Michael Palmer - Fatal

"Why would I ever mind that, Tarvis? I always thought it was stupid for us to take all these precautions just to lock up a bunch of evidence."

Matt could feel the wheels spinning in Grimes's head, searching for an explanation — any explanation — as to what he and Lyons were doing in the evidence room. Finally, he exchanged glances with Valenti, who merely shook his head.

"Okay, Rutledge," Grimes said, "I don't know what in the hell you're doing here, but I don't think I'm going to find out from you. Mark me well, though. This is the last time I'm kicking you out of my station house. Next time you'll be begging us to let you go."

"Go easy on Tarvis," Matt said. "I asked him to let me in here so I could look at Dr. Solari's things."

Ramrod straight, chin up, he strode past Grimes and Valenti and down the corridor to the stairs, half expecting to hear a shot and feel a bullet smack into his spine.

What he heard instead was Grimes saying, "Tarvis, get the fuck upstairs to my office."

And Lyons replying, "I can explain everything, Chief."

Matt spent the hours following his clash with Bill Grimes consumed by dread for the life of Nikki Solari. He was bone weary from a dearth of any healthy sleep, but over his years of training and medical practice, he had developed internal techniques for coping with that sort of exhaustion. What he was much less adept at dealing with than the lack of sleep was the lack of answers. He felt like a marionette, dancing to the commands of some deranged puppeteer. But who? Right now, the only viable candidate was Grimes. But why him? And how was he able to pull together the elements of Nikki's abduction from the hospital so quickly and smoothly?

This is Dr. Rutledge calling. I've scheduled Dr. Solari for an emergency MRI and arranged for immediate ambulance transport.

Smooth.

Matt had two patients in the hospital. One of them, an elderly diabetic recovering from an arterial bypass to her leg, was in the room across the hall from Nikki's. He was on the way in to see her when he stopped and, using the phone at Nikki's bedside, called information and got the number for Kit and Samuel Wilson. Kit answered on the first ring.

"First of all," Matt said after establishing that she knew who he was, "I want to tell you how sorry I am about your daughter."

"Thank you. The service yestiddy made everyone that knew Kathy feel jes a little better."

"I'm glad. Mrs. Wilson, I'm calling about Nikki Solari."

"Nikki? What about her?"

"I guess you haven't heard. I hate to be the bearer of bad news with all you have been going through."

"Please, what about Nikki?"

"Shortly after she left the church yesterday, two men ambushed her on Wells Road. She got away from them, but nearly drowned in Crystal Lake in the process."

"Oh, my God. Where's she now? She all right?"

"I'm afraid we don't know where she is right now, Mrs. Wilson. Someone — not me — called in an order in my name, sending her to Hastings Hospital for an MRI. Then they kidnapped her from the ambulance on the way."

"Oh, my God. How awful. Why'd anyone do such a thing?"

"That's what I'm trying to find out. Can you remember anything from yesterday that might help us figure out what happened? Anyone she spoke to?"

"Not that I kin recall. She read at the service, then played music most a the afternoon. She never left the churchyard 'cept ta walk a spell with Sam an' me. She did speak with Chief Grimes for a time on the bench under the big willa 'cross the churchyard. Oh dear, this is jes terrible news. Nikki and our daughter were very close. Kathy was teachin' her ta play the fiddle."

Matt had heard what he needed to.

"Mrs. Wilson," he said, now anxious to go, "please call me if you or your husband think of anything, anything at all, that might help us figure this out. I promise to keep you posted."

"I begged her ta stay with us," Kit Wilson said.

Matt wandered out to his bike, lost in thought over the significance of what he had just learned. Kit Wilson's information certainly suggested that, although they might have spoken at some length, Nikki and Grimes were never in a place where she would have taken off her shoes. Assuming that, and knowing her feet remained covered when Grimes came to the ER, what was left? He must have seen the distinctive tattoo after she was abducted from the ambulance. No other conclusion fit the facts.

Also supporting that theory was something Kit Wilson did not say — specifically, that she already knew about Nikki. The news took her completely by surprise. Twenty-four hours had passed since the woman was nearly killed, and Grimes hadn't bothered questioning the Wilsons. True, he had been at the service and could have made his own observations there, but he should certainly have wanted to know if Nikki had said anything to Kit or her husband, or if they knew of any reason why someone might have wanted to harm her. The man was smarmy, but he was hardly dumb. The only explanation Matt could think of for him not bothering to call the Wilsons was that he already knew what had happened.

At an unobtrusive pace, Matt cruised through the lengthening shadows along Oak Street parallel to Main, heading across town toward the police station. Bill Grimes's love of flashy cars was commonly known, as was his latest trophy, a fire-engine-red Dodge Viper. Earlier in the afternoon, Matt had noticed it parked in the staff lot behind the station. From the corner of Oak and Waverly, Matt could see that it was still there. He backed up his bike until he could just see the car, then rested it on its stand and took out his tool kit, just for appearances. Twice over the next hour, while he was puttering around the engine, patients of his stopped to offer him a hand. Two cruisers left the lot, and later a minivan. Dusk settled in. The strain of staying fixed on the Viper only added to Matt's burgeoning fatigue.

Finally, just as he was considering packing it in for the night, Grimes came striding through the gloom to his car. Matt stowed the tool kit, mounted the Harley, and waited until the door of the Viper had closed before punching the electric starter. The powerful engine rumbled to life. His pulse racing, he felt instantly energized and alert. Grimes was single and could have been headed home or on a date or out for dinner. But without any better options, Matt was determined to play this one out.

Instead of turning left toward Main, the Viper, lights on, swung right, directly toward the corner where Matt was waiting. He had only time to pull on his helmet and lower his face before the car sped past no more than thirty feet away. His Harley was as well-known around town as the Viper, and Grimes was certainly a keen enough policeman to have noticed him. Clearly he was distracted. Matt's tension increased a notch. Grimes lived south of town, on the banks of the Belinda River. Now, in addition to being preoccupied, he was driving north, into the hills. This wasn't a purposeless evening jaunt.

Matt stayed as far back as he dared. The waning evening initially provided enough light for him to see, but with his headlight off, he had serious doubts any oncoming drivers could see him. Fortunately, for nearly ten minutes, there were none. The roughly paved road angled steeply upward. It was one Matt had ridden when he was much younger, but rarely since then. To the best of his recollection, it turned into gravel, then dirt, and eventually petered out in the forest. Its final incarnation was as a narrow, heavily rooted trail favored by dirt bikers.

Shadows from the dense woods brought the night on prematurely. The lights of the Viper were still fairly easy to spot in the distance, but the soft shoulders were invisible and posed a constant threat. Matt didn't dare flick on his lights or take his eyes off his quarry.