MULROY GLANCED OUT THE AIRPLANE WINDOW. "WELL, HE WAS RIGHT," HE murmured, half to himself. "That definitely isn't a little town."
His seat partner was Puck Benteen, a friend of Damien's who had been to Minot before. He smiled at the detective in a way the cop wasn't sure was meant to be snide or not. "Don't worry, Detective. Everybody'll know your name."
"That's kind of a scary thought."
Across the aisle sat Damien and his uncle, Father Damien, and looking out the other window was Lynn Leja, another of his friends; she was a cult "deprogrammer" who Damien had thought might be interested in tagging along. She was typing busily on a laptop computer; so far there was only one other person Damien knew typed on a computer so much, and that was Puck. He only found it hard to believe he wasn't at it right now.
"Is he going to meet us here again?" Father Damien asked. The last time they had been to Minot, about two years ago, it had been he who had arranged the meeting at the Minot International Airport. [Note--NOT a real location, unless there really is such a place!] Kincaid had been there. That was the first time they'd met in person, and the last they'd seen of him in Minot he'd been hospitalized for a gunshot wound. He hadn't been in very good shape then; however, last autumn he and Bowen had visited Cheboygan, and he'd seemed in much better shape then. Damien just hoped it would last.
However, death threats hadn't exactly had the best effect on him back then.
"He said he would," he replied, shoving all those thoughts out of his head and stretching. He hated long flights. Thankfully the airport was now in view, and soon they could be on their way. Staying in a Motel 6 again, no doubt. [Note--as of the original writing of Minot, I don't think they had a Motel 6 there. I only used it because it, as well as the Sandpiper (see Flashback), were the only kinds of establishments I'd ever stayed in.]
"I don't like this weather," Mulroy murmured. They'd had to fly higher than usual due to low-lying thunderstorms; now that they were below the cloud level the rain was pelting them on all sides, and though it was just around five in the afternoon it was almost as dark as night. The airport lights blinked blearily at them through the downpour.
"We're lucky to even be allowed in," Dr. Leja said, snapping shut her computer. "News says they're getting reports of minor flooding around here." The detective grimaced. Great. "Minot's located right on a river. The outskirts seem to be getting it already." [Note--I believe it's true that Minot is right near the Souris, but again, I also believe it's on a HILL.]
"Let's just hope it doesn't spread much further. We don't need a flood compounding things."
"Bowen didn't even mention flooding," Mulroy said unhappily.
"Come on, Mulroy," Damien coaxed. "North Dakota's been getting slammed this year. Don't you watch the news?"
"Only when it matters."
About twenty minutes later the plane was touching down. Mulroy's eyes followed the runway lights through the rain splattering against the window. He hoped there'd be somebody to pick them up. The last thing they needed was a long, wet wait at the airport.
Luckily, when they got there one of the first things they saw was a uniformed policeman holding a sign reading DAMIEN. Damien rolled his eyes; there were some aspects of this visit that were giving him a serious feeling of deja vu. On seeing him, the policeman let down the sign and walked their way.
"Hi," he said. "Remember me?"
"Yeah, Ha--uh--Ha--"
"Hawthorne," the policeman said, evidently unconcerned that the singer couldn't remember his name. "Kincaid's waiting at the other end of the airport. A couple of you can ride with him, a couple with me."
"Great," Damien said. "We were hoping you'd say that."
As they walked Detective Mulroy hopped into step beside the policeman, glancing over the airport as if making a casual surveillance. "How is Lieutenant Kincaid, anyway?"
"Kinnie? He's doing fine. He'd have met you but there was a call. Seems this flooding's getting worse. If it keeps up we're going to have to send out a couple of our own guys. The last thing we need, a flood."
"Could you let me in a little on what's been going on lately?"
"Well, yesterday Kincaid got this package via UPS. He wasn't there to sign for it so one of our new detectives did. Kinnie left it on a car hood and it blew up."
"This thing was a bomb."
"Well, that's what we're supposing."
There was no sarcasm in the answer, so he decided to let it pass. "Are you considering this a death threat?"
"Kinnie was going to let it go. It's Bowen who's concerned about it. He thinks maybe it's Four P again."
