The Garbage Man

by Candace Irving

  To jar her memories loose, yes. But those bags had also served as a trail of clues leading straight to that cedar door, all the while bellowing, "Hey, you moron—here's the depraved motherfucker you're really after!"

  But there was more. Though Burke's intent was now as clear as the crystal face of the dive watch that had been strapped to her wrist for the past four years, she couldn't be sure Burke had been successful. She was no longer certain who had kidnapped whom.

  Burke was a trained killer.

  But so was Joe.

  Had Burke really gotten the drop on Joe as the agent had walked back to her cabin?

  Or had Joe managed to turn the tables on Burke and kidnap him?

  Because she now understood why Joe had flown to Arkansas, and it wasn't to help her and her department solve this case. His mission had, however, involved the disposition of her investigation. Joe and Madrigal needed a fall guy.

  Looking back on Joe's comments since his arrival, she suspected it had originally been Grant. Most likely due to the waves Grant had been making to get out of the business.

  Why else had Joe held back on the Holmes investigation? He'd known his name would surface. But with Madrigal's chief counsel and CEO dead, Joe might believe he could kill Burke and still protect his own reputation.

  Or not. Despite the possibility that Joe may've gained the upper hand in her woods, her instincts still pegged Burke as the victor.

  Kate retrieved her phone, intent on calling Lou to brief him on the latest twist to their case and her life, only to pause as she spotted that small white envelope lying unopened on her desk. She traded her phone for the envelope, knowing full well it contained Abel's suicide note.

  It did.

  Determined not to succumb to the fresh crop of tears that threatened, Kate withdrew the single sheet of paper folded neatly within...and failed miserably as the tears began to fall.

  * * *

  Dear Katie,

  I'm so sorry. I should've come to you. I'd be lying if I said I was only protecting Grant. Truth is, I couldn't face the shame of everyone knowing I'd taken a heart that wasn't mine to take. Most of all, I couldn't face you. Though God may forgive me, I'm not sure you will. That pains me more than you'll ever know since you're the closest to a daughter Barbara and I ever got. Both my boys loved you too, and I know that despite all that's happened, you loved them. Thank you for that.

  Just one more thing. When you asked if I'd told you everything, I said yes. Well, I lied. This time, I did do it to help Grant. Now that he's gone, it doesn't matter. Inside this envelope is a bit of plastic. Grant called it a microchip, I think. He's been hiding it in my kitchen. I don't know what's on it, just that Grant called it our Madrigal insurance policy. I hope it helps you take those bastards down. And, please, try not to hate Grant. His biggest flaw was loving his dad too much.

  Abel

  * * *

  Energized by Abel's gift, Kate dried her cheeks and retrieved the envelope she'd discarded. Sure enough, there was a tiny piece of plastic wedged into the bottom right corner. It wasn't a chip, though. It was a micro SD card. The kind used in smartphones—like the phone Grant normally carried.

  And her own.

  Kate grabbed the adapter she kept in her desk drawer and inserted Grant's card, then plugged the adapter into the spare USB port on her laptop, stunned as photo after photo exploded onto her screen. There were hundreds, if not a thousand or more.

  Abel had unwittingly handed her the smoking gun to Madrigal's entire illegal organ and tissue racket. Grant had surreptitiously managed to photograph patients, surgeries, medical personnel, medical records, purchasing orders for equipment, drugs and other supplies...as well as interiors and exteriors of a phenomenal state of the art mobile operating theater used by overflow patients and hospitals in disaster relief areas. The latter was housed in a massive eighteen-wheeler with pop-out sides that would put a billionaire's platinum-plated, weekend camper to shame.

  Where the hell had Madrigal purchased that thing?

  And where was it now?

  Kate was forced to thank Grant as she spotted the close-up he'd snapped of the eighteen-wheeler's license plate.

  Unfortunately, she'd yet to spot a single photo that gave her a clue as to where Burke might have taken Joe.

