Janey
“Who has access?”
After Special Agent Kramer and JD left, Sheriff Ewing asked to see the clinic.
I figured it would be about the ketamine.
We walk over, finding the clinic still locked up. Frankie isn’t here yet but I expect she’ll get here shortly.
“To the clinic? Frankie Bastian, my assistant, and you met my intern, Logan.”
“Yes, I know Frankie, her brother is one of my deputies, and Logan is the son of council member David Osborne.”
“That’s correct.”
I open the clinic door and invite him inside.
“Nobody else has a key?”
“No. Not as far as I know. But I never changed the locks after I took over the clinic from Doc Evans. I guess it’s possible he may have given a key to someone at some point I’m not aware of.”
“You’re keeping drugs, you should change your locks.”
“All medication is in a locked, steel cabinet and I’m the only one with a key to that. I bought it new when I moved in,” I react a bit defensively. “I also keep careful track of what I’ve used.”
I show him into our surgical room where I keep the drugs, and unlock the cabinet.
“Who does inventory?”
“My tracking system does it for me. I don’t carry a lot of stock, and as I said, I mark everything I use off the inventory list. When we get down to a certain level, I ask Frankie to order more, and we tend to order a set amount. Ketamine, for instance,” I start to explain. “Yesterday morning I noticed we were getting low when I needed it for surgery on a miniature donkey. We were down to two vials, so I alerted Frankie, who was going to put in an order.”
“And you’ve never had one go missing? Not even a half-empty one?”
I shake my head. “No, never.”
“Is that the log?” Ewing asks, pointing at the notebook hanging on the front of the cabinet door.
I grab it off and hand it to him.
“You can see every use is marked by date and time. The amount is then deducted, and we list what is left in inventory. Because I only stock small numbers, it’s easy to track.”
He flips to the section marked ketamine, and starts scanning the entries.
“Who stocks the cabinet when a new shipment arrives?”
“I do that myself. If I’m out on a call, Frankie will sign for the package and hang on to it until she can hand it over to me. Unopened,” I add.
I watch him lift the remaining vials of ketamine off the shelf and examine them.
“These are still sealed.”
“Yes, like I said, I used some yesterday for a surgery. That vial was empty.”
“What did you do with the empty vial?”
“Garbage.”
I jerk my thumb at the trash can in the corner next to the cabinet. He immediately pokes his head in.
“Did someone clear out the trash?”
“One of us usually does at the end of the day.”
“Who did it yesterday?”
I shrug. “I’m not sure. I spent a lot of the afternoon in my office, so I didn’t see.”
“Where does the trash go?”
I’m not sure what his fascination with my trash is, but I walk him through the clinic and out the back door. There’s a green, steel box with a bear-proof lid installed against the back wall of the clinic.
“I have a garbage collection service come by once every two weeks to collect what’s in there.”
“When was your last pick up?” Ewing asks as he opens the box and peeks inside.
“Usually on a Thursday. I’m pretty sure they were here last week, but Frankie could probably tell you that when she gets in.”
“Only three small bags in there now, so that would make sense.”
The sheriff reaches into the bin and pulls out one of the bags.
“What are you looking for?” I ask, when he pulls a pair of gloves from his back pocket, snaps them on, and tears open the plastic.
“The empty vial. Agent Kramer took the one we collected at JD’s trailer, but I memorized the lot number. It matches the number on the vials in your cabinet.”
“You think someone took it from my garbage and left it there?”
He shrugs. “If someone was intent on framing JD…”
He reaches into the bag and comes up with the empty vial I dropped in there.
“Damn,” he mutters under his breath, at the same time Frankie’s car pulls around the back of the barn.
“Morning,” she greets us a bit hesitantly, as she exits the car and walks over to us.
“Morning, Frankie,” I return.
The sheriff just nods at her.
“Did something happen?” she asks him, looking concerned.
“I have a few questions for you,” he replies, before dropping the bag back in the bin and taking off his gloves.
He motions for us to go ahead and follows us inside. There he asks Frankie mostly the same questions he asked me. I know it’s his job and he’s being thorough, but I still breathe a sigh of relief when she confirms everything I told him.
That is, until she brings up my veterinary kit.
“Yes, I put the order through yesterday. We always order when we get down to two,” she explains, before adding. “Although I guess technically it’s four, since Dr. Richards always carries two in her medical bag for emergencies.”
