The Color of Wounds Page 16

  “Bad marriage, submerging in your work: I’ve been there,” Aubrey said. “Any kids?”

  “Nope. Just horses.” Loren finished her wine and poured herself another cup. Her tone brightened. “Actually, I’m in the market for another horse. My old faithful is a twenty-two-year-old warmblood. I love him to death, but he’s starting to have problems. I need something younger. Know of any?”

  Aubrey chewed a crust for a moment. “Maybe, I do. There’s a trainer who does business with VinChaRo. He’s got some nice jumpers. “

  “I’d like to talk to him.”

  Aubrey’s face lengthened. “No you wouldn’t. Not really. He’s got nice horses but, to tell the truth, he’s pretty much a jerk. Overbearing, hot temper. Thinks he is a lady’s man. You know the type?”

  “I’ve been married to two of them.”

  Aubrey shrugged. “But he does have a good eye for horses. Now that I think about it, he’ll probably have some in the summer sale at VinChaRo.”

  “When’s that?”

  “Next week. Good timing for you.”

  “At VinChaRo?”

  “Right. It’s our big event of the year.”

  “What’s the guy’s name?”

  “Eddy Mathews.”

  “I’ll try to remember that name.”

  “You be careful. Like I said, he’s a good horseman, but not a very nice guy.”

  Loren dismissed the warning with a wave of her hand, drank some more wine, and then stretched out in the sunshine. “God, I’m glad Kent suggested I get on the accreditation committee for the CVC. I really like it here. I’d forgotten how nice your summers are. In Maryland it’s an absolute furnace right now.”

  Aubrey stopped chewing. “He asked you to come up here?”

  “To be on the committee,” Loren said, her voice innocent. “I guess he figured me being chair would give him a little better chance. He never misses a trick.” She paused, then said, “You sound concerned.”

  “Surprised would be a better way to put it. I’d have thought he’d have told me.”

  “Well, you know him better than I do. I’m sure he’s told you how badly he wants the vet school.” Loren lifted her head just enough to take another sip of wine. “I’m sure that’s the only reason he came on to me the other night. Just because I’ve got some clout with the accreditation committee, I mean.” She waved her hand as if dismissing Kent the same way she dismissed Eddy Mathews. “Anyway, I told him, ‘No, no. Hold on there, big guy. It’s not like the old days. You’re taken now. Remember?’ Don’t worry, Aubrey. I wouldn’t do anything to hurt your relationship with Kent.”

  Aubrey stared at Loren—through Loren. She spoke in a low whisper, like distant thunder. “Not and live to tell the story.”

  CHAPTER 28

  It was late afternoon by the time Kent finished with Merrill at the bridge, got cleaned up, had his injured hands and knees tended to, and drove back to the CVC.

  The one thing he had to do before he could go home to a Manhattan and a patio chair was find out what Phyllis Muelick wanted to tell him about the bomber. He felt bad about having cut her off earlier, she had sounded upset. And information about the bomber! He shouldn’t have let it wait. He buzzed Beverly and asked her to have Dr. Muelick come to his office. A few minutes later, Beverly buzzed him back and said she had been unable to locate Muelick.

  “I guess we are going to have to find her ourselves,” he said to Lucinda. “No rest for the weary. Come on.”

  He made his way through the building. Things were winding down for the day. The crowd was thinning. The intensity of day hours was yielding to the hush of the night shift. That suited him just fine. Losing three hundred thousand dollars and chasing a bomber down a tunnel like some crazy terrier after a rat was enough excitement for one day. Calm was good.

  They climbed the stairs to the Behavioral Center and found Cheryl, in the process of closing down the reception area for the night.

  “Everyone gone?” Kent asked.

  “Yes. All quiet.”

  Kent jammed his hands deep into his pockets, frowning. “I’ve been trying to find Dr. Muelick. Do you know where she could be?”

  “No, I don’t, Dr. Stephenson. It’s odd. She is usually good about leaving me some way to contact her. Beverly called me, said you were looking for her. I don’t know where she is.”

