“Which means Culvert could have had time to kill Grammar, then slip over to the safe house and set the fire after midnight.” Priscilla played a staccato rhythm on the tabletop with her fingers as her thoughts raced from one possibility to another. “That would also explain how he was able to take that photo of me leaving the clinic.”
Myers looked up from his phone. “We’re exploring the possibilities that there’s an accomplice. We think someone at the hospital where Culvert had his appendix removed helped to facilitate his escape.”
Luc frowned. “How come this is the first time we’re hearing about a potential accomplice?”
Laura leveled a gaze at him. “Because you’re not officially part of this investigation.” She turned her attention to Priscilla. “And she’s a witness, therefore information is on a need-to-know basis.”
“And I didn’t need to know this.” Priscilla clasped her hands together to stop her fidgeting. Her restlessness had little to do with the caffeine boost and more to do with an unsettled mind. It was as if they were spinning their wheels and getting nowhere. Maybe another session with Dr. Devins would shake loose more concrete facts that would spur the marshals in a new direction, rather than covering the same ground over and over again.
Myers continued, “Culvert corresponded with a woman named Rachel Whitehurst while in jail. She apparently imagined herself in love with Culvert.” He shook his head. “The way these women throw themselves at bad guys like Culvert will never cease to amaze me. They know these men have done terrible things—in Culvert’s case, he’s been an alleged hired assassin for more than twenty years with hundreds of kills to his credit—but still they want to be with them.”
Priscilla couldn’t imagine wanting to talk with a man like Culvert, much less fall in love with him. She suppressed a shudder. “You think this Rachel might know where Culvert is?”
“If we can find her,” Aldrich said. “She worked in Billing at the hospital where Culvert had his operation, and she hasn’t been seen since his escape.”
“How did this slip by until now?” Luc sounded as angry as Priscilla felt.
Myers visibly bristled, sitting up straighter in his chair. “Listen, the FBI followed protocol and worked with the sheriff’s department on transporting Culvert to the hospital from the county jail. They even isolated him under an assumed name at the end of a hallway that didn’t have access to the stairs or an elevator. He was handcuffed to the bed and had two deputies guarding him at all times. They did everything they could in the small window of time we had to make arrangements.”
“But surely the FBI was aware that his so-called girlfriend worked at the hospital?” Priscilla tried to keep her voice even. The marshals worked hard to keep witnesses like herself safe from harm—it was a tough job mostly done behind the scenes. But she couldn’t help but wonder who had dropped the ball with Culvert’s security.
Aldrich sighed. “It was in Culvert’s paperwork, but no one thought to look until after his escape.”
“How exactly did he manage that?” Luc questioned.
“That’s where we think Rachel helped him. Several hours before Culvert’s escape, security footage shows her having a brief conversation with Deputy Calvin Horner in the hospital parking lot just before Horner’s overnight guard shift.” Myers tapped his cell phone on his leg. “We think she must have passed along instructions or payment to Horner. A few hours into Horner’s shift, one of the orderlies brought up two cups of coffee from the cafeteria, an arrangement Horner had made before coming to Culvert’s floor. Security footage shows Horner bringing the cups into Culvert’s room.”
“But I thought both deputies had been drugged?” Priscilla frowned, as she recalled the details Mac had given her about Culvert’s escape.
“They were. We think Horner slipped sedatives into both cups, making sure he was close enough to Culvert’s bed that the prisoner could get the handcuff keys once the men were out.”
“Didn’t the nurses think something was off without the guard outside Culvert’s room?” Priscilla still couldn’t believe Culvert had escaped so easily.
Myers shook his head. “Horner timed the coffee delivery perfectly. Only four nurses were on the nighttime staff for that floor. It’s usually five, but one had called out sick.” He held up a hand as if to forestall their next question. “And before you ask, the FBI verified that the nurse had a legitimate reason.” A small smile crossed his lips. “She was in Labor and Delivery two floors up having a baby, which no one could have foreseen.”
