No Immunity (27 page)

But Faye’s focus was still on Irene. “Where is she?” Faye insisted. “She didn’t take those boys, that I can tell you, and she didn’t look like a woman aiming to go on a picnic in the park. I know people, and she wasn’t a woman all het up about kids, particularly those kids. I’d give you odds Grady never told her he was bringing them along on their date. You can see why she was pissed.”

She couldn’t let Faye go on ignorant of the truth, not if she planned for her to be an ally. “Faye, Irene is dead. She was dead before Grady was shot.”

“Was she shot too?”

“Disease.”

“What the boys had?” Faye asked slowly, as if keeping herself at arm’s length from the words.

“Could be.”

Faye looked slowly around the room. She had the look of a woman who had held herself together as long as she could and was fading fast. “I’ll have to fumigate, the whole place. Be closed days for that—all today, and Wednesday too. Have to call”—she held up fingers on which to enumerate—“Tri-City Committee, before they head out of their meeting. Ministers’ group. Wednesday. Tell the Carson Clubbers to head out to Vegas from somewhere else.”

Kiernan was about to ask if the groups actually met in the cafe or just ate pie afterward. But Tchernak’s announcement stopped her. “Carson Club,” he said. “Grady Hummacher was a member of that.”

Faye nodded, and glanced into the dark where the highway lay. In the silence that surrounded her hesitation, the growl of an approaching engine seemed to startle her out of her I-know-people persona. “Could be,” she muttered, more to the window than to Tchernak.

The engine sounded smooth, tuned, powerful. Kiernan didn’t have to look to guess who was driving. “You called the sheriff before you came out, right?”

Faye shrugged. “What did you think—I’d let you just drive off into the night?”

Right, what did she think? “Come on, Tchernak.” She strode out the cafe door into the darkness that in a minute would be filled with pulsing red lights. Faye didn’t follow. She had done her job.

“Tchernak, Jeff Tremaine was a member of the Carson Club.”

“That could be how Grady knew him.”

“Exactly. So, try this. Irene gets sick on their picnic, too sick to drive three hours back to Vegas. Grady calls Jeff and leaves her with him.”

“And flies off to Panama and back.”

“What that means is the call Grady made to Jeff Tremaine wasn’t about the boys at all. It was about Irene.”

“Sure. If he was worried about the boys, he’d have taken them to the doctor’s office. Obviously he knew where it was.” Tchernak hesitated. “So why didn’t he?”

“That’s the question. Because Jeff told him Irene was dead? Because Jeff panicked?”

“Or because Grady had some other plan for the boys when he brought them up here.”

Kiernan nodded, impressed. “Maybe so.” The patrol car was pulling up at the cafe. She stepped into the shadows and passed Tchernak her cell phone. “You said Grady arrived in Vegas a week ago Friday, was up here Sunday and back in Panama City Tuesday night. By Friday Adcock’s so pushed out of shape about it he calls me and hires you. The questions are: why did Grady do an overnight trip, and why not on a commercial flight? Was he on a Nihonco charter? I’ll keep the sheriff busy.”

“Kiernan, I’ll take him—”

“Right, and leave me to try to get something out of Persis? I’m better off with the sheriff. Go!”

She made it to Grady Hummacher’s doorway moments before the sheriff slammed on his brakes.

S
HERIFF
F
OX SHOT OUT
of his car and planted his ursine form in front of her. “Ms. O’Shaughnessy, you’re under arrest.”

She couldn’t afford to be locked up somewhere while the virus spread—maybe through Tchernak, herself, and who knew who else. But the last thing she’d tell Fox was that she’d been exposed. “Sheriff, Grady Hummacher was dead when I got here.”

“
Under arrest
,” he repeated, shouting over the whine of the gusting wind, “for breaking and entering the mortuary. What you’ve been up to here I’ll deal with later.”

From nearer the cafe behind her she could hear a soft groan, Tchernak’s shorthand for
No taunting! No speeding! No defenestration!
She should be so lucky as to defenestrate! And as she would remind him if they made it out of Nevada alive, she wasn’t diverting Fox just so Tchernak could spend the time critiquing her performance. If he didn’t get through to BakDat, they were going to be running blind. “What proof do you have, Sheriff?”

“Fingerprints, for starters.”

“Of course my prints are there, I was in the mortuary for an hour this afternoon. That’s no proof.”

