Deadly Star

by CJ Petterson

  “He’s hurting some. Pete’s taking him to the hospital to get checked out. Where did you think you were going?”

  “You said you wanted information on Evan, but Deputy Lee stonewalled me. I was going to Sacramento to talk to the coroner.”

  “I thought we had an agreement. The sheriff’s office and home. What happened to ‘Whatever you say, Sully’ and that three-fingered Girl Scout pledge?”

  “I was never a Girl Scout.” She watched the knot in his jaw pop up when he clenched his teeth — the way he always did when he was swallowing his anger.

  “What about the data from my binder? Did Ray say where — ”

  “Ask him when you see him. We’re headed to the hospital. You got nothing at all from Evan’s office?”

  She told him as much as Tina had said about the pursuit of a white Mercedes before the deputy cut her off. Then she told him about Dan’s funeral arrangements.

  “Dan’s ashes over the side of the Hornet,” he said. “I can’t think of anything more appropriate. Did you know he flew off that carrier during the Vietnam War?”

  She watched Sully blink rapidly as he remembered his friend. She turned away. “He never told me any of that,” she murmured then changed the subject. “Christina said Darlene plans to have a memorial service for Evan as soon as the coroner releases his body. I thought maybe if I drove over there I could find out how Evan died.”

  “Wrong. You’re not on the coroner’s need-to-know list. He’s not going to tell you anything. I’ll get Pete on it. Sacramento is his sandbox.”

  “Need to know,” she mocked. “That’s the second time today someone’s laid that on me. Was it Saint John in the Mercedes Evan was chasing?”

  “No.”

  “And you’re so sure because?”

  “Too many people would take notice of a Mercedes around here. This is four-wheeling country. Saint John likes to hide in plain sight, so he’s driving an Expedition. The only reason anyone in California might look twice at that Ford is because it isn’t an import.”

  “He’s too freaky-looking not to get noticed.”

  “That’s why you don’t see him strolling around town.”

  “You really think he’s still after me?” She couldn’t keep a tremor out of her voice.

  “Oh, yeah. He’s not done.” He reached out and squeezed her hand.

  His touch was comforting, and when he glanced at her, she saw the fire in his eyes had burned down into warm embers.

  “Why does he want to kill me?”

  “Not sure yet.”

  “I’m not afraid of Saint John. You know that, don’t you?” Mirabel said.

  “You ought to be. I am.”

  “Okay, I’m afraid.” She took a deep breath. “I can help you get him.”

  He looked at her longer than he should have and wound up swerving to keep the car on the road. “I think you’re serious.”

  “I am serious.”

  “Mirabel — ”

  “Frank said you needed bait to get Saint John. I can be your bait.”

  He shook his head. “Not going to happen. Too risky.”

  “Like the man said, I’ll just follow orders,” she said softly, her mind already looking to plot a next move. “Do you know who hired him?

  “Not yet, but we will. He probably doesn’t know, either.”

  “That, I don’t understand.”

  “Saint John gets contacted through some type of double-blind arrangement, say an ad in a particular newspaper. Maybe a personnel firm in Switzerland advertises for an executive headhunter for a short-term assignment and gives a post office box number. Saint John and a lot of unknowing job seekers send in responses.”

  “That’s got to be a ton of mail. They’re not going to open every envelope. How does the personnel firm know which one is from Saint John? Does he use some kind of special ink?”

  “It’s not a real company. It’s someone who wants to hire a killer. And it’s all about codes and numbers. Saint John’s return address includes a code number the advertiser will recognize. Saint John’s phony application gives a day, a time, and a phone number for the advertiser to call. It’ll be a disposable cellphone or even a pay phone in a public place, maybe an open-air restaurant, a street fair, even a zoo — places that offer multiple escape routes. They discuss the target and the terms in plain sight.”

  “But how does Saint John know what his target looks like? Me, for instance. We’ve never met. I’d certainly remember running into someone who looks like him.”

