Robert Walker - Final Edge

"That won't be necessary, Lewis. We just escort her to the door. Put the gun down, Lewis."

"What?"

"She's unarmed now, Lewis, and cooperative, so back off!"

"Give me my phone back. I'll call my boss, Chief Lincoln," she pleaded.

"Let's all go upstairs, Dr. Sanger. Greet the officers when they arrive," suggested Roy. "We can turn your things over to them."

Meredyth pulled away and walked briskly ahead of Roy and his friend through the stacks and back to the microfiche machine she'd been working on when she saw some-thing strange. Someone had ordered a hard copy of the record she'd come for. The paper copy lay in the tray, taunting her.

"She was here…she did this," said Meredyth, realizing how mad she must seem to these two courthouse guards. "I didn't order a copy of the record be made. She did. It's her way of telling me how close she can get any time she wants."

"Let's go upstairs, Dr. Sanger," replied Roy in his softest, kindest tone.

"It also means she's still in the building, still lurking in the shadows down here. We've got to do a search of this entire area, Roy!"

"No, Dr. Sanger, we're done here," declared Roy. "We're taking you upstairs, so please, come along."

She defiantly snatched the copy of the record of Lauralie's adoption as they led her through the door and to the stairwell. "She may have left fingerprints on the machine."

Neither security guard was listening now. They silently led her up to ground level.

The security guards turned Meredyth over to two uniformed policemen who had rushed through the courthouse security checkpoint, guns drawn. Meredyth's gun was turned over to the police, and one of them proceeded to handcuff her as she protested. "I'm a forensic psychiatrist! With the Three-one! I'm a shrink, a cop shrink. Check my ID."

Meredyth saw that people she had known for a decade, from the newsstand guy to lawyers and bailiffs and judges, all staring in disbelief. A crowd had gathered, mostly made up of civilians who populated the courtrooms in cases ranging from traffic tickets to murder trials. But among them, Meredyth caught a glimpse of Lauralie Blodgett stepping away, a smile on her face.

"It's her!" Meredyth shouted. "Stop that woman! It's her!"

But Meredyth was led out to a waiting police cruiser, its strobe lights flashing, and outside she had to face yet another crowd. The arrest was humiliating, and she was pleased when finally she could duck into the cruiser and be out of view behind the tinted windows. The handcuffs bit into her wrist, and when the officers climbed into the car, she pleaded with them to take off the cuffs, telling them to call Captain Gordon Lincoln at the 31st Precinct, again telling them who she was, adding, "What happened in the courthouse…it was all a big mis-"

"— misunderstanding," the two cops piped in, in unison.

"Yes ma'am, ahhh, Doctor," said the driver. "Frank, you want to call the Three-one and bother Gordo Lincoln with this, or you want to book the lady?" They had driven off the courthouse sidewalk where the cruiser had parked, blocking the front stairs to the courthouse main entrance.

"I'm the forensic psychiatrist who's working closely with Lieutenant Lucas Stonecoat on the P.O. murder case, the one all over the news."

"The Post-it Ripper case, you?" The two officers stared at one another, and then the driver stared at her through his rearview mirror. "You really got Police ID on you, Doc?"

"Yeah, but my hands are in cuffs and I can't get at my purse."

The driver pulled over some blocks away.

"What the hell're we doing, Tony?" asked the cop in the passenger seat.

"Check her ID, Frank."

"I have a permit for the gun," she told them. "I'm the police shrink at the Three-one," she nervously repeated.

"Wait, whoa up, Doc. Are you saying that you're the one who's gotten all those body parts by mail-the eyeballs and the hand?" he asked as Frank pulled open the back door and rifled through her purse for identification.

"It's her all right, Tony. Dr. M. Sanger, Ph.D., M.D., Houston PD Forensic Psychiatry, Civilian Personnel. What now?"

"Call Lincoln." Tony adjusted his uniform tie.

"No…no, call Lieutenant Lucas Stonecoat, please. He'll verify I am who I say I am."

"Hmmm…think we've established that much. Tell you what, Doc. How would it be if we dropped you at the Three-one and we all call it a day? I'll talk to security at the courthouse; not likely to be any charges."

"Sounds like a sound plan," she agreed. "Thank you, thank you both."

"Don't mention it." said Frank, a half-kidding, nervous tension to his voice, "not to anyone!"

"Sounds to me like you've been under a great deal of stress here lately, Doc," replied Tony from the wheel as they pulled away, going now toward the 31st Precinct.

"Yeah, we've heard all about the eyes, the teeth, the head, and all the other stuff this nutcase has been mailing you," agreed Frank. "It's no wonder you're having a bad day."

Meredyth fell silent, deciding it was her only defense.

"No reason to involve a precinct captain in all this…." Tony nudged Frank as he spoke.

"Huh? Nah, nah, no reason I can think of, no."

The two, Frank and Tony, began talking quietly to one another. "Stonecoat…isn't that the guy-"

"— yeah, the guy who broke the Mootry murder case."

"Broke that computer Internet assassination network?"

"Famous guy…Native Texan, right?"

"No, Native American…Cherokee, I think."

Meredyth shut them out, struggling now with puzzling questions alighting and seeping into her brain: How did Lauralie know I'd be at the courthouse? When did she begin to follow me? From what location? The condo, the precinct? Or had she slyly gotten the information from Candice, my soon-to-be- "fired" secretary, as no doubt Byron had?

Or worse still, had Lauralie somehow learned of Byron Priestly's connection to her, simply following him to the courthouse? And if she followed him to the courthouse, was Byron too in danger?

If so, Byron, needed a heads-up. She must notify him. "Can I get my cell phone back?" she asked Frank.

"What?"

"My purse, phone, and gun."

"Well, ma'am, ahhh, Doctor, sure… but since we're almost there-"

Tony finished for Frank. "Soon as we turn you over to this Detective Stonecoat."

"Heard a lot about him," said Frank. "Settle a bet for us. He's a Cherokee tracker, isn't he? Wasn't he a one-time Texas Ranger?"

"No, Lucas wasn't in the Rangers."

"But he was a vet, right? Nam?" asked Tony.

"And he's Choctaw or Chickasaw then, if he's not Cherokee."

"What's difference between a Chickasaw and a Cherokee?" asked Tony.

"Don't know," replied Frank. "Maybe the difference is their totems."

'Totems?"

"You know, spirit guides, all that. One tribe follows the fox, another the hawk, turtle, hare, squirrel." Frank pointed out a side street, and Tony turned down it.

"Squirrel?" Tony laughed. "No, no…it's all along family bloodlines who's in charge, who's the chief of one tribe, and who's the chief of another… family ties, so to speak. Not so different from tribes in Afghanistan or Africa or the mafia even."

"Sounds right, Frank, but totems are important too, I'll bet. What do you think, Dr. Sanger?"

"I think I want my phone."

Lucas Stonecoat’s morning hadn't been near so eventful as Meredyth's. Before he got the call from the squad car transporting her to the precinct, he had met with a retired investigator who had worked the Yolanda Sims case. Detective Maurice Remo was haunted by the case, still angry at how it was handled by the original investigating team. Remo had taken it over when it had first come downstairs to him in the Cold Room. At the time, Remo was in charge of the Cold Case files. Disgusted by what he found in the file-or rather what he failed to find-he had, in 1957, launched his own investigation. A young detective at the time, he was now in his early seventies.