Blindside (11 page)

“No, he hasn’t had time to tell me everything yet.”

“I hope your wife is all right.”

“His mother has been dead for two years now, a car accident.”

“Oh, I’m so very sorry; Sam never told me.”

He smiled wearily. “It’s all right. He doesn’t talk about it yet. His mom speaks to him every so often; funny thing is, sometimes she talks to me, too. Of course it’s just in my head, when I’m stressed out or something, and I have a problem that’s all muddled in my mind, but if she spoke to Sam to help him get away, good for her.” He shrugged. “Maybe, somehow, he needed her to help him help himself. And so he did. Can you tell me what happened, Sheriff?”

“Sure. Let me tell you about Sam’s great escape.” She spoke for maybe two minutes, then realized her audience had nodded off. She leaned down and lightly shook his shoulder. He came awake instantly, a flash of fear, then relief that Sam was okay.

“It’s time for bed, Miles. I don’t think my sweats would work for you as well as they do for Sam. We can go shopping tomorrow for both of you. There’s a bathroom right beside Sam’s room. When my dad was alive he used to visit, so you’ll find guy stuff in there.”

“Thank you, Katie.” She watched him walk from the living room. He was a big man, fit and runner-lean, dark-haired and dark-eyed, looking rather silly with a green frog tucked under his right arm. He looked like exhaustion walking. And the oddest thing was, she felt like she’d known him for a good long time, and it felt good.

After a long hot shower, Katie checked Keely’s room. Her daughter was smiling in her sleep, Oscar lying tightly squeezed to her chest, one floppy ear showing above the blanket Hilda had given her.

Katie climbed into bed with one more thing to do before she let her brain go. She opened her laptop and went to the NCIC, the National Crime Information Center, the FBI’s national criminal database that could be accessed by local law enforcement. The late Beauregard Jones was a career hood who hailed from Denton, Texas, a three-time loser, with warrants that could have put him in jail for the rest of his miserable life, if it weren’t over already. She couldn’t find anything about kidnapping or about any family in or near Tennessee.

She had no clue what Clancy’s last name was or how he’d gotten connected to Beau. She called Ossining, Beau’s place of residence until a couple of years ago. She left a message for the warden to call her as soon as possible. Clancy was the key, she just knew it.

She shut down her laptop, unplugged the modem, and pulled the covers to her neck.

She dreamed that Keely was calling to her, but when Katie got close to her daughter’s voice, all she saw was a long line of vans. She watched, horrified, as each of them blew up, one after the other. Then she saw Clancy stuffing Keely into a van that hadn’t blown up yet. She woke up, frightened and wheezing, her nightshirt sweated through.

She couldn’t help herself. She checked on Keely, then on Sam and Miles. Sam was on his side, his face on his father’s shoulder, his father’s arm cuddling him close. Martin the frog was sprawled on top of Miles, Sam’s arm around him.

She was still shaking from that wretched dream. Beau was dead. As for Clancy, she’d get him and throw his ass in jail.

The hospital was quiet at ten o’clock on Sunday morning. Katie, Miles, and the children trooped into Dillon Savich’s semi-private room that had only Savich in it.

Leaning over him was a small woman in black slacks, black leather half-boots, and a black denim jacket over a red sweater. She had curly red hair that wasn’t really a red red, or an auburn, just a marvelous mix, and a very nice laugh. She looked up when she heard them coming.

Her eyes lit up. “Hey, Sam, Dillon tells me you’re a hero.”

Sam shouted as he ran to her, “I did it, Aunt Sherlock, I climbed out that window myself, and it was so skinny that my shoulders didn’t want to fit through, but I finally wiggled free and my butt fell right out. I landed on my face in the mud. That was yucky but I ran and ran and then Katie was there—and you know that she shot those bad men?”

He finally took a breath. Sherlock grabbed him up in her arms and danced around the room with him. She kissed him all over his face as she danced.

Sam asked her when she paused to take a breath, “Where’s Sean?”

“He’s with his grandmother. I’d bet that right now he’s sitting in church.”

“That could be bad,” Sam said to Katie. “Sean doesn’t like to sit still.”

“You’re right about that,” Sherlock said, and kissed him one final time. “We bribe him with graham crackers.”

Sam immediately turned to Savich. “You’re sitting up, Uncle Dillon. Are you better?”

“I’m just fine, Sam, just a bit stiff.” Savich hugged Sam against him, doing his best not to wince when the boy’s hands brushed against the bandage over his back. “Sherlock’s going to spring me today, she promised. Did you and your dad sleep at the sheriff’s house last night?”

