Growing up in North Dakota, she'd learned that trees grew either in straight lines—shelter belts—or along river beds. In Florida, palm trees and carefully groomed tropical foliage surrounded her. The Tennessee woods were thick, lush, and a thousand shades of green.
She parked, ran through rain drops to the ED employee entrance, and sought out Ricky Tondo. Sometime during the last month they'd bonded. Maybe it was because she'd earned her place. Maybe it was because she didn't care he was gay. Maybe because he had awesome ED skills, and she respected him. Or, maybe because she simply wouldn't put up with his verbal shit.
She found him in the back of the main nursing station doing his charting. "Hey, Ricky. Got a second?"
"Sure." He tapped a key to blank out the computer screen and stood. "I heard your man is doing okay. In fact, I wandered over to the scan center and checked on his films a bit ago."
"And?"
"The radiologist told me there is no bleeding," Ricky said.
"The benefit of a good thick skull."
"Your words, not mine."
"Have you heard anything more from the paramedics or cops about the accident?" Sophia said.
"Not from the medics. They haven't been around. But a couple of deputies were in this morning, headed up to your man's room. I overheard them say the skid marks look like he was hit using a PIT."
"Which is?"
"A pursuit intervention technique. I know about it from going to auto races. I saw a whole TV segment on it before one of the big NASCAR events, too."
"Tell me more."
"The pursuing driver slaps his right front fender into the left rear of the forward car. From what I understand, it's a precise movement, a quarter turn of the wheel. That striking force lifts the target vehicle slightly and spins it to the left. The rear car skids to the right. So, in a racing situation, it looks like an accident, and the attacking driver apologizes. Meanwhile, he's forced the leading car off the road, or possibly into other cars."
"You think a race car driver attacked Ray?"
"No, baby, no. The cops adopted and learned the technique. Changed the name to PIT, though it is known by several others like pit block, pit stop, and blocking."
"Ah, shit."
"The deputies suspect the location of the attack was selected because it promised maximum damage to Ray's vehicle and a safe shoulder for the attacker."
"Attempted murder."
"Sounds like it." Ricky glanced down the hall. "Gotta go. When's your next shift?"
"Monday. I have the weekend off." Sophia watched Ricky trot down the hall and into a room with a blinking call light.
She left the ED, rode the elevator to Ray's floor, and found him in a patient gown, sitting in a bedside chair with a sheet over his knees, and watching CSI on TV. After kissing him hello and examining the wound on the side of his head—it didn't have a bandage—she handed him the tote she carried. "I brought your stuff."
"Such as?" He peered into the bag.
"Underwear, lounging pants, tee shirts, and clothes to go home."
"Thanks, sweetheart." He stood and held onto the back of the chair for a moment. "Dizzy." He limped toward the bathroom with his butt showing through the opening in the back of the gown, reappearing in a couple of minutes dressed in the things from home.
"Better?" she said.
"Much. Those stupid gowns y'all force patients to wear don't cut it—leaves my ass out in the cold."
"Au contraire, my good man. The gowns provide us access to all the parts."
"Yeah." He scratched his head, staying clear of the sutures. "Sit."
"Arf." She giggled, pulled over a chair, and sat. "How does your left leg feel?"
"Like it was slashed with a dull knife, then sutured with a dull needle."
"Did they change the dressing this morning?"
"They did. Said the wound is clean."
"Good." Sophia told Ray about her conversation with Jasper.
"I'll take Jasper up on his invitation as soon as I'm out of here." He took a sip of water from an insulated cup on his overbed table. "Two interesting things. One, my attacker was not Krantz. His wife reported their SUV stolen that morning. Johnson, in fact, handled the call. Shim confirmed Krantz was working a traffic stop in Baxter—on the other side of the county—at the time."
"Makes you wonder if it was a carefully planned alibi."
