Truth-Stained Lies (18 page)

M
ax, Al, and their crime scene investigators arrived at the Haughton house within minutes of Michael’s call.

They asked Mrs. Haughton to wait outside on the front porch, and Cathy and her sisters sat with her, trying to reassure her that she’d done the right thing.

Michael paced on the lawn like a caged tiger, watching everything they brought out, though most of it was concealed in evidence bags. Cathy knew he would give anything to be inside, leading the search.

After Holly had shown Max the incriminating mail, they’d logged it as evidence. Now Cathy hoped they’d find even more evidence to give them probable cause for an arrest. She checked her watch, wondering if they should have Mrs. Haughton pull rank on Warren to get him out of the ICU. But if they acted to remove him, it might tip him off. If the
police would just hurry and find what they needed to get an arrest warrant …

The front door opened and Max stepped out. Eyebrows drawn together in a deep frown, he approached Mrs. Haughton. “Ma’am, I need to ask you some questions about some things we’ve found.”

She looked even weaker than she had earlier, more distraught, but she nodded resolutely. In his gloved hand, he held a flat, round container. “Have you ever seen this before?”

“No, what is it?”

“It’s a petri dish with the residue of a culture from the lab where Warren works.”

Cathy and her sisters gasped, but Warren’s mother didn’t seem to understand.

“A petri dish? No, no. He’s not a lab technician. He’s a janitor.”

“Exactly. We’re going to test it for E. coli.”

Her head jerked back as if deflecting a blow. In a shredded voice, she asked, “You found that in there?”

“In the back of your son’s drawer.”

Michael froze at the porch steps, and Cathy met his eyes. “The smoking gun,” he said. “Good work, Max.”

Max didn’t look at him. “So you’ve never seen this?” he asked Mrs. Haughton.

Mrs. Haughton dissolved in a coughing fit, and Cathy went to her, wishing she could help her. The oxygen attached to her nose did little good.

Finally, laboring to breathe, she said, “It was him, wasn’t it? My son …”

As she broke into tears, her skeletal face drawn up in pain, they all waited quietly. Holly, sitting next to the old woman, put her arms around her.

Mrs. Haughton shook out of Holly’s embrace and got to her feet, took a wobbly step … then collapsed. Holly and Juliet caught her going down.

“Help!” Holly shouted. “Somebody call an ambulance!”

Max took her pulse as they got her back in the chair. “She’s breathing, but it’s shallow.” As he radioed for an ambulance, Michael helped them lay Mrs. Haughton down.

Moments later, Cathy watched as they loaded her onto a gurney and into an ambulance and rushed her to the hospital. She hoped the search hadn’t killed her. But it wasn’t the police’s actions that had hurt her. It was the actions of her own son.

W
arren sat inside the ICU, wishing for a place he could lie down. This vigil was getting old, but he couldn’t leave Jackson’s side. If he could somehow interrupt the IV fluids, or impede Jackson’s breathing, or interfere with dialysis …

But the nurses were too diligent, and over his bed was a camera that broadcast every move he made on the screens at the nurses’ station. He doubted it was recording. It was probably just a live feed to help them monitor patients. But it was possible at any given time that one of the nurses at the station was watching them on that feed. He couldn’t take a chance, not yet.

Jackson still lay limp on the hospital bed, sleeping deeply most of the time. If only Warren’s mother hadn’t interfered last night when Jackson got so sick. If she hadn’t seen the bloody diarrhea, he could have waited longer to get Jackson to a doctor … long enough to be past the point of recovery.

His phone vibrated in his pocket, and he pulled it out. His mother’s neighbor was calling.

Had something happened to his mother already? He hoped not. If she died before Jackson, then Jackson’s share of the inheritance would pass to Jay when the kid died. Then it would be lost to Warren forever.

His pulse quickened as he picked up the phone. “Hello?”

“Warren, this is Mildred, across the street from your mother.”

“Yes ma’am,” he said.

“I didn’t think you were home, so I wanted to tell you that your mother was just taken to the hospital in an ambulance.”

“When?”

“Just a few minutes ago. I came out when I heard the siren, and there were police cars there too.”

Police cars? Warren’s heart jolted. What would police cars be doing at his house? He tried not to panic. Maybe they were simply updating his mother about the investigation.

“I tried to find out what was going on, but nobody would talk to me. They were just coming and going from your house, bringing stuff out. They’re still there. Your poor mama. I hope she’s all right.”

Warren felt the blood draining from his face. “I’m at the hospital now. I’ll go down and see if they’re bringing Mom here.”

“Oh, good. I would come if you needed me.”

“No ma’am. I’ll take care of her.”

He cut the phone off, got up, and looked out into the area where the ICU nurses went from one partitioned area to another. He glanced at Jackson. The kid was on oxygen and had an IV running antibiotics and other drugs into his veins. His chest was covered with leads monitoring his heart, and he wore a catheter.

Police cars. What did this mean? His mother in an ambulance. He paced back and forth next to the bed, trying to think. If there were police cars at his house, was it possible they’d figured out his involvement? Had his assault on Jackson been overreaching?

