“I’m thinking a lot of things about this scene don’t add up—unless it was staged. Which means maybe Fleming isn’t a victim but someone who wanted to disappear.”
He made a grunting noise of agreement. “And make it look like someone else was doing the disappearing. If he uses a pump, good bet he has a duplicate with him now—once you get used to them, you never want to go back to multiple injections. I’d check that first, I was you. Plus, he must be a fairly brittle diabetic to need a specialized pump like mine.”
That piqued her curiosity—special was good when tracking a missing person or a fugitive. Anything that made them stand out could create a trail to follow. “What’s so special about it?”
“It’s got the newest tech—monitors your blood sugar, calculates insulin dosing, sends all the info to your phone, your computer, even your doctor’s office if you want. And it’s designed for high-risk patients with a special safety feature. One that might let you track your guy if he hasn’t inactivated it.”
“Please tell me it has GPS tracking.” Lucy was practically bouncing with enthusiasm.
“Yep. It’s designed so if a patient hits the danger zone and doesn’t respond to the pump’s alarms, it sends your location to a special emergency operator. But even if he’s turned off the alarm, I’ll bet your tech guys could still access the GPS signal.”
“I could kiss you! Lunch is on me when I get home.”
“Give ’em hell, Lucy.”
“Always do.” She hung up, uncertain of the safest way to use Burroughs’ information. Squinting at the police station and its curious lack of activity, she thought again about the incestuous relationship small town police could have with the people they were sworn to serve and protect. Sometimes that protection came at a cost—law and order sacrificed in the name of the “greater good” of the community.
She needed an outside agency, someone she could trust. And she needed to make sure Megan was safe.
Leave? Why not? She could park Megan in an anonymous hotel back on the mainland. There was nothing in their room that was irreplaceable or valuable, except maybe Lucy’s phone left drying on the bathroom counter.
“Let’s go,” she said, joining Megan in the Subaru.
“We can’t. We have to give our statements.”
“We’ll come back in the morning. When they’re less busy.”
Megan frowned and looked back at the station. “What was that call about? You know something. Why don’t you want the police and Mateo’s family to know?”
Chapter 16
As Lucy turned out of the police station, she did a quick mental inventory of what was in the Subaru’s trunk—it was one of the reasons why she’d gotten the Legacy after wrecking her Forrester, the ability to keep items secured and out of sight. Most of their neighbors carried normal Pennsylvania-winter supplies: a small shovel, kitty litter, blanket, boots, warm socks.
Lucy’s trunk had all that along with a lock box containing spare ammo for her service weapons, along with a pump action Remington 870, ballistic vest, night vision thermal/infrared monocular (a gift from some friends at the DEA, latest tech from the battlefield), handcuffs, zip ties, and combat medic kit. Stashed beside it was a go-bag with survival basics. Not much room left over for luggage, but since this was the first vacation she’d taken in years, that was the least of her concerns.
She came to the intersection with the main road that divided the island into ocean side and sound side. Turn left and she’d head north, winding across three other barrier islands and four bridges until reaching the mainland over twenty miles away. Turn right and ten minutes later, they’d be at the far end of the island where their hotel stood.
She hit the blinker to turn left.
“Mom, what are you doing?” Megan protested. Nothing got past her—often to Lucy’s regret.
“I need to get you off this island. I can come back for our things later.”
“That’s crazy. We can’t leave. Not now.”
“It’s not your decision.” There was no traffic on the road. Lucy turned left.
Megan twisted in her seat to face her. “Pull over.”
“We can discuss this later.” Lucy was distracted watching all her mirrors and running tactical scenarios through her mind—hard to do when you didn’t know the lay of the land as well as your opponent.
And when you weren’t certain who your opponent actually was.
“No.” Megan’s tone was sharp. “All my life you’ve trained me and dad to do what you tell us to do if it’s a dangerous situation. I understand that. But there’s no danger now. No need to panic.”
“I’m not panicking. And this isn’t PTSD,” Lucy added, before Megan could humiliate her by asking. “You need to trust me.”
“You mean trust your gut.”