“Hmm. Are you a lawyer, too, besides being a doctor and a detective? No? Well, then, we’ll leave this question to the D.A.” He turned to the patrol car and held out a thick arm. “In the meantime be my guest. Hands against the car.”

“Why don’t you charge me with breaking into the saloon too? My fingerprints are there. And in your jail.”

“You won’t have to break into the jail. This stay’s on me.”

She took a step toward him, hands planted on hips. “This is the United States, Fox. We don’t do guilty until proved innocent here. You’re talking false arrest.”

“Hands against the car, miss.”

“I need to speak to my lawyer.”

From the shadows a form started forward. Tchernak. Racing in to protect his quarterback. She turned quickly and started into the parking lot.

Before Fox could grab her or Tchernak reveal himself, three dark cars cut into the parking area, tires screeching. They slammed to a stop in a row next to Fox’s. “Stay where you are,” Fox hissed at her as he strode toward the cars.

She shot a glance at Tchernak as he slipped back into the shadows. Did “buying time” mean nothing to him? The only reason he wasn’t right here with his big hands on the car next to hers was Fox’s lack of manpower. Now, with the arrival of three deputies, Tchernak’s future freedom was limited to seconds. He didn’t have time to dial Persis much less hear her answers.

Deputy Potter hauled himself out of the nearest car and opened the door for Jeff Tremaine.

Kiernan’s breath caught. The door Jeff had emerged from was the patrol car’s back door—the cage. Connie had been right—Jeff was a prisoner.

“Ah, Jeff,” Fox said, making no move toward him but signaling one deputy to circle the lot while the other one waited. “Tell me now, did you invite Ms. O’Shaughnessy to break the airshaft window and let herself into the mortuary tonight?”

The wind was flapping Tremaine’s short sandy hair, and it was a moment before Kiernan realized he was shaking his head no—and avoiding her gaze. He turned toward the motel room, his back to her now. “Which room is the death scene?”

Where had she heard that wooden tone before? It was a moment before she recalled coming up behind him on the ward in Africa as he was assuring a terrified shopkeeper that his fever just seemed like Lassa. Two days later the man was dead.

She watched as Jeff walked to Grady’s room, his movements as lifeless as his voice. His slumped back revealed no jerking in shock; he gave no audible gasp of horror.

Fox turned his attention to her. “Potter, pat her down and put ’er in the cage.”

Kiernan turned away from the death scene and positioned her hands on the patrol car roof. It wouldn’t be a new procedure for her. And Potter, while not swift, seemed less intrusive than some as he ran his hands down her legs. He stood, gave a weary sigh, and opened Fox’s back door. “Okay, miss, you know the routine.”

“Yeah, but not before I use the bathroom. That’s what I drove in to the cafe for half an hour ago and I still haven’t had a chance.”

“I don’t know. Sheriff? She wants to pee.”

Fox stuck his head out of the bloody motel room. His face looked not the green she might have expected but merely scrunched in irritation. “What? You looking for another back window? Yeah, I know about that trick in the saloon.”

“Sheriff, this is a legitimate request.”

“Yeah, right. Okay. Go. Potter will be right outside. No, wait. Potter, come in here with O’Keefe and keep an eye on the scene. I’ll take her. She clean?”

“Yeah, nothing on her. Probably all in that fanny pack.”

Fox held out a hand, and with a sigh she gave him the pack. Her Swiss Army knife was not going to cut her out of here or uncork the identity of Grady’s killer, but the loss of it underlined just how helpless she was.

“I could have left it with you, for all the good it’ll do you,” Fox said as he tossed it in the front seat.

“Yeah, you could have been the Dalai Lama too.” She jammed her hands into her jacket pockets and headed to the cafe.

He chugged after her and she couldn’t tell whether the gurgle of breath from him was a snort or just a sign of poor fitness. He moved in front of her. “I’m not even going to watch the Ladies’ door. Go ahead out the window if you want. Walk as far as you want across the desert in any direction. But, word of advice, take a good long drink before you do.”

“You major in sarcasm at the sheriff’s academy?”

“Sheriff,” a deputy called. “I found this guy out back.”

“Kiernan!” Tchernak loped toward her and had his arms around her before his keeper changed gears. “Left Persis a message,” he whispered, slipping the phone into her pocket.

“Hey, cut that out right now.”

“It’s okay, Sheriff,” Tchernak said, “I’m her partner.”

Fox shook his head. “Don’t expect that to be a plus, fellow. Okay, Cioffi, put him in the cage.”

“Yessir.”

