Chapter 36
36
Jeremy’s heart had been lodged in his throat for the past thirty minutes. He and Pete had just wrapped up a report after speaking with Donna Grissley when Elizabeth Perez came sprinting into the DTF office.
“There’s a hostage situation at the hospital,” she said, breathless. “It’s happening in the morgue.”
Before she could utter another word, Jeremy was already out of his chair, racing for the exit with Pete close on his heels.
In the car, Pete gripped the wheel with white-knuckled intensity while Jeremy barked into his phone, getting updates from the first deputies on the scene. The news came fast and fragmented, ratcheting his anxiety higher with every passing second.
Colt, Elizabeth, John, Brad, Mark, Sam, and Aaron were on their way. Jeremy didn’t pause to consider whether this kind of response was overkill. His friends, seasoned detectives and officers, knew one thing—the woman he cared for was in danger.
The hospital was already in lockdown by the time they arrived. Jeremy and Pete flashed their badges to force their way through security, weaving through panicked staff and locked doors. He ignored the sideways glances, his focus laser-sharp on reaching the morgue. Updates continued to pour in, each worse than the last.
A shot had been fired. Someone was injured. Jeremy stumbled. Pete grabbed the back of his body armor and steadied him.
When they finally reached the reception area outside the morgue, a group of hospital security and deputies had already gathered, forming a tight perimeter. Jeremy spotted Officer Emilio Gomez, the sheriff’s department’s trained negotiator, standing near the doors. One of the early arriving deputies broke away to brief them.
“It’s Buford Grissley,” the deputy said. “A local minister from?—”
“Goddammit!” Jeremy swore, his frustration boiling over.
Pete cut in, his tone sharp. “We know who Buford Grissley is.”
The deputy nodded curtly and continued, “He’s got a gun. He’s already shot one man, but it looks like he’s letting a doctor take the injured guy out.”
Jeremy’s gaze snapped toward the wide doors leading into the autopsy lab. Through the glass, he recognized Dan Lyles, his movements purposeful as he guided someone toward the exit. Then he heard Cora’s voice—calm, steady, and composed. It came through the intercom, threading its way directly into his soul.
His knees almost gave out. Pete reached for him again, this time with a firm grip on his shoulder.
“Don’t,” Pete whispered. “Don’t say a word. Grissley’s on edge, and the last thing you want is to put Cora in more danger.”
Jeremy clenched his jaw, his chest heaving as he forced himself to breathe. Pete was right. The slightest misstep could shatter what little control Grissley had left.
The doors to the morgue pushed open, and a young man in a white coat emerged, dragging Carl. Blood soaked the man’s shoulder, but he was alive. Dan began working on him, and his years of experience in the ER showed his calm efficiency. Jeremy was grateful Dan was there, but he couldn’t shake the bone-deep need to storm in and protect Cora himself.
But he couldn’t. Not yet.
Amid the flurry of activity as Carl was treated, Jeremy edged closer to Gomez. Stepping into his line of sight, he mouthed, “Are we off auditory?”
Gomez glanced down at the intercom panel, then nodded. “We’re clear,” he murmured.
Jeremy took a steadying breath. “We know the intruder,” he said. “Pete and I were just finishing our report, preparing to go to the magistrate for a warrant when this happened.”
Gomez’s brows lifted. “What’s the situation?”
Pete jumped in, his words clipped and precise. “Grissley’s been selling prescription drugs on the black market. He convinces seniors to give up their pills, claiming it’s for a good cause—helping people who can’t afford medication.”
Gomez absorbed the information with a grim nod. “Why today?”
Jeremy continued, his voice tight. “We interviewed his wife earlier. He’s been depositing the drug money into a bank account under her name. She’s terrified of him but admitted she overheard him talking to one of the church members who found out what Grissley was doing. We think Grissley might have killed him to cover his tracks.”
Gomez’s face darkened. “He seems upset with the medical examiner. Any idea why?”
Jeremy froze, his professional facade fracturing. The words caught in his throat, his chest constricting painfully.
Pete stepped forward. “FYI, Cora Wadsworth, the ME, is involved with Jeremy,” he said bluntly, jerking his head toward his partner. “Cora’s autopsy work uncovered patterns that linked several cases to Grissley. It’s how we started piecing this together. But we don’t know why he’s targeting her today.”
Jeremy’s fists clenched at his sides. The thought of Cora being in Grissley’s crosshairs made it nearly impossible to think straight. He forced himself to focus, knowing the only way to protect her was to keep his head clear.
The ER personnel wheeled Carl out of the morgue area, and Jeremy’s gaze swung back to the negotiator. “She’s in there,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “And I need to get her out.”
