Devil Smoke (29 page)

“It’s hot,” Sarah muttered, trying and failing to push his hands away.

“That’s the medicine. It’s going to help stop the bleeding.”

Lucy took over holding pressure on the wound, and Tommy turned his attention to Sarah’s chest. This wound did have an exit, leaving blood puddling on the floor beneath her. No signs of a tension pneumo; her breathing was steady, only slightly labored. He used Lucy’s chest seal to prevent air from being trapped inside the lung cavity.

The door crashed open. Burroughs, accompanied by a uniformed cop, barreled inside.

“We’re clear!” Lucy shouted as they came around the foyer wall, weapons sighted. “Send in the medics.”

Burroughs nodded at the cop, who left to get them.

“What the hell happened here?” Burroughs asked.

“Nellie.” Tommy craned his neck to look at the detective. “Was she with Sarah’s husband?”

“We got Putnam. Crying like a baby, saying it was all his fault, to let Sarah go. But the girl wasn’t with him.”

Sarah’s laughter filled the room. Her eyes were wide open, staring into space, her mouth twisted in a grimace of hate. She began coughing, choking, her laughter dying. Blood seeping from the corner of her mouth.

“Damn it.” Tommy pressed harder on the wound, ignoring the blood seeping through the dressing. “The gut shot hit her stomach, maybe even penetrated her diaphragm.”

Her eyes rolled back, then her muscles relaxed. He felt for her pulse. There was none.

NOW THAT SHE
was alone, TK decided to change tactics. Instead of taking the time to climb up to the hayloft, where she might have the element of surprise but would lose the advantage of being able to clear the entire structure, she skirted the front of the barn to where the fence started. She’d been prepared to go over the fence, but luckily there was a small gap between the barn’s wall and the first fencepost, enough for her to slide through sideways.

The ground on the other side of the fence was sloppy with mud. There was little grass, not here where it was most easily accessible to the horses. Probably a ton of horse shit as well, but she didn’t think about that. She kept her shotgun at the ready as she sidled around the corner of the barn to the first horse stall.

The door to the paddock stood open. The stall inside was empty and dark. Straw was matted in puddles on the concrete floor nearest the open door, but farther inside it was dry. TK kept the wall to her back, inhaling the odor of wet hay, horse shit, ozone from the storm, and a sweet cedar scent. At the front of the stall was an open railed gate.

There was a horse in the stall across from her. It made a sniffling noise and shuffled its hooves against the concrete floor, arousing similar responses from its neighbors, invisible in the dark. TK listened. No human sounds. Could an amateur like Sarah, already amped on adrenaline and fear, really stay that quiet as she waited for what she had to know would be an ambush?

She silently eased the latch on the stall’s gate open and crept into the hall that ran the length of the barn, between the two walls of stalls. Now that she was away from the rain and fog, her night vision sharpened. What she wouldn’t give for a thermal or infrared sight. Still, every sense told her she was alone except for the horses.

She turned her Maglite on, risking exposure. Nothing. More certain than ever that this was a diversion, she quickly ran the length of the building then back again, ensuring that no one was hiding, waiting to attack.

Finally, she reached the front of the barn. The tack room was the last place to clear, except the hayloft overhead, but given the plank flooring above the rafters, she’d decided that if anyone was hiding up there, they would have exposed themselves with stray bits of straw floating down.

Taking up a position to the side of the tack room’s door, she yanked it open and waited a breath. Nothing. She held the light out and flicked it to slice the pie, covering all angles from floor to ceiling except the blind corner on the same side of the door as she stood. Then she moved into the room, flat against the opposite wall, and scanned that blind spot.

Nothing. Just tools, hanging bits of tack, and bags of food. The far wall was lined with special hooks that held saddles. Below them was a mound of quilted blankets. The last wall had stacks of carefully folded blankets, woven rugs, saddle pads, and wraps.

Damn. If Sarah wasn’t here, that meant she’d either escaped with Nellie or… the house. Anyone as obsessed as Sarah wouldn’t leave without finishing what she came for—killing Tommy.

She pivoted, ready to leave, when the faint sound of gunfire reached her.

