger quickly overrode any fear.

“Not before a lot of people find out about Mark Corman and that underground lab,” she snapped. “Think over my offer. I might call you back later.”

“Do what you wish, Dr. Dolan.”

Abby slammed the phone down on the seat. Black’s final words had left the door slightly ajar for her to call him again. But her friends in San Francisco were a far safer bet. Just then she heard the thumping rotors of a helicopter not far overhead. She raced past Josh and through the door. A good-sized helicopter, landing lights on, was swooping over the valley toward the hospital.
MedFlight!
Assuming they were coming to transport
Kelly to a decompression chamber, Lew would be home before long.

Abby knelt beside Josh and assured herself that his carotid pulses were decent. Then she checked his pupils. They were nearly pinpoint. Almost certainly he had augmented whatever he had been drinking with narcotic painkillers.

“Josh,” she whispered, shaking him gently. “Josh, wake up. I need to talk to you.”

He stirred, then opened his eyes dreamily.

“Leave me alone,” he muttered.

“Josh, listen. It was Dr. Alvarez who did this to you. He poisoned you with the cadmium. He did it when he sewed up your leg. Remember?”

Josh’s sleepy eyes widened.

“Why?”

“He thought Colstar was trying to cover up a cadmium spill by faking lab results. He thought they were succeeding because none of the exposure cases was terribly sick. So he decided to create cases that would be seriously ill enough to indict the company and close it down.”

And of course
, she thought, but didn’t bother to add,
he also created an ally in one Abby Dolan—a sap who would be certain the blood work was sent off to the right place and the battle against Colstar would escalate
.

Josh struggled to his feet.

“Where is he now?”

“He’ll be home soon. But we don’t want to hurt him. The law will do that. With the proof I have, I promise you they will. Understand?”

For the first time Abby felt she saw a spark of life in Josh’s eyes.