“We’re doing our best,” Emilio said firmly. He placed a finger to his lips, signaling for silence, then flipped the intercom on again.
Cora’s voice came through, clear but carefully measured. “Pastor Grissley, I can see you’re upset. Please tell me what’s happened, and we’ll try to work something out.”
“I just preach to do good,” Buford replied, his voice trembling with conviction. “I preach to help others. That’s what I counsel when I visit people in need.”
“Yes… I’m sure you do,” Cora placated.
“I was visiting one of my flock. Her grandson from Norfolk was there, and I saw him take some pills. I confronted him, but he told me she’d never miss them. He said he knew someone who would pay for them.”
“So you started to do the same?” Cora asked, her voice gentle.
“People don’t understand… I have to eat, too.”
“Y… yes. Of course you do,” she replied.
“There have been months when everything the church took in went right back in to pay for the church… mortgage, electricity, insurance… but hardly none was left over for me to even get paid.” He huffed and swiped at his brow. “I looked at what that kid was doing… thought that if he could do it, then maybe God was telling me I should do that, too.”
“That you should take the medication prescribed to others?”
“He was right… They don’t miss them, and they’re old… some of them near meeting the Lord anyway.”
Jeremy watched through the window as Buford seemed almost confused, as though he was talking about someone other than himself.
“The more I took, the more it seemed the right thing to do. For the first time in my life, I had some money.” He hefted his shoulders. “I’d go visitin’ and told them that if they gave some of their medicine for the poor, God would reward them. They gave willingly,” he said as his defense.
“Okay,” Cora said again. Her tone remained calm, but Jeremy, standing just feet away, could hear the faint uncertainty lacing her words. She was holding it together, but for how long?
Jeremy turned to Emilio and Pete, his jaw set. “Let me talk to him.”
Emilio immediately shook his head but glanced toward Colt for confirmation. Jeremy lowered his voice, his tone firm but controlled. “I know why he’s here. I’m not going to set him off, but I understand some of what’s been happening. Let me try.”
Colt’s sharp gaze held his for a moment, weighing the risk. Finally, with a slight dip of his chin, Colt gave his approval.
Emilio stepped aside but remained close enough to intervene if necessary.
Jeremy moved forward, his heart hammering in his chest. He pressed the button on the intercom. “Pastor Grissley, this is Detective Jeremy Pickett.”
Through the small window in the door, Jeremy caught a glimpse of Buford. The man stood rigid, his face glistening with sweat as he gripped the gun tightly. Jeremy held his breath, waiting to see how Buford would react.
Buford’s head snapped toward the intercom. “Did you talk to my wife? Are you the one who got her to speak against me?”
Jeremy winced, exchanging a glance with Pete. He took a slow, steady breath and let it out before speaking. “Your wife is just trying to help. When you talk to the elderly in your community, you remind them of people who can’t afford prescription medications. You talk about how those who have can give to those who are in need by making sacrifices. You’ve even suggested they turn over their medication to you or Jed Harborrow, promising that their sacrifice would serve a greater good.”
“I take care of my people,” Buford snapped. “I take care of my flock. But people are leaving the churches… attendance is way down. We can barely afford to keep the lights on at the church. I had to do something to keep the church going. We needed money.”
Jeremy forced himself to remain calm, even as his pulse thundered. The last thing he wanted was to have a civil conversation with the man responsible for so much harm. But knowing Cora’s life might depend on his composure, he took another deep, steadying breath.
“I know this is upsetting, Pastor Grissley,” Jeremy said evenly. “But you need to let us help you. You don’t want to hurt anyone else. I’m going to step back now so our negotiator can talk to you. He’ll set it up so you can get out of this situation safely—without anyone else getting hurt.”
With that, Jeremy stepped aside, letting Emilio take over. His body felt taut with restrained energy, every nerve screaming to act. But he stayed rooted in place, knowing one false move could endanger Cora.
Jeremy edged closer to the door as Emilio’s steady voice filled the intercom. He kept his eyes on Buford, who had begun pacing back and forth, the gun still clutched in his hand. Jeremy’s stomach churned. He couldn’t see Cora. Was she still calm? Still safe? He clenched his fists, forcing himself to focus.
Finally, Emilio’s calm persistence paid off. Buford agreed to release one of the hostages.
“Janice,” Cora instructed gently, “walk very calmly to the door.”
Jeremy’s heart clenched. He wanted it to be Cora stepping out, safe and unharmed. But he knew her too well. She would never put herself ahead of her staff.
A faint shuffle caught his attention. He turned to see one of the State Police SWAT officers kneeling by the door, his weapon aimed and ready. Jeremy’s breath hitched. If Buford stayed in place when Janice stepped out, the SWAT officer would have a clean shot.