  “Did you see anything in her office or the lab? Any notes? Phone memos? Anything that would say where she went?”

  “Nothing in her office. I didn’t go in the lab. It’s kind of off limits. Her private place. You know what I mean? The place gives me the willies anyway. She and Dr. Tice each have their own labs, away from the clinical areas. They go between the two, but they are the only ones.”

  Kent huffed. “I wasn’t aware of their system.” He knew Phyllis had a private lab, it had been one of her stipulations for the job at the CVC. He’d been in it a time or two but did not realize it had evolved into such a secret sanctuary. And certainly, he didn’t realize Marvin Tice had been granted such privilege.

  “Is that where he tested me and the others for his stress study?”

  Cheryl looked confused. “The others?”

  “The rest of the staff that are being guinea pigs for Dr. Tice. Getting weekly blood tests and EEGs and all that.”

  Cheryl spoke slowly, trying to work things out in her own mind. “Well, no. You got tested in the front lab. That’s the one that everybody uses.” She paused, her eyes fixed on Kent. “But I don’t think anyone else on the staff gets tested. Just you. Maybe I’m mixed up.”

  Kent stared back at Cheryl.

  “Where is Dr. Tice’s lab? His private one.”

  “Right next to Dr. Muelick’s. They actually connect.”

  “I remember that one being there. I just didn’t realize it was secret now.” He held up a ring of keys and gave Cheryl a devious look. “ But I’ve got a master key.”

  “Watch out for the boogie man. I’m out. See you tomorrow.”

  When the door had closed behind her, Kent said to Lucinda, “We need to find Dr. Muelick.”

  He knocked on the door to Dr. Muelick’s office. As expected, there was no answer. He eased open the door. All was as it should be. Neat, orderly, ready for business. A twinge of guilt struck him. He backed out.

  He moved to the front lab where he had been tested by Tice. Again, all was in order. The door to Dr. Muelick’s’ private lab was directly opposite from where he stood. He knocked and waited.

  Lucinda whimpered and pushed her nose to the threshold.

  He tried the knob. Locked. He used his master key and pushed the door open cautiously.

  The second his eyes focused, his knees buckled. Bile belched into his mouth. He bent, hands on knees, and coughed it to the floor.

  A few feet away Phyllis Muelick’s body lay facedown across a lab bench, her toes still touching the floor. Her head was twisted so that Kent could see her eyes, fixed in a distant stare. Blood pooled on the counter. The hilt of a post-mortem knife protruded from her back.

  CHAPTER 29

  It was nearly midnight by the time the police and medical examiner finished their investigation of Dr. Muelick’s lab and removed her body. Merrill helped them load up their equipment. Kent spoke a few awkward words to Dr. Muelick’s husband and escorted him to his car. They both watched the taillights of the ambulance as it drove off. Then they returned to Kent’s office.

  Merrill immediately stretched out on the couch that had recently become the surveillance technician’s domain, one forearm across his face.

  “He’s in shock,” Kent said.

  “Who?”

  “Mr. Muelick.”

  Still covering his eyes, Merrill said, “Murder is a shocker. Especially around a small town like ours, where everyone comes to get away from that stuff.”<
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  Kent flopped into his desk chair, picked up a pencil, and toyed with it. His hand trembled. He tossed the pencil back onto his desk and interwove his fingers across his chest.

  “I told one of my guys to stay out front and keep the damn reporters away,” Merrill said.

  “I saw him,” Kent said. Then, after a pause, “I’m telling you, Chief. She had something big to tell me. Something important about the bomber, she said. The next thing I know, she’s dead!”

  Merrill rolled over and sat up. “No question, there’s a connection. Our best hope is that the lab boys got us a lead—fingerprints, fibers—something.”

  “Yeah. Like all the great leads they got from the Covington statue, and the Ledyard Estate, and the school, and the bridge.” Kent ticked them off on his fingers, then secured his hands on his chest again.