“Yeah, Papa slept with me. I got hot, but he didn’t want to let go of me.”

“I wouldn’t let go of you either,” Sherlock said. “Okay, what else do you have to tell me, Sam?”

“When I woke up there was this strange frog on top of Papa.”

“That was Marie,” Miles said to Sherlock. “A big green stuffed frog, on loan from Keely.”

Sam was outraged. “He isn’t a girl frog. You said his name was Martin.”

Miles said, “Hey, I thought you were so macho that it wouldn’t matter. Isn’t that right?”

While Sam looked uncertain, Miles said, “I told Katie that you’d be here this morning, Sherlock. How’d you manage it?”

Savich said, “She called Jimmy Maitland, our boss, told him I was in bad shape in Tennessee, and he sent her over in a Black Bell jet helicopter.”

“Oh wow,” Sam said. “Katie, my papa makes parts for helicopters and he can fly them, too. Can we go home in a helicopter, Papa?”

“Very doubtful,” Miles said, “particularly an FBI helicopter. Every taxpayer who didn’t get to ride in it would be pretty upset. Isn’t the Cessna any good anymore, Sam?”

While Sam was trying to explain how much cooler a helicopter was, Katie met Sherlock.

Sherlock took her hands and just held them in hers. “Thank you so very much for saving Sam.”

“It was my pleasure. However, Mrs. Savich—”

“No, just call me Sherlock, everyone does.”

“I’m the one responsible for your husband being hurt. If I hadn’t run toward that van—”

“No, no, that’s quite enough. I’ll admit I was angry at first, but then Dillon told me how you saved Sam not once but twice, by shooting Beau when it was crunch time. So we can stand here and thank each other or we can get on with things.”

Katie looked at each of them in turn. “There’s something I’ve got to tell you two you may not know yet.”

Every eye went to her.

“Clancy wasn’t in the van. He got out before it blew. We’ve got a manhunt going on. If he’s anywhere near here, we’ll get him.”

Savich said, “Do you have dogs, Sheriff?”

“Yes, Bud Dicker has four hunting dogs. They’ve been out since about six o’clock this morning. No word yet.”

Sherlock said, frowning, “I can’t imagine he’d stay in the area unless he was badly hurt. Okay, Katie, I can see you know something more. Come on, cough it up.”

“It isn’t all that much just yet. I know you’ve all probably wondered by now why Beau and Clancy brought Sam here, to Jessborough, Tennessee, and held him in Bleaker’s old cabin. Was his kidnapping connected to someone local? Or was it all just happenstance, as in there was this cabin, and Clancy and Beau knew about it, and just used it?”

Savich sighed, recognizing an excellent performance when he saw it, and didn’t say anything.

Katie said, “Miles, do you know anyone local? Anyone at all?”

“No, I don’t. Like I told you last night, I’ve never been in this part of Tennessee before in my life.”

“Okay, so I thought the next step was to connect up Beau and Clancy to a local. It was no big shock to find out that neither of them came from around here, and so, no convenient relatives popped up. But they were both lifelong criminals, in and out of prison, and I just knew to my bones that’s the answer. Clancy or Beau met someone in prison and that someone is from around here or has friends or relatives here. I found out from NCIC that Beau was at Ossining, so I gave them a call to see if they’d ever had a Clancy in their fine facility.

“Ossining got back to me just a little while ago, and sure enough, Clancy Edens had enjoyed their hospitality until about eight months ago—conspiracy to commit kidnapping. It turns out one of the kidnappers got cold feet and ratted out his friends.

“They faxed me his photo, and he’s our boy. I had copies Xeroxed and plastered all over town. Problem is, I just haven’t found any connection between Clancy Edens and someone local.”

Savich smiled. “You’ve got a good brain, Katie. No reason to wait. Sherlock, hand me MAX. Let me see what he can find out.”

Once the modem was plugged in, Savich booted up MAX. While they waited, Miles told Katie about MAX, sometimes known as MAXINE, the laptop he used to access the data-mining software he’d worked on for years. “Bottom line is that either MAX or MAXINE could probably find out what kind of deodorant the president smears in his armpits if it’s on a database somewhere. He’s even better with computers than I am,” Miles added, “and that bums me, it really does.”

“Be quiet, Miles,” Savich said, not looking up. “You can do everything else better. I wouldn’t know a night guidance system from a bowling ball.”