“Unfortunately, we’ve not been able to question Horner because he had some sort of reaction to the sedative and has been in a coma.” Aldrich sipped his coffee. “But the other deputy appears clean.”
Priscilla organized her thoughts before speaking. “Horner laces the coffee with some sort of quick-acting sedative, gives one to the other deputy. They both drink it and pass out. Then what? That still doesn’t explain how Culvert made it out of the hospital.”
“He overpowered one of the nurses when she came into his room during her rounds, stuffed her in a closet and walked out wearing stolen scrubs, a surgical mask and hair cap. No one thought to check his ID—he’d used the nurse’s ID to exit the secured floor during the middle of the night.”
Priscilla touched the place where the small scar resided underneath the waistband of her jeans, remembering the pain and soreness that had lasted for days after her own emergency surgery. “I had my appendix out a few years ago, and it was tough to even sit up a few hours after surgery. How did he manage to walk out with no one noticing he’d just had surgery?”
“Maybe he’s used to pain.” Laura consulted her tablet, then continued. “Or maybe he had the ability to push it down until he could deal with it later. The hospital noted that some morphine went missing after Culvert’s escape, along with extra bandages and dressings to take care of the wound site. It’s possible that Rachel somehow got together those items for him. The FBI’s still investigating that.”
Myers’s cell phone played the opening chords of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony, and he responded quickly to the call. “Hello?” The agent’s demeanor changed as his body stiffened. The marshal listened, spoke a few muffled words, then disconnected the call.
Priscilla held her breath as Myers related the call’s content.
“That was Mac. They have a lead on Rachel’s whereabouts.” Myers cracked a smile. “She finally used her cell phone, allowing our tech guys to ping her location. Get this—she’s fifteen miles from here at a Motel 6 along Highway 32.”
* * *
Two hours ago, three additional US marshals had shown up to guard Priscilla; and Myers, Aldrich and Laura had left to meet FBI agents and the local sheriff’s department at the motel where Rachel Whitehurst might be. Dr. Devins and Priscilla decided to use the downtime for another hypnotherapy session in one of the bedrooms, while one marshal stayed outside and the other two worked their phones in the second bedroom with the door ajar.
Which left Luc with little to do. He folded the newspaper he’d read through twice and tossed it into the kitchen trash can. Nothing caught his attention on television. Without his phone, he tried to find something other than Christmas music on the clock radio, but gave up after hearing “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree” on three separate channels. He surged to his feet to pace the few steps to the tiny kitchenette.
“Walls starting to close in on you?” Priscilla stood in the doorway.
“Yeah, you could say that.” He noted the dark circles underneath her eyes. The stress must be playing havoc with her ability to sleep at night. He certainly hadn’t been able to sleep soundly since he’d entered the hair salon three days ago. “How did it go with Dr. Devins this morning?”
Dropping into a chair at the small kitchen table, she rubbed her forehead. “I only remembered more details about the events surrounding the actual shooting.”
Luc filled in what she left unsaid: I didn’t remember anything more about you. It would certainly make it easier to officially put an end to their marriage if she couldn’t recall their wedding. The thought filled him with disappointment more than the relief he’d expected. Shifting the topic away from her session, he asked, “Would you like something to drink?”
“Some water would be great.” Priscilla hid a yawn behind her hand.
Dr. Devins came out of the bedroom, a small recorder in his hand, to join them at the table. “Priscilla? I think it might be helpful for you to hear what you said while under hypnosis. It might help to clarify the events of that night.”
Luc handed Priscilla a bottle of water. “Should I leave?”
Priscilla looked at Dr. Devins. “I’d like Luc to stay, if that’s okay.”
“I don’t think that would be a problem.” Dr. Devins grabbed a water bottle out of the fridge. “Let me get the marshals.”