  Merrill gave a grunt that sounded like agreement. “Let’s try not to think about all that now. Let’s go home and get some sleep.”

  “Just like that, huh? Just drop off to sleep.”

  “You want me to call Dr. Marshall? Have her prescribe something?”

  Kent flashed his brother a dull look. “I’ve got enough sedatives in this building to put an army to sleep.”

  “Yeah. I guess you’re set in that department,” Merrill said.

  Their conversation was interrupted by a loud exchange of voices in the outer office. They heard one of Merrill’s sentries rebuff someone in a command voice.

  “Don’t those reporters ever give up?” Merrill said.

  The door to Kent’s office opened enough for the sentry to stick his head in. His face displayed helplessness. “Sorry, sir. There’s a lady out here who says she needs to speak to Dr. Stephenson right away.”

  “What’s her name?” Kent asked.

  The sentry retracted his head. There was a quick exchange and he reappeared. “Loren Summer.”

  Kent looked at Merrill. “Why is she even here? Never mind. Let her in, please.”

  Loren pushed past the officer and took a stand directly in front of Kent.

  A lock of her hair had escaped its clasp and dangled over her left ear. Her makeup was smudged just enough to make her eyes appear smoky, and her complexion was red beyond the usual glow that her Scotch provided. Loren was working hard to keep it together.

  “What’s the matter?” Kent asked.

  “Sorry about Dr. Muelick,” she said. “She was a good person.”

  “We’ll all miss her.”

  “Right. Well, I figured this couldn’t wait,” Loren said. She pushed a glossy card across the desk to Kent, then quickly lit up a cigarette.

  Kent noticed her hands were shaking worse than his. He stared at the card, not touching it.

  Loren blew a plume of blue smoke to the ceiling and snapped at him. “Go ahead. Look at it.”

  He slid a fingernail under the card and lifted it, looked at one side then the other.

  On the front was the snow-white image of the Presbyterian Church with its steeple piercing a perfectly blue sky. On the back, in off-hand cursive, was a message: Tell Stephenson. Number three. Tomorrow. High noon.

  “Where did you get this?” Kent said, passing it to Merrill.

  “It was in my hotel room. Apparently, someone slipped it under the door while I was at the...while I was out.”

  By the smell of her breath, Kent knew she had almost said, “At the bar downstairs.”

  “The bastard is really losing it now,” Merrill said.

  “He lost it a long time ago.”

  “No. I mean he’s getting worse. Bolder.” Merrill tapped the postcard with his finger. “He relayed this message through someone other than you. He gave us a full twelve hours warning. High noon for the fireworks? He’s lost it.”

  Through the rest of the night Merrill, Norm MacKinnon, and MacKinnon’s bomb disposal team did their thing at the church. Only this time the spectators and press were there from the get-go.

  Merrill’s men did their best to control the crowd, designated areas for the press, kept an eye on an impromptu vigil Reverend Geasling convened. He and Yvonne passed out candles to Presbyterians, Catholics, Methodists, and anyone else who would take one, then led them in prayer.

  Near daybreak, Kent found a bench in a secluded corner of the church yard and decided to rest his eyes for a minute. Instead, he dropped into a death-like sleep. Not long after, Loren stumbled on him. Half in the bag, she settled in next to him on the bench, and within seconds, she was passed out with her head resting on his shoulder.

  Neither of them noticed, when Aubrey came searching for Kent and found them. She stood watching them sleep for a long time, crushed, crying softly. Then she took a deep breath that sounded like a growl and wiped away her tears. She cursed them both and left.

  It was the stiffness in his neck and the ache in his hips that finally caused Kent to wake up. He was surprised to see that it was daylight, but more surprised to find Loren leaning on him, dead asleep. He lifted her head and stirred her back to life.

  “What time is it?” she asked, combing her hair back with her fingers and swallowing to wet her throat.

  Kent squinted at his watch. “Seven-thirty.”

