“Strip, and do it fast,” Rice ordered. He grabbed the orderly’s pants and shirt as they came off. While Vanessa kept her gun on James, Rice put on the outfit. Then they took the orderly down the hall and locked him in the room with the other prisoners, who were still on the floor.
“Why are you doing this?” Carl asked when they were headed down in the elevator. “Don’t you know how much trouble you’re in?”
“I know that you’ll be dead if you stay here. If I could break you out this easily, think how easily my father’s men will be able to break in when they learn you’re alive.”
“I wish you’d left me on my own. I told Ami Vergano that I didn’t want you involved.”
Vanessa smiled. “When did I ever do anything anyone ordered me to do?”
Carl smiled back. “Point taken. So, Captain, what’s the plan?”
“My car is gassed up and we’re going to get out of town. After that, I have no idea.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Ami caught a night flight to San Francisco and rented a car at the airport a little after midnight. It took two hours to drive to Lost Lake, and she spent what was left of the predawn hours in a motel on the outskirts of town. When her travel alarm went off at eight o’clock that morning, she felt as if her head were filled with cotton. She felt a bit better after her shower and better still when she stepped outside into the crisp mountain air.
Behind the motel was an arm of Lost Lake, and Ami could see a slice of blue through the pine trees. She wandered down to a dock that had been weathered gray. A few boats bobbed at anchor, and some early risers were fishing near the far shore. Ami stared across to the green hills that rose up behind the crystal-clear water. A hawk glided above her and puffy white cumulus clouds floated above the hawk. The idyllic scene made the violence that had brought her here seem all the more incongruous.
Downtown was three parallel streets of one- and two-story buildings named Main, Elm, and Shasta. As she drove along Main, Ami spotted numerous curio shops and art galleries and three cafes that advertised caffe latte, sure signs that the town survived on tourist dollars. A one-story dull-brown concrete building at the far end of Main housed the Lost Lake sheriff’s department. Ami parked and waited to cross until a shiny tanker and a pickup with a cord of wood stacked in the back drove by.
The reception area consisted of several chairs upholstered in scratched, faded faux leather. A low metal fence ran between the reception area and an open space filled with metal desks. Uniformed sheriff’s deputies were sitting at some of the desks. The receptionist-a large, cheerful woman dressed in a Hawaiian print muumuu-occupied the desk next to the rail. When Ami came in, the receptionist was transferring a call about a bear that was scavenging in a resident’s garbage pails. She hung up and flashed Ami a welcoming smile.
“What can I do for you, honey?”
“I have an appointment with the sheriff.”
A few minutes later, a tall, broad-shouldered man with close-cropped salt-and-pepper hair and hazel eyes walked out of a corridor that led to the rear of the station. He wore the tan uniform of the Lost Lake sheriff’s department and seemed to be in his late forties.
“Mrs. Vergano?” he asked as he held open the gate that blocked access to the rest of the building.
“Yes,” she answered extending her hand.
“Aaron Harney,” the sheriff said as they shook hands. “Why don’t you come on back to my office?”
Ami followed Harney to the rear of the station house and into a wood-paneled office. The walls were covered with framed plaques, certificates, and pictures of Harney with the governor and other celebrities; dominating the view was a mounted moose head. A glass bookcase filled with law books stood against a wall. On top of the bookcase and on other level surfaces were bowling and softball trophies that the department had won. On Harney’s large scarred desk were pictures of his wife and five children.
Harney offered Ami a seat and settled into a chair behind his desk.
“Last night, on the phone, you said that you wanted to talk to me about Congressman Glass’s murder, but you weren’t very clear about why,” Harney said.
“I’m involved with a case that may be related,” Ami said. “I’d like to learn more about the Glass case, maybe see the old files, if that’s possible.”
“It might be if you can tell me why a twenty-year-old case interests you.”
“That’s a little tricky, Sheriff. You know that the law forbids me to reveal the confidences of a client.”
Harney nodded. “And you know that there’s no statute of limitations on prosecuting a murder suspect.”
“Last night, I left my son with a neighbor and flew down here. I’ve got to get home today, so I don’t have time to go to court for the files. If you don’t want me to see them you’ll win.”
Harney liked his visitor’s honesty. Most lawyers would have threatened him with the fury of the law.
“Did you know that I was the first officer on the scene the night the congressman was murdered?” the sheriff asked.
Ami’s surprise showed on her face.
“I’ve been the sheriff here since Earl Basehart retired, and I was a deputy for a bunch of years before that. Counting my experiences as an MP in the military, that makes about twenty-five years of crime fighting. During those twenty plus years I’ve seen a thing or two, but that was the worst. The way Congressman Glass looked when I found him is something I can’t forget. It shook me up when it happened, and it still disturbs me. So you can see why I was real interested when you called.”
“The case is State v. Daniel Morelli,” Ami said. “You may have heard about it on the news. My client is accused of stabbing a parent during an argument at a Little League game.”
“I have heard of that case. It’s a hell of a thing. But what does it have to do with the murder of Congressman Glass?”
Ami sighed. “I really wish I could tell you but I can’t. I’m bound by law to keep my client’s confidences.”
Harney studied Ami and she held his gaze. He stood up.
“Let’s take a drive. When we come back you can read the file.”
“Thank you, Sheriff.”
“You can thank me by calling me when you feel you can talk about my case.”
They took the sheriff’s cruiser on the fifteen-minute drive from the station to the Lost Lake Resort. As soon as they were under way, Ami asked Harney what he remembered about the night Eric Glass was murdered.
“I remember the scream.” He shivered involuntarily. “I was clear across the lake, but sound carries out here at night. That scream cut through me. I felt like someone had run ice up my spine.”
“Was it the congressman who screamed?”
“No.” Harney looked grim. “I imagine he did a lot of screaming, from the look of his wounds, but the scream I heard was from a woman. Vanessa Wingate, the General’s daughter.”
“What did you do after you heard the scream?”
“I drove around the lake as fast as I could and radioed for backup. When I got to the house I went around back and Miss Wingate wandered out of the woods in a daze. She scared the hell out of me. I thought she was a ghost, to be honest. She had on this long white T-shirt, and her eyes were vacant.”
“Did she say anything?”
“Yeah, she kept on repeating over and over, ‘Carl killed him, Carl Rice.’ ”
“So there was never any doubt that Rice was the murderer?”
Harney hesitated.
“Do you have some doubts, Sheriff?”
“Not many, but we never found any physical evidence to confirm Miss Wingate’s story. It did look like someone had pulled a boat up on the shore, but when that happened and who did it we couldn’t say. People take boats out on the lake all the time. I thought I heard an outboard motor when I got out of my car, but it wasn’t necessarily the killer. It could have been anyone taking advantage of the moonlight.”