My mouth falls open, I’d totally blanked on those.
“I’m so sorry. I forgot about those. I rarely use ketamine outside of the clinic.”
Ewing looks at me sharply. “Where do you keep the bag?”
“Locked in the back of my truck.”
“Who has access to your truck?” He wants to know next.
“I do. I may leave it unlocked when I’m on a call somewhere, but then I carry my bag with me.”
“You had it with you at the rodeo?”
I nod. “Yes.”
“Had your eyes on it at all times?”
“Well…”
I can’t exactly make that claim. Things were crazy busy at times, and I guess someone could’ve grabbed something out of there without me noticing.
“Where’s the bag now?”
I’m already heading outside where my truck is parked, Ewing right on my heels. My heart is lodged in my throat as I unlock the cover on the back and pull out my kit. Setting it on the tailgate, I flip it open and rummage through. When I come up with only one single vial of ketamine, my heart sinks down to my stomach.
Oh my God.
I feel all the blood drain from my face.
The thought I might have in any way—however remotely—been connected to the deaths of those poor women makes me sick to my stomach.
“You’re sure you did not use the other vial,” Ewing prompts.
“Positive,” I whisper.
“And you didn’t see anyone near your bag.”
At the rodeo, it could’ve been anyone. One of Mackey’s hands, any of the participants, heck, even someone in the public deciding to have a closer look. There were plenty of those, which was the whole purpose of Jericho putting me at the front of the stockyards.
I shrug my shoulders. “Not that I recall. Either Logan or JD were with me most of the time. They would’ve seen and said something.”
“I’ll have to talk to them both. When is Logan supposed to be here?”
“I told him this week he could come in around noon, because he put in a lot of hours covering for me both here and at the rodeo last week.”
“I’ll track both of them down this morning. In the meantime, do me a favor and keep your damn bag with you at all times.”
With that, he stalks back to his cruiser still parked in front of my house.
I grab my kit, close the gate on my truck, and head back into the clinic.
JD
“You’re kidding.”
“Not even a little bit,” I tell Jonas.
He hopped in my truck after we loaded up the horses to head over to Foxy’s Bar, and asked for an update. I’ve just filled him in on the early morning law enforcement visit, and the evidence they discovered suggesting I was involved.
The fact Jonas doesn’t even stop to entertain the possibility I might have had something to do with these crimes makes me feel a little better. Despite realizing neither Ewing or Stephanie Kramer really believes in my involvement, their line of questioning had left me shaken up. Adding to my unease is the fact someone went through a lot of trouble to implicate me, possibly going so far as to snatch an innocent woman because of her connection to me.
That’s the part that makes me sick to my stomach. Because even if we are able to find her alive, I will always carry some responsibility for what happened to her.
“Let me give fucking Junior a piece of my mind,” Jonas grumbles, retrieving his phone from a pocket.
I stop him. “Don’t. Don’t distract him from catching the bastard who is doing this. That’s where his focus should be.”
He grumbles some more under his breath, but ends up tucking his phone away.
The rest of the relatively short drive to Foxy’s is silent, but when I pull into the parking lot, Jonas pipes up.
“I want you to man the command post.”
I pull into a spot next to one of the sheriff’s cruisers and glance over at him.
“Like hell I will.”
He turns to face me. “You already found two of the victims, you don’t need to find another one. Especially not a friend.”
I want to launch an objection, but the steel look he shoots me has me hesitate and think. I can’t forget Agent Kramer listed the fact I found two of the three victims as highly suspect. Probably better if I didn’t add a third. I already can’t get the images of those two women out of my head, and I didn’t know them. Finding Britt in a similar condition would seriously mess me up, and I feel in my gut she’s already dead.
I hope to God I’m wrong.
“We’re going in with the original team. Fletch, Sully, Bo, and myself. Dan’s sticking around the ranch because of Sloane, Wolff is coming in with Jillian but he’s helping search with the dogs,” Jonas continues. “And I want you and Jackson to fly the Matrice and direct us from above. You’re familiar with this area, so you know what you’re looking at and are best equipped to navigate for us, even if we were to split up.”
I nod. I don’t necessarily like it, but what he says makes sense.
I get out of the truck and head around the back to grab the equipment we loaded up, just as Sully pulls up with the large horse trailer.