  “His client overnights a photo to a post office box number. Or Saint John might get a .jpeg photo sent directly to another pre-paid cellphone which he’ll destroy when he’s finished. When the job is done, his payoff is deposited in a numbered bank account in a country where information is accessible only to the owner.” He reverted to the British pronunciation and added, “In SinJen’s case that will be in Switzerland or Jamaica.”

  “And I thought the James Bond movies were fake,” she murmured. She was fascinated by Sully’s knowledge of how Saint John operated. But that’s his job, she thought. He has to know everything about his enemies to stay alive.

  “Right now, I’d say SinJen has spent too much time on you,” Sully said. “My guess is that his client has sent someone to speed him up.”

  “So, if it wasn’t SinJen, as you call him, in the Mercedes, was it that ‘someone’?”

  He shrugged. “Probably.”

  “All this intrigue is making me crazy.”

  His cellphone rang, and he peeled it out of its belt clip to check the display.

  “Yeah, Pete … No, stay there. We’re on our way.” He smiled at Mirabel. “Pete says your doctor will be fine.”

  “That’s wonderful news.” She leaned over and kissed his shoulder. “Thank you.” She took his phone and started to tap in her home phone number.

  He took it back. “Use your own. Mine’s off limits.”

  She twisted her belt around, pulled out her phone, and keyed in a string of numbers to get to her messages. She listened to a voice from the National Institutes of Health acknowledging her withdrawal from the convention. She tapped in a code number to erase the message, then ended the call and stared at her phone. “Amazing. I can live or die by codes and numbers.”

  “What?”

  “I punched in code numbers, just like Saint … Never mind. Just muttering.”

  “Mirabel, last night — ”

  Afraid of where his conversation might go, she held up a hand to stop him. “Please, Sully. Don’t make it any more than it was.”

  “I thought it was wonderful. What do you think it was?”

  “Whatever it was, it can’t happen again.”

  He didn’t pursue it, but her thoughts raced on. The idea he had taken advantage of her flitted across her mind, but she knew that was a lie. He’s my ex-husband, and I wanted him, she thought. No, it was more than that. I needed him. What’s the matter with me? She pressed her fist hard against her lips to silence her thoughts.

  He swung into a parking space in the hospital’s parking lot and switched off the ignition. She had a shoe on the asphalt when he stopped her with a touch. “What happened last night — ”

  “Sully, don’t.”

  “Let me finish. It was an emotional release for both of us, the kind of thing that can happen between a man and a woman who are attracted to each other.” He touched his finger to her lips, stifling a protest. “Don’t bother to deny it. I see it in your eyes, and I know I’m still attracted to you. And that’s what it was. A physical attraction.”

  “So we were just a couple of animals answering the call of nature. Nothing as quaint or human as love was involved.” There were times she hated his frankness. She hadn’t thought of that before — that he
might not love her. Even two years after the divorce, she didn’t think that would ever happen. He had, after all, promised eternal love, but then so had she.

  “That’s not what I said.” He chuckled softly and kissed her palm. “You’ll always be special to me, but you can relax. I’m not asking for all your tomorrows.”

  Her first reaction was relief then she felt hurt at the rejection. “I’m glad,” she said, “because if Saint John has his way, I don’t have a lot of those left.”

  He shook his head. “Let’s go see Ray.”

  • • •

  “Hey, Jamie,” Mirabel said with a wave. The doctor who had been on duty when Kyle brought her in from the desert turned around when she hailed him.

  When she got closer, he smiled. “Didn’t expect to see you again so soon. Everything okay?”

  “I’m checking on a patient. Ray Briggs.”

  “Friend of yours?”

  “Of ours,” Mirabel said and gestured to Sully. “Robert O’Sullivan, this is Dr. Jamie Zimmerman. He was working ER when Kyle brought me in.”

  “We’ve met,” Sully said and nodded at Jamie, who looked blank. “Frank Griebe.”

  “Ah, yes,” Zimmerman said. “I remember. Well, Mirabel, my Emergency Room seems to be getting a spate of new patients from among your circle of friends.”