But then she heard another sound. Rustling. Coming from the blankets on the floor below the saddles. She raised her weapon. Every muscle tensed, battle ready.

<><><>

“
I’M LOSING HER.”
Tommy began chest compressions. The medics swarmed into the room, dropping their gear and taking over. He quickly told them what was going on—not just with Sarah but also with Peter. “I suspect an acute MI.”

One of the medics broke off, taking a monitor over to where Gloria huddled with Peter. His two partners bagged air into Sarah and tried without success to start an IV. Tommy tried as well, although as her belly grew more and more distended, he realized how futile their efforts were.

“What do you think, doc?” the senior medic said, sitting back on his haunches. “We could try cracking her chest, but I have to tell you we don’t have the gear.”

“And it’s an hour to the nearest trauma center,” his partner added. “No way the choppers are flying tonight, not in this weather.”

Tommy stared down at Sarah’s pale body. “Cracking her chest won’t help. The bleed is in her belly. Even if I was able to cross-clamp her aorta, no way could we get her to a surgeon in time.”

The medics nodded their agreement. “Honestly, doc, she was a goner from the start. You did all you could.”

He grimaced and nodded. Then he turned to Peter, trying with everything he had to shut out the realization that with Sarah’s death, his last chance to find Nellie had also died.

“You’re right,” the medic monitoring Peter said. “Elevated ST. Good idea starting the CPAP. We need to load and go, get him to a coronary unit.” His partners joined him, moving into high gear—time was heart muscle, went the adage. And this was a patient they had a good chance at saving.

They packaged Peter for transport and within minutes were steering the ambulance away, Gloria with them. Tommy watched them from the front door, torn between the desire to help and his need to search for Nellie.

As he turned away to ask Lucy where to start, he heard a woman calling his name, her words shredded by the wind. He stepped out into the fog. It swirled around him, taking the form of humans, caressing and reaching out to him as if they wanted him to join them in the darkness, to leave the light behind.

Again a woman called his name. It sounded so much like Charlotte—or maybe he just wanted it to—that he was half tempted. He’d failed. Failed her, failed Nellie. He took another step, the tendrils of fog swathing him like a cocoon of gray and cold.

“Tommy!”

He whirled. TK stumbled through the fog.

Carrying Nellie.

“Nellie!” Tommy rushed to them, steered them back inside the house. Lucy and Burroughs guided TK to the couch, where she gently positioned Nellie.

“She was in the barn. I can’t wake her up.”

Tommy knelt beside the couch and listened to Nellie’s breathing, felt her pulse. Both steady, a comfort. “She’s been drugged.”

Lucy searched Sarah’s pockets and pulled out a bottle. She tossed it to Tommy. “What about these?”

He scanned the label. “Versed. We use it in the ER.”

“So she’ll be okay?”

“Yes. She’ll be just fine.” He glanced heavenward and couldn’t restrain his laughter. He pulled Nellie into his arms.

“What’s so funny?” TK asked.

Tommy hugged Nellie tighter. Her eyelids fluttered open then shut again while she wrapped her arms around him. “The main side effect of Versed is amnesia.”

THE NEXT DAY,
Tommy gave his statement to Burroughs, Corporal Harding from the state police, and the Forward Township chief of police. They met at Burroughs’ office at the major crimes squad on Western Avenue since that was central for everyone and he had proper recording equipment. The building itself was pretty depressing and without character, with its beige brick walls and steel bars over the tiny windows. He’d have much preferred the worn but solid comfort of the Zone 3 station house.

This room did not resemble any of the interview rooms he’d been in before. It was modern, utilitarian, with glass walls that didn’t block the noise of the men and women working at their cubicles beyond. There was a rectangular conference table and upholstered but uncomfortable chairs. About the only thing the room had going for it was a lack of graffiti—and the absence of a restraining bar designed for handcuffs.

Tommy was just finishing his statement when Oshiro and Lucy appeared outside the glass door. Burroughs looked up. “I think we’re done here. Thank you, Dr. Worth.” His tone was formal for the video recording. Then he nodded to the videographer to turn it off. “Thank you all for coming.”

The videographer left, along with the chief. Oshiro held the door for them before bounding inside, followed by Lucy.