[Note--mild spoilers for Minot.] Damien had briefed Mulroy on all the past occurrences in Minot, so Mulroy already knew about the Four P Movement, Jenner, the animal blood that had been smeared across the back of the Falcon's Nest in the words YOUR NEXT PIG. Nevertheless he pressed on.
"A new detective, you said?"
"Yeah, just sent over here from Ward County. Kris--something. I don't know how to pronounce his name." He shrugged. "He's one of the new ones we've got."
"One? There's more?"
"Another one. An officer. Officer DelBora. Both of them have requested being on the CRCU."
Mulroy frowned. "CRCU?"
"Oh, Bowen didn't tell you? The Cult Ritual Crimes Unit. It's pretty new. A lot of our guys are on it. Me. Kinnie. DelBora and the detective. Anybody we can snatch up who might be able to contribute something." He chuckled to himself. "Not that I think I can do much."
[Note--spoilers! Next several paragraphs! Ah, just suffice it to say that you wouldn't be reading this far if you were that concerned about spoilers...I'll quit posting these...] "You arrested Jenner, didn't you?"
"Oh, Detective, don't give me credit for that, not even as a joke. That was Bowen who caught him, not me. I just cuffed him and read him his rights."
"How about Jenner? Do you think he might be behind this?"
Hawthorne gave a crooked smile. "Not unless they hand out wires and plastique in prison, Detective. Where he is there's no way to build a bomb."
"How's he been serving his sentence?"
"A model prisoner, from what Kinnie's told me. No complaints about him, as much as anyone might want to claim the reverse."
"Kinnie?" Damien suddenly entered the conversation, stepping up from behind. "What do you mean?"
"Well, as far as I can tell, Kinnie's the only visitor Jenner gets. When Chief Bowen said he never wanted to see him again he was telling the truth."
"Kincaid visits him?" The idea alone was incredulous, when it was Kincaid Jenner had been trying to kill. [Note--looks like I really misused "incredulous" there. I meant something akin to "unbelievable."]
Another shrug. "First Monday of every month."
"What do they talk about?"
"I wouldn't know. I'm guessing Kincaid's trying to pump him for information on Four P."
"What makes anything he says even remotely credible?" Mulroy asked. "He is serving three life sentences."
"Well, for one thing, Kincaid already tried talking with Mitch Barnes. He was the other one involved in the case," he explained, in case Mulroy didn't know. The detective nodded. "But he won't get a word out of him. Jenner, he talks. You ask him a question and he'll answer it, if he can and if he's willing."
"But he was with Four P." Damien still couldn't understand. "They threatened Kincaid for investigating the case. They killed another person." He could still remember seeing the former cultist's body sprawled over a grave in the same cemetery Kincaid's adoptive father was buried in; Hawthorne apparently remembered also, for he shuddered. "Why'd Jenner be talking if they could just as easily off him?"
"That's what I don't get either. Maybe you could get Kinnie to arrange a meeting with him. Maybe he could tell you something himself."
They finally reached the end of the airport. Damien could see two cars waiting outside, a patrol car and Kincaid's Buick. He let out a tiny sigh. Please, God, if You're listening, he thought to himself, let this go at least somewhat better than the last time. Please.
"This way," Hawthorne said, needlessly, and they filed out the doors after him.
Mulroy and Damien ended up riding with Kincaid, the other three tagging along with Officer Hawthorne. Damien had insisted he and the detective ride with the lieutenant in case he had any other important information to hand over. Father Damien had nodded and left, climbing into the passenger side of Hawthorne's patrol car. Damien tapped Mulroy's shoulder to indicate he should take the front seat; Mulroy got in and received a sincere if grim smile from Lieutenant Kincaid, his eyes dark in the car's interior.
"It's good to see you again," he said. "Only on my terms now."
"Yeah, on your very own ground. Bowen promised to show me around your beautiful city."
"The beautiful city isn't quite so beautiful right now. They've shut down some of the southern roads. We're only lucky it hasn't reached downtown yet. That doesn't rule out potholes though. You'd better buckle up."
Mulroy did so, glancing over his shoulder to see Damien do the same. Kincaid pulled away from the airport and into traffic, and a moment later they were on their way further into Minot.
"This will take about forty-five minutes longer," Kincaid said. "As Damien can tell you."
