Mean Streak(90)

Greer said, “Left me speechless. What about you?”

“When he resurfaced, he sure as shit didn’t soft-pedal. How soon can you get me down there?”

“You just got off a red-eye. Take today to—”

“No, now. I’m gonna shower. Let’s talk again in five minutes.”

He was clean and shaved and hurriedly switching the dirty clothes in his suitcase for clean ones when Greer called back. “I e-mailed your itinerary.”

“Any flight delays expected?”

“Not here. Your connecting flight may get held up in Charlotte if the fog in Asheville doesn’t lift.”

“Fog? Doesn’t Asheville have mountains?”

Flying into mountains in fog held even less appeal than fog-shrouded ferry rides. He really needed to catch this motherf*cker.

On the cab ride to LaGuardia, he punched in the contact number at the bottom of the e-mail he’d received. The call was answered by a gravelly voice with a noticeable drawl. “Sam Knight.”

They exchanged perfunctory introductions, then Knight said, “We just got back from up at his place. I put in the e-mail everything we know at this juncture.”

“No sign of him?”

“Not since he dropped off Lisa Floyd at her aunt’s house this morning, and nobody can or will describe his pickup.”

“What do you mean by ‘will’?”

“All the Floyds are as stupid on the subject of him as Dr. Charbonneau. Beats all I’ve ever seen. Like he sprinkles people with amnesia powder instead of fairy dust. Is he a Charles Manson type? A Jim Jones?”

“I wouldn’t describe him as such. But he does hold sway,” Jack said, thinking of Rebecca’s blind devotion to her brother.

“Apparently. We’re about to issue a BOLO.”

“Hold up on that.”

“Hold up?”

“Once he knows you’re onto him, you won’t have a prayer of finding him. Believe me, I know.”

“For my guys only then, what’s he look like?”

Jack gave him a description, receiving a series of harrumphs in response.

At the end of it, Knight said, “Six four, two twenty-five, dark hair, unusual blue eyes, and he was tough to remember or describe?”

“He inspires loyalty.”

“Or fear.”

“Or fear,” Jack conceded.

“Who is this guy? What’d he do? When we ran that print, we struck. But all his files are sealed, classified except for your office. Why’s that?”

Jack didn’t want to divulge that until he had the measure of this man, Sam Knight. Even if he trusted him implicitly, he didn’t trust other personnel, and the mention of Westboro would spread through small-town officers’ ranks like wildfire. That would be cataclysmic.

“Don’t issue any bulletins yet,” he said. “I’ll explain everything when I get there.”

Or maybe not. Depending on how things unfolded, it would be just as well if Sergeant Detective Sam Knight never knew the identity of the man he was seeking.

Before ending the call Jack inquired about the weather conditions there.

“Dense fog and snow showers. S’posed to get worse before it gets better.”





Chapter 31



A felony, Emory. A felony?”

“You don’t have to shout, Jeff. I heard you the first dozen times.”

“I doubt you’ll be charged, but…for chrissake. Think of the negative publicity.”

“I apologize for any embarrassment I have caused or will cause you.”

He stopped pacing and turned to face her. “Don’t make me out to be the bad guy here.”

“I’m not. I didn’t mean it sarcastically. You have every right to be upset.”

He had been humiliated, and she deeply regretted that. Throughout the day, he’d remained stoic and publically supportive. But now that they were alone for the first time since the burglary video had come to light, he was venting justifiable outrage.

It was a befitting note on which to end a day that had begun with her in the throes of a panic attack. She’d convinced herself of Jeff’s culpability, only to discover that it was she, not he, who might have to face criminal charges. On the bright side, she wasn’t spending the night in jail.

Upon their return from the cabin, Sergeant Knight had made it clear that she was still a suspect—or, at the least, a material witness—but he had grumbled about the “shit that would hit the fan” if they put her in lockup until they had all their t’s crossed and i’s dotted.

Lisa Floyd had been questioned by a female deputy, and it was reported to Knight and Grange that the girl had praised “Dr. Smith” to the hilt. It was only after learning that Lisa had told the deputy the nature of her medical crisis that Emory confirmed it to the detectives.

“Her condition wasn’t immediately life-threatening, but it was traumatic, and she was in a great deal of discomfort. I did what I could.”

“Those are what I’d call mitigating circumstances,” Knight had said. “Why didn’t you explain all this as your reason for breaking into the doctor’s office?”

“It would have been a breach of patient confidentiality.”