  Despite her missteps and misplaced trust these past few months—and years—she was still certain Burke had come out on top in the struggle on her wooded path, if only because the photos she was viewing depicted a setup Burke would've given his life to take down. Since she hadn't found Burke's body on that path, she was certain she was hours from finding Joe's.

  But where, damn it?

  Kate scrolled to the end of the massive collection, wondering if they'd been organized in some sort of logical order. They had. All one thousand, six hundred fifty-two photos had been grouped first. At the very end of the collection of JPEGs sat a lone text file. Its label?

  KATE.

  The tears returned as she opened the document and began to read. It was a diary of sorts, written by Grant...to her. The first entry reiterated much of what she'd already learned: that Madrigal had lured Grant into their scheme by dangling a heart for his father in his face. Grant had reasoned away his conscience at first by telling himself he was culling from those destined to fall through the cracks of life.

  But his conscience had finally gotten the better of him, and he'd come to accept that no one—even desperate, guilt-wracked surgeons—had the right to play God.

  Then Grant discovered his father's cancer had returned, and it was terminal. Grant decided that, when the time came, he'd check out of life too. But first, he wanted to give the woman he loved the tools to help herself. Which was why he'd begun attending that PTSD group. But she'd balked. Then the first set of bags had appeared. He'd updated the SD card, added this letter for her and tried to work the case on his own.

  * * *

  ...Since you're reading this, I've failed. I'm sorry. I know there's enough here to prove in court what you've no doubt already come to realize. Madrigal Medical is as filthy as that hole where we found Saddam—and like those missions in that man's country, our vets are still paying the price. Take this card and use it to do what I wasn't strong enough to do. Make sure you access the comments section in each file's info. When applicable, you'll find more evidence there.

  When you're done, promise me you'll focus on yourself. You deserve so much more than what life handed you. My only regret is I didn't just tell you what happened to Max and why, once I discovered it. I know you'll never forgive me, but please find a way to forgive yourself. Kate, if you can become whole again, my death will have meaning.

  * * *

  Find happiness,

  Grant

  * * *

  Ruger's muzzle slipped into her lap, startling her. Kate thought he needed to go out, until she realized he'd simply left Liz's side to check on his mistress and make sure she didn't need him more. Kate reached down to hug the Shepherd closer—because she did need him. While Liz slept, she'd been awake, fencing with her demons firsthand, still without so much as a clue as to where Burke had taken Joe.

  Unless—

  Kate gave Ruger a final squeeze and turned back to her MacBook as he settled down to warm her toes.

  Grant had said something about checking the comments section in each photo. Had he been referring to each file's "Get Info" window where she, Liz and Dan would paste lyrics when they emailed each other music in high school?

  Kate closed the text file, and right-clicked on the closest JPEG file. Scrolling down the dialogue box that appeared, she clicked on "Get Info". Sure enough, the JPEG's comments section contained information Grant had deemed important about that specific photo. The discovery jumpstarted her hope. She scrolled back to the first file in the collection and began checking the JPEGs that looked as if they might help her locate Joe. A solid hour and several hundred photos later, she hit on an honest-to-God lead.

  Not only did Mad
rigal own a clinic in a smaller town between Braxton and Little Rock, Woodgrove was off the beaten path. According to the qualifying information Grant had added, the building served as the after-hours setting for VitaCell's tissue recovery "clean room".

  Had Burke found it?

  He must have. He'd tracked his targets' movements so closely, he'd managed to kidnap both Grant and Joe as they left her house—the latter with half her department several hundred yards away, still working the former's body dump. What better place for Burke to kill his first three victims and end the life of the Army investigator responsible for murdering his friend than the spot where Grant had slaughtered countless other vets?

  Kate grabbed her phone, and this time, she did dial Lou. Unfortunately, her call went to voicemail—as did her subsequent calls to Seth and Agent Walker.

  The warrant.

  She checked her watch. Sure enough, she'd made her discovery on the cusp of the search of the pet crematorium and its vast property. The men and women on that team were on radio silence and would remain so until they'd breached the facility and cleared every inch of potential threats to their lives.