Kiernan was already at the cafe door. Inside, Faye stood behind the counter like an admiral on the bridge. Kiernan veered left into the Ladies’, and sighed at the age-stained yellow walls, speckled brown linoleum, and counter scoured down to the metal. The single window was large and low. A rhinoceros could have walked through it. But Sheriff Fox was right, the Doll’s House was a landlocked Devil’s Island, and all she’d get for her defenestration would be dehydrated. She used the toilet, then unfolded the little phone, hit Redial, and listened with relief as long distance beeped its way to California.

“BakDat.”

“Persis. Did you get Tchernak’s message?”

“Who’s this?”

“Kiernan O’Shaughnessy.”
As if you didn’t know.

“My business is with the Tchernak Detective Agency. As a reputable information service, I would never give out requested data to a competing detective.”

She could see the blowsy woman plopping a bonbon between her over-red lips. “Tchernak’s not going to be calling you. He’s in a cage in a deputy’s car right now. And if you don’t tell me about Grady Hummacher’s flights, Tchernak’ll be there for a long time.”

“Yeah, sure. Like I’d believe you.”

“You think I’d lie? The sheriff found him standing over Hummacher’s corpse,” she lied.

A sharp rap on the door shook her. “Hey, hurry up in there!”

“I’ll just be a minute.”

“What was that?” Persis demanded.

“The sheriff. I don’t have much time, and Tchernak’s got less, so give.”

“Okay, okay. I’ll tell you. But, for you there’s no cut rate. This time of night it’s double-time.”

If she hadn’t been so pressed, Kiernan would have laughed. “What carrier did Hummacher fly to Panama and back on?”

“Isn’t one.”

“Isn’t a
commercial
flight?”

“No, there isn’t …” Persis paused as if she knew how infuriating that was. “Not one carrier, but two. I checked both commercial flights for both days. Hummacher wasn’t on either. Only other one going from Las Vegas to Panama City was chartered to Nihonco Oil.”

Kiernan nodded. So her guess had been right. Grady had been in bed, or at least on charter, with Nihonco.

“Come on in there!” Fox called before the requisite pounding.

“Just a sec, Sheriff.” She shifted even farther away from the door and lowered her voice. “Persis, what about a Sheriff Fox from Gattozzi?”

“No request on him.”

Of course not. Five minutes ago Tchernak hadn’t laid eyes on Fox. “Fox, sheriff in Gattozzi, that’s whose custody we’re in. If you don’t hear from us in a day, call my lawyer.”

“Hey, I’m a data service, not a servant.”

She said the magic words, “
Tchernak
is in danger,” and pushed Off. Her cell phone wasn’t the best, but it was the smallest. Even so, sticking it between her breasts created a telltale bulge—another misfortune of the small—and it was damned uncomfortable. Under her left arm, inside her bra wasn’t much of an improvement, but not much was better than none. From force of habit she rechecked the entire tiny bathroom, under the sink, behind the waste can, but there was nothing likely to be useful.

Easing the door open, she glanced out, half expecting to walk into Fox’s pounding fist. But the man was true to his word. He was not on guard inches away. She couldn’t see him at all. It was his voice she heard.

“You expect me to believe you didn’t see anyone go into that motel room?” he was demanding of Faye in the same “Hurry up” tone.

“Think what you like.” Faye wasn’t having any of that. “I had a bunch of teenagers in here, some I know, some I didn’t. No way was I taking my eyes off them. You blink and you haven’t got a catsup bottle left. Aliens could have landed in the parking lot and they wouldn’t have drawn me out of here.”

“No one else came in or out of the parking lot all that time?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Stop screwing with me, Faye.”

Kiernan expected her to snap back at him, but the voice she heard held a high quiver and the answer was disconcertingly quick. “There were cars, three of them. Didn’t arrive together. I didn’t see who was in them. Just cars.” Had Fox threatened her?

Kiernan pressed her back against the wall and inched forward.

“Make?”

“Barracuda. A miracle it was still running. Didn’t sound like that miracle would last. Then there was a pickup—”

“You recognize either one?”

There was a silent beat before Faye said no. Surely he noted the hesitation. Faye sounded just like the kids at St. Brendan’s who didn’t want to get their palms rapped with a ruler. If she could only observe their conversation …Kiernan edged to the corner, bent down to a level Fox wouldn’t be watching for, and peered around. All she could see was the counter. Two vehicles? If Adcock flew up from Las Vegas, he’d have borrowed a car. It could be either, but odds were on the pickup.