"It was only about a half hour last time," Damien said.
"True. But there wasn't any flooding back then."
Well, he had a point.
"Hawthorne tells me you've been paying somebody some visits," Mulroy said.
Damien grimaced. It wasn't exactly the most subtle way to go about asking something.
Kincaid lifted one shoulder in a gesture that could have meant affirmation or so what. "That's true."
"Bowen doesn't talk to him much, does he?"
It was hardly a question. It hardly needed to be.
"Bowen doesn't talk to him period. Bowen doesn't talk about him. As far as Bowen's concerned, Jenner doesn't exist." He gave Mulroy a pointed look. "And I suggest that, when you're around him, you observe the same belief."
Mulroy nodded. Seems Bowen isn't taking this too well. Not as well as someone else is. Someone who has every right to take it worse. "What about this Mitchell Barnes?"
"What about him?"
"I've heard you've tried talking with him, too."
"Mitch is manifesting another aspect of the existential dilemma. [Note--er, no idea what that really means. I just thought it sounded cool.] To him, I don't exist."
Mulroy sighed. Damien felt himself wanting to do the same. So far, this was getting weirder. He wondered, as he had before, if Minot simply had some kind of "weird vibes" emanating from it that caused everything that entered it to fall prey to its weirdness. Something in the water, perhaps? They certainly had a lot of that now.
"How about--" Mulroy pulled out the notepad he'd been taking notes on when Damien had assumed he was just doodling. "--This Mandie lady? She have anything to say?"
Kincaid smiled again. "I'd let you know, only I have no idea. She's disappeared."
"Disappeared?" Damien echoed, alarmed.
Kincaid waved a hand as he came to a stoplight. "I'm sure she's all right. So far. After the trial it's only expected she'd drop out of sight for a while. That's not to say she'll be okay for long."
"You think they'll get to her?"
"I don't think. I know. It only depends when, and how. She may be lucky. Like I was." And he snorted to punctuate the statement, pressing the accelerator as the light turned green. [Note--I think I just meant "gas."] The tires actually squealed, and Damien wondered if Kincaid had it as under control as he'd thought.
"Think you could arrange a meeting for us with Jenner?" Mulroy asked.
Kincaid glanced over at him. "If you thought it might help. Personally I don't see how it could."
"He might know who would be doing this. I thought he held some importance in Four P."
"Only as far as this city is concerned. Four P's main power center is in California. After that it's New York. I'm sure you know of Son of Sam."
Mulroy raised an eyebrow. "Son of Sam? He was tied in to this?"
"Not in any way with what was going in my case. But with Minot, yes. [Note--I'm not making up Son of Sam's connection. According to a few books, he really was tied in with all this.] He had friends working here. And in Bismarck, and Mandan. Luckily in the past two years we've managed to make some friends in those locations and they've made sure to keep us up to date on anything that might be happening. It was a Mandan lieutenant who suggested the CRCU. They've already implemented a sort of sister operation themselves. We keep in touch on Bowen's computer."
There was a North Dakota map lying on Kincaid's dashboard. Mulroy pulled it out and unfolded it, shining his penlight and attempting to find the cities. He showed the map to Damien when he was done.
"Bismarck and Mandan. They're both located on the Missouri. Have they been getting any flooding down there?"
"Not really. It's mostly in the north right now. Bad weather patterns. Too much soakage. We just happen to be lucky."
This time it was meant to be sarcastic. Mulroy smiled slightly as he received the map from Damien and set it back on the dashboard.
"I told your chief you owed us lunch at Falcon's place. [Note--he did...? Wait a minute, who the hell is talking here, Mulroy or Damien?? Now I'm confused.] I hope you won't let us down."
He could barely see Kincaid's answering grin in the rearview mirror. "I'm sure you'll be seeing more of the Falcon's Nest," he replied, flicking on the left turning signal. "A whole lot more."
When they entered the Minot police station, the place was just about in chaos, and not the pointless chaos it had been in when Damien had first visited. This time it seemed every phone in the place was intent on ringing at the same time. There were more police than there were phones, and so the rest of them were running around picking up and putting down papers that Damien recognized as reports. He caught a few snatches of conversation, and all of it centered on the river level. He felt an uneasiness settle over him. Apparently the police station wasn't going to remain untouched for long.