"Sophie, you're jumping to conclusions. We know Krantz is a problem. We know he does things for his uncle. We suspect he tips off the meth labs to planned raids. But, there is no evidence he's a killer—or, in this case, an attempted killer."
"I guess you're right. You do know a special maneuver was used to force you off the road?"
"Heard about it this morning."
"We sure jumped from the stewpot into the fire pit, didn't we?"
"This too shall pass, my love."
Sophia sat with Ray for most of the afternoon, reading a mystery on her iPad while he watched the Red Sox-Yankee game. After dietary staff served his dinner tray, she headed back up the mountain, promising to return early in the morning so he could make his escape.
She pulled her MINI in behind Ray's Ram—Johnson had delivered the truck while she was gone. He said he'd put the keys under the mat, which she found as promised. As she stood to close the door, she heard someone speak her name.
Turning in the direction of the voice, she saw Deputy Krantz. "What can I do for you, Deputy?" She kept her hand on the open truck door, thinking it might be a convenient escape route.
Krantz took a few steps closer, stopping about five feet away.
With haste, she climbed into the Ram. Pulled the door closed. Turned the ignition. Cracked the window.
"What's wrong? You scared?"
"Uncomfortable would be the word. Now, what do you want?" She slipped her hand into her purse and grasped her weapon.
Krantz advanced a step. "What I want, little lady, is for you to quit poking around and asking questions."
"Or?"
"Hope that mutt of yours doesn't get eaten by a coyote—or something. Take it for what it's worth." He backed off, walked down the drive to his car, and left.
Sophia climbed out of the Ram, locked it up, and went into the house and, with shaking hands, dialed Johnson. "No one is going to hurt my puppy," she said as the phone rang. She'd learned her lesson about going too far afield on her own.
Chapter 30
Sophia
On Saturday morning, Mischief's frantic licks on her face brought Sophia to consciousness. Her cell phone buzzed and vibrated on the bedside table. She grabbed the offending device, put the dog on the floor, and answered the call—the screen showed Ray's picture.
"Hey, baby," she said. "What's up? It's seven o'clock, for God's sake."
"The doctor just left. He said I can get out of here as soon as I have transportation." His voice was clear with no hint of slurring.
"Have you been out of bed? Are you still dizzy?"
"I'm dressed. The dizziness is gone, for the most part, unless I move suddenly. The doc said it would pass."
"When did he say you can go back to work?"
"Next week . . ." His voice dropped an octave and trailed off. "He told me to take it easy."
"And?"
"And I was thinking you can drive me around while I check on a few things."
"Don't think you should go to work, sweetheart. You need to heal." She didn't try to soften the edge in her voice.
"I'm doing a couple of things today, with or without your help."
"Men." She exhaled in exasperation, knowing arguing was futile and refusing would destroy their working relationship—meaning he wouldn't include her in his work when he could. "Fine. They'll serve breakfast in about thirty minutes, I think. I'll tend to Mischief, take her on a long walk, then head into town."
"Make sure you're carrying," Ray said.
Damn, she thought, he was going to be back on her case about carrying her Sig. "Yes, sir."
/> "Did Johnson bring my truck home?"
"He did."
"Drive that, please." He paused. "Did he put my equipment in it?"
"He said he did. And he brought your badge and weapon here last night after I called him."
"Hold that thought for a minute." Ray continued talking. His voice was audible, but muffled, as if he were talking to someone in the room. Then he said, "I just told the chief I'd use my personal vehicle for a couple of weeks, rather than a patrol car. Resources are limited. He's trying to find a replacement from one of the other PDs in the area. There's a town just north of us that downsized recently, so they might have an available vehicle." After another pause for a side conversation, he continued, "Why did you call Johnson last night?"
"Because Krantz stopped by and told me to quit poking around."
