“You’re out of your mind,” I slur.
“I’m afraid you’re about to exercise some extraordinarily poor judgment this evening, Chief Burkholder. Being a peace officer, you should know better than to drink and drive.” He brandishes a small bottle of vodka. “Your drink of choice, no?”
“Nobody will believe that.”
“People always believe the worst. Especially if it’s juicy.” His smile is cruel. “You see, you’re going to have an unfortunate accident this evening.”
“You can’t do that.” My thoughts are so muddled I can barely speak. “You’re insane.”
“I assure you, I’m quite sane.” Bending, he puts his mouth next to my ear and whispers, “You’re going to drive your Explorer into the quarry. You’ll be belted in, drunk out of your mind and, unfortunately for you, unable to escape. The weight of the engine will carry your vehicle to the bottom some sixty feet down. It’s a tragic accident and the perfect murder rolled into one.”
The cigarette stench of his breath repulses me. “There’s no such thing as the perfect murder.”
“Oh, there might be a few questions. An autopsy will be conducted.” His eyes narrow on mine. “They won’t find the injection site. And any bruises you’ve sustained tonight can be explained away in your struggle to escape the sinking vehicle. With so much alcohol in your system and this bottle of vodka as evidence…” He shrugs. “On the bright side, the alcohol will act as a sort of anesthesia and ease your discomfort. Drowning isn’t such a bad way to go, is it? No blood, anyway.”
I roll, swing my feet to the floor, but my balance is skewed. I stagger and go to my knees. My head spins and I fall onto my side and end up flopping around like a fish.
I’m aware of Armitage coming around the table and pulling me to my feet. I try to curse him, but my words are unintelligible. “Sonva bitch.”
The room dips and I lean against the exam table. Somewhere in the periphery of my thoughts I’m aware that my face and hands have gone numb. I can barely hold my head upright. My mouth is so dry I can’t lick my lips. Unconsciousness beckons, a dark, safe cave I could crawl into, curl up, and sleep until this nightmare is over …
My knees wobble and I almost go down again. Holding me upright, Armitage drags me into the hall. I hear my boots against the floor, but I can’t seem to keep my feet under me. He takes me to his office and through the French doors and then we’re outside, heading toward the gravel area behind the clinic.
“I took the liberty of moving your vehicle while you were out. I hope you don’t mind.” He chuckles, and all I can think is that this man has descended into the deepest depths of lunacy.
We reach the Explorer. He props me against the quarter panel, yanks open the passenger door. The instant his hands are off me, I lunge away and totter toward the road. There’s not much traffic this time of night, but if a car happens by, I’ll flag it down. I only manage to run a few feet when Armitage catches me. I try to twist away from his grasp and end up going to my knees.
“Get off me!” I try to get my feet under me, dig in with my heels, but he drags me back to the Explorer.
“Get in,” he snarls.
When I don’t move, he shoves me onto the seat. I lash out with my feet, send him backward with my foot. Twisting, I grapple for the door latch with my bound hands, manage to slam it closed. I hit the lock with my elbow. Hampered by my bound hands and the alcohol in my bloodstream, I scramble over the console, twist, hit the door locks with the heel of my hand. I look for the keys in the ignition, but they’re not there.
Then I hear the locks disengage. Through the window I see the keys dangling from Armitage’s hand. He opens the driver’s side door. Grinding his teeth, he pushes me back over the console and into the passenger seat. Even through the haze of alcohol, I feel the pain of having my arms pinned behind me as he leans close and buckles me in.
A sense of doom envelops me as he starts the engine and pulls onto the road. The gravity of my situation hits home with paralyzing clarity. There’s no doubt in my mind he’s going to kill me. For the first time I’m afraid I won’t be able to stop him.
I can just make out his profile in the dim light from the dash. He’s muttering to himself. Nonsensical words only he can understand. It’s as if he’s in his own world and I’m not there. My eyes fall on my police radio mounted below the dash.