  She had two choices. She could sit here and watch Liz sleep as she waited for the comm blackout to end. Or she could arm herself to the teeth and go save Joe. At the moment, she wasn't convinced he deserved it. But she'd made her choice. Murderous bastard or not, the man Burke was about to kill was her former brother-in-arms. They'd had each other's backs for over a decade. She'd save Joe one more time.

  And then she'd toss his ass in prison.

  For life.

  18

  Twenty minutes and almost as many miles later, Kate took the I-40 exit that led to the outskirts of Woodgrove. As usual, Ruger was at her side, riding shotgun in the Durango. She wasn't convinced the Shepherd had understood the need to quietly gather supplies before slipping out of the house, but he'd complied. For that, she was grateful.

  Liz had begun to stir while she'd penned a note on an oversized yellow sticky, asking her friend to make sure Lou received the attached envelope and micro SD card if she failed to return. Fortunately, the woman had drifted into a deeper sleep by the time Kate had donned her uniform and grabbed her rifle and an extra clip for her Glock, along with several other critical items.

  Even so, she hadn't risked calling Lou back to leave a detailed voice message regarding the night's latest discoveries and her pending plans until the SUV had cleared the drive.

  Ruger's soft, questioning whine filled the SUV as Kate slowed for their next turn.

  "Soon, buddy. Soon."

  According to her GPS unit, they were less than a mile from that clinic. Hopefully, the directions spouting from her dash were sound, because even without the dense cloud cover, this section of Woodgrove would've been darker than a moonless night on the Hindu Kush. The topography was almost as bad, little more than a tree-packed stretch of ancient blacktop with the occasional clapboard house tucked far enough from the road that no one would've heard the Durango, had they even been awake.

  Another turn, and the lighting and topography hadn't improved, but it didn't matter.

  They'd arrived.

  Kate scanned the 1970s ranch-style clinic as she drove past, noting the faint glow bleeding through the blinds of the window on the far left, as if a room beyond was occupied.

  She pulled off the road and killed the headlights as she tucked the Durango in a copse of trees. Ruger was well behaved enough to wait patiently as she bailed out to retrieve her dad's old .30-30 Winchester rifle from the rear seat, before concealing her backup .38 handgun and spare munitions.

  She silenced her phone. "Ready, boy?"

  His soft chuff matched her whisper.

  "Okay, let's go. Ruger, close; quiet."

  His demeanor changed with the official commands, becoming tense and hyper-vigilant as he complied.

  Kate shifted the Winchester to her right hand, carrying the rifle low and loose as she took off toward the clinic. The running shoes she'd donned in place of her usual boots turned out to be a wise choice. Rubber soles made the trek swifter and quieter than it would otherwise have been.

  Ruger kept pace easily, slowing with her as they rounded the corner of the building. A black Explorer sat parked near what appeared to be the clinic's only rear door.

  Adrenaline surged as Kate reached the SUV. Not only was the grill still warm to the touch, a blue and white handicapped parking tag hung from the rearview mirror. But the most promising discovery? The generous smear of blood at the front of the driver's headrest.

  No soldier worth his Special Forces tab, let alone horrifically hard-earned Purple Heart, would trust his enemy at the wheel of his getaway vehicle. Which meant Joe had gotten in a whack of his own somewhere between that struggle in her woods and now.

  But was it enough to give her the edge?

  It just might be, because when she pulled on the paddle handle of the clinic's rear door, it gave.

  A trap? Or had Burke's brain been rattled enough that he'd accidentally left it unlocked?

  She had no choice but to hope for the latter as she quietly stationed Ruger outside the door and ordered him to stay. Ruger wasn't happy, but he complied as she eased the door open just far enough for her to slip inside. She'd entered the rear of what appeared to be the clinic's empty waiting room. There was enough light spilling down the hall to illuminate a waist-high reception counter and several clusters of chairs intended for patients and loved ones.

  And she could hear voices.

