Enigma (FBI Thriller #21)(50)
Chivers thought about that. “He sounded like a regular adult guy, younger than my dad. He did have this accent, not Southern or from Boston, you know how they talk. He sort of sounded like that old series about that English detective in Oxford, Inspector Morse, I think his name was.”
“So you’re saying the man who called you was in his thirties or forties and had an upper-class British accent.”
“Yeah, that’s it, and he knew about my crop of weed, and I realized one of my clients must have ratted me out and that’s how he got my name. I swear, he threatened me, threatened to call the sheriff. I can’t see I had any choice. The prosecutor, she’ll believe me, won’t she?”
“Yes, she will. Give me your cell phone, Clyde.” Cam held out her hand.
“They took it already. Will I get it back?”
She nodded. As she and Jack rose and left the room, she said over her shoulder at the door, “You’re free to go, Clyde, if you want to. But I suggest you be very careful. Your cell phone will be with the dispatcher.”
Chivers rose straight out of his chair, sputtering. “You can’t leave me, it’s inhuman. I didn’t do anything all that bad, really, don’t you see? I mean, my crop helps support my folks. Without me—”
“You could ask the sheriff to keep you in custody if you like.” Jack winked at Cam as he shut the door on Clyde Chivers.
Outside in the bullpen Cam retrieved Chivers’s cell phone, scrolled through Chivers’s calls with two deputies looking on. She found a blocked call from earlier in the day. “Probably from a burner phone. They don’t miss much.”
“I know, they’re smart. The man who called Chivers, the man in charge, is a Brit? Or was he another underling?”
Cam grinned. “Are we thinking they’re so smart because they outfoxed us?”
“I’d like to think they were lucky, but I doubt Savich would agree. I emailed Savich the big man’s prints. We’ll know if he’s in the system soon.”
Cam said, “Where are we headed now, Jack?”
“Savich said to come back to Washington. He says he’s got a lead on one of the six people who rented the safe-deposit boxes Manta Ray emptied. And he told me the tail number you saw on the Robinson doesn’t exist. Agent Lucy McKnight is getting together a list of all Robinson R66 helicopters in the Washington area.”
“Did he mention we were fired?”
“He didn’t say and I wasn’t about to ask him.”
31
WASHINGTON MEMORIAL HOSPITAL
WASHINGTON, D.C.
TUESDAY AFTERNOON
Savich arrived at John Doe’s hospital room twenty minutes after Dr. Wordsworth called him. He spoke briefly to newly-assigned guard Agent Wilcox, then stepped in the room to see Dr. Wordsworth checking John Doe’s infusion set. Once satisfied, she turned to him and smiled. “Thank you for coming, Agent Savich. Needless to say I’ve never had one of my patients nearly murdered under my care. It shocks me that something like that could happen here, at the hospital, to someone who’s completely helpless.” Dr. Wordsworth nodded toward John Doe’s second FBI guard, Agent Crosby, standing by the window. “It’s a great relief you now have two agents guarding him. Agent Crosby assures me if anyone tries anything more, he will need the emergency room. I called you, Agent Savich, because I promised to follow up with his test results and the bloodwork I sent out.” She shook her head. “To be honest here, some of it doesn’t make sense to me.”
“As puzzling as finding out John Doe is the father of Kara Moody’s baby?”
“Nothing could be that strange.” She shook her head. “Amazing, really. A man she believes is crazy bursts into her house two days ago, her baby is kidnapped yesterday, last night she saves that man’s life, and now she finds out that same man is the father of her baby, a man she’d never seen before.” She shook her head again. “She’s bearing up so well. In fact, I’m told she spends all her time with him. I hear she thinks of him as a victim, like herself. She never once considered him as her possible rapist.”
It was an extraordinary situation. How would it play out? Savich thought of Sherlock’s interview with Sylvie Vaughn, and the GPS tracker she’d put on Vaughn’s car, and all because of her gut. He’d trust Sherlock’s gut any day. “We may know more about what’s going on very soon. Doctor, tell me, what doesn’t make sense about the test results.”
Dr. Wordsworth took off her glasses, wiped them down on her white coat, set them on her nose again. “As you know, his CT scans and MRIs were normal. The initial abnormal blood tests I told you about yesterday—his liver function tests and blood cell counts—have improved, they’re very nearly in the normal range. My neurology consult tested him again this morning, says John Doe’s reflexes are improving. His coma is less deep, which means he might regain consciousness soon.”
“Doctor, your earring is falling out.”
“What?” Her long thin fingers went to the diamond stud nearly ready to fall out of her ear. She smiled, reattached it. “Thank you. I’d hate to lose one of those babies—it was my twenty-fifth anniversary present from my husband.” She shook her head, patted the earring. “As I was saying, I was considering a bone marrow biopsy, but I don’t want to subject him to anything invasive since he’s recovering on his own, and so quickly.”