HARMED_Seconds From Revenge 2

by Dr L. Jan Eira

  Kate looked at her watch. It was almost five in the morning. She didn’t have much time. Clandestinely, she walked toward the back of the garage and stood underneath a window.

  I’m doing this, she thought. For Amelia.

  CHAPTER 51

  Kate couldn’t help feeling her recent accomplishments swell her head. Now in front of Detective Brad Mills, she delineated her actions of the last few weeks in Indianapolis. Well, most of her actions.

  “I think Warren McGrath is Simon Lagrange,” said Kate. “And if he is, he is most definitely not dead. I saw him just yesterday.”

  She gave Mills McGrath’s address in Indianapolis and explained how she obtained it and finally found him. She described the man’s characteristics and why she was almost 100 percent sure McGrath and Lagrange were one and the same.

  After hearing it all and studying the copied documents from the outpatient clinic in Indianapolis, Detective Mills decided Kate’s efforts deserved further evaluation and vowed to pursue the matter.

  “I’ll let you know what I find,” said Mills. “With your help, hopefully we can set Dr. Norris free soon.”

  The truth was, when he first learned he had to deal with Jack Norris, he assumed the man would be the typical almighty doctor—pompous and full of himself. His first inclination was to be hard on the physician. Show him who was boss right from the outset. He felt he needed to take control and give him a short leash. As time went on, however, the detective began to get a different feeling. Jack was actually a nice guy. He was decent and down to earth. By then, the tough-guy appearance had to persist, so Brad had continued to be his usual hard-ass self, acting much like he always did around criminals.

  As he was beginning to notice that Jack was different, the heart showed up in his car, derailing Brad’s feelings toward the doctor. The foregone conclusion was that Jack had killed Lagrange. Nevertheless, at each interview, every fiber in the detective’s body declared loudly that Jack had to be innocent. He did not fit the profile; it wouldn’t have made sense for Jack to kill Lagrange, despite all that Lagrange had put him through. Despite the overwhelming evidence against Jack, Brad was starting to have serious doubts about his guilt. Kate’s accounts and observations would give him an excuse to delve deeper into the situation. Let the light of truth shine brightly and illuminate the way, he thought.

  A call to the Indy Metro Police and a trip to the capital were in order. With the proper channels of legal action secured, the house would be painstakingly searched and DNA evidence collected. Hopefully, if all this panned out, Lagrange would be arrested and an innocent man set free.

  • • •

  Mills took Kate to the district attorney’s office. She was sworn in and asked to affirm that she was not an agent of the police and that her services had not been solicited to search for Lagrange. All was properly transcribed and signed. All the proverbial legal t’s were crossed and i’s dotted.

  “Luckily, Ms. Fanning, you didn’t enter the Lagrange home, so there won’t be any questions later of evidence contamination or tampering,” commented Julius Washington, the Evansville district attorney, a distinguished African American man in his fifties, wearing a blue pinstripe suit. He was both dapper and well spoken. Kate forced a smile and nodded.

  “So what happens now? Does Dr. Norris go free?” said Kate.

  “What you’ve told us is intriguing, but we’ll have to corroborate it. Once we have incontestable proof that Lagrange is alive, then yes, Dr. Norris will be set free,” said Washington. “We’ll also corroborate your findings that Lagrange, alias Warren McGrath, had heart transplantation. And that he had an outpatient-clinic appointment with Dr. Buhler in Indy five days ago. Lastly, we’ll discover if indeed the heart removed from Lagrange is, in fact, missing.”

  “I understand. I’m sure you’ll work as fast as possible so an innocent man doesn’t have to stay in prison any longer than necessary,” said Kate with contempt in her voice.

  “We’ll work as fast as we can. I hope we’ll have the answers within seventy-two hours. Sooner, with some luck.”