Two police were standing next to Kincaid's office when they entered, shaking off the rain. One was a young woman in uniform, her hands behind her back. The other was a detective with what appeared to be a sucker stick in his mouth. [Note--no, Kristeva's not going all Kojak. The sucker stick is a compulsion of his with some rather sinister roots, which I won't go into here.] As they approached Mulroy could clearly see the open hostility in his eyes. Apparently, he doesn't appreciate outsiders treading on his ground. He dipped his head in a nod, whether in greeting or a type of surrender he wasn't sure. The detective responded by smiling back--the hostility in his eyes being totally replaced by a look of cool dislike, almost a sort of superiority--and nodding once in return. KRISTEVA, his nametag said.
Kincaid actually dipped into his office without introducing them, so Mulroy stepped forward and held out his hand in the officer's direction, hoping for a favorable response. "Detective Mulroy. Michigan State Police."
She took his hand and shook it. The look of awe on her face was as plain as the hatred had been in Kristeva's eyes. "Officer Christine DelBora, Detective. Michigan, you said? Have you been here before?"
"Not personally, but they have." He nodded at Damien and his uncle, whom she shook hands with next. While she was thus occupied he turned back to the other detective. The look of dislike was still there, yet he continued smiling, almost snide enough to slap. Mulroy held out his hand. The other detective looked at it, as if expecting a trick, then took it. He didn't shake. It was a simple clasp, and then he let go.
"Good afternoon, Detective--Kristevva? Kristeyva? Kristeeva? What should I call you?" Truth was, he'd never heard the name before and had no idea how to pronounce it. [Note--I myself pronounce it Kriss-TEE-vuh. No clue if that's right or not. I got the name from the famous feminist Julia Kristeva. I think it's Bulgarian. And that is all I know.]
"Take your pick," the detective replied, turning away to face the others.
Okay, Mulroy thought to himself. I pick to associate with you as little as possible. Damien tried to shake the detective's hand too, but earned only a nod. Father Damien, Puck, and Dr. Leja didn't even try.
Kincaid came back out of his office. "I see you've all met," he said. "As soon as we get some chairs in here we can--"
The phone in his office rang. He gave an annoyed look and vanished again. The others stood outside as if lost.
"So you're here to help the CRCU," Kristeva said, in a conversational voice.
Both Damien and Mulroy looked at him. Neither liked him already. They both noticed each other's stare and flushed, looking away again.
"Just thought it might need some help," Puck said, with a fake smile of his own.
Kristeva smiled back. "Funny, I thought we were doing just fine."
Kincaid came out again. He still looked annoyed. "Hawthorne, have you been checking up on those flooding calls?" he asked.
The officer sighed. "A couple. I haven't gotten the chance to investigate most of them. I thought the State was taking care of th--"
Now the phone on his desk rang. He rolled his eyes and went to answer it.
"Seems this bomb arrived at a bad time," Mulroy commented.
Kincaid shrugged. "I can't think of any good time to receive a bomb, Detective. Then again." He shrugged again, leaving the statement unfinished.
Officer Hawthorne hung up. "That was from the State post," he said. "Bellman Road is washed out. They're gonna need some help down there."
Kincaid nodded at him, and he swept out the door, nodding his partner to come with him. He turned back to the others.
"I'm sorry about this whole mess," he said. "But you can all dry off in here and take a look at the new reports I've got printed out. To catch you all up. Officer DelBora can help you with that. I'm going to have to speak with Chief Bowen about this flooding problem."
Mulroy nodded. Kincaid gestured them towards his office and crossed to the other side of the room while they went inside.
"Seems it's getting worse," Officer DelBora said, clasping her hands behind her back. Mulroy immediately recognized her type; he'd been there, too. She was glancing around the room and bouncing on her heels, not quite sure what to say except the obvious. He smiled to himself. Was I really that green? I must've been, sometime.
"Hawthorne'll take care of that," he said. "Where're these reports Kincaid wanted us to read?"
"Oh. I'll get them." Eager to be of use, she dashed out of the office.
"She's cute," Puck said in a bright, perky voice.
Damien shot him a look. "Keep to your own kind."
