Final Disposition (24 page)

*     *     *

      Fifteen minutes later, Cellars sat on a stool and glared at the back of Sutta’s head while Bucky carefully applied strips of surgical tape to the bandage affixed to his new wounds.

      “Well?” Cellars said after he’d watched the pathologist sit patiently at the nearby stainless steel table, moving his head back and forth for at least five minutes between what he thought looked like a pair of dissecting and polarizing microscopes.

      “Some kind of very dense and oddly refractive glass,” Sutta finally said as he got up from the table and walked back to Cellars with a small plastic pillbox in his hand and handed it to Cellars.

“I have glass fragments in my head … from an explosion?”

      “No,” Sutta said patiently, “you have some kind of
dense and oddly refractive
glass fragments in your head. I’m guessing that it’s a very unusually type of glass.  It may mean something.”

      “Like what?”

      “You’re the crime scene guy,” Sutta reminded.  “You get to figure that part of the puzzle out yourself.” 

CHAPTER 16

      It was eleven-oh-five in the morning by the time that Cellars managed to get back into Bauer’s patrol car, after having to spend a good five minutes trying to explain to the ever-helpful Bucky why she couldn’t lend him her car … mostly because she’d be actively abetting a guy who might or might not turn out to be a multiple felon, very possibly depending on how the rest of the day went.

      Humming to himself, Cellars drove the Crown Vic out of the Jasper County Morgue parking lot, got to the main road, made two more rights and then a left that put him on what a faded green sign claimed was a main Highway, and then drove for another ten minutes before he finally pulled the patrol car off the road.

      It had begun snowing again, and it took only a minute or so for the windshield to be completely covered by the bright white crystalline clumps.

      
Okay
, he thought as he reached down to Bauer’s heavy gun belt and turned on his portable radio,
here we go … possibly for all the marbles
.

      “Oregon-Nine-Sam-Three to OMAAR-Nine,” he spoke calmly into his collar mike.

      The response was immediate.

      “OMAAR-Nine to the individual posing as Sam-Three, be advised —”

      “This is OSP Detective-Sergeant Colin Cellars,” he interrupted the dispatcher.  “I am currently driving Sam-Three’s patrol unit, and using his call-sign because I don’t remember my own.”

      “Echo-one … is that you?”  The dispatcher’s voice was audibly disbelieving, even over the static.

      “Echo-One … Is that who I am?  Okay, good to know, I’ll use it from now on.”

      “Echo-One, turn on your vehicle communication system immediately so we can determine your position,” the dispatcher ordered.

      “Negative, OMAAR-Nine, I can’t do that right now.  I’ll explain why later.  Right now, I need to talk with Captain Talbert.  Can you patch me in to his location on —” he hesitated, thinking for a moment “— a private and encrypted frequency?”

      The dispatcher hesitated.

      
Come on, OMAAR-Nine, gotta help me here
, Cellars thought, wondering if he should be crossing his fingers,
can’t make this work all by myself
.

      Finally, after thirty long seconds, the dispatcher responded.

      “OMARR-Nine to Echo-One, switch your portable to channel thirteen.  You and Captain Talbert will have a secure and encrypted connection all to yourselves.”

      “Echo-One, copy.”

      Cellars reached down, pulled the portable radio out of his belt holster, examined the small screen for a few moments, re-set the radio to channel 13, re-holstered the radio, and then keyed his collar mike.

      “Ocean-Nine-Echo-One, calling Captain Talbert.”

      “Talbert here,” a vaguely familiar gruff voice responded immediately.

      
Just like Bauer and Sutta and Bucky, I know I’ve heard his voice before … just not when, why or how,
Cellars thought. 
So goddamned weird
.

      “Detective-Sergeant Colin Cellars, reporting in, sir.”

      There was a long pause.

      “You want to explain yourself, Cellars, starting with where you’ve been for the last six days — apparently not dead, as everyone around here, including me, thought.  And secondly, why you seem to be wanted by the U.S. Army for assault on a military police officer, and for theft of an official Army vehicle?  And finally, why you’ve apparently been driving around in Sergeant Bauer’s assigned vehicle and wearing his uniform for the past hour?”

