"Probably the part that's responsible for you deciding to be a nurse at all," snorted Lou Anne, grinning. "What did he say when he woke up?"
"He has amnesia," said Jessica.
"Really?"
"Doctor Massouf thinks he was shot."
"Get out!"
squealed Lou Anne.
"Yep," said the nurse. "Head wound. He was lucky it was only a glancing blow. Personally, I think that's why he has amnesia. He can't remember his name. Naturally, Mitch is all interested in him, like he's some kind of criminal or something."
"Well ... " Lou Anne shuddered. "If he got shot, doesn't that suggest he travels in the wrong crowd?"
Jess waved a hand in the air negligently. "People get shot all the time these days," she said. "It could have been a drive by shooting, for all we know."
"In the middle of bumfuck Connecticut?" Lou Anne sounded dubious.
"He was all cut up by broken glass," said Jessica, lowering her voice. "Doc Massouf thinks he was in a car when he got shot."
"Well then, there goes your drive by shooting theory," said Lou Anne. "If somebody shot him in a car, they somehow dumped him in the middle of the road, because there was no car anywhere near where I found him."
"I still can't believe you picked him up and got him in your car," said Jess, looking admiringly at her friend. "He's a big one ... in more ways than one." She giggled.
"You are
so
bad!" laughed Lou Anne. "I bet you played with it too ... didn't you ... huh? Didn't you?" She poked her friend as she insisted the nurse had molested her unconscious patient.
"I had to get it clean," said Jess loftily. "I had to get
all
of him clean." She leaned back. "Besides. You would have liked it. I know you would. It's been
years
since you've seen one."
Lou Anne stood up. "And it will be fine if it's more years until I see another one," she said. "The last one I saw got me pregnant and then took off with its owner. I don't need any more of that!"
"Girl, you're crazy," said Jessica. "Here you are in the prime of your life, a knockout beauty, and you're avoiding one of the most fun things you can get your hands on."
"Like
you
know," snorted Lou Anne. "You're the only virgin I ever met,
including
in high school." She grinned.
"Shhhhh!" said Jess, leaning forward. "Not so loud! That's a secret! People will think I'm odd if they find out."
"You
are
odd," laughed Lou Anne. "You're the most gorgeous woman I know. If I ever went gay, it would be your fault. When are you going to quit being so picky and find you a man?"
"There
are
no men!" snorted Jess. "Not in bumfuck Connecticut." She stopped. "Well, come to think of it, there
is
an interesting man here
now
. Maybe I'll get to know your road kill a little better. He seems like a nice enough guy."
"He's probably a mobster or something!" squealed Lou Anne.
"Nah," sighed Jess. "He says he's an author."
"An author ... you didn't tell me that before. I thought you said he had amnesia."
"He does, but he remembered that he's an author." Jess sipped her coffee.
"What kind of author?"
"Beats me," said the nurse. "I'll remember to ask him." She looked up at Lou Anne slyly. "Unless you want to ask him yourself. He'd probably be very appreciative of the woman who saved his life."
"Dreamer," laughed Lou Anne. "Sometimes your imagination cracks me up."
"Gotta run," said Jess, standing up. "I need my beauty sleep, so I can go in and sweep John Doe off his feet tomorrow, and endear myself to him, so that when he remembers he's a millionaire, he'll be my sugar daddy."
Lou Anne stopped laughing.
"Don't go doing something stupid, Jess. Sometimes your imagination scares me half to death, too."
"He's a good guy," said Jess. "A little old for me, but a good guy. I'm sure of it."
"Tell him I said hi," said the waitress, waving goodbye to her friend.
"Tell him yourself," said the nurse. "I'll warn him you're coming."
She was gone before Lou Anne could object.
Mitch yawned. It had been a long night and the snow was still falling. The department Jeep Cherokee sat by the side of the road, the overheads flashing, to warn any oncoming motorists. He stood looking down the hill, and pulled his uniform jacket closer around him. It wasn't made for cold like this.
This had to be the place. In the dim daylight, he could see where the vegetation had been crushed as the car rolled down the drop off. The only problem was ... there was no car. The river was there, but it was frozen over and had a good foot of new-fallen snow on the ice. There was no way anybody had gotten a tow truck up there in the middle of the night and pulled the car back up the drop off. That could only mean one thing.
The car was under the ice.
There was no blood or other evidence. The snow had covered all that up. Even the mangled vegetation that showed the path of the car was covered over. Only because he knew what it
should
look like, could he tell that something big had bulldozed a path through it.
He got on the radio.
"Hey Dabney," he called.
There was a ten second pause, then a static crackle.
"Damn it, Mitch, how many times do I have to tell you not to use my first name on the radio? I'm the goddamn
Chief
, you little piss-ant!"
"I'm sure the FCC will fine me a dime for using your name," said Mitch into his mike. "While they're fining you ten thousand dollars for cussing up a storm on the public airways. You want to know what I found or not?"
"Pembroke two, report," came the voice on the radio.
Mitch grinned. "I found it," he said.
"Good work, Pembroke two. Give me the twenty and I'll send a wrecker out there."
"Might be a problem with that," said Mitch. "Actually I only
think
I found it. I think it's under the ice, and I mean all the
way
under the ice. It's going to take major work to get it out of there."
"Goddamn it, Mitch," crackled the chief's voice over the radio. "Why dint you say so in the first place? We ain't got the budget to recover a goddamn car from under the ice. Haul your ass back here, and you better bring me some damn good pictures too, you got that?"