"Come on, is that any way to talk behind her back?" Mulroy snapped at them. "It's obvious she's new on the job. She doesn't need this, for God's sake."
Puck snorted. "It was just a joke. And you have to admit, she is cute. If you go for that kind of thing."
"And I suppose 'cute' isn't your realm of expertise."
"I know all about cute. Cute is chickadees, rookie cops, and the Easter Bunny. Cute is everything you find on Spring Break and I know all about that. I used to kill small woodland creatures on my Spring Break." [Note--final sentence of this paragraph taken as a direct quote from a student in one of my high school classes. Knowing Puck, it's probably true.]
Leaning against the window, Kristeva smiled faintly, the sucker stick poking from his mouth like a cigarette. Mulroy just looked disgusted.
"Forget your current job, Dr. Leja," he muttered, and she looked up at him, surprised to hear her name entering what was obviously a pointless conversation. "Start fiddling with his head."
"I think somebody already did," Damien said, and shut up as Officer DelBora returned with Kincaid's folder. She handed it to Damien and he passed the papers around, skipping the ones he'd already read.
"Looks like we've got a lot ahead of us," Mulroy murmured, glancing at the pile of papers.
"Of course," Puck replied. "Just like old times."
For what must have been about a half hour or more they sat in the lieutenant's office, reading through the multiple reports. Dr. Leja insisted on reading every one, though that bothered none of them as she was a fast reader. "You have to be, remembering all that crap they teach you in psych classes," she explained. They were completely silent as they read, other than for the rustling of the papers; so when the door opened they all jumped involuntarily.
"Sorry to startle you," Kincaid said, glancing in. "The chief wants to see you."
"I needed a stretch," Puck said, doing so. The others put away the papers and stood as well, following him out into the main office. He stepped inside Chief Bowen's office without knocking; Damien went in second. He'd been in Bowen's office before, on several less pleasant occasions; back then he hadn't exactly been on Bowen's hot list. However, now as they filed in, Chief Bowen stood up and his face brightened--as much as the face of a man like him could brighten--and he held out his hand at Mulroy.
"Detective," he said. "It's great to see you. Kincaid tells me you've all been here the past half hour or so, and he didn't even say so. I'd've had you all called in here if I'd have known."
There was no accusation in the words, Damien noted, and Kincaid seemed to know that too as he didn't offer any apologies.
"You've been reading those papers?" Bowen asked. A scanner beside his desk suddenly emitted a burst of static, and he turned it down with a wince.
Damien nodded. "Some new ones, it seems."
"Yeah, Kinnie's been getting 'em off my computer. Since we connected with Bismarck we've been getting a shitload of 'em."
"Bismarck?"
"Yeah, seems they've got problems of their own. Not as bad as ours. Not nearly as bad." He rolled his eyes. "But Mandan, they're right next door to Bismarck and they've got problems just about as bad as ours. That's what they say, at least. In my own opinion nothing can hold a candle to what went on here."
"Who do you know in these cities?" Mulroy asked.
"Well, a Lieutenant Gardner in Mandan contacted us about a year back. [Note--Lt. Terry Gardner is the real name of a real cop who once worked in Minot (not Mandan) on cult-related cases. I think I even saw him on a TV program once. Why do I keep opening myself up to lawsuits this way?? My "Lt. Gardner," aside from that similarity, is completely fictional.] Said he'd scratch our back if we scratched his. I think they've got a branch of Four P or some other group down there. He hooked us up with Lieutenant Lesleyann Trevarrow in Bismarck. She's got this 'toady'--" he grinned and crooked his fingers in a "quote-unquote" motion, meaning it as a joke "--named Sinclair working out of the Bismarck State post who does all her dirty work for her. Though I have to admit he's good with computers. Me, I just point and click."
"Have they provided any useful information?"
"Gardner's been keeping us up to date on Four P. That is, as up to date as he can, considering how secretive they are. He's got the information. Trevarrow's into hard investigating and Officer Sinclair makes sure none of our lines get crossed. Literally." He glanced at his computer. "He's even managed a visual linkup, though I'm afraid I can't use it right now with this weather. You can meet him face-to-face in my office as soon as it clears."
"Sounds interesting," Puck said. From the look on his face Damien could tell he was truly interested. [Note--I don't think Puck would care so much, as I write him now. Such a thing would probably be old hat to him.]
