“He’s hurt, Abby,” Frank said. Streaks of crimson ran down Jake’s face.
Abby, dressed comfortably in a nightgown and lightweight robe, quickly pulled her hair back and wrapped an elastic tie around it, preparing for whatever the emergency might be.
“It’s just a scratch.” Jake lowered himself onto a chair at the kitchen table. The hill they had rolled down had not been a smooth grassy knoll, but a hill speckled with rocks and debris.
“Let me see.” Abby pulled the bloody handkerchief from Jake’s forehead. “You might need stitches.” She placed his hand back on the handkerchief. “Hold it there.” Turning to Frank, she said, “There’s a first-aid kit in the gym.” She told Sam, “Get me a pail of hot water, a washcloth, and soap.” Next, she called Alex. Within minutes, Alex arrived with medicinal pastes.
“How did you manage to do this?” Abby pressed the hot wash cloth to Jake’s head. Her face was masked in concern and apprehension, but never panic.
“Two hundred and ten pounds hitting an immovable object,” Jake replied. His face was smudged with dirt, his jogging suit torn.
Sam grimaced at the sight of the deep cut. “Are you sure you didn’t break anything?” Sam asked.
“Maybe he should have X-rays,” Frank suggested.
Alex elbowed his way between the spectators. “I need room.”
Sam went to the counter to put on a pot of coffee. Frank joined her.
“Did you bring the berry root paste?” Abby asked Alex.
“Yes.”
“The berry what?” Jake asked from under the washcloth.
Gently washing the rest of Jake’s face, Abby explained, “The paste has a numbing agent which should ease the pain somewhat.”
“Did you at least see the pin?” Frank asked.
Jake pulled the Polaroid pictures from his pocket. “Identical. In size, shape, type of clasp. They are the same pins.”
“Damn. What a pity we can’t do a thing about it. No cause to present a search warrant. And we certainly can’t say how we got the pictures.” Frank sat down on a stool to study the pictures closer.
“Why can’t we just knock on Preston’s door and show him Hap’s pin?” Sam suggested. “Ask if he ever saw it before. After all, he was in Mushima Valley. He might have known Hap. It’s part of our investigation.”
“Not yet,” Jake said to Sam from behind Alex. “We still don’t know how Preston ties in. And if there’s even a hint we’re suspicious, he’s going to either start covering his tracks or get rid of the people who are suspicious.”
Alex taped a gauze pad to Jake’s head. “I put on a butterfly bandage so I don’t think you need stitches. Too bad,” Alex mumbled, “you’ll live.”
“By the way.” Sam spun on her heels, away from the cabinet where she had been pulling out cups and saucers. “What gave you the right to take the bug out of Preston’s phone?”
Abby looked up from the pail of water. “You bugged the state representative’s phone?”
Alex let out a hearty laugh.
“It IS inadmissible,” Frank pointed out.
“I wasn’t going to use it for evidence. Just information, for my own use.”
Jake lightly touched the gauze bandage, his eyes hooded in pain. “When and if Preston is arrested, how do you think it will look in court when that bug is found?”
Once the makeshift emergency room was cleaned up, Alex left and Abby disappeared down the hall.
Frank rolled up his shirt sleeves as he informed Sam and Jake of his call to George Abbott’s hospital room in Dallas. Abbott had been with Preston in Mushima Valley.
“His doctor said I can call him in the morning. He just had surgery earlier today. They removed his right leg… diabetes. Other than that, he’s of sound mind and body. Should be coherent enough to answer some questions.”
Returning to the kitchen, Abby announced, “You will stay here, Jacob. I want to keep an eye on you should you develop a fever during the night. I have made up the hide-a-bed in the study.”
Sam shot Abby a look that did not go unnoticed. They exchanged words in their native language and it was evident that Abby had the last word.
“That’s nice of you Abby, but…” Jake started.
“I don’t take refusals very well, Jacob.” Abby swept out of the kitchen before Jake could respond.
Sam caught up with Abby at the bottom of the staircase. “You’re carrying hospitality a little too far. He could have gone home with Frank.”
“He would have been over here in the morning for breakfast anyway, Dear.” She kissed Sam lightly and walked up the stairs.
Clenching her teeth, Sam debated on whether to say anything more. Subconsciously lifting the collar of her jumpsuit, she inhaled the scent of Jake’s aftershave which was clinging to her clothes. She could still feel his arms locked around her when their bodies had rolled down the hill. Sam shook the thoughts from her head.
Chapter 32
The rubber-soled shoes were silent against the sterile white floors of the Dallas VA Hospital. The young, dark-haired nurse didn’t even give the orderly a passing glance as he walked by carrying a tray.
The door to Room 321 was slightly ajar, the television set tuned to CNN. Thin white window drapes were shut. The light from the television set cast an eerie light in the room. A slim figure in the bed was asleep, defenseless. Three blankets were pulled up to his chin. A glass of ice chips was on the nightstand.
The orderly took a syringe off his tray and injected the contents into the IV tube running into George Abbott’s left hand. He watched for several seconds, then carried the tray down the hall to the laundry chute.
Once outside in the darkened parking lot, Cain changed his clothes. He would find a dumpster on his drive back to the airport, where he would discard his orderly uniform. By the time his flight was airborne, George Abbott would be dead.
Chapter 33
Sam answered the phone on the first ring.
“I’m sorry to be calling in the middle of the night,” the voice said.
It was her client. “It’s okay. Are you still coming to Chasen Heights?” The voice was in a whisper. Sam had to strain to hear him.
“I’m in town now. I wanted to let you know I would swing by at seven-thirty this morning. Is that too early?”
Sam pulled the covers back and slipped a cotton robe over her pajama short set. “No, no problem. I’ll be up.”
Sam checked the clock on the nightstand. It was just after three o’clock in the morning. She crept downstairs, cursing herself for not removing the pictures from the hiding place she had stuffed them in after her caper at Preston’s. Of all nights Abby had to invite Jake for a slumber party.
Because the door at the foot of the stairs would make too much noise when she slid it open, she walked around to the kitchen and entered the study door across from the gym.
She found the light switch for the track lighting above the bar and gently pushed it up, casting the room in the faintest of light. She quietly pulled out the books where she had placed her client’s pictures. They weren’t there. Maybe she had the wrong shelf. Maybe the wrong books. She pulled them aside, searching between the encyclopedias and forensic research books.
A voice in the shadows asked, “This what you’re looking for?”
