Mean Streak

“I’m not sure what—”

“What that means is,” he said, cutting her off, “nobody wants to lock you up. This was no crash and grab. There was a bank envelope with a couple hundred dollars of petty cash in the office manager’s desk. It’s still there.

“A locked cabinet containing painkillers, uppers, and downers, which would have sold on the street for a bundle, was left untouched. Well, not untouched, exactly. The lock on it was broken, but nothing was taken except for two weeks’ supply of antibiotics, which, I’m told, in Europe you can buy at the CVS or whatever.”

He let all that sink in before continuing. “Dr. Trenton said it looked to him like the missing articles had been shopped for, so to speak, by a professional. A medical professional, not a professional thief. He said the only things taken were what would be needed for a procedure. Say, the termination of a pregnancy.”

He’d been cataloging her reactions, and when she cast her eyes down she cursed herself for being so transparent.

Knight sat forward again, all earnestness and compassion now. “Did that man force you to steal that stuff and get rid of a problem for him?”

She said nothing.

“Emory?”

She refused to respond.

As though receiving a silent signal from Knight, Grange pulled out a chair and sat down with them at the table. He had lived up to Jeff’s description as the “bad cop.” She prepared herself for some arm-twisting.

He said, “Sam and I don’t believe you got it into your head to commit a B and E and steal some country doctor’s plastic gloves. Dollarwise, the medical equipment stolen didn’t add up to much. If Dr. Trenton is reimbursed for it, I doubt he’d want to see an esteemed colleague like you charged, much less tried. Granted, the medications that were stolen are controlled substances, but somebody could get a lot higher on a bottle of NyQuil.”

He paused. “Sam and I think you were forced or coerced into committing that burglary. What we don’t get is why you’re protecting him, the guy we can’t see. The guy with the raspy voice. Who is he, Dr. Charbonneau?”

“I’ve told you, I don’t know.”

“Well, we may be able to help with that.”

Surprised by that statement, she watched Grange remove a map from the manila envelope. He spread it open. It was a duplicate of the map she’d used to chart her run on that otherwise innocuous Saturday when, without any foretelling, her life had turned upside down. If the last five minutes were any indication of things to come, it appeared likely that her life would never be right side up again.

Someone had drawn a star in red ink on the map. Grange put the tip of his index finger on it. “This is the parking lot where you left your car. Your starting point, right?”

She nodded.

“The Chevron station where you were dropped off yesterday is here at this crossroads.” He pointed it out to her. “And here’s the town where Trenton’s office is.”

“What we did,” Knight said, “was sorta connect those dots to form a circle. Then we started checking arrest records, looking for anybody with priors who lives within that circle or close enough.”

Grange said, “Several names popped up.”

She held her breath.

“One was a guy who is currently serving time for armed robbery,” Grange said. “Another’s wife killed him eight months ago, so he’s not our man. But we got several other names.” Knight smiled at her. “And one in particular looks real good to us.”

Chapter 29

Emory thought she might throw up. She lowered her head and cupped her hand around her mouth.

Was yours a violent crime?

Extremely.

“Name’s Floyd.”

Her head snapped up. “What?”

“There are two of them, actually,” Grange said. “Brothers. Norman and Will Floyd.”

It was an effort not to give away her relief.