"It is, when you're not used to those science-fictiony video conferencing things. But like I said, hopefully when this clears up we can get through to Bismarck and see how things are going."
There was another hiss of static from the scanner. Bowen scowled and reached over to turn it down further when he froze, recognizing the voice coming through. He immediately turned it up to catch the rest of the message.
"--repeat, an officer down, need immediate assistance, serious head injury. Location Bellman Road, five miles out of the city."
"That's Hawthorne," Damien said, suddenly recognizing the voice himself.
"Officer down?" Bowen didn't seem to know what the message meant. Then realization dawned in his eyes. "God, his partner! Kinnie, go down to the hospital and try and meet them when they get in. I want to know what's going on and what happened out there."
"Yes, Chief." Kincaid turned and started to leave the office.
"Wait," Mulroy said. Kincaid faced him. "I'll come with you."
"I am too," Damien said. He wanted to know just what had happened, too!
The lieutenant nodded, and together they left the room.
Kincaid's car pulled in the hospital driveway, veering dangerously close to another parked car in the lot. As the three of them got out, slamming the doors and running towards the main building, Mulroy noticed another car pull in with a Kojak light on the dash; he realized it must be Kristeva, following them. He ignored the other detective as they entered the hospital, shaking off the driving rain.
"Was a police officer brought in here?" Kincaid asked at the main desk. "Head injury?"
The woman behind the counter glanced at them. "Yes, a minute or two ago--"
"Lieutenant!" It was Hawthorne's voice. The four at the desk turned to look down the hallway. The younger officer was jogging towards them, his partner close behind. Damien could see Kincaid frown; Chief Bowen's assumption didn't appear to be correct. The two cops seemed fine.
"There was some kind of accident at the washout," Hawthorne explained breathlessly when he reached them. "A trooper in the water. His head's hurt pretty bad. His partner brought him back."
"Where are they?"
"Down the hall. It's bad. They're not letting anyone in. Not even his partner. It looks like he hit it on a rock or something." He shook his head, still panting and dripping from the rain. Smears of mud ran down the front of his uniform; both Damien and Mulroy found themselves wondering how he'd even gained entrance to the hospital in this condition. "He was bleeding hard. A deep gash over his left eye."
"Where's his partner?" Kincaid asked.
Hawthorne glanced back down the hall, then shrugged. "I don't know. Probably waiting for him. You want me to find him?"
Kincaid paused a brief moment, then shook his head. "No. You and Passeno are all right?" [Note--Raymond Passeno is the name of Hawthorne's partner.]
Hawthorne nodded.
"Get back to the washout and make sure no one else ends up like this. I'll call you back as soon as I can."
"Yes, Lieutenant." He motioned to his partner and they exited the hospital.
"It is getting worse," Kristeva muttered. "So bad a trooper can't even tell when the road's too bad to travel."
"Let's not mind his stupidity right now," Kincaid said. "Let's just hope he recovers enough to tell us what happened out there."
Damien and Mulroy caught the hint in his words; Kristeva seemed to also. He was insinuating that whatever had happened at Bellman Road had been no accident.
Mulroy snorted awake when someone shook his shoulder. He squinted upwards and saw that it was Damien trying to wake him.
"Kinnie says he's out of the emergency room," Damien said, his voice unnecessarily low, as if they were in a library and not a busy waiting room. "He wants to go see if he can talk to him."
Mulroy staggered to his feet and glanced to the side. Detective Kristeva was in a nearby chair, also dozing. Mulroy bent over and shook his arm. The detective came awake immediately, jerking away as if Mulroy's hand had been made of flame. Mulroy backed away instinctively, drawing his hand back. Kristeva shot him a look, now completely awake. He snarled like a cornered dog.
"Don't touch me," he hissed, his voice pure venom. [Note--BIG BIG HINT here.] Mulroy was reminded--not too inappropriately, either--of those rattlesnake flags that read DON'T TREAD ON ME. He held up his hands in a gesture of surrender and turned away, following the others. He could care less if Kristeva followed him or not. [Note--I think I meant, "he COULDN'T care less"--but I'm not sure!]