Luc sat beside her at the table, while Dr. Devins spoke with the two marshals, who came out and joined them around the periphery of the table. Luc couldn’t remember their names, having met many new faces over the past three days. The taller agent appeared to be a few years away from retirement, with his shock of gray hair and the crinkles around his eyes. The younger man had a smooth complexion that made guessing his age difficult.
The two marshals, both balancing notebooks and pens, nodded at Luc and Priscilla. Then the doctor hit the play button, filling the space with the sound of his voice as he softly counted down to pull Priscilla under hypnosis.
“What do you see?”
“The casino’s kitchen.”
“Why are you there?”
“I need to clean out my work locker. I didn’t get a chance to do it earlier because Gerald had security escort me out of the casino.” Priscilla’s voice sounded tired.
This couldn’t be easy for Priscilla to experience all over again. Luc wanted to cover her clenched hands with his own as they listened to her recollection, but her stiff posture made him decide not to follow through.
“Are the lockers near the kitchen?” Dr. Devins’s questions gently pulled the narrative of that night from Priscilla’s memories.
“Not exactly. I want to avoid being seen by my former boss, Gerald. I take a shortcut through the catering kitchen. It’s closed for the night and right across from the staff locker room.”
“Are you at your locker now?”
“Yes, the coast is clear. I grab my extra clothes and personal items, and stuff them into the reusable shopping bag I keep in my locker.” The tenor of Priscilla’s voice changed slightly, taking on a note of anxiety.
“What’s happening now?”
“As I’m leaving the locker room, I hear voices. One of them is Gerald. I don’t want him to see me. I decide to leave through the kitchen.” Her breath came faster on the tape.
“It’s okay, Priscilla,” Dr. Devins said.
“They’re talking loudly. I’d better hide in case they come in and find me. If they catch me sneaking around, I could kiss my last paycheck goodbye.”
A muffled sound on the recording, and then Priscilla spoke again. “There’s no place to hide in the kitchen with all these open shelves.”
“Tell me what you see.”
“Oh, thank God. There’s a room-service cart tucked into a corner. It’s not supposed to be there, but it has a floor-length skirt. I think I can fit underneath. I’m going to hide there. But the door to the kitchen is opening. Please, don’t let them find me.”
“Who’s in the kitchen with you?”
“Gerald, one of the poker dealers and a woman who works as a service provider.”
Priscilla’s face drained of color as she listened to her voice on the tape. Luc held out his hand toward her, and she placed her hand in his.
“Service provider?” Dr. Devins’s voice remained calm.
“A service provider is another name for high-priced escorts. I think her name is Cassandra.”
“What was the dealer’s name?”
“I don’t know.”
“Focus on the conversation. What are they saying?”
Priscilla groaned on the tape. “They’re arguing, something about a plan to cheat a high roller.”
“Can you see them?”
“Yes, they’re standing to the left of the door, so no one walking by could see them from the hallway.”
“But you can see them,” Dr. Devins said.
“I’m peeking through an opening in the drape.” Priscilla’s voice hitched on the tape.
“Are they still arguing?”
“No. Someone else is here with them.”
“Can you describe the person?”
“A man, about six feet tall. He’s wearing jeans and a black turtleneck. He’s got dark brown hair, is clean-shaven and has on dark sunglasses, the ones with the mirror reflection.”
“Aviator glasses?”
“Yes, like those. Strange, because it’s late.”
“Do you know what time it is?”
“Around four thirty in the morning.” Priscilla cleared her throat. “Gerald’s speaking, and he sounds angry.”
“What’s he saying?”
“He keeps calling the guy ‘buddy,’ and telling him to leave the kitchen. The man only smiles at Gerald. Not a very nice smile at all. I’m suddenly cold.”
“What else do you notice, Priscilla?”
“That the stranger has on black leather gloves. It’s much too hot for gloves.”
Priscilla gripped Luc’s hand tightly as she listened.