  And so it was. The authorities searched the house in Indy. A cell phone company statement indicated Lagrange’s address in Evansville; that home was explored meticulously. An inhaler-type instrument was later tested and found to have remnants of Rat Poison, though in weak quantities. DNA from a hair follicle discovered on a comb matched precisely to the tissue in the heart. Prior DNA evidence conclusively proved that McGrath and Lagrange were the same person. The medical records showed that Lagrange had visited the clinic when he was supposed to have been dead. And the sick heart removed from Lagrange had been stolen from the laboratory several days before. All this proved that Jack Norris was innocent and would soon be released. Simon Lagrange, however, remained at large and on the FBI’s Most Wanted List.

  • • •

  “You were right, Ms. Fanning,” said Mills when Kate answered her cell phone. “McGrath is Lagrange. I’m on my way now to inform Dr. Norris of the decision to release him from jail.”

  Mills hung up and timidly approached Jack’s prison cell.

  “Hi, Dr. Norris,” he said, holding on to the thick metal bars that isolated Jack from the outside world. “We…uh…I owe you an apology.”

  “An apology?”

  “We now know beyond the shadow of any doubt that you are innocent. I’m here to set you free. Ms. Kate Fanning has been very busy securing evidence to prove your innocence.”

  “Not a second too soon,” said Jack cheerfully. One of the two prison guards who accompanied Mills unlocked the cage, and the detective entered the cell.

  “You don’t owe me an apology,” said Jack. “You were just doing your job. By the way, did you ever find the guy I chased home? The light-blue car?” he said, getting up from the small uncomfortable cot that had served as his bed for the last several weeks.

  “Thanks for understanding, Dr. Norris,” said Mills. “And yes, I finally caught up to him. He had been out of town and lives alone. Nobody seemed to know where he was around his neighborhood. But he did come home yesterday and did confirm your story.” He extended his right palm toward Jack, and the two shook hands. “I should have trusted Susan Quentin,” said Mills, his gaze still locked on Jack’s. “Susan’s been through a lot with you and your wife. Susan trusts you both implicitly, and I should have as well. She had no doubt whatsoever throughout all this about your virtues, despite the overwhelming evidence against you.”

  Jack smiled and peered back at his prison cell as he exited it. “It’s a great feeling to be freed.”

  “I’m sure,” said Mills. “Especially when you were innocent.”

  “But it’s not over yet, not even close. Lagrange is still out there.”

  Mills nodded. “We’ll catch him. I have no doubt.”

  CHAPTER 52

  Kate touched the app on her smartphone, and a map of the United States materialized on the screen. The image then automatically converged on a blinking red dot corresponding to the GPS tracker bug Kate attached to Lagrange’s car in Indianapolis.

  Just north of Nashville, huh? Probably on your way to Mexico, she speculated. You can’t escape me, Lagrange. She gunned her car and headed southward.

  Her cell phone rang. It was Claire Norris. Her mobile also displayed several calls from Frank Hanes and Susan Quentin. Once the voice-message icon appeared, she dialed and listened.

  “Kate, it’s Claire. We’re all worried about you. Please call me back and let me know what you are up to. We’re all in this together, and we want to help. You shouldn’t do this alone. Jack was released from prison today. He wants to see you and thank you personally for all you’ve done to prove his innocence. We all want to thank you, but please, let us in on your plans. We’re a team. Please call me back. Please!”

  Stubbornly, Kate deleted the message as she had done to all the others and touched the tracke
r app again. The red speck on the screen was motionless, just north of Nashville. “Having lunch already? Take your time, Lagrange. Let me catch up to you.”

  She drove on in silence, a wicked smirk on her face, her gaze locked on the road ahead. Within six hours, the blinking dot corresponding to Kate’s GPS position was close to that of Lagrange’s.

  “Come to Mamma,” said Kate, spying the app. “Come to Kate.”

  It was getting dark as nightfall approached. Lagrange was heading south on Interstate 24 almost to Chattanooga, Tennessee. He was making slow progress with frequent stops. The blip’s progress stalled once more. Kate would arrive there in approximately ten minutes. The fervor with which Kate pursued the man had blinded her from reality. For all the hours of pursuit, just now her thoughts returned to the hows and wheres. So far, the whys had consumed her every reflection.