      “Actually, it was two Army Humvee’s, but I gave the first one back to Sergeant MacGregor … right after I tasered and drugged him the second time,” Cellars corrected.

      “The second time?”

      “That’s right.”

      “And why, if you don’t mind my asking, would you do something like that?” Talbert asked in what Cellars thought was an amazingly calm voice for a Captain who had not long ago ordered his arrest.

      “Well, if you mean the tasering and drugging part, MacGregor was going to put me down with a flash-bang when he thought I wasn’t going to get out of the first Humvee.  That’s the one I gave back to him — actually left him inside it, unconscious — because it was almost out of diesel.  Which was why I lured him in to my position in the first place, so we could … uh … switch vehicles.”

      “Ah,” Talbert said noncommittally.  And then: “you want to start from the beginning, and work me though all of this slowly, or are we going to keep on playing twenty questions.”

        “No, sir … I mean, no, I’m not sure I
can
explain everything that’s been going on, sir, but I’ll try my best.”

      “I’ll settle for that,” Talbert said evenly.

      “But, before I do that, do you mind if I ask how Sergeant Bauer’s doing?”

      A pause.

      “He’s been in and out of consciousness since the EMTs picked him up, but he’s stable … and, according to the doctors, apparently doing as well as can be expected for a man with two broken legs and a severe concussion.”

      “I… I’m sorry to hear that his injuries were that severe.”

      “According to the doctors, his condition would undoubtedly be much worse right now if he hadn’t received immediate and professional care at the scene … specifically including that neck brace,” Talbert said.  “Any comment on how all that came about?”

      Cellars gave Talbert a quick summary of the events that had occurred after he and Bauer had walked out of the Good Egg Express.

      “The two men you left handcuffed to that blue truck, do you know either of them?”

      “No, I don’t … or at least I don’t think I do.”

      “You don’t
think
—?”

      “I assume they have something to do with the Reverend Slogaan,” Cellars said, “but I don’t know that for a fact.  They saw Bauer and me coming outside the restaurant when they were driving by, apparently recognized me, and then came after me with the truck.”

      “So Tom ... Sergeant Bauer wasn’t their target.  You’re sure about that?  They weren’t just going after a uniformed Oregon State Patrol Officer … and then happened to notice that you were there?”

      “No, I’m certain I was their primary target because they yelled out my name when they saw me while they were driving down the street, and I’m pretty sure that Bauer ending up in the path of their truck was just an accident.  But I’m still not clear on how they recognized me in the first place,” Cellars added.  “I’ve certainly never seen either one of them before … at least not that I remember.”

      “That part is fairly easy to explain,” Talbert said.  “We found a folded-up picture of you in the big guy’s jacket pocket — a Xeroxed™ blow-up of a head shot from the local paper.  The paper published an article on you a few days ago when we reported you missing and presumed dead.  We provided them with the photo.”

      “Ah.”

      “Getting back to these idiot associates of Reverend Slogaan,” Talbert said, “do you have any idea why they’d have that photo of you in their possession, and want to run into you with that truck … and then go after you with a baseball bat?”

      Cellars hesitated.  “Probably because they think I’m some kind of evil demon.”

      A long pause.

      “Being as specific as you possibly can,
Detective-Sergeant
,” Talbert finally said, putting clear emphasis on the last two words, “kindly explain to me why those two idiots — and presumably the Reverend Slogaan and the rest of his ilk — would think that you’re an evil
anything
?”

      
Christ, he should be yelling and ordering me to report to the station by now.  But, instead, he’s staying calm … listening to — and carefully evaluating — every word I’m saying … like he’s looking for some hidden meaning
, Cellars thought uneasily.

      “Well, specifically, starting from the beginning, as I know it —” Cellars went on to give Talbert basically the same edited summary of the last fifteen hours that he’d given Sutta.

      After Cellars finished talking, Talbert was silent for another thirty seconds.

      
If this is one of those interrogation games, he can forget it,
Cellars thought. 
I can wait as long as he can.

