Long Range (Joe Pickett Book 20)(85)
“On it,” Steck said. “A gray Ford Raptor with vanity ‘DR TOM’ plates, right? It should be fairly easy to pick out.”
“Yup.”
“And we’ll soon find out who out there is listening to the police band tonight,” Steck added ruefully.
“I’m keeping my car,” Croswell said, gesturing to the Mercedes parked in the garage. “I don’t care what he says. Fuck him. I deserve that car.”
*
“MISSY, YOU NEED to come out,” Joe said as he leaned against the bathroom doorframe. “We’ve got to ask you some questions about what happened here tonight.”
He could hear her gasp when she recognized his voice.
“Why are you here?” she said. “I don’t want to talk to you.”
“Sorry.”
“Go away.”
“I’m not going away,” Joe said with a sigh. “If you don’t come out, we’ll break the door down and drag you out.”
“Do not talk to me that way.”
As she said it, Woods walked by and winked at Joe.
“She’s my mother-in-law,” Joe said to him.
“Do you want to leave her in there?” Woods asked.
“Yup.”
Missy said, “Stop talking about me. I can hear you, you know.”
Woods rolled his eyes. Then: “We found a stack of checks in his office from clients all over the country. Some of them even say ‘medication’ in the subject line. Our good doctor was a drug dealer, it seems.”
Joe chinned toward the locked door. “That’s why she was here.”
“She’s an addict?” Woods asked.
“I am not a drug addict,” Missy hissed from inside.
“She’s addicted to husbands,” Joe said. Woods covered his mouth with his gloved hand so he wouldn’t laugh out loud. Giddy, Joe thought.
“I’m trying to save my husband’s life,” Missy cried.
“Then come out and talk to us,” Joe said to her.
There was a long beat. Then her voice, much more softly than before: “Joe, can you get me my handbag from the living room? It’s on a chair or on the coffee table. I look terrible. I need to fix my face before I can come out. There was tape around my mouth and in my hair. It’s embarrassing. I can’t let anyone see me like this.”
“No one cares what you look like,” Joe said.
“You’ve never understood anything,” Missy said. “Now go get my bag and pass it through the door. I’ll open it for you. But don’t you dare look at me.”
“Gladly,” Joe said.
He found it next to a gallon ziplock bag filled with prescription drug containers of what looked like hundreds of pills.
*
TEN MINUTES LATER, while Missy was still reconstructing her appearance in the bathroom, the front door blew open and a short man in full camo stepped inside. He brandished a semiautomatic rifle.
Joe was slow to react, but Deputy Steck and two of the town cops raised their weapons and shouted for the intruder to drop his gun.
Judge Hewitt did as he was commanded, but with obvious disdain.
“Oh,” Steck said to him, “I didn’t know it was you. Sir, I’m not sure you should be here right now—”
“Where is the bastard who shot my wife?” Hewitt demanded as he cut Steck off. “I’m going to kill him.”
The judge had not only brought his own AR-15, but he had a Colt .45 semiauto in a shoulder holster. No one asked him to toss the weapon aside.
“He’s in the wind,” Joe replied to the judge. “There’s an APB out for him.”
“I know, I know, I heard it on the police band,” Hewitt said to everyone in the room. “I didn’t realize you all were already here. I thought you were out chasing him and I could catch the son of a bitch in his lair and put a cap in his ass.”
“No, sir, not yet,” Steck said. “We’re in the process of securing the home.”
“Don’t let him get away,” Hewitt said, wagging his finger at all of the officers in the room.
“We’ll get him,” Williamson chimed in from where he’d ducked down behind the couch when the door opened.
The look Judge Hewitt gave the police chief was withering. “It’s a good thing your officers were on the ball and not hiding behind furniture,” he said to him.
Then: “Joe, what in the hell is going on here? Why did Sue’s doctor shoot her and then let her die of neglect?”
Joe glanced at the locked door to the bathroom, wondering how long Missy would take, then at Judge Hewitt.
“Let’s step outside for a minute,” he said. He threw an arm around the judge’s shoulders and guided him back though the front door. Joe could feel Hewitt trembling.
*
“IT WAS DUANE,” Joe said to Judge Hewitt when they were on the front lawn. “Arthur was the shooter, but Duane was the spotter. The whole plot was cooked up by Duane.”
Judge Hewitt listened with incredulity. Joe played the most revealing snippets of Patterson’s confession on his digital recorder. Finally, the judge said, “I think Sue just felt sorry for him. I didn’t think he was smart enough to plan and carry out something like this.”