"Sure thing, Dabney. Over and out."
Mitch shut his door and then wondered why he hadn't done that already. It was cold as a witch's tit in the car. He checked the thermometer he carried. It read twelve below zero. He should have left the car running, but he liked to be able to hear his surroundings when he was out in the woods. He fired it up now and tried to turn the heat up. It was already maxed out. Dabney was foaming at the mouth on the radio, but he didn't pay any attention to that. Instead he got out his digital camera and, once he had warmed his fingers up a bit, got back out.
He took what he knew would just look like scenic shots of the river and all the snow. He took one of the path the car had made through the brush, too, just for fun. He knew the pictures would look like somebody's vacation photos of a winter wonderland, and he knew Chief Whittaker would be pissed. That was okay, though. Getting Whittaker riled up was about the only excitement the men ever had in Pembroke.
As he carefully negotiated the slippery road back to town, he wondered if maybe the insurance company would foot the bill for retrieving the car. That would be nice. He'd really like to see that car.
Captain Hildebrand was sweating, but it was almost freezing outside. At least it wasn't sub zero in the city, like it was farther north. Those poor bastards up north were getting hammered. He hugged the file to his chest as he tried to walk in a stately manner to the conference room. He already knew that Chief Richard Hooks would be there, and that Mayor Billsbury would be there. He'd gotten a "courtesy call" from a patrolman who was due for disciplinary action, trying to curry favor, saying that the fucking governor was there too. Apparently he'd accompanied his wife to the city to make sure her interview went okay.
Hildebrand stopped before going into the conference room to wipe his florid face with a handkerchief. He brushed back his hair with one hand, took a deep breath, pasted his signature smile on his face, and tried to waltz into the room.
"Good morning, everyone," he said brightly.
Three men stared at him. Two of them had coffee cups in one hand, and cigars in the other, even though the entire building was a smoke free zone. He wasn't about to tell that to the two most powerful men in the state, however, even though the mayor, Aloisius Billsbury, had put that law into effect himself.
"Bring us up to speed," barked Chief Hooks. "The governor's a busy man, so just give us the facts."
Hildebrand wanted to sit down, but none of the other men were sitting, so he opened the file in his hands. Papers slid and floated to the ground around him. Hildebrand flushed crimson and stooped to scoop up the loose papers. He'd have Harper's balls for this. Hadn't the man ever heard of a stapler?
He sorted through the pages, handing them to the other men piecemeal, until each man had a copy of the report, albeit not in any particular order.
"We don't need this crap!" snapped Chief Hooks. "Just tell us the status of the case!"
"Oh. Yes." Hildebrand swallowed. "We have the three kidnappers in custody. They're Moe, Larry and Curly Higginbotham." He couldn't stifle a half hysterical giggle. He did that every time he thought about their names. He struggled on as Hooks frowned at him. "It's an open and shut case. Dozens of witnesses. Plenty of physical evidence. They'll kill for a deal." He blinked as he realized just how poorly he'd chosen his last words. "I mean they'll deal for sure," he almost whispered.
"No deals!"
thundered Governor Custer. "These bastards touched my Chantal, and I want them to fry!"
"Um ... we don't have the chair any more, Governor," said Hildebrand. He wished instantly that he'd remained silent.
"Well then we'll just have to bring it back, now won't we?" said the governor, as if it might be the same thing as changing back to the previous picture on New York license plates.
The mayor hadn't said anything yet, and that was bothering him. It was important to the mayor that his voice be heard in every serious situation, so he spoke. "This had better be an airtight case. No deals. We throw the book at them, is that clear?"
"No problem!" said Hildebrand cheerily. "Like I said, we have all the perps." He used the vernacular for "perpetrators" intentionally. He thought it made him sound hip.
"Do we?" Chief Hooks' voice sounded suddenly grave.
"Well ... " Hildebrand might not be a real law enforcement officer, but he knew politics, and he knew a pregnant question when he heard it. The problem was that he wasn't ready for that question. They
did
have all of them ... didn't they? Suddenly he wondered. If the chief thought otherwise - and it sounded like he did-then Hildebrand didn't want to sound like an idiot by insisting every question was answered. "What are your thoughts, Chief?" he asked. When in doubt, shift the focus to someone else. That was his modus operandi.
"I've checked into the three Higginbothams," said Hooks, sounding somehow mysterious. "They're idiots ... losers of the highest magnitude. I'm having a hard time believing that they could come up with all this on their own."
"You mean there's a kingpin out there somewhere?" asked the governor anxiously. "The ringleader is still on the loose?"
"Ringleader?" Hildebrand's voice had just a trace of doubt in it. He might not like Harper, but the man did good work, and Harper hadn't said anything about any ringleader.
"He must be found!" barked the honorable mayor of New York City. "Leave no stone unturned! This despicable mastermind must be brought to justice!"
"Of course!" said Hildebrand, no trace of doubt in his voice. "We're already working on it." He fumbled through the loose pages in the folder, looking for any trace of information on a fourth conspirator.
"Why didn't you say so?" asked Chief Hooks, his voice dangerous. "I thought I told you to give us the lowdown."
"I just hadn't gotten that far," whined Hildebrand.
"Well, what do you have?" asked the chief.
"We're ... um ... we're sweating Moe, Larry and Curly," said Hildebrand. That was safe. The men
were
being questioned, even though all three had lawyered up. "We might have to offer them a deal to get the big man."
"No deals!" snapped Mayor Billsbury, getting it in while the governor was still taking a breath to say the same thing.