Blood of My Blood (19 page)

Things were finally looking up, Hughes figured.

While state units were stopping buses all along 495, he had returned to the hospital to sweat the girlfriend for more info, figuring he’d be in for a rough time with the father—goddamn lawyer—but then he’d actually bumped into the guy in the corridor, babbling about his daughter and a phone call. Hughes knew all about the girlfriend and phone calls; the trace on his own stolen phone had revealed that Jasper Dent had called her the previous day, and she hadn’t told anyone.

Hughes didn’t relish the prospect of interrogating a broken-up, terrorized teenage girl in her hospital bed, but she’d been holding out on him, and he was sick of people holding out on him. No matter their age, sex, or medical status. He was prepared to use every trick in the book to break open that girl’s head and scoop out the secrets stored in there.

But then the father had grabbed him and dragged him to the room, and the girl was more than willing to crack her own skull and spill. Miracle of miracles, the lawyer-dad
(surely the most frightening combination of words
ever
) kept his yap shut and let the daughter talk. Her bruises were fading, and much of the swelling on her face had gone down. She was starting to look again like the pretty girl who’d surprised him at JFK.

Hughes pulled up a chair to listen as she recounted the conversation with one of the Dent siblings. No way to know at this point if it was Billy or Samantha, but Connie’s suspicion—which she wasn’t shy about offering—was that it had to have been Samantha.

“She used words like ‘verisimilitude.’ Her whole way of talking was distinct from Billy’s.”

More Patriot Act requests were in his immediate future. The phone on the other end was probably a burner, probably already smashed on the side of the highway somewhere, but he would make the effort. He might be able to pull some location data.

Not that he thought he needed it.
It’s time for everyone to come home, don’t you think?
That’s what the voice had said. That could mean only one thing: Billy Dent was heading back to Lobo’s Nod.

It’s the last place in the world anyone would think to look for him. No one would think he would be stupid enough to go where the people know him best. So of course, he makes a beeline for it, while we’re searching the rest of the goddamn planet for him. The guy’s a social-engineering savant
.

He made a mental note to put out a BOLO for Samantha Dent and to check all the usual law enforcement databases for her.

But first, he needed something else from the girlfriend.

“Connie, we need to talk about Jasper.”

She nodded contritely.

“He’s in a lot of trouble. And I know you think I want to put him down like a dog, but I swear to you: I just want to catch him before he hurts anyone else. Get the truth out of him, whatever it is.”

“He wouldn’t normally hurt anyone,” she said. “But it’s his mom. He’s convinced Billy’s going to kill her.”

“I get that. But that’s what I’m here for. The FBI. He needs to let us handle this.”

Connie’s lips quirked. “With all due respect, it took twenty years to catch him last time. And even then, it wasn’t you guys or the FBI. It was G. William.”

Hughes’s jaw tightened. “Yeah, well, I wasn’t a homicide cop twenty years ago, and Billy hadn’t come to New York yet.” He hated to admit that she was right—Billy had stood right in Hughes’s palm, right in his precinct, and then vanished before Hughes could clench his fist.

“We know Jasper called you here. We have a record of a call from my cell to this hospital, and the attendant at the switchboard says that call was routed to this room. What did you talk about?”

To his surprise, she told him, and he didn’t think she was leaving anything out.

“You think he’s going to kill his father?”

Clearly struggling, Connie eventually settled on a lopsided shrug that made her grimace. “I don’t know. I think he wants to. I think he thinks it’s his only option.” She wiped a
tear away. Hughes knew she was an actress, but he didn’t think she was
that
accomplished. “Can you help him? At all?”

“I have to find him first.”

On his way out of the hospital, Hughes used his borrowed cell phone to call the precinct. He caught Miller at his desk.

“I’ve got good news and bad news,” Miller said in such a way that Hughes knew even the good news wasn’t that good. He rubbed his temple.

“Tell me.”

“Well, we got your cell phone back.”

Hughes groaned. “He ditched it?”

“Yeah, that’s the bad news. Left it on the bus, got out at a rest stop, and never got back on.”

“And we
fell
for that?” Hughes roared. “We fell for that eighth-grade crap?”

“Hey, don’t blame me. I’m not the one who let the kid escape in the first place.”

Hughes allowed himself a brief, beautiful moment of fantasizing Miller covered with honey and fire ants.