Liz Harding gathered her folders and bag, hesitated, then extended her hand to Tommy. “Thank you for your patience, Dr. Worth. I’m sorry for all you’ve been through. Rest assured that we’ll have your wife’s remains released to you for burial just as soon as we can. You and your family are in our thoughts and prayers.”

Tommy was startled by her kind words. Usually the state police trooper was a tough read—much harder than Burroughs, that was certain. But she seemed genuine and sincere, so he shook her hand. “Thank you, Corporal Harding.”

“You can call me Liz. I’ll let you know as soon as I hear anything.” She nodded to Burroughs and left.

Lucy sat beside Tommy and stared at Burroughs across the table. Burroughs cleared his throat. “Yeah, doc. Guess I should apologize as well.”

Not quite as sincere, but it was better than Tommy had expected.

Oshiro didn’t even try to apologize. He just clapped his massive hand on Tommy’s shoulder and said, “You’re okay, doc. You did a good job, helping Sarah when we thought she was a Jane Doe, and you kept your head after we figured out what was really going on.” He handed Tommy a card. “You ever need anything, call me. I owe you one.”

Tommy wasn’t sure what to say, but Lucy smiled. “Don’t lose that card,” she said. “He means what he said.” Then she turned to Oshiro. “What’s this ‘we’ who figured out what was really going on?”

Oshiro laughed and threw his bulk into one of the empty chairs. “Okay, when Lucy really figured out what was going on.”

“Not just me, my entire team. Not bad for a group of amateurs, right, Burroughs?”

The detective scowled, but it wasn’t directed at Lucy or Tommy. “Still can’t figure out how the hell I fell for her act.”

“That’s the problem,” Tommy said. He felt the detective’s pain. He’d totally believed Sarah as well, let her into his home, into his life. The thought still made him angry. “It wasn’t all an act. She truly, utterly, and completely, until her last dying breath, believed I killed her baby and that Charlotte helped cover it up. She’d do anything to find justice for her baby.”

“Including turning in an Oscar caliber performance,” Lucy added.

“That’s what I mean,” Tommy said. “When you’re that delusional, you fit reality to suit the world you’ve created in your mind. She believed every word she told us—at the time.”

Burroughs frowned. “I still don’t get it. She didn’t really have amnesia, but because acting that way fit her delusion, it felt real to her?”

“Something like that,” Tommy answered. He slumped in his chair, really not wanting to put himself in Sarah’s mind ever again. True, she was sick. But what she’d done…

“What about her husband?” Oshiro asked. “Is he delusional? Or just trying to protect his wife?”

“Verdict’s still out on that,” Burroughs answered. “My guess is we’ll never really know, not once the lawyers and shrinks get involved. But after we caught him, all he talked about was that Worth got what was coming to him and that Sarah was innocent. He also told us what happened to Charlotte, but he seemed to think it was totally justified.”

Lucy touched Tommy’s arm. “You ready to hear this?”

“I need to know how she died.”

“Better than hearing it from the press,” Oshiro added.

Burroughs sighed, then hauled in a breath. “From what Putnam told us before his lawyer gagged him, and from the forensic findings, this is what we pieced together. First of all, they chose today—well, last year today—because it was their baby’s birthday. In the year after the baby died, Sarah was in and out of hospitals, mostly in the DC area, until her husband lost his job and health insurance and brought her home to live with him.”

“That’s why we had no recent address for her driver’s license,” Oshiro put in. “And criminal checks through the NCIC wouldn’t register anything like a hospital admission. So, with her keeping her maiden name and most of her information from other states—”

“Three other states,” Burroughs interrupted. “DC, Virginia, and Maryland. We didn’t have a chance of unraveling this in just a day or two. A fact that she and Putnam bargained on. All they needed was a few days.”

“Go back to Charlotte,” Tommy said. “Tell me what happened. Was she at my ball game? Is that where they took her?”

Burroughs shook his head. “No. It was earlier. Sarah was supposed to meet Charlotte at the convenience store. Told her she was being stalked by an ex who was an IRS agent and that he was getting violent.”

“That’s why Charlotte didn’t take someone with her,” Lucy said. “The shelter director told me an IRS agent was their worst nightmare because they have access to almost every database imaginable.”