Roger was sluggish from loss of blood, so the paramedics went right to work tying off bleeders and applying pressure compresses. Nix was critical and needed an immediate dust off. Alexa commandeered the chopper from Channel Six. Amid a chorus of complaints, we loaded Nix inside, along with a paramedic, and the news chopper took off for the nearest hospital. After the second EMT finished the field dressing on Roger he took a look at my hand.
'What caused this?' he asked, as he peeled back the temporary bandage Nix had applied in Pismo Beach.
'I got in the way of a homicidal tree trimmer.'
The EMT shot me a puzzled look, but when I didn't elaborate, told me it had to be treated at a hospital, then he splinted and wrapped it up tight with fresh gauze and tape.
The local sheriffs finally arrived at 4 P. M. and ten deputies in Smokey the Bear hats took control of the crime scene.
Alexa closed her phone and came over and stood with me. 'The chief is worried that once the news story breaks, Virtue will rabbit.'
'Yeah.' I pointed to the NBC chopper, which had a satellite dish affixed to the door. 'Probably Brian Williams's lead story already.'
She nodded. 'Tony went to the FBI. With Nix off the flowchart, Agent Underwood becomes the temporary SAC in L. A.'
'Good luck,' I said.
'Tony said the guy is actually kicking some big-time ass for us in the Bureau.'
'Jerk had to be good for something eventually,' I grumbled.
'I need to get back to L. A., she said. 'The Sonora sheriff is choppering in a local ME right now, to handle the crime scene.'
Just then, a paramedic chopper landed on the lawn to pick up Roger. I found him lying on a blanket Emdee had scrounged from somewhere. Blood was already seeping through the new bandage the medic had put on his leg.
I shook Emdee's and Roger's hands. 'Thanks for the rescue. See you guys back in L. A.'
Alexa and I got into the LAPD chopper and left the scene. As we circled the lake on our way back to the city, I turned around and looked down at the smoking house. The fire was now out and there were twenty or thirty dots moving around on the lawn. From this far away, it was impossible to tell which ones were the maggots.
We stopped at the Queen of Angels emergency room where the docs did thirty minutes' worth of needlework on the end of my left index finger. When they were finished, my finger was half an inch shorter and my hand was wrapped in a pound of gauze, suitable for ringing a Chinese gong.
It was around 8 P. M. before Alexa and I got back to Parker Center and rode the elevator to six, where we went directly into the chief's office. Great White Mike occupied the only chair. Armando Cuhio and Agent Orange were there, along with half the LAPD command staff and deputy chiefs. Tony Filosiani was pacing the room, fully in charge. As soon as we walked in, the chief told us that R. A. Virtue had disappeared from his home at 6 P. M. His wife didn't know where he'd gone and neither did his people at Homeland Security.
'Musta seen the early news and figured to get outta sight till he could assess the damage,' he said.
'If Nix survives his wound and talks, Virtue's in a big jackpot,' I said. 'As it is, I think we have enough to get a warrant to arrest him as a material witness.'
'I'm already working on that,' Cubio said.
'Agent Underwood's got us dialed into the regional Homeland Security office,' Tony continued. 'They're in full stammer. They can't believe Virtue and Nix went off the res like that.'
Underwood's narrow shoulders were pinched together. His bright orange hair bristled angrily under the fluorescent ceiling lights in Tony's office. He held up two sheets of paper and said, 'We've got all the airports and border crossings covered. This is a list of asset-seizure planes in the FBI inventory. There's a twin-engine Challenger corporate jet-tail number Sierra Mike eight-six-eight. It went missing from the federal hanger yesterday.'
'It's gotta be pretty damn hard to steal a federal jet without stirring up a flock of questions. Where'd it go?' Tony asked.
'Don't know,' Underwood said. 'Virtue has his own pilots. He probably has enough juice to commandeer one of these federal planes without paperwork. But if he tries to fly it anywhere without filing a flight plan, the FAA will have an unauthorized blip going through their airspace. Since nine-eleven, if we don't know who you are, you land or get shot down.'
'So if he can't take off, how does he plan to escape?' I asked.
'If it was me, I'd park that Challenger in a secure hangar and change tail numbers,' Underwood suggested, running a freckled hand through his orange bristle. 'Then when he's ready, he files a flight plan under somebody else's ownership numbers.'
'Okay. From now on, any Challenger jet that requests a flight plan has to be checked, regardless of who owns it,' Tony said.
Underwood nodded. 'Big job, but we can do it.' After the meeting broke up, I found myself in the elevator with Judd Underwood.
'Got pretty tough up there in Central California,' he said. 'Heard one of your guys got it.'
'My partner.'
'Farrell?' His brow creased in thought. 'You know, I never got to meet him.'
'Too late now.'
Thankfully, the door opened. I didn't even know what floor we were on, but I didn't know what to say, and needed to get away from him, so I stepped out.
'Hey, Scully,' he said, stopping me. 'What you did? It was good.'
'Thanks.'
'Lord Acton's Law. 'Power corrupts, and the love of power corrupts absolutely.' He seemed to want to bury the problem between us. 'With guys like you around, maybe we can keep the corruption at bay.'
I nodded, shook his hand, and watched the elevator close. After I turned around, I realized I was on the second floor.
Accounting. It seemed like a good time to stop in and get the paperwork moving on Zack's survivor death benefits.
When Alexa and I got home, Chooch and Delfina made a big deal over my being safe. Once the excitement was over, they went out to a movie to celebrate. We went out to the backyard with Franco, who gazed sadly at the shallow canals. I think he preferred the ocean view from the balcony at Shutters.
I told Alexa, for about the tenth time, how happy I was to see her choppering in with Rowdy and Snitch to save me.
'Enough,' she finally said, 'I can't take another thank you.'
So I told her I didn't ever again want to hear a criticism from her about my taking chances. Not after that suicidal run across the lawn toward the woodshed.
'Gotta look after my honey,' she grinned.
I was transfixed by the graceful curve of her neck, the slant of her high cheekbones, all of this exotic beauty lit by soft moonlight.
Then I took her hand, and finally worked into a discussion about Zack's survivor benefits. The family of a police officer who dies in action is entitled to 75 percent of his final average salary plus a death in service benefit.
Alexa shifted in her chair. 'All this stuff with Zack I'm afraid it's not quite over yet,' she said softly.
'Whatta you mean, it's not over? The guy's dead. He died saving my ass. End of story.'
'After you went missing, everything you told me, your suspicions about Zack being the unsub-I took it all to Tony.'
'But, I told you Zack was not the killer, Sammy was.
Before he died, Zack told me the department would try to use this stuff to screw him out of his line-of-duty death benefits, and now that's exactly what's going on. I'm not gonna stand by and watch the number crunchers on two steal money that's rightfully his.'