  “It’s been a difficult few days.” And it’s not over yet, she thought. “How’s Ray doing?”

  He looked at her over his glasses. “Actually, he’s doing quite well despite a broken hand. Black and blue mostly. I suppose you want to see him.”

  “Of course.”

  The ER doctor glanced at his watch. “Through the double doors, third bed on the left. We’re keeping him overnight so don’t get his hopes up that he’ll be going home.”

  “That sounds like a lot more than black and blue,” she said.

  “Precautionary,” he said.

  “Thanks.” Mirabel turned on her heel and headed for Ray with Sully a step behind.

  Monitors beeped and lights blinked beside every bed in the ER. The familiar, stringent odors of antiseptics and medicines filled her nostrils. A nurse with a stethoscope draped around her neck stood beside the wraith-like form of an elderly woman, fingers on her patient’s wrist pulse, counting the seconds. She looked up with a question in her eyes as they approached, and Mirabel pointed toward the next bed.

  When she saw Briggs, she felt a pang of concern and guilt. He lay sandwiched between white sheets, his eyes closed. A gray-green fiberglass cast encased his left hand from the tips of his fingers to halfway to his elbow. One cheek looked puffy and tender. The black ends of sutures crawled across his eyebrow like a wooly caterpillar. As Mirabel and Sully neared the bed, he opened his eyes and nodded a greeting.

  “Hey, Mirabel, Sully,” he said through swollen lips.

  “I’m so sorry I got you involved in this,” she said and kissed his forehead.

  His hand trembled when he held it out to shake Sully’s. “Thanks, Sully, for bringing the cavalry.”

  “Sorry we didn’t get there sooner. I thought Pete was going to be here.”

  “Went to visit a Frank somebody or other.”

  “What happened?” Mirabel asked.

  “They put a big hurt on me, as my grandfather used to say.”

  She touched the cast with light fingers. “What about your hand?”

  “Simple fractures. Fingers and hand.”

  “Oh, Ray,” she said.

  “It’ll be okay. The orthopedist’s prognosis is no permanent damage. The cast comes off in five or six weeks, then a couple weeks of physical therapy, and I’ll be good as new.”

  “That’s the best news I’ve heard in way too long.” She pointed a finger at his brow. “I think the cut across your eyebrow is going to make you look even sexier. More macho.”

  “Scars are more Sully’s style. A plastic surgeon will take care of that in the morning.”

  “I really am sorry.” She glanced at Sully then burst out, “Did you hear Evan Thompson is dead?”

  “No!” Briggs’s eyes got big. “How? When?”

  “Killed in a car crash last night,” she said.

  “I can tell by your face there’s something more to it.”

  “The news report said he was chasing a speeder and lost control of his patrol car. That’s not Evan. He’s way too good a driver,” Mirabel said.

  “Sully, you think it wasn’t an accident?”

  “I think it was as much an accident as the plane crash.”

  “What is going on around here?” Briggs asked. “This isn’t LA. This is smallville Mendocito. Well, your work is safe, Mirabel. I got the binder and even took the CD that was in the cabinet. Did you see I took the CD?”

  She nodded. “I found the empty case. What’d you do with the disc?”

  “I have a multi-disc changer in the car. I stuck your CD in with the rest of my music. The binder is under the seat.”

  “The binder is — ” Mirabel felt Sully’s hand on her arm.

  “Where’s your car?” Sully asked.

  “At Mirabel’s lab.”

  Picking up on Sully’s caution about not telling Ray where the binder was found, Mirabel asked, “Your new BMW?”

  Briggs nodded and a broad smile lit up his face. “Z4 Roadster.”

  “It’s not there,” she said.

  His grin disappeared. “I was already in the car when two goons arrived. They couldn’t have seen me hide the stuff.”

  “And that was why they trashed the lab?” Mirabel asked. She watched his eyes flick toward Sully then back to her.

