Backfire
Page 118
Sherlock said, “The hotline is getting reports of Charlene sightings from Fresno up to Redding and reports of Xu from as far away as Montana. They’re following up on as many leads as they can.
“One thing worries me, though, worries me a lot. We still don’t know who was driving that second car that screeched out of the Skyline Motel Thursday night.”
Harry had fretted over this loose thread as much as Sherlock had. Everyone he knew was thinking about it. “No. We don’t have a clue.”
“According to Maria Conchas, Charlene is a guided missile. My gut says she won’t stop until she’s shot down. Probably she couldn’t call a halt even if she wanted to. She’s got herself hardwired.”
Harry said, “Charlene Cartwright’s crazy. Xu isn’t. I don’t know who’s more dangerous.”
“I guess I’m more afraid of crazy, since Charlene’s the one who shot me and Ramsey.”
Sherlock saw the same tech who’d had the misfortune to come into the CT waiting room on Wednesday walking toward them, whistling. He saw her, saw Harry, who was staring at him as if he was measuring him for a hole in the ground, and stopped in his tracks.
What was his name? She finally remembered. “Mr. Lempert, it’s okay. This is Agent Christoff. Harry, this is Mr. Lempert. The thing is, Harry, last Wednesday Dillon was a little hard on Terry.” The use of his first name brought him back, and he even managed a tentative smile. He came one step closer to her, shot a glance at Harry, and cleared his throat. “You’re looking good today, Agent Sherlock. You must have come from Dr. Kardak’s office.”
He darted a look at Harry. “I’m not a killer—well, unless I feel threatened, that is.” He cleared his throat when Harry didn’t change expressions. “That was a joke, Agent. Really.”
“And a good one, Terry,” Sherlock said, and patted his arm. “I’ve got to tell you, I sure hope I don’t have to see you again for a while—professionally, that is.”
She spotted a women’s room near the elevator and excused herself. “Harry, maybe you want to message Deputy Marshal Barbieri? See if everything’s okay on the steak front?”
He grinned. “I’ll message Eve after I see you’re safe upstairs.” He stuck his head in the door, didn’t see anyone. He walked in, looking beneath each of the three stalls. He saw two feet in sandals with bright red toenails, young feet. He watched one of the feet tap to the sound of music he couldn’t hear. Okay, then. When he came out he said, “I’ll be right here if you need anything.”
As Sherlock stood at the counter washing her hands, a woman came in. Sherlock automatically went on alert until she got a look at her. She was older, quite heavy, a scrub nurse in a loose green top and pants, down to the green booties covering her shoes. A surgical mask hung by its ties around her neck. She wore a name tag. Harry wouldn’t have let her in otherwise, Sherlock thought. A green scrub hat was perched on her thick black hair. She wore black-framed glasses.
“Hey,” the nurse said, looked around, then walked toward a stall.
The nurse was suddenly behind her. Sherlock felt a gun pressing into the back of her neck. A deep voice hissed hot rage in her ear, “How did you find me, bitch?”
This wasn’t Charlene Cartwright; she knew her photo as well as she knew her own. She willed her fear and her pounding heart to the back of the bus. “Xu, I can’t believe you came here. Why? Are you trying to get your manhood back?” She felt her breath clog in her throat. Was this the way to play him? What would he do?
She heard a sneering laugh. “I wondered if I’d ever get the chance to be alone with you, with that big guy outside following you around. But you had to visit the bathroom, didn’t you? The only reason you got me on the ground was because I was hit real bad.”
Good, he was talking to her, trying to justify how she had gotten him down. She sneered back. “Yeah, an arm wound’s all you had, nothing to write home about. And you’re still whining? I thought above all, Xu, that you were a professional, that you were doing only what you had to do to clean up the mess you’d made. But look at you, here, trying to show me up.”
His left hand moved up to grab her throat. He whispered next to her ear, “You and your people destroyed my life by finding me when it shouldn’t have been possible. You’re going to be my prize at the end of this wretched assignment. Tell me now. How did you find me so fast?”
She held his hot eyes. “Turns out you’re not so special, Xu. Our profiler guessed you liked to treat yourself well and thought the Fairmont would be right up your alley. Before she died, Cindy told us about Lampo, Indiana. We found you within two hours of accessing your old Indiana driver’s license.”