  Relief burned in as Kate recognized both Burke's and Joe's. The vet sounded pissed. Joe was pleading, then shamelessly wheedling, before suggesting an outcome to the night's events and the entire Madrigal investigation that turned her stomach.

  "Think about it, man. I'm still CID, and I have connections beyond the Army. Connections that are very high up. I can make sure no one tracks you down. Ever. Hell, I can make sure Madrigal tosses in enough money for a comfortable life in the Caribbean. They won't even argue. You just—"

  "—aren't interested. Listen, asshole. Not only do I have zero illusions as to how this is gonna end, I don't give a shit. I never have. Hell, Agent Cordoba, I welcome it. Like you, I once swore an oath to defend my country against all enemies, foreign and domestic. I never realized I'd have to take the second half of that promise so goddamned literally. So quit sniveling and let's get this done. 'Cause I am more than ready to finish this."

  Like it or not, that was her cue.

  A stealthy advance on another room, four years and half the globe away, knotted along Kate's nerves as she tightened her grip on the rifle and crept down the hall.

  At least this time, she was better armed.

  Unfortunately, she still found an old friend kneeling on the floor at the opposite end as she peered around the door. Gleaming tiles formed the basis of the bare-bones surgical suite surrounding Joe and Thomas Burke. Joe's hands were behind his back, probably zip cuffed, though she couldn't be sure from this angle. She could, however, make out the set of high-end metal prosthetics that allowed Burke to stand behind Joe as the vet shoved a stack of gauze pads into the CID agent's mouth with his left hand.

  To the right of both men stood a wheeled hospital gurney...and a dangling nylon noose supported by a strut exposed though missing ceiling tiles.

  "Hello, Kate. I'm glad you could join us."

  She stepped into the doorway, deliberately ignoring the terror flitting through Joe's dark brown eyes as she sighted the rifle's sights in on the head above and behind his. She couldn't afford the distraction. "Don't think I won't pull the trigger."

  Burke actually laughed as he secured Joe's gag with a strip of surgical gauze—again, with his left hand. "Oh, I know you will. Which is why I should point out that I've got the muzzle of my trusty 9mm welded to the back of Agent Cordoba's skull." He shoved Joe's head far enough forward with that same muzzle for her to verify his story, and the zip cuffs. "Now, lay that rifle down, nice and gentle, and kick it
to me."

  She did as ordered. The Winchester hadn't been central to her plan, anyway.

  "Excellent. Next, reach inside your jacket and slowly do the same with the Glock in your shoulder holster."

  Again, she complied. Neither had the Glock.

  "Now your .38 backup."

  Shit. That had.

  "I don't—"

  "It's strapped to your right calf. No, I can't see it from this angle. But if you wore it into that hospital cafeteria, you're wearing it now."

  For the third time, she did as ordered—though decidedly more grudgingly than she had the first two.

  "And now, finally, the blade. According to Max, you like to keep the pretty little thing strapped to the same leg, but a bit higher up. Mid-thigh, if I remember correctly."

  No doubt about his memories.

  Kate bit down on another, darker curse as she unsheathed the slender blade in question and sent it skittering across the tiles where it spun to a halt amid the now-completed nest of her weapons. She hadn't felt this naked since she'd woken up in that vile, mud-brick hovel.

  Thank you, Max—not.

  Still, there was hope.

  The blow Joe had landed on Burke had definitely been productive—for her. She'd yet to catch a glimpse of the back of Burke's head, but the collar and shoulders of his gray sweatshirt were stained red—and with this much light, she could tell his pupils were uneven. His right was pinpointed.

  Burke was concussed.

  According to her Army first aid briefings, the damage from TBIs was often cumulative.

  But was his latest severe enough to give her the edge here, now, and while she was woefully unarmed?

  As Burke shifted—and swayed ever so slightly—she realized it just might.

  The man might've jogged through the Madrigal CEO's yard and her own woods quickly and steadily enough to evade capture, but he was experiencing issues with balance now. All she had to do was bide her time and her patience. Wait for the perfect moment. Until then, she'd try reason.