“He went north to lure us that way. He’s really heading south.”

“That’s a big assumption,” Miller said. “He could have just dumped the phone and kept going.”

“No.” If Hughes could figure out that Billy was headed home, so could Jasper. Assuming they weren’t in cahoots all along. “Daddy’s heading home and so is Junior. It’s the only
thing he knows. The only thing he understands. He’s hurt and he’s going home. Montgomery was right—I’ve been overestimating him. He’s running home, like all scared kids do.”

“Well,” Miller said doubtfully, “okay. We’re canvassing the rest stop.”

“Don’t forget to pull video and credit card receipts.”

“Gosh, thanks for the reminder.” Miller’s voice overflowed with sarcasm.

Hughes ignored it. It was best for everyone that way. “And while you’re at it, run every possible database and trace for information on Samantha Dent.”

“And what are you doing while those of us who still have badges are running your errands?” Miller snarked.

Hughes ignored the jibe. Partly because he outranked Miller, but mostly because it still stung. “I’m headed out of town. I’ll clear it with Montgomery on my way to the airport.”

“Helluva time for a vacation, Lou. You gonna send me the paperwork I need for the Patriot Act?”

“Just tell the telecoms and credit card companies this is an ongoing terrorism investigation. Dent killed over a hundred people and his sister probably helped, so it’s no lie. They’ll help you without the paperwork. I’ll e-mail something over when I land.”

“Yessir.” Miller managed to inject several cc’s of sinister disrespect into the nominally respectful sign-off, but Hughes knew he would get the job done, anyway. Miller was a so-so detective, but a world-class paper pusher.

In the cab on the way to JFK, Hughes managed to book his flight. The idea of flying to Lobo’s Nod in the middle of Pennsyltuckessee or whatever the hell they called states down south wasn’t on his top-ten list of things to repeat, but even Montgomery agreed, when Hughes called him, that one or more Dents were most likely headed to Lobo’s Nod and that “someone on our side needs to be on the ground down there.” The last thing they wanted was for the feds to swoop in and snatch up the Dents. And like all good city cops, Hughes and Montgomery shared a mutual distrust of the competence of their rural brethren. That Tanner guy had caught Billy once, sure, but dumb luck bought you only so much respect.

Still, Hughes rationalized, he was going to be on the sheriff’s turf. It was only fair—and protocol—to let him know. Hughes was well within his rights and powers as a New York City detective to chase Billy Dent and Jasper Dent over state lines, but it was only polite to let the folks in South Bumweasel know he was coming.

He scrolled through his phone until he found the number Tanner had called him from before he’d been throttled by Jasper Dent. A woman answered far too perkily, “Lobo’s Nod Sheriff’s Office! Lana speaking. How may I help you?”

“I’d like to speak to Sheriff Tanner. This is Detective Louis Hughes calling from the NYPD.”

To her credit, the perky woman had Tanner on the phone almost immediately. From the static and background thrum, Hughes surmised that she’d patched the call through to Tanner’s car radio.

Quick reintroductions dealt with, Hughes dropped the
bomb: “We have reason to believe that Billy and his sister and/or Jasper may be headed back to Lobo’s Nod. So I’m on a flight out of New York in about an hour, and I plan on being in your town this evening.”

“I see.” Tanner spoke with a placid equability that no doubt belied his outrage. “Billy, I get. But Jasper… You sure about this? He’s still a suspect?”

“More than a suspect, Sheriff.”

“You got a warrant and all?”

“Sure do. Breaking and entering. Robbery. Assault. Battery. Assaulting a police officer, multiple counts.” He paused to let the big one sink in. “Wanted for questioning in connection with the murder of a federal agent.”

“You don’t think Jasper had anything to do with
that
, do you?”

“I’d like to ask him myself.”

“I’ve known that boy a long time, Detective.”

“Are you going to tell me that you don’t think it’s possible he did these things?”

To Tanner’s credit, he didn’t answer right away. “Let’s just say I think it’s unlikely.”

“I don’t want us to be at loggerheads, Sheriff. But the NYPD wants the son in addition to the father. If it makes you feel any better, I’m not happy about it, either.”

Skipping the issue of whether he felt better, Tanner said, “And I suppose the FBI will be joining us, too?”

“Depends on how persuasive they find the Hall girl’s testimony. But one of their agents is dead, so I imagine they’re going to want to cover all the bases.”

