“I believe in the power of prayer, Mitchell.”
The doctor steepled his fingers and rested his chin on them. He gave a subtle shake of his head. “I heard your father speak those same words from the pulpit a few years ago.”
“The truth hasn’t changed.”
“Then God is still as absent as He has always been to me.” The voice was still clipped, cold, but something of his anguish bled through. Mitchell broke eye contact and stared at the floor. “How can an intelligent man continue to believe after so many unanswered prayers?”
“There have been times I’ve waited for years to have my prayers answered. Other times I felt I got the wrong answer. But after all the prayers I’ve seen answered there’s no way I could refuse to believe.”
“You’ve never suffered, you’ve never lost a child to drug addiction, and you’ve never had a money-grubbing, manipulating wife who’s so stupid she continues to pay for those drugs.”
He was no longer talking about the child who had died in the ER. Mitchell stood up and stalked to the window. “My prayers obvious never mattered to anyone.”
“I can see how you would feel that way. All I can say is that prayer is a two-way conversation. Complete prayer doesn’t take place until we are as ready to listen to God as we are to tell Him what we need. He cannot converse with us until He has our attention.”
“His will.” Mitchell spat the words. “Why do you people make such fools of yourself when God—if there is such a being—does what He wants, no matter how it affects our puny human lives?”
“I’ve read some interesting articles in a couple of medical journals about the power of prayer. I’ve been surprised by their honesty about the studies.”
Mitchell’s eyes narrowed. “Do you know how many dangerous drugs have been favorably acclaimed in those same medical journals following those same double-blind studies? Don’t believe all you read. If your God is real then He’s a tyrant without a heart. He does what He wants, blesses whom He wants, and the devil take the rest of us.”
“That’s precisely what God does not want.”
Mitchell paced around the desk and leaned over Archer with a glare. “Are you trying to tell me my daughter’s drug addiction is part of His will? Are you trying to tell me that Oakley Brisco’s death was God’s will?”
“Those were results of free human choice. But Mitchell, I believe that what you are going through—no matter what it might be or how horrible it might seem to you—is something that can have a better ending if you ask Him for help.”
For a moment the doctor’s eyes glazed over.
Archer placed a hand on Mitchell’s arm and felt the resistance beneath the layers of lab coat and dress shirt. “He isn’t some genie in a bottle, He’s God of the universe and we’re living and acting in a world and a time of His creation. He isn’t required to act in ours, yet He does.”
Mitchell held his breath. Archer could almost hear his thoughts, could almost feel the rhythm of his heartbeat. “Take some good advice and call off your wedding plans.”
“I’ll be praying for you.”
“Don’t waste your breath.”
“I’m sorry, Mitchell, but I’ll do what I want with my own breath.”
There was a glimpse of wavering in Mitchell’s eyes but it didn’t carry into his voice. “I don’t care what Grant Sheldon does when he’s here. While I’m directing this emergency department the clergy call program is suspended.”
Archer froze for a moment and then he replied quietly, “You don’t have the authority to make that decision.”
Mitchell’s shoulders stiffened. He smiled with slow deliberation. “But I do. With the hospital administrator out of office I can implement changes as I see fit.”
“The call program is volunteer only. If the patients need someone to pray with them while they’re here you can’t deny them that. Grant is still the director even when he isn’t here.”
“I’m chief of staff. I don’t think you understand that I have authority over the director of this department.”
“Not when the director is acting administrator.”
The steel gaze sharpened with anger.
The telephone buzzed from the desk and the open speaker announced an urgent call for Archer.
“Go ahead and answer it,” Mitchell snapped.
Archer lifted the receiver.
“Archer?” came a faltering female voice. “Thank goodness I’ve found you!” It was Caryn, Sergeant Tony Dalton’s wife. “Can you come to the house?”
“What’s going on? Is Tony okay?”
“No, I think he’s lost his mind and he’s about to take mine too.” She paused and sniffed. “His ophthalmologist called today. Tony has a chance to take part in a clinical trial in California. There may be a way to restore his sight.”
“What? Caryn, that’s great! When?”
“He’s decided not to take the offer. Please come and talk to him. He’s acting crazy!”
“Give me fifteen minutes.”
There was a sigh before the line disconnected.
Mitchell turned away. “Go jump on your white steed and rescue more victims. Just don’t try to make me one of them. And stay out of my way while I treat the real injuries.”
***
Beau tried to ignore the voices that carried through the vent in the ER storage room but the more he attempted to concentrate on his work, the louder the conversation became. Dr. Caine had a distinctive voice. So did Archer Pierce. Beau was not an eavesdropper by nature but since the door to Dad’s office had a large window that overlooked the storage room entrance, it would be impossible to exit without observation by the scariest face in the ER—Dr. Caine’s.
By the time the conversation between Archer and Caine ended and the office door opened and closed, Beau had given up hope of escape. Now he didn’t feel the need.
There was a muttered oath of frustration and then silence fell in the office. Beau moved quietly as he stacked packages of four-by-four gauze pads onto the metal shelf in the supply room and checked them off the list.