  “I will make you pay dearly. You mess with the Fannings, buddy, you get payback,” she repeated to herself. Now that revenge was nearing, how would she do it? Will I just kill him in cold blood? she thought. Run him off the road? Bullet to the head? She felt her jaw muscles tighten with rage. Maybe I’ll just tie you to my bumper and drag your sorry ass up and down Interstate 24? Or squeeze the life out of you with my bare hands?

  She spied her cell phone and realized Lagrange’s car was just up ahead a couple of miles. The GPS blip corresponding to his car had stopped on the side of the road. A sign announced a rest area coming up in two miles, and Kate realized Lagrange had made a pit stop there. She slowed down and eventually turned onto the ramp exiting the highway. It was pitch dark out. A small building in the area was poorly illuminated. A placard indicated that there were vending machines and bathrooms within. There was only one vehicle in the parking lot.

  This has to be Lagrange’s car, she pondered. Watchfully, she pulled into one of the parking spots about thirty yards from the parked car. She turned off her car, and its lights dimmed rapidly into darkness. No one was visible inside the other vehicle. He may be asleep and out of sight, she speculated. She felt for her gun and fished it out of her purse, her eyes still scanning outside her car. The world was still, except for sporadic, slight swaying movements of tree limbs. Kate placed the gun inside the back pocket of her jeans and unhurriedly exited the Honda.

  All was quiet and still. She closed her car door smoothly and soundlessly. Distant noises from the interstate signaled the paucity of traffic at this late time of the evening. Like a commando in the night, Kate took several slow steps toward the building, her eyes partially on the parked vehicle.

  A loud racket coming from several feet to the right of the desolate building interrupted her next step. Her heart dropped to her feet and then pounded in her chest. There was a sudden twist in her stomach as if the wind was pounded out of her, forcing her to lose her breath. Panicky, her eyes honed in toward the source of the clamor. A raccoon, as shocked as Kate was, fled the garbage cans on which it feasted and disappeared into the night. Kate took a deep breath, feeling calmness unsuccessfully attempt to outrival her unraveling nerves. Her hands trembled uncontrollably, her gaze back on the other vehicle. It had remained undisturbed throughout this nerve-wrenching ordeal. She approached unhurriedly.

  Nearing the automobile, now about ten feet away, Kate could now see a man. He was facedown on the passenger seat. A blanket covered most of his body, which was moving up and down slightly. She heard moans now.

  Is this Lagrange? Kate took a few more slow steps toward the parked car. Her doubts that this was Lagrange increased as her previous confidence unraveled. The groans grew louder as she realized they were sounds of pleasure. It’s not Lagrange. They’re having sex. Kate retreated to avoid embarrassment. She would return to her car and recheck the computer for the GPS bug. As she walked away, now approximately twenty feet from the car, she had a thought. She pulled out her cell phone and dialed a number. Within seconds, a ringtone chime radiated from the other parked auto.

  It is him! she thought as she turned toward the vehicle.

  Unexpectedly, the other car came alive, and its lights came on, illuminating the small forest surrounding the stop area. The car backup lights came on, and the vehicle backed out. Kate pulled out her gun and aimed at the back tires. She pulled the trigger. A direct hit to the right rear tire caused it to go flat. The car veered to the right for a few beats and then straightened out. Despite her shaking hands, Kate aimed at the right front tire and squeezed the trigger. Direct hit. Uncontrollably, the car’s drunken-like forward staggering swerved off the road and collided with a large oak tree. Kate took several fast steps toward the immobile vehicle. The driver, clearly Lagrange, opened the door and attempted to escape Kate’s wrath.

  “Don’t even think about it, scumbag,” she said, her revolver held by outstretched hands. “Freeze, or I’ll shoot you like the dog you are, Lagrange.”

  CHAPTER 53

  It was 10:00 p.m. on the fourteenth day of September, exactly one hour before commencing the execution of the plan.