He glanced back at the door, his vision narrowing to the slight movement on the other side. He prayed silently, willing Cora to hold on just a little longer. They were so close.
The door opened, but Buford had stepped back out of sight. “Goddammit!” Jeremy groaned under his breath. He moved out of the way to allow Janice to slip through to safety.
Her face was pale, her wide eyes darting around nervously. She leaned toward the closest officer and whispered, “She has a scalpel.”
Jeremy’s brow furrowed. “What did you say?” he asked, stepping closer.
Pete’s hand clamped down on his shoulder, pulling him back. Jeremy spun around, ensuring the intercom wasn’t transmitting his voice into the room. When Emilio gave him a confirming nod, Janice repeated, “Cora has a scalpel in her hand. He doesn’t know she has it.”
“Does she have a plan?” Pete asked, his voice low and urgent.
Janice shook her head, her voice trembling. “No. Nothing was planned. We were in the middle of an autopsy when he burst in. She moved to the other side of the table, and when he pulled out the gun, she stepped back. I saw her hand moving along the edge of the table, searching. The scalpel was nearby, so I pushed it toward her.”
Jeremy felt a rush of gratitude for Janice’s quick thinking, but it was quickly overshadowed by unease. While he was glad Cora wasn’t entirely defenseless, a scalpel was little more than a last-ditch tool against a man having a full-blown breakdown—especially one armed with a gun.
Elizabeth stepped forward, taking Janice gently by the arm and guiding her out of the morgue. She returned moments later, her expression set and professional.
Emilio flipped the intercom back on, his voice calm and steady. “Pastor Grissley, thank you for letting Janice leave unharmed. We know you’re a good man who believes in the sanctity of life. We trust you wouldn’t want to hurt anyone else.”
Jeremy bit back a scoff at Emilio’s words, but Pete’s elbow jabbed him in the ribs. Jeremy shot him a glare, but Pete’s expression was clear: Let the negotiator do his job.
“Tell us why you’re here, Pastor Grissley,” Emilio encouraged. “Help us understand how we can assist you.”
Through the intercom, Buford’s voice wavered between defiance and despair. “I talked to Roy’s wife,” he said. “She told me the doctor here violated his body even though she didn’t want it to happen. That’s not right. But… I also know that’s how… how… some things were found out.”
Jeremy’s gut twisted at the implication. This wasn’t just about what he’d been doing. He was fucking unhinged.
“I understand, Pastor Grissley,” Emilio said, his voice even. “But we need you to put the weapon down. Let us come in and talk to you. No one’s here to hurt you. We just want to work this out.”
“This place isn’t right,” Buford said, his voice rising in agitation. “What she’s doing here… it isn’t right.”
“We’re not here to debate what happens in this hospital,” Emilio said firmly. “What matters right now is everyone’s safety—including yours. Put the gun down, and we can talk.”
There was a pause. Then finally, Buford said wearily, “Okay.”
Jeremy exhaled sharply, the weight on his chest lifting just slightly. If he’s willing to put the gun down, maybe this nightmare will end. He didn’t care what happened to Buford after that as long as Cora was safe.
“That’s a good first step,” Emilio said. “Now, all you need to do is lay the gun on the floor?—”
“No,” Buford interrupted, his voice tense. “Not yet. I want this woman to walk in front of me. I don’t trust that no one will try to hurt me.”
Jeremy’s fists clenched, his control slipping. Pete’s hand tightened on his shoulder, anchoring him. Jeremy glanced sideways and caught the steely expressions of Sam, Aaron, Mark, and Brad. They’d all been in similar situations and understood what he was going through. Their silent resolve gave him the strength to hold it together.
He edged closer to the window in the door. From this angle, he could see Cora standing with her hands clasped tightly in front of her. Buford loomed just behind her, the gun trained on her back.
“Officer Gomez?” Cora’s voice came through the intercom.
“Yes, Dr. Wadsworth,” Emilio replied, his tone unwavering.
“Pastor Grissley is behind me,” she said, her voice calm but laced with tension. “He’s asked me to walk toward the door. He wants assurance that no one will try to come in or harm him. He has the gun pointed at me.”
“I see you,” Emilio replied, his eyes trained on the window. “Just keep walking forward. The deputies are standing down. Pastor Grissley, as long as you don’t hurt Dr. Wadsworth, no one here will hurt you.”
Jeremy’s ability to breathe abandoned him as he watched her move. Step by step, she neared the door, Buford’s figure shadowing hers.
“We’re nearing the door,” Cora said, her voice trembling slightly.
Through the window, their eyes met. Jeremy’s heart clenched as her gaze widened in recognition. He tried to offer her a reassuring look, but he knew it probably came off more as a grimace. Hold on, Cora. Just a little longer.