“Which is why I’m good at it.” Squinting up at Rawlins, he said, “I can’t remember your name, but I recognize your face. Football player for Clemson, correct?”
“That’s right. Don Rawlins. My rookie year with the Howardville SO, I arrested you for B and E. Auto parts store.”
Wes grinned. “Charges were dropped. The owner had told me I could borrow some jumper cables. He didn’t tell me I had to wait until he opened the next morning to pick them up.”
Wilson chuckled. Rawlins failed to see the humor. He looked like he was about to face off against Alabama for the national championship. He said, “Mind if I take a look around?”
Wes spread his arms wide. “Knock yourself out. What you see is about it. Bedroom and bathroom through there.” He pointed at an open doorway. “My bathrobe is hanging on the back of the door. Bring it, please. It’s chilly in here.”
With over-politeness, Rawlins asked, “Anything else?”
“Thanks for asking. My slippers should be at the side of the bed.”
Rawlins turned and stalked off.
Wes came back around to Wilson. “He’s a barrel of laughs. What’s he looking for, anyway?”
“Just checking things out.”
Under his breath, Wes said, “Pull my other one.”
Wilson walked over to the table where the chess set was. “Who’re you playing?”
“Myself mostly.”
“Do you cheat?”
“Of course.”
Wilson pulled one of the chairs from beneath the table and turned it around so he would be sitting facing Wes. When Rawlins returned, he shook his head at Wilson to indicate that Brynn O’Neal wasn’t hiding in the back rooms. He dropped the slippers in front of Wes’s chair and tossed the robe at him, then sat down on the barstool.
Wes pushed his arms through the sleeves of his flannel robe. “Better. Now, what brought y’all?”
“We’re here about Brynn.”
Wes’s smile vanished. “Oh, Lord.” He slapped his hand over his heart and fell sideways, catching himself on the arm of the recliner.
Wilson swiftly assured him that she was fine. “At least to our knowledge, she’s all right.”
Wes, his hand still on his heart, took several restorative breaths. “This isn’t a next-of-kin call, then?”
“No. Didn’t mean to give you that idea,” Wilson said. “I’m sorry.”
“Well, you should be. You scared the hell out of me.” Wes pushed himself upright and puffed out his cheeks as he exhaled. “If nothing’s happened to her, then what’s going on?”
“We’re not sure what’s going on, Wes, and that’s the God’s truth. But I’ll tell you as much as we know.”
Wilson began with the crash of the airplane that Brynn was scheduled to meet. Her father listened without interrupting. Wilson could tell he was dismayed by the bizarre sequence of events, and by the time Wilson related those of the past few hours, Wes was in obvious distress.
He swiveled his head around to Rawlins as though hoping he would deny it all, or tell him it was a joke, then came back to Wilson. “Y’all are saying she’s gone missing?”
“We’re saying that the circumstances are murky. She lied to her colleague about who she was meeting down in the parking garage. Security cameras caught her leaving with that man Mallett.”
“Whose reputation is shady at best,” Rawlins added.
The twinkle in Wes’s eye turned to a glint. “If he hurts her, I’ll kill him.”
“If it’s any comfort to you,” Wilson said, “we don’t get a sense that he would physically harm Brynn. In fact, if I were to guess, I think he’s protecting her from those two men on Hunt’s payroll.”
“Wait. You said Hunt sent them up to Howardville to see that Brynn got back safely with that box. Why would she need protection from them?”
Rawlins took over the explanation. “We get the feeling that there’s more going on with the senator and Mrs. Hunt than meets the eye.”
“Well, no shit, Sherlock. He’s a politician.”
“Yes, but our speculation is that there was something else inside that box besides blood samples.”
“Such as?”
“We don’t know. But, whatever it is, if it belongs to Richard Hunt, and your daughter has made off with it, then—”
“Hold it right there,” Wes said. “I am—was—a thief. I own up to it. But Brynn? Never.”
“That may be true, but her actions today are questionable, and she’s made herself inaccessible. Her cell phone goes straight to voice mail, and she hasn’t checked in with her answering service. We’ve looked for her in every likely place she might be taking refuge.”
Wes plopped back in his chair, clarity dawning on his wrinkled features. “Oh, I see. Now I get why you’re here. You thought she came running to Papa?”
Wilson assumed an edgier tone. “Have you seen her, Wes?”
“No.”
“Talked to her?”
“No.”
“When was the last time?”
“Two years ago. Three, maybe.”
That jibed with what Brynn had told him the night before.
“I can’t remember when it was exactly,” Wes continued. “Sometime before my last incarceration. She’d finished her residency and was affiliated with the hospital. Doing good for herself.”
“Was she working with Dr. Lambert at that time?”
“Never heard that name before you said it a minute ago. Brynn talked about her work, but only in general terms that I could understand.”
“Did she refer to a patient named Violet?”
“Don’t remember her talking about any patient. Why?”
“Little girl, seven or so now. She’s very sick. Seems to be special to Brynn.”
Wes raised his shoulders. “I wouldn’t know. And, anyhow what’s this got to do with what’s gone on today?”
“You watch TV tonight?” Rawlins pointed out the archaic model in the corner.
“It’s busted.”
“Huh,” Rawlins said. Then, with a bead on Wes, he said, “You have no idea where your daughter might be? With a friend, maybe?”
“Maybe, but I don’t know any of her friends.”
“If she’s in trouble, and you’re holding out—”
“I’m not!”
Rawlins came up off the barstool. “You expect us to believe that you haven’t seen or heard from your daughter in years?”
Wes glowered. “I’m a crook, not a liar.”
Wilson interrupted their exchange before it became more contentious. “Calm down, Wes.”
“My ass, I’ll calm down.” He popped up from his chair. “You wake me up, tell me Brynn’s in danger from hit men at the beck and call of a senator, who I’d bet good money is crookeder than me. She’s in the company of a…a…bush pilot, who’s a lightning rod for trouble. Why aren’t y’all out combing the city for her instead of grilling me?”
Wilson stood. “Do you have a phone, Wes?”
“Doesn’t everybody?”
He and Wilson exchanged phone numbers. “I’m sorry we upset you, Wes. I hope there’s a logical and harmless outcome to all this. Rawlins and I may be overstepping, completely wrong about the Hunts, Dr. Lambert, all that.”
“But you have a hunch that something’s not square.”
“A strong hunch,” Wilson said. “And somebody’s got to answer for the assault on Brady White. Now I don’t know if Brynn is guilty of wrongdoing or not. But there are a lot of questions pivoting around her. So far she’s failed to provide us with straight answers.”
“You’re making Brynn sound like a criminal on the run.”
Wilson said, “Well, just before we got here, we got a call from the office. Myra. Remember her?”
“Sure, sure. What?”
“A call came into the Howardville hospital from a man asking about Brady White’s condition. People answering the hospital lines had been asked to get as much info as they could from anyone calling about him. Lady got flustered.” He told Wes the gist of the conversation. “He must’ve smelled a rat. Hung up.”
“Or he could’ve been a friend who heard what he wanted to know.”
“Possibly. Except that we got the number, passed it on to local departments, and the phone the call came from was found in a trash can at the airport. Which is a trick that somebody on the run would pull to throw us off their trail.”
“Brynn would never think to do that,” Wes said. “Me? Yeah. But not her.”