Chương 7
I almost shouted.
Instead I lowered my voice.
“You found Emily yet?”
Silence.
My pulse changed.
“Price.”
“We entered the courthouse annex.”
“And?”
“She isn’t there.”
I closed my eyes.
“Was she ever there?”
“We found adhesive residue on the floor in B-17.”
My eyes opened.
“What else?”
“A cut length of silver duct tape.”
Sarah stood.
“And blood?”
“Preliminary testing indicates trace blood.”
“Emily’s?”
“We don’t know yet.”
“Then they moved her.”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Possibly before the photograph reached you.”
My stomach tightened.
The message had not been proof of where Emily was.
It had been proof of where she had been.
“Did you check the courthouse cameras?”
“We are.”
“The service corridor camera covers the annex stairwell.”
“It was offline.”
“Since when?”
“According to the system log, nine seventeen tonight.”
“Who shut it off?”
“We don’t know.”
“Barnes?”
“We don’t know.”
“Someone with admin access?”
“Likely.”
I pictured the courthouse network cabinet on the second floor.
Facilities had access.
IT had access.
The sheriff’s office did too.
“Price.”
“Yes?”
“Who knew you were going to the courthouse?”
She did not answer.
I felt the hairs rise on my arms.
“Who?”
“Cho.”
“And?”
“My supervisor.”
“And?”
“Two state troopers assigned to the entry team.”
“That’s all?”
A pause.
“No.”
“Who else?”
“The county emergency manager had to be notified because we were entering a secured government building after hours.”
I turned away from Sarah.
“Name.”
“Mr. Irwin.”
“Name.”
Price exhaled.
“Walter Crane.”
I knew Walter.
Everybody who worked nights at the courthouse knew Walter.
He was fifty-eight, diabetic, perpetually irritated by fluorescent lighting, and responsible for building access, emergency plans, and the county’s disaster contracts.
He also signed my overtime sheets.
My phone buzzed while Price was still talking.
A photograph arrived from Marcus.
It showed a county contract.
At the bottom was a signature approving the eighty-four-thousand-dollar emergency remediation payment.
Walter Crane.
Underneath it was a second signature authorizing the contractor.
Sheriff Rick Barnes.
Then Sarah made a sound behind me.
I turned.
Tyler was awake.
His face had gone gray.
He was staring toward the open doorway.
A man in hospital scrubs stood outside the room beside a supply cart.
He saw me looking at him.
For one second, neither of us moved.
Then he left the cart and ran.
I ran after him.
The corridor bent left past respiratory care, then opened toward the elevators.
The man in scrubs was already twenty yards ahead.
He shoved through a pair of swinging doors marked STAFF ONLY.
I hit them hard enough that one struck the wall.
A nurse shouted behind me.
The man glanced back once.
I saw a pale face, close-cropped hair, maybe forty.
No badge.
No hospital ID.
He cut into a service stairwell.
I followed.
My knees complained on the first landing.
That irritated me more than the pain.
Seventeen years of pushing carts across marble had not turned me into what memory sometimes pretended I still was.
The man took the stairs two at a time.
I heard the lower door crash open.
By the time I reached the next landing, my chest was burning.
I kept going.
The basement corridor smelled of bleach and hot laundry.
A housekeeping worker pushing a linen cart froze when the man nearly knocked her down.
He turned right.
“Where?” I shouted.
She pointed.
“Loading dock.”
I rounded the corner and saw the exit door beginning to close.
Outside, a dark pickup was pulling away from the curb.
The man jumped into the passenger side before it stopped moving.
I reached the concrete apron as the truck accelerated toward the service road.
No rear plate.
Temporary paper tag in the back window.
I lifted my phone and took three photographs.
All blurry.
One caught the passenger looking back.
The truck disappeared between two parked ambulances.
A security officer came running out behind me.
“Sir, you can’t be down here.”
“I know.”
“What are you doing?”
“Call hospital police.”
“They’re already on the way.”
“Good.”
“Who was that man?”
“That’s what I’d like to know.”
The security officer eyed my work shirt, then the open stairwell behind me.
“You a patient family member?”
“Yes.”
“You need to come back inside.”
I looked at the road one more time.
No truck.
No miracle.
No second chance.
“Fine.”
By the time I got upstairs, two hospital police officers were outside Tyler’s room.
Sarah was furious.
Not frightened.
Furious.
That was worse.
“What did I say to you?”
“I know.”
“No, apparently you don’t.”
“I saw him run.”
“So you chased him.”
“Yes.”
“Of course you did.”
One of the officers raised a hand.
“Ma’am.”
She turned on him.
“Not now.”
He lowered it.
Tyler lay rigid in bed.
His face had lost what little color medication had given him.
Price arrived seven minutes later with Cho.
She looked at me and did not bother hiding her anger.
“You chased him.”
“Yes.”
“You touched him?”
“No.”
“You lost him?”
“Yes.”
“Vehicle?”
“Dark pickup.”
“Make?”
“Ford, maybe Chevrolet.”
“That helpful?”
“No.”
“Plate?”
“Paper tag.”
“Photos?”
I handed her my phone.
She studied them.
Cho leaned over her shoulder.
“Third image.”
“I know.”
He enlarged the passenger window.
The man’s face was mostly motion blur.
But not entirely.
Price looked at Tyler.
“Did you recognize him?”
Tyler nodded.
“From where?”
“The road.”
Sarah’s hand closed around his.
“He was with Barnes?”
Tyler’s mouth went dry.
“He was driving another truck.”
“What truck?”
“White one.”
Price moved closer.
“Slowly, Tyler.”
“He was behind Barnes when I stopped.”
“You stopped voluntarily?”
“I had to.”
“Why?”
“Barnes blocked the road.”
“Then what?”
“The white truck pulled up behind me.”
“Who was driving?”
“Him.”
“The man in the hospital?”
“Yes.”
“What did he do?”
“He got out.”
“Did he speak to you?”
“No.”
“Did he go near Barnes’s vehicle?”
Tyler nodded.
“What did he do?”
“He opened the back door.”
Sarah stopped breathing for a moment.
“Did you see Emily?”
May you like
“I saw somebody.”
“You said her shoes,” I reminded him.