  “Yes. I … Oh. Wait. No, I’m confused. Now that I think about it, the lab was trashed when I got there. They … Why’d they have to take my car?”

  When Briggs turned evasive, Mirabel knew he was trying to cover up something and also knew that, if she’d picked up on it, Sully had as well. Her eyes slid toward Sully, who shook his head just a tick.

  “I’ll get Pete to check on it,” Sully said. He pulled a tissue out of a box on the bedside table and a pen out of the drawer. “What’s the plate number?”

  “I-F-X-D-K,” Briggs spelled out.

  Sully cocked one eyebrow. “Kitschy. A dentist’s vanity plate that says, ‘I fix decay.’”

  “I couldn’t resist. The ‘Z’ is my first sports car, and I wanted something special.”

  “I hope it’s not at that chop shop Evan showed me,” Mirabel said and meant it.

  Sully nodded. “Good a place as any to start. BMW parts are hot items.”

  Briggs groaned. “Oh, geeze. It’s not even broken in yet.” He flipped back the sheet and started to swing his legs over the edge of the bed. “I’m going with you.”

  “Whoa,” Mirabel said. “Doctor said you’re not going anywhere tonight.”

  “But — ”

  “Hold that thought, Ray,” she said. “Now it’s my turn to help you out. I’ll be back to pick you up in the morning.”

  He shook his head then nodded. “I’ll call you with the time. Thanks, Mirabel.”

  Out in the hallway, Sully stopped Mirabel with a hand on her arm. “Give me a moment.” He headed toward the sliding doors that led to the drive, pulling his cellphone as he walked.

  She nodded absently — her mind on the scene that had just occurred in the hospital room. Ray had been lying about something. Why?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  “I’m going to check in on Frank,” Sully said when he returned from making the phone call. “Want to wait for me in the lobby?”

  Mirabel understood he was offering her a way out of seeing the man she’d taken an instant dislike to, but she shook her head. “I’ll go with you. I owe him, and I need to mend that fence.”<
br />
  “I’ll find out where they have him stashed,” he said and strode to the circle of desks in the middle of the hall that formed the nurses’ station.

  Mirabel leaned against the wall and swiped at the jagged edge of a broken fingernail with a piece of emery board she’d found in her pants pocket. Her mind couldn’t let go of Ray’s elusive answer and the swath of death and destruction cut by two secret nanosatellites. If only I hadn’t spotted that stupid twinkle.

  Sully spoke quietly across the counter to a nurse in burgundy scrubs seated in front of a computer monitor. After a few moments, he nodded and motioned to Mirabel who threw the splintered nail file in the trash on her way past the nurses’ station and joined Sully at the elevator. Seconds after pushing the call button, they opted out of waiting and took the stairs. By the time she reached the top of the second flight of steps, her injured thigh muscle had tightened up. The pinch reminded her to slow down as they headed down a long hall to room three-o-nine.

  “Hey, guys. What’s happening?” Ridley sat on a chair between the bed and the wall, a spot that gave him a view of Griebe and the door at the same time.

  Griebe was sitting up, a sheet pulled over his legs. A plastic tube drained pinkish fluid from under the bandage on his chest into a plastic bag hung under the bed. He was otherwise unfettered. “Looks like a party,” he said with a grin.

  “I think we’re past due,” Sully said and gripped Griebe’s hand.

  Griebe nodded at Mirabel. “And how is the good Dr. Campbell?”

  “Call me Mirabel, please. I’m great. Thanks to both of you. I owe you more than I — ”

  “My pleasure,” Ridley said and nodded.

  “Sorry, I can’t say the same,” Griebe said and made a wry face. “And remember the fat lady hasn’t sung yet.”

  “He means it’s not over,” Sully said in her ear.

  Mirabel rolled her eyes. “I know that.”

  “Get any information about the sheriff’s death?” Ridley asked her.

  She shook her head. “Only that he was chasing a white Mercedes. Deputy Lee was pretty close-mouthed, and she wouldn’t let Christina tell me anything, either. She also insisted Ray is on vacation.”