Planning to perform a typical vehicle search for narcotics, Mattie clipped Robo’s leash back on his collar and directed him in a counterclockwise sweep around the van’s exterior. He sniffed the vehicle’s undercarriage and headed toward the driver’s side. At the open door, he sniffed the inside panel and then whiffed it again as if checking his work. He turned, sat, and stared at Mattie.
Mattie’s pulse quickened, and she praised Robo while he beat his tail in a happy cadence. Since it had remained open, this door panel had been relatively spared from the fire. She spoke over her shoulder to Brody. “He’s got a hit here. Let’s take off the panel.”
Stella called to one of the lab techs, a young woman named Karissa, and asked her to help. First Karissa photographed the door from several angles, and then with a tool she removed from a kit she wore at her belt, she pried loose the inner door upholstery.
Mattie leaned in for a closer look. Nothing. “I don’t see anything, but can we swab that to see if we can get a sample for testing?”
“I have a NIK kit here,” Karissa said, referring to a presumptive test kit that could detect and identify narcotics in the field. “Let’s use it.”
While Karissa retrieved the kit and set to work, Brody came close to watch. Mattie and Robo finished sweeping the van without any other alerts.
“I swabbed out a few grains of something,” Karissa told Mattie when she returned to the driver’s side. “I hope it’s large enough to react.”
The lab tech held the small fluid-filled test pouch and carefully broke ampoules of reacting agents over it. As she worked through the ampoules, the fluid turned a faint shade of blue. “That’s positive for cocaine,” Karissa said, grinning at Mattie.
She couldn’t help but return the smile. “Thanks, Karissa. That’s a huge find.”
“I’ll swab it out and see what we can identify in the lab, but it’s safe to say this van was used to transport cocaine inside the door panel.” Karissa started to leave but turned back toward Mattie. “And could you get a sample of your dog’s hair for me, so we can have it on record? You have to pluck it to include the follicle, and I’m afraid of him.”
“As you should be,” Brody said, with an expression of pride on his face. “This dog can take your hand off.”
Mattie thought Brody might be going a bit overboard, but who was she to argue?
* * *
Morning light filtered through the hospital room window where Cole sat with Leslie. Garrett lay unconscious in the bed, looking older than his years, small cuts and bruises marring the stark whiteness of his face.
Garrett’s CT scan had revealed a hematoma in a place in his brain that made the doctors nervous. The neurosurgeon didn’t recommend operating unless internal vessels in the brain bled further and the hematoma enlarged overnight. So far, his vital signs had been stable, so there was nothing else to do but wait and watch, which had occupied both Cole and Leslie.
Leslie’s forehead was creased with worry, her eyes reddened by unshed tears, and Cole knew there was no way he could leave her to stand vigil on her own. He’d tried to keep his game face on and project an air of confidence that Garrett would be fine, but the strain seemed to be getting to them both.
Since their daughter Grace’s murder, Garrett had made an attempt to heal by volunteering for the sheriff’s posse, a group of horseback riders that responded to search-and-rescue calls or routine events such as crowd control at rodeos. He’d thrown himself into community service, while Leslie had isolated herself in their home.
A few times each month, Mrs. Gibbs and Cole’s two daughters, Angela and Sophie, had driven out to the Hartman ranch house to visit Leslie. Mrs. Gibbs was a rock with a solid knowledge of human nature, and the two women seemed to enjoy each other’s company. Grace and Angela had been best of friends, and Cole had been relieved that her visits with Leslie didn’t seem to be painful for either of them. Garrett often commented how much Leslie loved seeing the kids and how young Sophie made her laugh.
Coming into town together to enjoy the community dance had been a big step for the Hartmans. It had been almost a year since Grace, and as far as Cole knew, this was the first time they’d planned to attend a fun event. It made his heart ache that they hadn’t made it, and now Garrett lay unconscious on this bed, his life suspended in the blink of an eye.
Cole arose from his chair to stretch his legs and open the blinds a crack. The sun had risen well above the horizon, and it slanted in, hurting his eyes. He closed the blind. “Do you want some breakfast, Leslie?”
She looked away from her husband’s face for a brief moment. “I don’t think so, Cole.”
He fought to keep himself from yawning. “A cup of coffee?”
She gazed at Garrett as if willing him to awaken. “That would be nice.”
Cole thought he knew the answer but decided to ask anyway. “Do you want to take a walk, go get it yourself? I’ll stay with him.”
“No. You go.”
Just thinking about food made his belly rumble. It had been a long, hard night. “I’ll be right back.”
Cole found the alcove where the nurse had said they could get coffee and snacks. He poured two cups of the dark brew, grabbed a couple packets of sugar and creamer, and placed them on a tray. He decided to check the refrigerator, found containers of yogurt and Jell-O, and selected two of each. He snagged bananas from a fruit bowl, some packets of crackers and cookies, topped off his tray with utensils and napkins, and then headed back toward the room.
When he entered, he was startled to find Leslie on her feet hovering over Garrett, gripping his hand, shoulders bent and heaving. Cole set the tray on the bedside table as he rushed toward her. When he followed her gaze to his friend’s face, his breath caught.
Garrett’s eyes were open, and he was staring up at his wife.
Cole placed his arm around Leslie, her shoulders still twitching with sobs that she held inside, silently crying. “Hi, Garrett,” he said softly.
Garrett’s lips twisted in a quirky half smile. “Hey. What are we doin’ here?”
“You’re in the hospital.” Cole pushed the button to call for the nurse. “You remember getting hurt?”
Garrett frowned and winced as if the movement alone pained him. “How?”
Unsure how much he should say, Cole dropped his arm from Leslie’s shoulders and leaned against the bed rail. “You got hit on the head.”
“That explains the headache.” Garrett’s eyes went back to Leslie, and he raised the hand she still clung to so that he could touch the tears on her face. “Don’t cry, sweetheart. I’m okay.”
She moved his hand to her lips and pressed them against it. She choked on her first attempt to speak, cleared her throat, and tried again, this time managing a shaky voice. “We’ll see if they can give you something for the pain.”
The nurse came in, took one look, and bustled over to the other side of the bed where she could read Garrett’s vitals on the monitor. “Nice to see you’re awake, Garrett. How do you feel?”
He squinted at her, then closed one eye. “Head hurts like a son of a gun.”
“We’ll get you something for that.” She asked him to squeeze her hands, checked his pupils, and asked him to say his full name, all of which he responded to like a champ. But when she asked him what year it was, he hesitated.