Chapter 52

“It’s a wicked world, and when a clever man turns his brains to crime, it is the worst of all.”

-Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Adventure of the Speckled Band

I woke up in the embrace of a bulky fireman. His lumberman arms were carrying me away from the lodge. He was in full fireman’s regalia, complete with an oxygen mask. If I ever saw him again, I wouldn’t recognize him. I turned to look with smoke battered eyes for Tom and Wolfie. Tom was still out cold, and Wolfie was still standing over him, snarling and keeping the other firemen at bay.

The fireman tried to examine me, but I pushed away the oxygen mask he’d offered and told him to take me to where Tom lay.

“I’ll handle the dog so you guys can take care of my friend. He’s very protective,” I explained.

As he carried me back, he asked if anyone else was in the building. I told him there were three bodies. He set me down gently near Tom and Wolfie and headed into the building.

Wolfie cooperated and allowed two firemen to carry Tom away. We followed closely. Another fireman gave me oxygen. It was like ambrosia. I held the mask out to Wolfie, but he wouldn’t have any of it. He kept his eyes on Tom and his tail high.

I had a slight burn on my right hand and arm, and as they treated me, I told them how Wolfie had saved Tom’s life.

“He’s a great dog,” one of them commented.

Another fireman stared at Wolfie. “He sure looks a lot like a timber wolf. What’s his name?”

I caught myself and replied, “Sherlock.”

“Oh, like Sherlock Holmes?”

“Exactly,” I nodded.

The medic checked the burn on my arm again. “You’re in shock,” he said, “and both of you have minor burns, nothing that won’t heal fairly soon.”

He didn’t know what I knew. Tonight would leave a scar on my heart that would never heal. I would live with the sight of Morgan being gunned down for the rest of my life. And that it was my fault.

“How’s Tom,” I croaked, trying to focus.

“He got some smoke, and he’ll need oxygen for awhile. It looks like he has some older injuries but nothing critical. He should check into a hospital for a few days.”

We couldn’t stay here in the hospital for a few days. Any recovery I’d experience would be cut short by Karl Patrick, when he killed me.

“Okay,” I told the medic, “I know that Tom doesn’t have any insurance. That’s why he’s running around with those old injuries. I’m sure that he doesn’t want to be admitted if he can avoid it, and I certainly don’t.” I looked like hell, but I put everything I had into my smile. “We’d like to get back to Chicago and see our own doctors.”

I could see him considering it. “Well, if you’re both refusing treatment and promise to see your doctors in Chicago, I guess there’s no way I can force you to get looked at here.”

I slumped on the bench. There was still a chance that I might avoid the wrath of Karl.

This rural fire department was efficient, but however well-trained, it couldn’t compete with the experience and equipment I was accustomed to seeing from the Chicago Fire Department. The raging flames didn’t get extinguished easily, and the fight was still going on when the county police arrived. I heard firemen tell the cops about finding the badly charred remains of three dead bodies, and then they pointed at me. I had to tell the story again to the cops. I sweated a lot each time I told it, because while I wasn’t lying, I was omitting certain facts, like the fact that we’d broken in and the fact that I was a fugitive. I also omitted the fact that Morgan had come to rescue us. Instead I informed the cops that Morgan had told me he wanted to reopen the Grange Dowager case because he’d found some new evidence and was convinced it had been murder. They asked what evidence. I told them I didn’t know, but he must have known something because the nurse was here, and she shot him to death to keep whatever it was he’d found a secret.

Tom, I hoped, would keep that oxygen mask on for a while longer. I knew he’d be asked to confirm my story, but in the meanwhile they hadn’t cuffed me and they weren’t treating me as the prime suspect. I wanted them to focus their attention on Mr. James Dodd.

One of the ambulance drivers asked if I wanted some water. I gratefully accepted the bottle and asked him to get some water for Tom’s dog. Later a cop brought me a blanket, and I overheard them talking about deploying officers to go after Dodd. They were going to call in all the rest of their off-duty personnel. Apparently their local force was small - only 10 officers. They’d alerted the Forest Rangers, and soon men and women wearing Forest Ranger uniforms were walking around the scene taking notes and photos. I heard one cop say they were using the Forest Rangers helicopters to help locate Dodd. I wondered if Dodd was on foot or using a vehicle.

While they were photographing the scene and the bodies, the county coroner arrived and shortly afterward the bodies were removed to the waiting ambulances. I watched with sick fascination.

One of the firemen came over and explained they’d sprayed foam over the burned area to ensure it didn’t reignite. When they were satisfied, the firemen began pulling out their equipment. The ambulances carrying the bodies also left.

I’d been watching everything from a distance. I’d been ordered to sit on that outdoor bench I’d wandered into earlier and told not to move. At least they hadn’t handcuffed me.

My stomach was churning and my throat was still raw. I’d have paid anything for a shot of something Scottish in a bottle. I closed my eyes. Telling the cops about the shooting was horrible. I realized how difficult it is to be a witness in something so traumatic. It all happened so fast. When you are involved in a shooting, you’re channeled into it. You don’t see everything that’s going on around you. Around you... Suddenly I thought of the 3-D video cam that I’d dumped in Tom’s pocket. With its two-hour recording time, it should have recorded their confessions in three dimensional video and sound. I hobbled slowly over to the stretcher where Tom was lying. His eyes opened, but I wasn’t sure he recognized me. I gently removed the device from his pocket. Its tiny blue light was on. It was still recording.

“Here,” I said as I turned it off and handed it to one of the county cops. “Take a look at this video.”

“This is a video recorder?” the cop asked, turning it over. “Never seen one this small.”

“It’s a brand new gadget. It’s a 3-D video. It should provide all the corroboration of my story that you need. I activated it right after Grace Dunbar a/k/a Nurse Holder shot Lt. Fernandez.”

“Do we need 3-D glasses to view this?” he asked.

“No, it’s overlaid with a parallax barrier, so you don’t need any glasses.”

“What’s a parallax barrier?” the county cop asked.

“I can’t explain,” I said. “Just look at it.”

“Alright, will do.” He hailed some of the other county cops and Forest Rangers. They all clustered around the videocam. I couldn’t tell whether they were more interested in the gadget or the recording.

Suddenly fearing he might accidentally hit “Erase,” I pushed forward and took the recorder from his gloved hand. The guys quieted as I pushed the “Play” button, and we viewed the horrors of the past few hours. Now they would have to believe my story and wouldn’t press Tom too hard for details that might contradict the version I’d told them.

More cops and rangers crowded around to watch the video. After they had viewed and heard the events inside the lodge, some got on their radios while others took out maps. The whole group pored over the maps, tracing roads and identifying possible routes Dodd might have taken. I mentioned that Dodd had probably flown to that nearby airport here from Chicago in a private plane. He’d mentioned a Cessna and maybe he owned it.

They immediately contacted the Carlton Airport - the one Tom and I had passed not far from the Haven - and confirmed that Dodd had indeed landed there. The Cessna, airport officials said, was still parked on the tarmac. So he hadn’t taken it.

“They’re checking on an SUV that they knew Dodd had stored in one of their parking areas,” one of the county cops yelled out to the others.

Everything got quiet while they waited.

“They’re telling me the SUV is gone!” the cop announced. “So Dodd is probably on the road!”

Another county cop read aloud Dodd’s vehicle history off his computer screen. “The SUV registered to Dodd is a big Toyota Land Cruiser - black and this year’s model.”

In the end, country justice in action was not much different from what happens in the big city. They were on the case. My respect for all of these officers skyrocketed at the same time my heart ached unbearably for Morgan.