Chapter 18

 

Beau sat at his desk, studying the blood alcohol tests from the two drivers in yesterday’s head-on collision. Sadly, the one who died was stone-cold sober. The woman who crossed the yellow center line—her levels were twice the legal limit, even at that hour of the morning. An all-night bender, or a drink-your-breakfast type? Unfortunately, they wouldn’t know until a defense attorney presented whatever story he thought would be most likely to get her off the hook. Beau was in danger of letting his own blood pressure get out of hand over this thing, but his phone rang.

“Sheriff Beason from Colfax,” the duty officer announced.

“Tim, hey. Sorry I didn’t get back to you sooner,” Beau said, shoving the drunk-driver data aside.

“Just thought I’d see if you guys came up with anything on the black pickup.” Beason sounded a lot more chipper than Beau felt.

Between the multi-car collision yesterday and the domestic dispute case he’d been hoping would work itself out, it took him a second to click to what the Colfax County sheriff wanted. The vehicle in the armored car robbery.

“Nothing has come across my desk,” Beau said, pushing papers around to be sure. “Nothing more on the money, although I haven’t had a minute to ask my deputy if any prints showed up on those bank bags.”

His gaze landed on the photo on his desk of himself and Sam, which reminded him of their visit together to the bedside of Tansy Montoya last night.

“I’ve had feelers out on this end of the county, looking for suspicious activity from the usual suspects. We have our little share of perps, the convenience store opportunists and the druggies who’ll do anything for cash. Everyone I’ve questioned has come up with a decent alibi.” Beason sighed loudly. “I just don’t know what to make of this case.”

Beau’s intercom line buzzed. “Me neither, Tim. There are a couple things I plan to check on today, provided I can keep everyone from each other’s throats.”

A second obnoxious buzz.

“Look, I gotta go but I’ll touch base again when we get something.”

When. Should have said if.

“Sheriff, it’s a call from the hospital,” Dixie said when he responded.

His pulse raced a little as he took the call.

“This is Beth Baughn, in the ICU. You wanted to know when Tansy Montoya regained consciousness?”

“Yes, Beth. Is she talking at all?”

“Not really. She’s been restless, mumbling a little. The doctor says you can have a five minute visit if you want.”

With a patient barely conscious? He hesitated, then made up his mind. “I do. I’ll be there right away.” He hung up the receiver and reached for his coat with the other hand.

His intercom buzzed again. “I’m on my way out, Dixie. If it’s something Rico can handle, pass it to him. Otherwise, I’ll be back in a little while.”

“Roger that, Sheriff.” The line went dead and Beau wondered briefly if he should have at least asked about the call. Decided not. Rico or Dixie could fill him in later. Right now it was more important that he try to talk to that injured armored car driver.

Midmorning, and the hospital was bustling with visitors. Again, Beau used his official status to snag parking at the door. There was a definite hum in the fourth-floor ICU when he walked in, a cluster of people hovering near Tansy’s little space. Two orderlies peeled away when they saw the uniform, and a white-coated doctor turned toward him.

“How is she?” Beau asked, remaining outside the glassed-in space for the moment.

“It’s the first improvement we’ve seen.” The doctor hugged the patient chart to her chest, tilting her head slightly as she spoke and a wing of her gray hair slid partially over her face. She brushed it back somewhat impatiently. “But it’s a very tiny improvement. She’s drifting in and out.”

His spirits sank.