Unfazed by the taunt, Goliad said, “Dr. O’Neal and I will take full responsibility. This won’t come back on you or the charter company. She and I will see that Dr. Lambert gets the box.”
Rye hugged it more closely. “I’m supposed to trust that? Sorry, but I have no confidence at all in your truth-telling. Doll face here has been lying to me from the get-go. Now you two show up, looking like B-movie muscle, claiming to work for somebody who tracks other people’s cell phones. I don’t know who that person is, don’t know you one-named wonders, don’t know her, and, if Dr. Lambert doesn’t produce a photo ID when we meet, he’s not getting this box, either.”
Timmy was restless, bobbing up and down on the balls of his feet. “Why don’t we just kill him and take it?”
“Tell him why that’s a bad idea, Goliad,” Rye said. “No? Okay, I will.” He looked at Timmy. “Because it would create a lot of time-consuming problems to deal with. My corpse. Trace evidence. A mess to clean up. According to Goliad your boss doesn’t want any trouble, and, besides that, he’s obsessed with the ticking clock.” Going back to Goliad, he added, “Am I right? If not, I would already be dead.”
Brynn’s heart was in her throat. He was all but daring them. Goliad, however, didn’t respond, leading her to believe that Rye had tapped into the heart of it.
He continued, “Look, I don’t know what your racket is, nor do I care. It can be innocent or criminal in nature, makes no difference to me, except that if it’s criminal, I want to be clear of it so my license isn’t jeopardized.
“So I’m sticking to the rules. I’m going to deliver the box to the name on my sheet. Once it’s in Lambert’s hands, I’m gone, and it can’t be soon enough to suit me. We can wrap this up real easy, real quick by loading up and getting on the road to Atlanta.” He looked at each of them in turn. “Sound like a plan?”
Brynn was trying to read Rye’s mind and discern what his actual plan was. But how it would play out wasn’t left to either of them.
Goliad made the choice. “It’s an excellent plan, Mr. Mallett. We’ll all ride together.”
Chapter 14
2:02 p.m.
When Deputy Rawlins answered his cell phone, Wilson asked, “What are you doing?”
“Trying to watch a football game, but one of the nephews vomited crab dip all over the rug, so I had to pause the game while they’re cleaning it up.”
“I’ve got the game on. Want to come over here?”
“The wife would kill me.”
“Tell her we’re working a case.”
“Are we?”
“The guy who quarreled with Brady White? His alibi is solid. He’s skiing in Colorado.”
“I wasn’t sold on him anyhow.”
“Then you’re gonna love this. Dr. O’Neal didn’t take delivery on the car I arranged for her. She skipped.”
“Be right there.”
“Bring a bag of chips. Never mind the crab dip.”
They lived no more than a five-minute drive from each other, but by the time Rawlins got to Wilson’s apartment, Wilson had a six-pack iced down in his Igloo. He uncapped two bottles and, as he sank into his recliner, passed one to Rawlins. “Happy Thanksgiving.”
They clinked bottles and drank.
Rawlins took a seat on the sofa, opened the bag of chips and munched a couple, then got down to business. “Where’d she go?”
“To the restroom.”
Rawlins stopped chewing and looked quizzically at Wilson.
Wilson explained what he’d gleaned from the car dealer and the waitress at the café. “Nobody’s seen her since.”
“Wanna bet?” Rawlins drawled and took another sip of beer.
“Mallett?”
Rawlins shrugged. “He’s the type.”
Wilson nodded in grudging agreement. “Damn his hide.”
“His hide and hair.”
Wilson, who’d lost more than half of his, gave his partner a wounded look.
“That hurt.”
Rawlins chuckled.
After taking another drink of his beer, Wilson began absently scraping the bottle label with his thumbnail. “I’ve got an ear worm.”
“What song?”
“Not a song. Something I overheard, at the department, as we were walking upstairs with them. The doctor and Mallet had an exchange there on the landing.”
“I remember you telling them to move along.”
“Right, but it’s what he said I keep going back to.”
“Relative to—”
“Nothing at the time,” Wilson admitted. “Not till later.”
“Okay.”
“His jacket. He’d folded it over his arm to where the lining showed. White silk, but old-looking, yellowed. It’s got a pinup girl painted on it.”
“Like they used to paint on the noses of bombers?”
“Before political correctness,” Wilson said. “It wasn’t lewd. The girl’s got clothes on. More teasing than anything. But when the doctor saw it, she took exception, and let him know it.”
“What did she say?”
“Nothing right away. But you know that look they give you. Like, ‘Will you grow up?’”
Rawlins said, “I know the look.”
“So Mallett refolded the jacket, gave this mock apology, and told her that there was a world map on the inside.”
Rawlins listened, crunched, drank from his beer. “Okay.”
“Well…” Wilson glanced at the muted TV. A receiver had just dropped a perfect pass, but neither was interested in the game any longer. “It got me to thinking that maybe we were shown blood samples to keep us from looking at something underneath them.”
Rawlins set his beer on the coffee table. “Like inside the foam lining.”
“Like that.”
They held each other’s gaze, then Wilson took the bag of chips from Rawlins and dug in. Rawlins stared blankly at the TV as he thought it over. “Brady’s head wound looks like the kind made with the butt of a gun, and Mallett has that pocket pistol. But it’s small, and there wasn’t any blood on it when I took it from his bag.”
Wilson noshed. “And why would he want to clobber Brady?”
Rawlins admitted that Rye Mallett had put that same question to him.
“Did you come up with a motive?” Wilson asked.
“None that held water.”
“Dr. O’Neal insisted that I take her to the hospital so she could personally check on Brady’s condition before leaving town. Either her worry was genuine, or she’s one hell of a good actress. I was surprised to see Mallett there.”
“He was?”
“There when I dropped her off and there when I picked her up.”
“He was lurking at the hospital? Why? Worried that Brady would wake up and point the finger at him?”
“According to Thatcher, Brady doesn’t know who hit him. He was struck from behind.”
“If Brady had died, whoever hit him would be facing a much more serious charge. Manslaughter, if not murder. That would make a suspect nervous.”
“Nervous enough to make a visit to the hospital?” Wilson set aside the chips and dusted salt off his hands. “Hell, I don’t know. But if he’s that cold and calculating, I don’t see how he could look Marlene in the eye.”
“Mallett talked to her?”
“Dr. O’Neal did, too.”
“Huh.” Rawlins frowned in thought, then stood up and reached for his coat. “Then I think we should talk to Marlene.”
Although they were officially off duty, they chewed mints on the way to the hospital so no one would smell the beer on their breath. The admissions nurse knew them by sight, even in plainclothes.
“Marlene White still here?” Rawlins asked as they approached the window.
“Some of the relatives have trickled out, but they told me that she won’t leave.”
The two deputies took the elevator up. In the waiting room, Brady’s wife was surrounded by well-meaning people. Rawlins asked if they could speak with her alone. They stepped out into the corridor.
Weary as she looked, her concern was for them. “I’m sorry you’re having to work on a holiday.”
“We’re sorry you’re spending it here,” Wilson said. He inquired after Brady.
“Holding his own,” she said. “Deputy Thatcher told me that the man Brady quarreled with has been cleared. I don’t know anyone else who could have done this.”
Wilson waited a beat, then said, “Dr. O’Neal was set on stopping here before she left for Atlanta.”
“It was so kind of her to come by. Her and Rye both. I think his visit was a tonic for Brady.”
“He visited Brady?”
“For only a minute.”