“What’s happening now?” Dr. Devins asked in the same relaxed tone.
“The dealer just told the man to leave, but the man merely shook his head. He’s raising his right hand.” She drew in a sharp breath. “He’s got a gun!”
She shivered and Luc let go of her hand to put his arm around her shoulders. She burrowed against him as her voice on the tape continued to recount that terrible night.
“Priscilla?” Dr. Devins spoke her name very gently.
“The gun has a long barrel. The man is pointing it at the dealer.” Her voice had a surreal quality, as if she couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing.
She gasped on the recording. “The man just shot the dealer between the eyes. He collapsed onto the floor.” Her voice shook. “There’s so much blood.”
“Priscilla, what do you see now?”
“It all happens fast. The man aims his gun at Cassandra and shoots. Gerald moves toward the door, but the man shoots him in the back. The man walks up to the bodies, and I hear three more shots in quick succession.” She paused. “Why did he kill them?”
She rested her head against Luc’s shoulder as the tape continued.
“I must be quiet.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. The agents leaned forward.
“He mustn’t hear me. Please don’t let him hear me.”
Luc hugged Priscilla closer to him as if he could help her absorb the memories of what happened that night. If only he’d accompanied her back to the casino, he could have prevented her seeing the murders. But she had insisted on going alone to avoid detection, and thus had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Now he could only hold her shaking body, and pray that Culvert would be recaptured soon to put an end to this nightmare.
SIXTEEN
Priscilla trembled as she listened to herself describe the shooting. The pressure of Luc’s arm around her was the only thing keeping her together. Memories of that night continued to flow through her mind like the spray of water rinsing away shampoo.
“Where’s the shooter, Priscilla?” Dr. Devins asked on the recording.
“He’s picking up the shell casings,” she answered him, her voice thin and reedy, and her panic apparent in her fast delivery. “Now he’s dropping them int
o the pocket of his jeans. He pushes his sunglasses up on the top of his head. I think he’s looking to make sure he hasn’t missed one.”
“I’m so...” Her voice caught in her throat on the tape, as if holding back a sob. “I’m scared that he’ll search the kitchen.”
Dr. Devins turned off the recording. “That’s where we ended the session.”
Priscilla fought the urge to move closer to Luc, to draw strength from his presence. She focused on relaxing her shoulders and taking measured breaths to calm her racing pulse.
The older marshal spoke up. “Dr. Devins, in the case notes, you talked about her leaving the kitchen and calling for help. Can you go over that again? Maybe Priscilla has remembered more details after hearing the recording.”
“Marshal, would you mind telling us your names again?” Luc interjected with a wry smile that turned the corners of his mouth up in an endearing manner. Priscilla could get used to seeing smiles like that on a regular basis.
“Too many names to recall in too short a span, eh?” The younger marshal smiled.
“Something like that,” Luc conceded.
“I’m Marshal Frank Jarvis.” The older man pointed to his colleague. “And this is Marshal Steve Smith.”
“Yes, Smith’s my real last name—not an alias.” Smith winked at them, his easy manner defusing some of the building tension in the room. “When you’re ready, Priscilla, please continue.”
The humorous introductions gave Priscilla time to regroup from the recording session. Mac had vouched for Smith and Jarvis, and that was enough for her to trust them. She straightened with a slight shrug to dislodge Luc’s arm from around her shoulders and reached for her water bottle. While she found comfort in the closeness, it was difficult for her to concentrate when all she wanted was to snuggle deeper into Luc’s embrace and forget all about Culvert.
“The hypnosis brought clarity to the event, and I think I’ve recalled more details.” She closed her eyes, allowing the events of that evening to play through her mind like a filmstrip. “Culvert didn’t see me. He didn’t notice my hiding place on the room-service cart. He left a couple of minutes later, but still I waited. My legs fell asleep, but I ignored the discomfort. I had to be sure he was gone.”
Dangerous Christmas Memories Page 11