Tanner sighed a long, staticky sigh. “Hell. Just got those boys out of my town, now they’re comin’ back in.”

Hughes checked the time and the traffic flow. “Sheriff, I’m almost at the airport. Of course, once I land and get a rental car, I’ll check in at your office—”

“Don’t bother,” Tanner said. “Text me your flight info, and I’ll pick you up at the airport myself.”

After Hughes left, Connie sent her dad to scrounge something from the hospital vending machines, claiming a sudden jones for dark chocolate. Alone, she wondered if the tear had been too much. If she’d overdone it.

But she didn’t wonder long. Hughes, she knew, was her best hope to help Jazz. Hughes was the only tool she had at her disposal to catch him before he caught up to Billy.

Because if Jazz caught up to Billy, Connie knew only one of two outcomes would follow: Either Billy would kill his obstinate son for refusing to follow in his footsteps…

Or Jazz would kill Billy, thus cementing his transition to “the Crow King.”

Both were unacceptable. Better to have Jazz caught. Even if he ended up in jail. At least he would be safe.

At least he would still be whole.

“I’m so sorry, Jazz,” she whispered, and this time the tear wasn’t faked. “But even if you never want to speak to me again, at least you’ll be alive to hate me.”

When the hospital alarm went off, Erickson fumbled his phone into his pocket and was on his feet in seconds, one hand to his sidearm. The idea of drawing his weapon in a hospital, where it would be too easy to hit someone innocent or blow a hole in some crucial piece of lifesaving equipment, made him uneasy. But he was prepared to do it.

Billy Dent. They were right. He’s coming
.

Just then, two white-coated doctors and a trio of nurses burst into his vision from around a corner. One of them was the cute young nurse from before, but this time she wasn’t even looking at Erickson.

“Out of the way!” one of the doctors shouted. Erickson realized he was interposed between the doctor and the door to Mrs. Dent’s room. At the same time, he realized this wasn’t a security alarm.

He stepped aside, and the doctors and nurses rushed in. Erickson—one hand still on his gun’s grip; you never know—peered inside. Mrs. Dent’s EKG trembled a sine wave for a
moment before flatlining, its death whistle audible over the alarm from the nurses’ station. “Shut that down!” one of the doctors snapped, and Erickson’s favorite nurse flipped a switch. The room fell into a loud silence for a moment.

“What the hell?” someone complained. “Cardiac arrest?”

“She was
fine
—” the young nurse protested.

“Start CPR,” a doctor ordered. “Get a crash cart in here and intubate her.”

As Erickson watched, they fed a plastic tube down her throat. A doctor and nurse tag-teamed CPR: one performing chest compressions, the other breathing into Mrs. Dent with a handheld pump. Seconds stretched into protracted minutes, and Erickson was frozen at the door, his hand still poised at his gun, as though he could shoot and kill whatever threatened Mrs. Dent.

“Do we have her?” a nurse asked.

“I don’t know,” said a doctor. “She’s breathing again, but I don’t know. Let’s get her back to ICU.”

The young nurse headed to the door. Erickson grabbed her by the arm. He didn’t want to be rough, but he had to speak to her.

“Look,” he said, his voice low, “I’m going to have to tell them.”

She glared at him and shook his arm off. “I don’t have time for—wait, tell them
what
?”

He grimaced. He didn’t want to have to do this. But it would be unethical and probably illegal for him not to reveal what he knew. “I know you screwed up her IV. The other nurse told me.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She moved aside as the other medical professionals came through the door, pushing Mrs. Dent’s bed, shouting at one another. Before Erickson could say anything more, they were all gone, the cute nurse included.

Erickson stepped into the room after they left. It had been quiet the last time he’d been in here, but it was somehow even quieter now. Maybe if the old woman didn’t die, he could keep his mouth shut. It would be a shame for someone to get in trouble so young, so early in her career.…

On the way out, someone had knocked over the trash can. Erickson bent to right it. As he did so, he noticed something inside.

It was an IV bag.

He plucked it from the trash can and hefted it in his hand. It was full.

Oh, no
.

Yeah, someone was going to get in trouble. And it wasn’t going to be the cute nurse.

Erickson triggered his shoulder mic. “Erickson to dispatch. Lana, we got a problem at the hospital.…”