  Remember nine-one-four-two-three-zero-zero. Commit it to memory. Don’t write it down, recalled the prisoner, lying on the bed in the infirmary. The reason for his protracted vomiting over the last twenty-four hours had overwhelmed the good prison doctor’s diagnostic acumen, but time heals everything. Sure enough, prisoner Mike Ganz was on the mend with some good supportive care. He had stabilized and more than likely would be able to return to his maximum-security cellblock by morning. Another one saved.

  Mike rehearsed the plan in his head. The moment he had been anticipating for months was now almost afoot. At 10:25 p.m., he called for the nurse. She arrived three minutes later. Mike begged to go to the bathroom. A prison guard would have to accompany Mike out of the infirmary and into the facilities. One arrived at 10:46 p.m. So far, so good. Handcuffs and ankle shackles positioned, Mike waddled toward the men’s room.

  “Come on, Tony. Can you piss with handcuffs on? Come on, man. I’m sick. Give me a break, huh?”

  “OK, Mike. Don’t let me down,” said the guard, removing the handcuffs.

  “Thank you, Tony. You’re all right.” Hands free, Mike shuffled toward the urinals. The guard removed a cigarette from his pocket and lit one up. He pulled hard, inhaling and holding his breath.

  “Want one?” asked the guard.

  “I thought you’d never ask,” said Mike. As the officer approached, Mike punched his face with as much might as he could muster. As his knuckles struck the face and temple, the guard’s head snapped hard away from the blow, blood spewing from his nose and mouth. The man fell on the bathroom tile like a bag of potatoes. With a crumb of consciousness left, he attempted to get on his feet. Mike punched him again in the back of the head, causing his nose to hit the floor. A pool of blood expanded under the man. Now dazed from the repeated concussions, the guard stumbled slowly to his feet. Mike grabbed his head and pushed the guard face first toward the large mirror. The glass shattered into pieces, bloodstained shards flying everywhere. The guard collapsed into unconsciousness, hitting the tile with a loud thump.

  Almost in unison, a loud explosion from right outside the bathroom shook the building. It was 11:00 p.m. Mike searched the guard for a key and undid his ankle shackles. Taking large steps, something he had not been permitted to do for the last three years, Mike leapt toward the back of the infirmary, where the deafening blast had arisen from. The explosion had smashed the wall that separated Mike from the human race. With a grin and utter satisfaction, Mike stepped into the world.

  As promised, about fifty yards due west of the explosion site, a mature oak tree stood proudly. In its trunk was a large natural opening covered by bark, a most suitable hiding place. In the hole, Mike fumbled for a bag, which he found readily. He exchanged his orange clothes for a pair of dark jeans and a black shirt. As planned, in the right pocket of the jeans was a car key belonging to a vehicle parked in a street adjacent to the wooded area separating the
prison from the city of Terre Haute. Mike heard the familiar chime as he pushed the keyless-entry remote. He drove off.

  Meanwhile in the prison proper, the relatively small explosion in the infirmary was overpowered by a salvo of three much-louder blasts, all occurring at precisely 11:00 p.m. The other detonations had created significant damage to the walls of block C, the maximum-security wing, allowing several inmates to escape into the yard in front of the prison. All available officers were dispatched to that location to retrieve the escapees. Bright lights dumped sun-like illumination onto the yard. The commotion persisted for several minutes and distracted the prison staff’s attention from the posterior portion of the building. Only the nurse on duty in the infirmary noticed Mike’s escape. One other patient with a broken pelvis and right femur needed her presence. She dialed multiple extension numbers, but her calls would not be answered for over thirty minutes. By then, Mike would be long gone.

  Inside the glove compartment of the small Toyota, Simon Lagrange had left a cell phone programmed with the number for the voice-message retrieving system. This was reached by pressing and holding the V key. The P key would dial Simon’s cell phone—P for Papa. There was also a key and directions to the house outside Evansville. While entering Route 41 South, Mike pressed P. The mobile rang six times; a generic message instructed the caller that the number dialed could not be answered at this time and that a message could be left.