The hallway was still busy as well, though not nearly as busy as it had been earlier. Mulroy found himself following Damien down to the patients' rooms; he wondered how long the trooper had been in the ER. He'd never taken a good look at the clock. He could sense Kristeva following them but didn't turn back to see.
Outside one of the rooms Lieutenant Kincaid was waiting for them. Mulroy could tell he was impatient even if he showed no outward signs of it. He turned away from them, to the door, and quietly opened it, peering in. He stepped inside, and the others followed him.
There was an empty bed, but a curtain was drawn at the side. Mulroy caught up to Kincaid and they both rounded the curtain at the same time. Both of them stopped.
There was a patient in the bed, but he wasn't alone. Another man dressed in a State trooper uniform was seated beside him, and he glanced up at them as Damien and Kristeva arrived.
"We're sorry," Mulroy apologized, though it was Kincaid's job to do so. It just came out. "We didn't know anybody else was here--"
"It's all right." The policeman stood up, holding out his hand. He was dark-skinned and dark-eyed, taller than any of them. "Trooper Lopata. Are any of you with the City post?"
"Lieutenant Kincaid, Detective Kristeva," Kincaid said. "We are. This is Detective Mulroy and Damien. We got the call there was an accident."
"Tell Officer Hawthorne thank you for calling it in. I didn't have a radio with me. We had to take horses out to the road, it was so bad." [Note--I'm pretty sure that cops wear radios on their person. Persons? Whatever. Didn't know that back then.]
"Can you tell me exactly what happened?" Kincaid pressed.
Trooper Lopata unconsciously glanced down at the patient in the bed. The other four did the same. The second trooper was hooked up to an IV and a heart monitor, his head bandaged and tubes coming out his nose. Hawthorne had been right; he didn't look too good. Mulroy averted his eyes. He'd seen his own partner in the same condition twice, and seeing any cop, even a stranger, brought the same feeling flooding back. [Note--this is in reference to two incidents involving Trooper Broderick.]
"We were at the washout," Lopata said. "Condry was, at least. He told me to go upriver to help with the sandbagging. He said he was going to check for motorists, just in case there were any still coming. He didn't want them ending up in the water." He paused and took a breath. "When he didn't show up again I went back to check it out. His horse was dead and he was in the water. He nearly drowned. The doctors say whatever he hit was hard enough to crack his skull; they don't know if there's any brain damage or not."
"His horse?" Kincaid echoed. Something didn't sound right here. "His horse was dead?"
Trooper Lopata nodded. "Officer Hawthorne didn't tell you? The horse he took, it was right next to the washout but it was dead. Somebody tried--somebody tried to sever its neck."
Silence. Damien could tell Kincaid's mind was in a roil. First the bomb, now this--it was too much to dismiss as coincidence.
"Someone tried to cut its head off," he said, as if trying to clarify what the trooper had already said.
Lopata nodded. "It had blood all over it. It was cut almost all the way off. I'm going to have to tell the owners what happened to their horse."
"You think somebody did this on purpose?"
Lopata paused again. "Well...it didn't seem to be accidental, if that's what you mean. I can't think of anything in that area that would have cut its throat like that."
"Yet it was accidental that Condry ended up in the water."
This time the silence was even longer. Lopata stared at Kincaid. In any other case Damien would have been fidgeting. Right now he wasn't.
"You mean somebody tried to kill Condry?" Trooper Lopata finally asked, breaking the silence, his voice softly incredulous. Now that it had been said Mulroy let out his breath. Behind him he could hear Detective Kristeva doing the same thing, and wondered what he could be thinking right now.
Kincaid looked again at Trooper Condry. "It seems that would be the case, if they took the time to kill his horse."
"But why?" The way Lopata asked it, Mulroy couldn't help but question if he were a rookie himself, believing the world could do no wrong. "Why would somebody want to kill Condry of all people?"
For a while Kincaid didn't answer him. The truth was, he wasn't quite sure himself. But something was forming in the back of his head, an idea, not even an idea really but the semblance of an idea
*Think he's tied in to all this, Kinnie? No one can be this naive--*
that maybe wasn't so much paranoia after all.
"Maybe he found something," Kincaid said, his own voice soft in the still room, the silence broken only by the beep-beep-beep of the heart monitor. "Something he shouldn't have found."
No comments:
Post a Comment