“One thing worries me, though, worries me a lot. We still don’t know who was driving that second car that screeched out of the Skyline Motel Thursday night.”
Harry had fretted over this loose thread as much as Sherlock had. Everyone he knew was thinking about it. “No. We don’t have a clue.”
“According to Maria Conchas, Charlene is a guided missile. My gut says she won’t stop until she’s shot down. Probably she couldn’t call a halt even if she wanted to. She’s got herself hardwired.”
Harry said, “Charlene Cartwright’s crazy. Xu isn’t. I don’t know who’s more dangerous.”
“I guess I’m more afraid of crazy, since Charlene’s the one who shot me and Ramsey.”
Sherlock saw the same tech who’d had the misfortune to come into the CT waiting room on Wednesday walking toward them, whistling. He saw her, saw Harry, who was staring at him as if he was measuring him for a hole in the ground, and stopped in his tracks.
What was his name? She finally remembered. “Mr. Lempert, it’s okay. This is Agent Christoff. Harry, this is Mr. Lempert. The thing is, Harry, last Wednesday Dillon was a little hard on Terry.” The use of his first name brought him back, and he even managed a tentative smile. He came one step closer to her, shot a glance at Harry, and cleared his throat. “You’re looking good today, Agent Sherlock. You must have come from Dr. Kardak’s office.”
He darted a look at Harry. “I’m not a killer—well, unless I feel threatened, that is.” He cleared his throat when Harry didn’t change expressions. “That was a joke, Agent. Really.”
“And a good one, Terry,” Sherlock said, and patted his arm. “I’ve got to tell you, I sure hope I don’t have to see you again for a while—professionally, that is.”
She spotted a women’s room near the elevator and excused herself. “Harry, maybe you want to message Deputy Marshal Barbieri? See if everything’s okay on the steak front?”
He grinned. “I’ll message Eve after I see you’re safe upstairs.” He stuck his head in the door, didn’t see anyone. He walked in, looking beneath each of the three stalls. He saw two feet in sandals with bright red toenails, young feet. He watched one of the feet tap to the sound of music he couldn’t hear. Okay, then. When he came out he said, “I’ll be right here if you need anything.”
As Sherlock stood at the counter washing her hands, a woman came in. Sherlock automatically went on alert until she got a look at her. She was older, quite heavy, a scrub nurse in a loose green top and pants, down to the green booties covering her shoes. A surgical mask hung by its ties around her neck. She wore a name tag. Harry wouldn’t have let her in otherwise, Sherlock thought. A green scrub hat was perched on her thick black hair. She wore black-framed glasses.
“Hey,” the nurse said, looked around, then walked toward a stall.
The nurse was suddenly behind her. Sherlock felt a gun pressing into the back of her neck. A deep voice hissed hot rage in her ear, “How did you find me, bitch?”
This wasn’t Charlene Cartwright; she knew her photo as well as she knew her own. She willed her fear and her pounding heart to the back of the bus. “Xu, I can’t believe you came here. Why? Are you trying to get your manhood back?” She felt her breath clog in her throat. Was this the way to play him? What would he do?
She heard a sneering laugh. “I wondered if I’d ever get the chance to be alone with you, with that big guy outside following you around. But you had to visit the bathroom, didn’t you? The only reason you got me on the ground was because I was hit real bad.”
Good, he was talking to her, trying to justify how she had gotten him down. She sneered back. “Yeah, an arm wound’s all you had, nothing to write home about. And you’re still whining? I thought above all, Xu, that you were a professional, that you were doing only what you had to do to clean up the mess you’d made. But look at you, here, trying to show me up.”
His left hand moved up to grab her throat. He whispered next to her ear, “You and your people destroyed my life by finding me when it shouldn’t have been possible. You’re going to be my prize at the end of this wretched assignment. Tell me now. How did you find me so fast?”
She held his hot eyes. “Turns out you’re not so special, Xu. Our profiler guessed you liked to treat yourself well and thought the Fairmont would be right up your alley. Before she died, Cindy told us about Lampo, Indiana. We found you within two hours of accessing your old Indiana driver’s license.”