The calculator buttons tapped in Caine’s temporary domain and then there was a whispered oath, another series of tapping, a shuffle of pages. Caine snatched up the phone and punched some numbers.
Beau had almost half the cart empty by the time the waiting silence ended.
“We have a problem.”
Beau froze in position and felt a surge of adrenaline at the icy charge of words. What problem? Did the doctor know he had an eavesdropper? Maybe he was talking to security. Maybe Beau should have—
“I can’t balance the checking account. Do you know why?”
Beau slumped against a shelf. As the doctor awaited some kind of reply from whomever he had called, Beau straightened and glanced at the open door of the supply room. He had to leave. Now. He did not want to be privy to—
“Don’t give me more excuses, Darla. You’ve been withdrawing the cash limit from the debit card every day for a week. Sending it to Trisha, no doubt…. Don’t use that tone with me, you... Don’t you think I have the brains to figure it out?”
Silence fell again while Beau cringed at the intimacy of the moment. He glanced again toward the hallway. He could not leave now. The doctor could see the supply room door. Resigning himself to whatever fate awaited him, he continued unloading the supply cart.
“You’re coddling her to death. Do you think she’s buying groceries and paying the rent with that money? It goes straight to Royce’s account. You’re supporting a killer. Don’t you know that? He’s killed another kid.” His words clipped in short bursts, with rising anger.
“Oh, no? Then why does she live in that one-room apartment with a bathroom down the hall? Why do we receive her medical bills? Why won’t she show her face in our home? You’re helping her destroy herself and I’ll no longer be part of it. If you want to siphon cash into Royce’s drug system, set up your own account with your own money.” His voice could have frozen a volcano.
“I will not let you spend my income for our own daughter’s slow suicide.” The phone slammed down.
Beau continued to work. Quietly. He listened to the increased rhythm of his heartbeat in his ears and controlled the volume of his breathing while he tried not to dwell on what he’d just heard.
Caine sighed then picked up the telephone receiver again, punched another number, waited. “Yes, this is Dr. Mitchell Caine. I need to speak to Betty Rivers, please.”
Beau breathed a whisper of a prayer as he listened for the raw flick of Caine’s voice again.
“Hello, Betty. I need to make three transfers of funds today. Now.” He gave the numbers of three separate accounts. “I realize that. No, I don’t plan to close the accounts and you will not contact Mrs. Caine about these transactions. I need someone to come to the hospital for my signature. I can’t leave... Fine. Thank you.”
He punched more buttons and waited, then, “Ray?” There was a deep sigh. “I need an appointment. I need you to handle a divorce for me.”
Beau became a concrete statue, barely daring to breathe, refusing to listen further. His last class of the day on Tuesdays and Thursdays was Health Occupations and so on those days he rushed to the hospital to work extra hours free of charge. This was the first time he regretted coming here early.
At last the chair squeaked in the next room. Footsteps echoed. Beau tensed when he heard the office door open and close. He looked up in time to see Dr. Caine walk past the open entrance to the supply room.
The doctor’s left hand was clenched so tightly his knuckles shone white. His face looked like it had aged ten years in fifteen minutes. It was a look of utter despair.
He paused in the hallway and turned to observe the activity at the desk. He pivoted on his heel as if sensing Beau’s presence. Their gazes met and held.
Dr. Caine’s expression altered, hardened. He knew.
Chapter 19
Caryn Dalton’s eyes were the color of an Ozark river on a cloudless day. Archer knew her well enough to see the evidence of angry tears in them when she opened the door and nodded him through it. Since Tony’s accident last summer she had cut her beautiful hair short and had stopped wearing makeup because she didn’t have time to spend in front of the mirror. Her uniform of choice was faded jeans and one of Tony’s old T-shirts. A veil of sadness had become an aged mask. At thirty-four she was too young to look so old.
“He’s on the telephone right now, Archer. He heard me call you so now he’s all mad.” She closed the door. “That’s nothing new lately.”
Archer could feel her frustration and could imagine Tony’s. “I’ll talk with him but you and I both know that once he’s made up his mind about something it’s a done deal.”
“You’re the one who kept him from giving up on himself when the accident happened.”
“You know better than that,” Archer said. “Tony isn’t a quitter.”
“That’s right.” The strong tone of Tony’s voice came from farther back in the house. “So I hope you didn’t come here to try to talk me into quitting now.”
Archer walked down the hallway and entered the Tony Dalton branch of the Dogwood Springs police force, where Tony sat brooding behind a precisely ordered desktop. This was where he masterminded the drug task force for Dogwood Springs. There were at least eight separate stacks of files within his reach. Tony was well acquainted with each of those files, thanks to his wife and other assistants who came to the house to help.
Tony leaned back in his chair, his sightless gaze beneath heavy, dark eyebrows found Archer with uncanny accuracy. “I told Caryn she wasn’t going to win this argument so she decided to find someone she thought could change my mind. Won’t work, Archer.”
“Not even to regain your sight?”
The brows lowered further. “It’s a trial. An experiment. I don’t have time for experiments.”