Ray cursed. "See you in a bit." The line went dead,
Sophia redirected her attention to Mischief, who was scratching and whining at the door. She took the dog out for a brief walk in the front yard, then washed and pulled on jeans and a tee. While Mischief scarfed her food, she grabbed a muffin. Breakfast was done in three minutes for both of them. She hooked on Mischief's leash and headed out for a longer walk. The puppy—because she still was a puppy—would be incarcerated in her crate for most of the day.
The walk around the golf course's lake was beautiful, as usual. Sophia kept an eye out for golfers, but it was early and none had reached the hole skirting the water yet. She took her time, trudged around the back behind the dam and the water pump, and through a break in the trees. When she returned to the little house, the dog was panting, and Sophia felt energized. She crated Mischief and headed into Crestville.
After parking the Ram in front of the hospital, she called Ray to say she was there and went in through the front door. The lobby was deserted except for the information desk volunteer. Sophia nodded a greeting as she passed by on her way to the elevators.
Ray, favoring his left leg, stood near the fourth-floor elevator, his belongings in a clear plastic bag labeled CMCC Patient Belongings.
Sophia stretched on her toes to plant a kiss on Ray's lips, then went to the desk. "Okay if I walk him down?" she said to the charge nurse.
"Go for it." The harried looking, young nurse nodded toward Ray. "We couldn't get him to sit in a wheelchair while he waited. I doubt he'd cooperate with a chariot ride to the exit."
"For sure," Sophia said. "Anything I need to know?"
"We gave Detective Stone written directions. He asked for the dressing to cover the stitches over his ear. You can remove it whenever you like. The dressing on his ankle can be removed tomorrow for a shower and then left off. He's supposed to rest for the week and see the doctor on Friday."
"For all the good it will do." Sophia smiled, then moved to join Ray. "Let's go."
When they reached the parking lot, Sophia climbed into the Ram, using the handhold over the door to pull herself up. "Where to, master?" She giggled.
"Give me a minute. Where's my gear?"
"Under your seat."
She waited while Ray clipped his badge to the left side of his belt, his service weapon holster to the right, and his smaller personal weapon to his uninjured right ankle. Then she eased out of the parking lot. "Where to?"
"Take 70N to Plateauville. I want to see the site where that ass forced me off the road."
"Don't you mean the scene of the attempt on your life?"
"When we figure out who it was, that's what he'll be charged with."
Sophia headed east, taking the route Ray traveled two days earlier.
"The chief didn't like the idea of you driving me around," Ray said, "but there is no one available to do it until Monday—unless Johnson decides he wants to work tomorrow. You're on an official ride-along. We'll stop by the station later, and you can sign the release. I also need to get a portable light bar for the dash and a radio."
"Really? I have to sign a friggin' release?"
"Yup. Direct orders, in fact."
They traveled east for several minutes on the scenic drive. Sophia saw the concrete barricades on the left.
"Pull over to the right here," he said.
Sophia parked on the side of the road, turned on the four-way flashers, and climbed down from the truck. It was already nine o'clock, and the day was warm, though it wasn't uncomfortably hot yet. The humidity hit her in the face.
Ray inspected what was left of the skid marks. The previous day's rain never became more than a drizzle, and traffic stayed light on the road unless I-40 was clogged.
"What do you think?"
He pointed to the marks. "The driver was skilled. It wasn't his first assault on a moving vehicle. I'm still surprised he hit me going that fast."
She followed him to the barricades. Two of them were knocked over, and several small trees lay on the ground. She pointed to a large charred tree. "The tree that saved your life, I presume."
Two things occurred to Sophia. One, it was lucky the explosion hadn't ignited a fire in the trees, and two, there was no doubt the attacker had intended to take Ray's life. Only by luck had he crashed into the huge tree.
***
Sophia pulled the Ram into one of the five vacant spaces directly in front of the laundromat. She pointed to the window of a small side room. "That's Jasper sitting in his little office."
"You can come in with me if you want, but do me a favor and don't participate in the conversation."
"Not even an introduction?"