Was it possible they’d gotten a warrant to search his house? He racked his brain, trying to think of what he might have there that they could find.

He’d destroyed the clown suit and the tainted food.

It was the perfect crime. No, they couldn’t have figured it out.

Sweat dripped down his face, though the air conditioning was probably set in the sixties. What might they find? His copy of his mother’s will in his drawer, along with all the bank statements he’d managed to get from her account. Evidence that he had a more than passing interest in her financial condition.

Then it hit him. The petri dish in his drawer. He hadn’t wanted to throw it in the trash. He’d meant to dispose of it in the incinerator at work, but he hadn’t been back.

Suddenly he realized how much trouble he was in. They were on to him. Had they told his mother? Had that killed her? Were they going to come for him now?

Panicked, he looked toward the doors. He could walk out of here right now, leave and not look back, before they ever came for him. But if they were about to make an arrest, they could stop him before he made his escape.

No, he wasn’t going to prison. He would never survive there. He couldn’t let that happen.

His chest tightened, his heart pounding in his rib cage. He had to do something.

Think, Warren, think!
He looked down at the boy. As
much as he wanted to take Jackson out of the equation, it was too late now. If they’d figured it out, if they knew what was going on, then he wasn’t going to get any inheritance at all, because he’d be sitting in a prison cell, maybe on death row.

An alarm clanged throughout the ICU, startling him. The man across the unit was coding again. Nurses abandoned their duties and rushed toward the patient in a frantic attempt to revive him.

Warren turned to Jackson.

The boy could be a hostage. If he took him out of here right now while they were all distracted, would they stop him?

Warren stepped to Jackson’s bed, pulled the IV from his hand. Jackson’s eyes fluttered open.

“Shhh,” Warren warned him. “Don’t say anything.”

The little boy gazed up at him.

“Go back to sleep.” Jackson closed his eyes again.

Quickly, Warren took Jackson’s oxygen mask off, peeled the leads for the heart monitor from his chest, pulled his catheter out, untangled him.

The kid reacted with grunts and gasps, but before he could say anything, Warren had bundled him in a sheet and lifted him up off the bed. “Where are we going?” Jackson asked.

“We’re going to see your daddy. He’s downstairs. I’m taking you to him.”

Jackson’s groggy eyes rounded. “Okay. Does he know I’m sick?”

“Yes. Your dad’s gonna take real good care of you. I need for you to duck your head under the sheet. I don’t want anyone to see you.”

“Why?”

“Because they don’t want your dad to see you. They won’t let us go if they see you. Just do it. He’s waiting.”

The kid seemed lighter than he had before. Had he already lost more weight?

Quickly, Warren slipped through the door into the hallway, knowing they hadn’t yet noticed he was gone since they were all distracted by the code. He headed for the stairwell and started down it.

“Uncle Warren?”

“Shhh,” he said. “Just be quiet. Daddy’s in the lobby.”

He got to the bottom of the stairs. Nobody had come after him. He couldn’t believe it.

Out of breath, he reached the first floor. Keeping the boy covered up, he raced through the lobby out to his car. Where had he parked?

He remembered putting the car back in the wheelchair parking in front of the ER. He raced around the hospital, found the Cadillac, popped the lock.

As he put Jackson in the passenger seat, the boy looked out of the sheet. “Thought you said Daddy was here,” he said weakly. “I thought —”

“He’s not here. I’m going to take you to him.”

“But you said …”

“Lay down. I need you to hide,” he said. “Get down and be still!”

He backed out into the parking lot, pulled around, headed for the exit. Perfect, he thought. They’d never be able to take him now. He could figure out how to move his mother’s money to a foreign bank. He could get out of the country.

He’d keep Jackson until he was sure he was home free. Then he wouldn’t need him anymore.

M
ichael followed the convoy of sisters to the hospital. As doctors worked on Mrs. Haughton, the four headed back up to the ICU waiting room. Max was working on getting the arrest warrant. Any minute now, Michael expected uniformed cops to show up to make the arrest. Michael couldn’t wait to see the killer escorted out in handcuffs.

But when they arrived on the ICU floor, there were two nurses in the hall, talking rapid-fire to two security guards.

“He just took him! Unhooked his heart monitor and took out his cath. Jackson’s kidneys have failed. We were about to start dialysis. He could die.”

Michael pushed through the guards. “What’s going on?”

“Warren Haughton took the boy out of here while we were working on a code,” the charge nurse said. “He got out of the hospital before anyone could stop him. We have every security officer looking for him.”

“What?” Cathy cried. “You just let him walk out of here with Jackson?”

“I’m sorry,” the nurse cried. “We were all working the code.”

Michael’s mind raced. “He must have gotten warning that they were going to arrest him.”

“But why would he take Jackson?” Juliet cried.

“Because he needed a hostage to get away,” Cathy said. “He’s probably trying to leave town.”

Michael speed-dialed Max’s phone, told him the situation. As he hung up, he said, “Max is putting out an APB and Amber Alert. The police need a description of his car. And someone who recognizes it should come with me to see if it’s in the parking lot.”