Sherlock said, “I remember you took Dillon down to the mat a couple of weeks ago.”

Savich looked up. “That was an accident, Sherlock. I must have been dehydrated or something.”

Katie smiled as she said, “Sam, I can see you’re fretting. I don’t want you to worry about Fatso. We’ll get him, no doubt in my mind. We’ve got his photo nailed up everywhere and special flyers are being printed up as I speak. But do you know what? Your uncle Dillon is going to find out why they brought you here real soon.”

“He’s got a big stomach, Uncle Dillon,” Sam said as he settled in on his father’s lap.

“I know, Sam,” Katie said. “His belly nearly fills up the photo we’ve got out there.”

Miles said, “Keely, this is the only chair. You want to climb up here, too?”

Keely didn’t hesitate to climb up on his other leg. Miles said, “They’re still so excited they can’t think straight or talk about anything else. Okay, kiddos, just lean on me and listen for a while, okay?”

Sherlock said, “Sam, I meant to tell you, you look cool. I really like those jeans and your Titans sweatshirt. I wonder what all your Redskins friends are going to say when they see it. Are those Nikes I see on your big feet?”

Katie said as Sam preened, “Mary Lynn Rector—believe it or not her father’s the local Presbyterian minister—brought them over about seven o’clock this morning. She’d heard Sam didn’t have anything except my sweats, said it was Sunday and even Kmart didn’t open until ten. As for Miles, at least his clothes are clean, no new ones yet for him.”

Sam said against his father’s chest, “I’m cool.”

Keely looked at her mother, frowned, and stuck her thumb in her mouth, something Katie hadn’t seen her do in at least six months. On the other hand, Keely hadn’t seen a van blow up or a man shot not ten feet away from her in the last six months either. She would have to ask Dr. Sheila Raines what do to about this. Sheila, a childhood friend, was the only shrink in the area that Katie trusted. She moved to stand beside her daughter when Sherlock said, “Mr. Maitland wanted the other FBI guys to fly here with me, you know, the ones working with us, Miles, but I convinced him to let me come out right away. But I wouldn’t be surprised if Butch Ashburn showed up here today. He’s a bulldog, Katie.”

“Is he like Glen Hodges?”

“More so,” Savich said, still not looking up. “I can just hear her now, Katie, telling Maitland that she’d get things all cleaned up herself, no reason to load the helicopter down with unnecessary personnel.”

At that moment, Glen Hodges and two other agents stuck their heads in the door. Two of them had huge grins on their faces, the third looked really down. “We knew you’d be here, Sherlock. Hot-diggity, I just won fifty bucks off Jessie here. The poor stiff said you wouldn’t show up until two o’clock this afternoon.” There was a boo and hiss from Jessie.

“Well, of course I’m here,” Sherlock said to Glen Hodges. “Where else would I be?”

“Jessie here,” Savich said to his wife, “just didn’t realize that you were perfectly capable of moving a mountain or two to get what you wanted.”

There was a bit of laughter, then Agent Hodges said, “Sheriff, Mother’s Very Best is just excellent. You wouldn’t believe the breakfast she gave us. You’re not looking too bad, Savich. The sheriff said you’d just be sore for a week or two. I see you’re working on MAX.” He eyed Sam and Keely, then said, “Do you still want to belt me, Sheriff?”

“Agent Hodges,” Katie said to the rest of the group, “didn’t bother telling me about Clancy not being in the van, just took charge himself. The proverbial Fed with big wing tips.”

Sherlock said, “Are you serious, Katie? You’re telling me that Glen didn’t call you immediately when they found out Clancy wasn’t in that van?”

“Well, yeah, I did call her just a bit later.”

“Actually, I was the one who called Wade. Nobody called me.”

“Do you want me to belt him for you, Sheriff?” Sherlock was standing nearly
en pointe.

Katie knew Sherlock was thinking Hodges was a sexist jerk, and maybe he was. In the short term, it really hadn’t mattered, but she was the sheriff of Jessborough, and yeah, she was still low-level pissed at him. “I’ll deal with him, Sherlock, thanks just the same.”

“Ah, if neither of you is going to hit me right away, then there’s some more stuff you and I need to go over, Sheriff. Then it’s out again to look for Clancy. Strange how that guy could move so fast with all that weight on him.”

Savich said, “Glen, call Butch Ashburn at home, fill him in if he’s still there. He’ll get out here right away since he was the lead on the investigation. I know he’ll really want to hear from you. Actually, he’s probably nearly here by now, but give it a try.”