“What kind of personnel?”

“Doesn’t say. ”

“But it’s inside Afghanistan?”

“Seems so. ”

“CIA,” said Trout. “Has to be. ”

“Yeah. That works. Eleven months later he’s working at a good hospital in Virginia. The notes mention that he has a wife and daughter, but Marcia says that she can’t find any records of them after he went into the army. Divorced, maybe?” Goat scrolled through the notes. “A lot of this is dry background stuff. He moved several times. Worked at several hospitals in Virginia, Maryland, and then Pennsylvania, and ten years ago he took a job as a doctor in the corrections system. Federal first, and then a few transfers. Another interesting thing … he got the job as senior medical officer at Rockview ahead of six other doctors with more seniority in the prison system. ”

Trout nodded. “So he still has some federal juice. Someone’s making sure he gets what he wants. Wonder why. ”

“That’s about it,” said Goat. “The rest is straight employment info, a few tax records Marcia could scrounge, and references to employee evaluations, all of which gave him top marks for everything. ”

“More federal juice. If you’re sucking on the CIA’s tit, they watch out for you. I’d hate to be a traffic cop who tried to give him a speeding ticket. ”

“Or a professional rival,” suggested Goat as he handed the phone back. Trout stuffed it in his pocket without turning the ringer back on or checking his voice mail. The Volker information was so compelling that he plain forgot.

They chewed on the information as they drove.

“If he has federal juice, then why is afraid of anything?” asked Goat. “I mean, someone fucks with him and he’s one phone call away from calling down the wrath of God. ”

“Yep,” agreed Trout “which means that if he was being harassed about having performed the lethal injection, then he could call in ten kinds of support. ”

“And here we are,” mused Goat, “driving right to his door to try and bully him into giving us a story. How smart are we?”

Trout didn’t answer. Overhead the storm was darkening the sky to the color of a fresh bruise.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

HART COTTAGE

STEBBINS COUNTY, PENNSYLVANIA

Officer Ken Gunther stood on the porch and sipped coffee from a mug that had HARTNUP’S TRANSITION ESTATE in fancy script on one side and a quote on the other: “Death is Momentary—Life is Eternal. ”

“Bullshit,” he said. He sipped the coffee. April, Doc’s sister, was not only smoking hot by Gunther’s finicky standards, she could brew a pot of damn good coffee. No lattes or macchiatos. No hazelnut or Irish-fucking-cream. Good old-fashioned American coffee from Colombia. Black and bitter. Hot, too, which was a blessing because he was freezing his nuts off. He still wore a lightweight summer uniform under a nylon Windbreaker, which was dumb because all he had to do was turn on the TV to see what the temperature was. Even the plastic cover for his hat was in the trunk of his cruiser, and the storm clouds were so thick and black they looked ready to explode.

He sipped and stared out at the trees.

The Hartnup place was called a cottage but it was really a big split-level. Roomy, tidy, and remote. He could see himself living in a place like this. Maybe even with April. She was divorcing that ass pirate Virgil, who, despite having fathered two kids, had finally realized that he was gay. Wow, Gunther thought. What a news flash. Everyone had known that since the fifth grade. He wondered how April didn’t know it. She seemed pretty smart, but then again a lot of people are dumb when it comes to love.

Gunther drank some more coffee and set the cup on the porch rail. He needed to pee but he did not want to go inside. If he did, then he’d get stuck in there while Dana Howard would escape out here. On the upside, he’d get to spend some time with April; but on the downside he’d have to spend time with the kids. Gunther was not a fan of children.

He looked at the front door, which was closed, then cautiously peered in through the window. Dana was standing with her back to him in the doorway between the living room and the playroom. April was changing a diaper.

Now was a good time.

Moving quietly so as not to squeak any of the porch floorboards, he crossed to the steps, went down, and then cut around to the side of the house where there was a row of thick holly bushes. He looked up and down the side yard, saw no one, unzipped, and began pissing on April Hartnup’s autumn sunflowers.

When he heard the crunch of a foot on dried leaves he jumped sideways, trying to stop his stream, cover his penis, and grab his zipper all at the same time.

“Dana, I—” he began.

But it wasn’t Dana Howard.

It was a white-faced thing that came out of the shadows between two massive willow trees. It had eyes as black and empty as bullet holes, fingers the color of old wax, and a mouth that was filled with bloody teeth.

Tags: Jonathan Maberry Dead of Night Horror
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