“I know where it was parked,” Holly said. They hurried down to the parking lot while Cathy called Max with a description of Warren’s car. Holly led them to the wheelchair parking spot where she’d seen the car the last few times she’d been here. Just as Michael expected, it was gone. Jackson was out there with a murderer who placed more value on his death than his life.

“We need to split up,” Michael said. “If I were him, the first thing I would do would be to get rid of that car, so we’ll need to check all the rental car places in town.”

Holly went to her cab and got the phone book from under the seat. Michael grabbed it and opened it to the rental cars. Quickly, he assigned several to each of them.

“The minute you find out that he rented from one of these, call all of us and let us know,” he instructed. “At least then we’ll know what kind of car we’re looking for. He’ll be anticipating road blocks and Amber Alerts, so he might wait it out in a hotel, unless he can get out of town in a chartered plane.”

Juliet covered her face. “Maybe he’ll leave Jackson somewhere, now that he’s escaped. Maybe someone will call us. Maybe he’ll be okay.”

But even as she said the words, Michael knew she didn’t believe them. The little boy was in grave danger.

Cathy went to each of the rental car companies on her list — the ones closest to the hospital — and on the third one she hit pay dirt. Yes, a man had come in and rented a blue Grand Cherokee. The owner had seen him transferring a little boy who appeared to be sleeping from his silver Cadillac, which now sat abandoned in the parking lot. Armed with that information, Cathy called Max, then ran back to her car and texted Michael, Juliet, and Holly.

“Blue Grand Cherokee,” she wrote, and typed in the tag number. “Heading north on State Street.”

Michael wrote back immediately: “I’ll start with hotels south of 15
^th
Street. Holly — Lynn Haven Parkway area. Juliet — near the mall. Cathy, go to private airport & see if he’s tried to charter a plane.”

“What do we do if we find his car?” Holly texted.

“We call Max & let him take it from there. And call each one of us to let us know.”

As Cathy set down the phone, she headed to Sandy Creek Airport. If Warren had chartered a plane, would he take Jackson with him? Surely he wouldn’t want to be saddled with a sick child when he was on the lam.

Wishful thinking, she told herself. She reached the airport, pulled in, and scanned the few cars in the parking lot for a blue Grand Cherokee. There wasn’t one. She ran to the
door that said Gulf Air Service. A man with a baseball cap sat at a desk with his feet up.

“Hi,” she said.

The man dropped his feet. “Hey there, pretty lady. Do I know you?”

“No,” she said. “Listen, I’m looking for a man who may have rented a charter plane today. He had a little boy with him. His name is Warren Haughton, but he might have used another name.”

The man shook his head. “Nope, not here. We haven’t had anybody come in today. It’s been really slow.”

Her heart sank. “Are you sure? Have you been here all day?”

“Yes ma’am, I have.”

“Well, has anyone rented a plane for tomorrow?”

“No, the weather’s not going to be that great. Right now there’s a pretty fierce wind surge, so nobody’s flying much to day.”

She couldn’t give up. “Is there any other service here?”

“Yeah, the one next door. You could check with them.”

“Thanks.”

She pushed out through the exit, went to the business next door. A woman sat at a desk, watching a Spanish soap opera.

“Hi,” Cathy said, out of breath. “Listen, I need your help … Could you tell me if a man came in today wanting to rent a charter plane for some time this week?”

“No, it’s been slow,” the woman said. “A guy called, though. Asked about prices to Grand Cayman. Said he’d call back.”

Her heart jolted. “Did you get his name?”

“No, he didn’t leave it.”

“What about your caller ID?”

The woman checked. “No name. Must have been a wireless number. I’ll read it out to you.”

Cathy wrote the number on her hand. “If he comes in or calls back, would you let me know?” She told her what Warren and Jackson looked like. “It’s life or death for the boy, and the man is fleeing the police,” she said. “Please, I need to know if he tries to get out of town.”

After securing the woman’s promise, she went back to her car. So he hadn’t rented a plane … not yet.

What else might he do? Surely he wouldn’t fly commercially. Security would be too tight. That would be too much of a risk. He could drive out of town, but if he knew there’d be an Amber Alert, he might not try it.

The most logical thing would be to hole up in a hotel room somewhere, trying to figure out his next move.

She checked with the hotels, striking out at each of them. No blue Grand Cherokee, and none of the clerks at the front desks had seen a man fitting Warren’s description.

As Cathy drove, desperation brought tears to her eyes. “Lord …” she said as she drove. “I know you don’t owe me anything, as mad as I’ve been at you.”

The tears spilled out and rolled down her face. “You may be mad at me too. I wouldn’t blame you, after how I’ve acted. But if you could just put that aside for Jackson’s sake …

“That little boy is so sick. He’s suffering, and now he’s in the hands of a murderer. God, please show us where he is. And send angels to surround him and take care of him. I’m begging you.”

Suddenly her phone rang. Michael. She picked it up. “Any luck?”

“Yep. His rental car is sitting right here in the parking lot at the Holiday Inn on Frane Street. Same tag number you gave us.”

Her heart leapt. “Did you call the police?”

“Yes. Max is getting the SWAT team together.” A SWAT team. Dread crushed her. What if Jackson got hurt?

“I’m on my way over,” she said.