The bar is closed for business, but some of the staff are in the building with a few deputies, so we set up outside on the covered patio in the back. I much prefer being out here—for one thing, it’s easier flying the Matrice drone—and I like the fresh air. It’s pretty dark in the bar. Under the overhang we still don’t need to set up a tent or even unload the generator, because we can tap into the bar’s electrical to run the computers.
While Jonas goes to talk with Deputy Bastian—who was left in charge—Jackson and I set up the equipment. It only takes about fifteen minutes and by the time we’re up and ready, the others have the horses ready and are mounting up to head out.
Four tough, aging cowboys, still looking pretty imposing as a group. Everything us younger guys know about search and rescue, about tracking, we learned from these guys. I catch Pa looking at me, sending me the slightest of nods. His way of assuring me they’ve got this, but I already knew that.
I watch as they ride off before turning my attention to the monitors. The Matrice is already up in the air, scoping out the lay of the land.
“They’re still poking around your trailer,” Jackson points out.
On the screen I can see two cruisers parked in front of my place and a couple of uniforms standing off to the side. I recognize one of them as Junior Ewing. He must’ve gone straight there from Janey’s house.
Thinking of Janey, I grab my phone and type out a quick message.
Everything okay there?
I don’t have to wait too long for a response.
Sort of. Vial of ketamine missing from my kit.
Probably taken at rodeo. Sick over it.
Shit. I was afraid that might be a possibility when she so quickly identified the vial found at my place as ketamine. Looks like an overinflated sense of responsibility is something we both suffer from.
Don’t take that on.
Sage advice I should probably take myself.
Right. Lumber delivery is here, gotta go. You be careful.
I forgot about the fencing. Well, hopefully it’s something that’ll help to keep her mind off things.
You too, Angel.
“Angel?”
I turn to Jackson, who is peeking at my phone, grinning wide.
“Fuck off and mind your own business.”
He shrugs and turns back to his screen. “It’s cute, but Doc doesn’t strike me as particularly angelic,” he comments.
“Avenging angel,” I clarify, grinning at the image of Janey stepping in front of me as she went off on Ewing and Kramer this morning.
“That makes more sense,” Jackson concedes.
“Anything?”
I turn my head to find the sheriff behind us.
He stopped by earlier this morning, indicating he was off to run down some leads but would be back to check on progress. Unfortunately, we have little to report. We’ve had to replenish batteries for the Matrice once already, and are currently providing aerial support for the dog team.
Wolff radioed in about ten minutes ago, one of Jillian’s dogs seemed suddenly hot on a trail. Unfortunately, the dog in question is Emo. That news settled heavy on my shoulders.
“Jillian’s cadaver dog picked up on a scent. Not sure what it is yet, but we’re following with the drone.”
I point at the screen where we can see flashes of yellow popping in and out of the tree cover. The safety vests Jillian and her dogs wear when they’re on the job.
“Do we know anything more?” I turn the question on him. “Heard from Stephanie?”
Jackson suddenly pays attention at the mention of the agent’s name, confirming what I suspected.
“Not a peep. I suspect Jericho is yanking her chain and this is a pitiful attempt at controlling his fate. Other than that, I just wasted almost two and a half hours tracking down Doc Richards’s intern without success.”
“Logan?”
He confirms with a nod. “Councilman Osborne wasn’t too pleased I showed up at his house looking to speak to his son, so that was half an hour of him insisting I tell him exactly what this was about, and me reminding him his son is a legal adult, while trying not to plant my fist in the man’s face. The rest of the time I drove around to all the locations his mother finally listed as places I might be able to find the kid. I finally gave up. I’ll catch him back at the clinic this afternoon.”
I wouldn’t have had the patience to deal with difficult parents, which is why the High Mountain Trackers is a much better fit for me than any kind of law enforcement.
Something niggles at me though. Maybe it’s the fact Logan’s father serves on the same council as Phil Jericho. They’re colleagues at the very least. Probably just a coincidence, Libby is a relatively small town and it isn’t hard to find connections between people. Or maybe it’s that despite the appearance of being a nice guy, Logan is just another typical, spoiled rich kid like the ones I grew up with, wearing designer jeans and snakeskin boots while the rest of us walk around in worn out hand-me-downs.
Snakeskin boots. The memory is suddenly clear as day.
Just as I’m about to share it with Ewing, his phone rings.
“What’ve you got?”
I watch his face change as he listens to whoever is on the other side, and I get an unsettled feeling in the pit of my stomach.
When his eyes turn to me, I already know the news is bad.