"Not even." He rubbed the small bandage on his head then exited the truck. He waited for Sophia to join him on the sidewalk and held the door to the laundromat open for her.
"Thanks."
Motioning to her to stay back, Ray went into Jasper's office.
Sophia moved to an angle where she could see into the office and hear the conversation without being front and center.
Ray extended his badge. "Detective Stone, Plateauville PD."
"Glad you could stop by, Detective. I'm also, by the way, happy to see that son of a bitch didn't kill you." Jasper sat straighter in his chair and motioned to one in the corner. "Have a seat."
Ray pulled the chair closer to the battered desk and sat. He tipped his head in Sophia's direction. "She told me you were willing to talk—for a consideration. Which would be?"
Jasper looked thoughtful. "You know, Detective, I was a Marine. Semper fi. Proud to serve my country. Came home and things didn't go well. My fault, you understand. I could have stayed in the service."
Ray didn't say anything.
After several moments, Jasper said, "Anyway, your lady," he motioned toward Sophia, "was in here yesterday asking questions. I talked a bit, then she wanted more information. The thing is, she treated me like a person, not a meth head." He paused. "I got to thinking about my telling her I had no reason to quit using meth. I have no family, no hope for one, no career, and basically no life. Maybe I can recapture the honor I had as a Marine. No quid pro quo. Ask your questions, sir."
Ray thought Jasper's words had the ring of truth. "It's my understanding that your pool table over there is a favorite for local users and meth lab workers."
"It is. Some come in to buy what I sell."
"Who do you sell for?"
"Silky. He owns this place as well."
"Sophia told me. Tell me what you hear from the pool players."
"I hear there's a war brewing." Jasper laughed. "Someone—I'm not sure who, but I have a suspicion—is looking to take over Silky's piece of the pie. Don't know quite how that works out, since Silky is the one with the connections to South Florida for both the supply chain and product sale."
What Sophia was hearing at that moment didn't jibe with her impression of Jasper and his station in life. She leaned closer, straining to hear every word.
"Who do you think wants Silken's turf?" Ray said.
"Maybe Flocker is moving out on his own?"
"I heard that as well."
"He pretende
d like Silken forced him to cook meth, but he'd been cooking it all along."
"Is he pushing into Silken's business?"
"Some. Silken knows. Flocker needs to watch his back. In jail, he's a sitting duck in a pond full of decoys."
"Anything else?"
"Yup. Krantz was in here last night. He wanted to know what your lady was asking me about. I'm sorry to say I was a little wired, you know what I mean, and I told him."
"Which explains the visit she received last night."
"I suppose it does."
The men talked awhile longer. When Ray asked, Jasper volunteered he had been a lieutenant in the Marine Corps.
Ray stood, easing his weight onto his left leg. "Stay safe, Jasper. If I can do anything to give you a hand, let me know."
"Just keep your little lady safe—and her pup, too."
"I shall." Ray left Jasper's office and motioned to Sophia to join him.
They stepped out into the searing mid-July heat.
"No matter how hot it gets, I can always look at my phone and see that it's hotter in Florida," she said.
"It's a small reward." Ray wiped his brow. "Next stop, Silken's Dry Goods Store."
They climbed into the truck, and Sophia started the engine and turned the air-conditioning to max.
"Can I come in and listen?"
"No."
Sophia stuck her tongue out at him, then drove down the street, around the corner, and turned right at the light. The drive to the store took all of two minutes, including waiting at the red light. She sat in the truck pouting, playing with her phone, and watching Ray at work.
He returned to the truck ten minutes later. "That bastard delivers heating oil in the middle of July—for all the good it did to question him."
"What did he say?" Sophia said.
"That he is an upstanding citizen, doesn't have anything to do with the meth trade, and if I don't quit harassing him, his friend the Judge will see to it that I never work in this county again."
"I know you didn't expect a confession."
"No, I didn't. What I hope to do is provoke some thoughtless action on his part."
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