Caryn brushed past Archer and leaned over her husband’s desk. “Tell him the truth. It’s already been done successfully in California and Thailand.” She turned back to Archer. “The doctor explained it to me. He said they would take cells from Tony’s own eyes and use them to regenerate his corneal tissue. That way there would be no rejection.”
“Yes, there will be.” Tony pointed a thumb at his own chest. “Me. I’m rejecting it. I don’t have time for this.”
Caryn swung away from the desk with her hands spread wide in an “I can’t believe this man is so stupid” gesture.
Archer had grown accustomed to their arguments in the past few months as they both adjusted to their drastically altered lifestyle—Caryn had quit her job in the office at City Hall to become Tony’s assistant here at home, to be his eyes. Still, it hurt to see these two people who had always been so much in love and who had endured so much with Tony’s job, suffer this additional heartbreak.
Archer sat down at the chair next to Tony’s desk—the spot usually reserved for Caryn. “I have to agree with your wife.”
“Yeah, well, you always were a soft touch for a sad story. I think you sympathized with her for marrying me in the first place.”
Archer relaxed. At least Tony’s deadpan humor was still in working order. “If you can’t do it for yourself won’t you do it for her? It couldn’t possibly take that much time.”
Tony leaned forward and grasped the desk with both hands. “Later, Arch.”
“Later could be years!” Caryn cried. “If you don’t do this now you might not have another chance.”
“She’s right, Tony.”
“You two aren’t getting the message. I don’t have time to spare right now. None. Zilch. Haven’t you noticed that kids are dying?” He held up a copy of an autopsy report on Oakley Brisco. “Meth. There’ll be more if we don’t do something to stop it. We must continue the drug education program we’ve started in our schools because the kids are the primary target.”
“You have officers who can do that,” Archer said. “Trust them. Trust me. I’m not exactly a slouch at relaying the specifics and I’ll take the classes you’re scheduled to teach.”
“You’re getting married Saturday.”
“How much time does it take to have a wedding?”
“I’m your best man. If I’m not there you’ll never convince me that Jessica was actually crazy enough to go through with it.”
“Tony,” Caryn pleaded. “Stop joking. This isn’t funny.”
“You could get your sight back,” Archer reminded him. “How much better could you fight then?”
“By then it could be too late. I know what I’m talking about.”
“I don’t,” Caryn snapped. “Why don’t you try again to explain it to me.”
“Simon Royce, aka Peregrine, is failing.” Tony drew the words out as if he enjoyed saying them. “He’ll be dead soon but it’s up to us to make sure he doesn’t take any others with him.”
“How do you know he’s failing?” Archer asked.
“I see the signs. He’s been a high intensity abuser for too long. He’s getting paranoid and that makes him a threat to anyone around him, especially authority figures. He’s our key to this town’s drug supply. He’s the one on the inside track.”
Caryn gave an exasperated hiss and paced across the room. “You don’t know that for sure. You’re jumping to conclusions and risking your future on guesswork.”
“I know what to look for.” Tony held a hand out to Archer. “Would you just listen to me for a few minutes? Then tell me if you don’t see a frightening pattern.”
Caryn pulled a chair from the dining room table—the table that had been pushed against the far wall to accommodate the desk. She slumped into the chair with a sigh of defeat.
“First of all,” Tony said, “we all know Royce is the one who passed the meth on to the Brisco boy.”
“How do you know that?” Caryn demanded.
“Private sources that I can’t reveal.”
“Not even to me, Tony? I’m your wife and you’re saying you don’t trust
me enough to—”
“Trust has nothing to do with it, my love. I promised not to breathe a word about my source to anyone and if my word isn’t—”
“But what’s so special about this—”
“May I continue? Just listen for a moment. Please?” He held up two fingers. “Second point, we know, also from those sources, that Royce has held an iron-fist control over several meth manufacturers because of his customer base and his vicious temper and his lack of conscience.”
Archer knew what he meant by lack of conscience. There was a difference between a human being who was depraved enough to sell dangerous, illegal drugs that might or might not kill the customer, and a human being whose mind was diminished in function to the point that he would not hesitate to kill any living being with his own hands.
Tony pointed to his own eyes. “Case in point. The booby trap that caused this had his fingerprints all over it. And that’s my third point. Two years ago Simon Royce would have left no evidence. He’s getting careless. This means we’re closer to catching him than ever before. I’m terrified that we won’t catch him before he strikes at our children again. We have no idea where or when that could be.”
“But that could happen with or without your presence in this town,” Caryn said. “Why don’t you give your men some credit? Why can’t you trust them?”
The muscles of Tony’s jaws worked silently. His right hand clenched. “I tried that. I trusted my partner not to move before I gave the signal and look what it got me.” A strain of bitterness seeped into his voice.
Archer had noticed the bitterness a few times in the past weeks and it disturbed him. This was not the Tony he knew. Caryn had mentioned that her husband was struggling with bouts of depression. Archer knew how depression could affect a person’s whole outlook. He also knew that Tony had a logical thought process and in the end that would guide him.
“You’re making this too personal,” Caryn said.
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