      But that didn’t seem to be the case, Cellars realized, because when Talbert spoke again, there was a distinct edge of amusement in his voice.

      “Are you telling me that you … shot at a shadow that was running toward the first Humvee you stole from MP Sergeant MacGregor, missed the shadow, and hit the Humvee?”

      “Yes sir, three times … in the left rear window pane.”

       Another long pause.  Cellars thought he heard a muffled choking sound.

      “You know, Cellars,” Talbert said when he finally came back over the radio, “I’m damn near just about ready to start believing in you again.”

      “Uh, I’m glad to hear that … I guess.”

      “Tell me, Sergeant, and this is a very serious question: is there anyone out there who can verify any part of the story you’ve just told me … especially the shooting part?”

      “Well, I’m not sure that I’d want Sergeants MacGregor and Harthburn as testimonial witnesses.”

      “No, based on what I’ve heard from — and about — them, so far, you definitely don’t want them anywhere near your side, verbally or physically,” Talbert agreed.  “Best to stay the hell away from them, if you can, until we can get your situation with the Army resolved.”

      “I don’t know about the doctors at the clinic either.  They were pretty secretive about what I was doing there.  But the nurse — Lisa Marcini — would probably vouch for me, at least up until the point where I bailed out on her, stole her Taser® and drugs, and then … uh … engaged with MacGregor and Harthburn.”

      “Anyone else?”

      “My impression of Eleanor Patterson and Ace Bellringer is that they’re both nut cases who feed off of each other’s delusions.  I’m not sure I’d believe anything they said, even if it did help my case,” Cellars said after a moment.

      “We’ll skip them too,” Talbert agreed.

      “The waitress at Sheri’s would probably back up my story about the old man, but she doesn’t know he’s dead, so that would probably freak her out … and the waitress at the Good Egg Express probably isn’t going to be real pleased when she finds out about the shooting in her parking lot.  So I guess that just leaves Dr. Elliott Sutta and Bucky and —”

      “I’ve already talked with Dr. Sutta.  He called a few minutes after you left the mortuary.  Among many other interesting observations, he seems to think your claimed loss of personal memories may be genuine.  And I‘m supposed to tell you that you owe him another bottle of expensive wine.  He didn’t say why.”

      “Good, I’m glad he called,” Cellars said, smiling, “I didn’t want those two getting into trouble over not reporting my visit there this morning.  So now we’re down to Tillman and —”

      “Tillman?  Ann Tillman?  Special administrative assistant to Senator Mariott?”

      “That’s right,” Cellars nodded.

      “What the hell does
she
have to do with all of this?”

      “Sorry, I forgot to mention that I stopped by her office to ask about some secret federal government investigation the Army is supposedly running on the Bancoo Indian Reservation.  She mentioned it when she called in —”

      “This isn’t something we can talk about over the radio,” Talbert interrupted.

      “I thought this was supposed to be a secured and encrypted channel?”

      Talbert was silent for another fifteen seconds, then:  “The fact that I may think our radio systems are secure doesn’t necessarily mean shit these days.  You and I need to talk, in person, face to face.”

      “What … you want me to come in to the station?”

      “No, I absolutely do not want you to come to the station.  We’ve had a group of Reverend Slogaan’s idiots and a countering group of the Alliance of Believers fruitcakes parading around outside the station — waving signs and chanting at each other — for the past hour.  No one’s stepped over the line yet, and given me an excuse to arrest their asses; but if you show up, we’ll have a fucking riot on our hands.  We have to meet somewhere else.”

      “But if you and I meet up face to face, what’s to prevent you from just taking me into custody — like you tried to do with Sergeant Bauer — only this time with a lot more cops?”

      Talbert started to say something, and then hesitated.

      “You do understand, I hope, that my immediate inclination is to tell you to get your ass over to wherever I want you to go, because I’m your commanding officer?”

      “I … understand that, sir,” Cellars agreed.  “And if I had any way to be absolutely sure who I’m talking with, I’d be there — wherever it is you want me to be — as soon as I could possibly be there.”