  “I need a lady’s room.”

  “What’s happening with the bomb search?”

  “I don’t know.”

  They sat in dazed silence.

  Kent motioned over his shoulder and down the street. “There’s a diner down the block. It’s got a lady’s room. Bring back a couple of coffees. I’m going to find the chief.”

  Loren watched Kent stretch out his back as he walked toward a group of policemen in the church parking lot. She headed toward the diner on rubbery legs. She was just off church property when she heard someone call her name—loud, angry. She spun toward it and saw Aubrey leaning against a tree.

  “You caught me looking a little disheveled,” Loren said, smoothing her dress with her hands.

  Aubrey’s expression was like stone, her voice blistering. “That’s what happens when you sleep outside.”

  It took Loren a second to recover. “You saw us?”

  “It’s a public place.”

  “You were spying?”

  “Not really.”

  “We didn’t do anything.”

  Aubrey held up her hand. “Shut up, Loren.” As she spit the words, she stepped closer to Loren. “I’m going to tell you this one time. Got it? One time. I don’t give a good goddamn about your old friendship with Kent, or the vet school accreditation committee, or any other bullshit. You stay the hell away from Kent!”

  “But we didn’t…”

  Loren’s words were cut off by the flat of Aubrey’ hand across her face. “I told you to shut up!” She let Loren feel the sting for a moment. “If I catch you talking to Kent for any reason other than CVC business, you’ll feel pain that will make that slap feel like a kiss. I promise you that.”

  Aubrey turned and walked away in the direction she had seen Kent go.

  Loren was standing there dazed, wondering what to do. She was rubbing her cheek and tried to think where she could get something stronger than coffee when she saw the second unexpected woman of her morning. She knew in an instant that it was the woman who was the subject of such speculation around town. Small round face and short blond hair, she was wearing an oversized Army fatigue jacket and standing alone against a lamp post the way Aubrey had leaned against the tree. The woman was fixed on the activity around the church and did not notice Loren.

  As Loren studied her, long-quiet neurons began to spark in her memory. They fired until gradually a mental picture emerged. It shocked her.

  “I know that girl!” Loren said.

  CHAPTER 30

  Loren stood alone, staring at the mystery woman, marveling that she had been able to recall such an insignifica
nt meeting so long ago. “Texas,” she said. “Burman A&M. That woman was one of the graduate students. She was in the Torture Lab.” Loren knew she was right. “She was in the Torture Lab and at the hearing.”

  Loren turned back toward the church. She needed to tell Kent. The woman’s presence in Jefferson had to be related to the bombings. Hell, she was staring at the next target that very second.

  Half walking, half running, she craned her neck, looking for Kent among the crowd gathered in the church parking lot. She paused, cupped her lighter in her hands, and ignited a cigarette, then began her frantic search again.

  Kent had managed to find Merrill. The bomb squad had performed their three-stage search—Gus the German Shepherd, the dough boy, and a walk-through — from belfry to basement without finding anything the least bit suspicious. Still, they were taking no chances. The church would remain off limits for now.

  He was back on the churchyard bench waiting for Loren, wondering what was taking her so long to get the coffee, when he heard footsteps. He turned and was surprised to see Marvin Tice.

  “Good morning, Kent,” Tice said as he lowered himself onto the bench.

  Kent returned the greeting cautiously, not knowing why the man was there. He seemed infuriatingly calm, no recall of his horrifying Lecture Over Lunch performance, or mourning for the death of his boss.

  “You don’t seem very happy to see me,” Tice said.

  Kent shrugged. “Yeah. Well, I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

  “I realize I’m probably not your favorite person, but it doesn’t have to be that way.”

  Tice’s face was drawn. He looked as tired as Kent felt. Kent did not reply.

  “Is it because of what happened to Dr. Muelick, or my extreme position on animal rights?”

  “Did you kill Dr. Muelick?” Kent asked in an even tone.

  “No.”

  “Then it’s your position on animal rights.”