"Willy's solid on Nugent being the right guy?"
"Absolutely, boss." Sam's emphasis betrayed her own initial misgivings. "E. T. gave it up first, a few days ago, and Willy really checked it out. I mean, nobody saw Nugent do it, of course-except Andy-but he was at the right place at the right time, has a history of doing that shit, to men and women both, and, finally, even bragged about it to some of his buddies. Willy got it all down-sworn statements, the works. That's why he made the approach. He was going to bust him."
Joe checked the glowing clock on the night table. It was four a.m. "When did this happen?"
"About ninety minutes ago. It's been kind of a mess to sort out." Sam suddenly stopped before adding in a guiltier tone, "I tried calling your home phone earlier. When you didn't answer, I didn't want to disturb… Well, you know, you've got a bunch of things going on. I didn't want to…"
Jesus, he thought, this'll make the rounds. "That's fine, Sam. Don't worry about it. You still in BF?"
"Yeah. We got VSP doing the investigation. We're all hanging out at the PD."
"Was anyone else hurt?" he asked.
"Nope-just Nugent. The gas station is half toast, but the owner says he's insured. Nothing else caught fire, and the fire department had a blast putting it out-big-time war story material."
Joe shook his head slightly-the circles he traveled in. "Okay, Sam. I'll be heading up soon."
He snapped the phone shut and rested his head against the pillow, staring at the ceiling.
"That didn't sound good," Lyn said quietly.
"Could you hear both sides?" he asked.
She nodded.
"Well, it could've been worse-if it turns out the way Sam just said. People bolt all the time when we get too close, and get into deeper trouble because of it. Let's just hope there's no surprise hiding in the bushes."
"Like what?"
He immediately thought of Willy. "You know how it is," he answered vaguely. "Just something you don't expect."
He sighed and slipped his arm back where it had been, enjoying the way she slipped her thigh up over his leg and placed her warm hand on his stomach.
"Mostly, I just hate to go," he admitted. "Not the way I figured tonight would wrap up."
She kissed his neck. "Exactly how much time do you think you do have?" she asked, biting his earlobe lightly.
He laughed. "A few more minutes than I thought I had?"
She slid her hand down farther. "Good."
He only got to drop by in Bellows Falls, long enough to show a command presence to both the state police investigators and his own people. During the half-hour drive up the interstate from Brattleboro, he'd received a second phone call, this one from his mother, who told him that the hospital had called.
His heart had dropped at the news. Given his profession and the surprises it often bore, he'd been dreading this call while expecting it, too.
"It's good, Joey," she'd told him, however, falling back to a nickname she rarely used. "He's coming out of it, just like the doctor said he might."
"I'm already heading your way, Mom," he'd told her. "I'll be there in under an hour."
Karl Weisenbeck looked as fresh at 5:15 in the morning as he always did-affable, neat, and completely focused on his patient's mother.
He was also overflowing with enthusiasm. "In a nutshell, Mrs. G.," he said, crouching down to her level. "We hurt your son and he said 'ouch.' Best news in the world."
He laughed at her concern. "Remember what I told you?" he asked, supplying the answer. "That we were looking for the improved oxygenation to do the rest of the work for us? Well, that's what's happening-the paradoxical breathing has stopped, he was taken off positive pressure several hours ago, and he's not only holding his own, but his O-two saturation has reached normal levels and his consciousness has surfaced to where he responded when we applied a painful stimulus." He reached out and patted her hand. "That's what I meant. I've been told I probably shouldn't try to be funny in situations like these, but it's just such great news."
She squeezed his hand in return, her eyes bright with gratitude. "No, no, Doctor. It's quite all right. We'll take humor any day. Would it be all right to see him?"
Weisenbeck stood up. "Of course. Now, he's not going to start up a conversation, you know. He is still asleep. But you can check out his improved breathing for yourself, and see how much better he looks without all that plumbing stuck down his throat. You might even get a response if you squeeze his hand." He laughed and added, "especially if you use a little rough stuff."
A nurse came in to get her ready for her visit, and Joe and Weisenbeck stood side by side before the viewing window overlooking the rows of beds.
"Straight?" was all Joe asked.
Weisenbeck smiled without looking at him. "Straight. I'm not saying something can't still go wrong-it definitely can. But the odds are hugely in his favor now. If his progress is any indicator, all he has left to do is wake up, get his strength back, and go home. All of which, I won't deny, will take time, but still…"
Joe patted his shoulder. "Thanks, and not just for the doctor stuff."
Weisenbeck glanced quickly at his watch, looking pleased, and then moved toward the door. "Happy to help, Mr. Gunther. Call me anytime, for any reason."
Joe waited until he saw his mother being wheeled into the ICU before going outside to his usual cell phone corner in the hallway. He dialed Gail's number, got her answering machine, and said, "It's Joe. Good news from the hospital. Leo's not fully awake but he's starting to come out of it. The doc's pretty optimistic. Just thought you'd like to know."
He then called Sammie. "How're things going?" he asked.
"I should ask the same thing," she answered.
"Good," he said. "He's starting to improve."
She laughed. "I should probably say the same thing. The chief down here is being a little starchy about Willy not checking in before all hell broke loose, and the VSP is curious if we always run solo after suspects in major cases, but no one's really faulting what happened. We got lucky with a bunch of realists, for once. I'm betting he gets a clean bill on this one."
"And there's no doubt about Nugent being the guy? 'Cause I plan to tell Andy's father that we got him."
"I double-checked, boss-promise. He did it. By the way, we got a hit on that long shot you asked Les and me to check out-the irate parental type who might go after people like Nashman and Metz? Lester found someone named Oliver Mueller. Lives in Bratt, heads up a bereaved-parents support group, writes letters to the editor all the time, rants at selectmen meetings, hassles the police chief for more action against child molesters. He's been arrested for disorderly a few times, including once for resisting and assaulting a cop. His daughter's death two years ago is about all he lives for anymore."
"I don't remember that. What was her name?"
"Didn't happen here. He's a New Jersey transplant. Kid died, and everything went with her-the marriage, the job, the house, you name it."
"What makes him homicidal?" Joe asked, unsure that his own reaction to a child's murder wouldn't push him at least a little off center.
"Last year, there was an incident in Brattleboro. The cops thought a guy in the neighborhood might be going after kids. Mueller caught wind of it, bushwhacked the guy, and threatened to kill him. I won't bore you with the details-I'll be writing them all down anyhow-but, long story short, lawyers made it all go away. Point is, five months later, the guy wound up dead in Massachusetts, and Mueller had a bulletproof alibi. But the cop I talked to down there is convinced Mueller did it, or at least hired it out."
"Based on what?" Joe asked.
"Pure gut," Sam conceded. "When Lester was asking around, Mueller was the first name that the Bratt PD's Cathy Eakins thought of-said we'd be dumb not to check him out, although she wasn't as gung-ho as the Massachusetts cop."