Chapter 4
Naturally, chaos erupted.
Sirens filled the air.
Which was good, of course, because that meant emergency rescue services were already on the scene.
By the time Grant, Shelly, and Perry joined other law enforcement who had witnessed the crash or emerged from the station just before them, an ambulance was parked by the crumpled car, and EMTs and firefighters were working to open the car door and help the man behind the wheel.
He received nods from the men and women working fire rescue; there were many occasions when they’d all arrived at the same scene.
Perry stopped to talk with the man who appeared to be in charge of the operation, someone Grant actually hadn’t worked with before.
At his side, Shelly asked softly, “Could the man have survived this? He spoke about his mistakes and said he’d never have hurt anyone—and I believed him! And the way that this happened …”
Her voice trailed.
Grant knew exactly what she meant.
“No skid marks,” he commented, knowing they had both studied the road.
“I so pray that he’s alive. Grant, he didn’t do this. He wasn’t suicidal,” Shelly said. “He may have been a swindler, but I don’t believe he was a murderer.”
“No, he wasn’t suicidal. We both see that no attempt was made to stop the car. He went straight into the pole.”
“Someone wanted it to look like suicide.”
“Right. And neither of us believe that. I’d bet big money on the fact someone tampered with his brakes or did something with the car’s mechanism.”
“The jaws of life,” Shelly murmured.
Rescue workers had the door off the car; a determined young medical technician was checking on the man behind the wheel.
Cecil Cartwright. CEO of Gen-Zec. A man who could appear to be guilty of any evil done to George Maynard.
His head was smashed into the wheel. The best seat belt in the world probably wouldn’t have prevented that from happening since the entire front of the car had collapsed. The body of the vehicle had literally created something of a horseshoe around the sagging metal pole.
Grant realized he knew the young woman who was one of the EMTs. Her name was Greta Hall, and he’d worked with her once when they’d managed to save a young woman from an overdose of tainted cocaine.
Now that she could reach him, she was carefully examining Cecil Cartwright.
“Need help!” she called.
Grant wasn’t with fire rescue, but he was closer than the two med techs with her who had been waiting behind the line for the car door to be removed.
“Can I do anything?” he asked. “Is he—”
“Grant! Yes, he’s alive. Yes, just barely.
I want to do this quickly. I have medical help here, but …
I just need you to create a shield for me; I’m going to give him a collar.
He’s probably got a hell of a concussion going.
His pulse is there, but very weak. I don’t need a professional to help me keep more glass from getting all over the man.
My guys will be here then to get him out of the car. ”
He knew exactly what she wanted. He ripped off his jacket and held it so that she could get the collar around the man’s neck.
By that time, two other rescue workers were with her, and Grant stepped back.
“Thanks, sir,” one of them said.
“Glad to assist,” he murmured. He headed back to where Shelly was standing, perhaps five feet from the car.
“He’s alive?” she asked anxiously.
“Barely. But at this moment, he’s alive.”
“If only he can stay that way.”
“I know that EMT, and she’s working with good people, I’m certain. They’ll get him to the hospital.”
The three medical personnel already had the man on a stretcher; they were carefully rolling the gurney carrying him to the waiting ambulance.
“Shelly, hold on; I want to talk to Perry. I want officers or agents on him at all times. I’m certain someone tried to kill him,” Grant said.
“I agree a hundred percent,” Shelly said. “And he needs to stay alive, if only medical miracles can keep him that way. Hey, my mother always said that where there was breath, there was a chance. And yet he’d have no chance if whoever did this should make it into a hospital and reach his side.”
Grant nodded. “Be right back.”
He hurried over to Perry. Perry gave him a nod.
They’d been friends forever. He didn’t need to speak.
“Don’t worry,” Perry told him. “Two Florida agents, Trisha Starling and Ben Mabry, are there, by the ambulance. I would trust them with my own life. They’ll ride with him, and they won’t leave his side.
I’m going to tie up a few things in my office, and I’ll do my share of guard duty and hope desperately that he makes it! ”
“We’ll be along, too. But Perry, one more thing. I want the car first. Before it’s towed anywhere. Even before your forensic department moves in. Don’t worry; I swear I’ll be careful. I always have gloves.”
“You want the car—”
Grant hadn’t realized Shelly had joined him until he heard her speak.
“We’re going to look for a curse tablet,” she told him.
“In the car?” Perry asked, somewhat surprised.
“You bet,” Shelly told him.
Perry looked at Grant. He hoped Shelly didn’t think that he was disrespecting her position in their team. Perry was looking at him just because they had known each other forever.
Grant nodded, making it clear he agreed with his new partner. “There’s something behind all this. First, there must be cameras in front of your station—”
“Of course there are!” Perry said, shaking his head.
“They’re looking over the footage now with fine-tooth combs.
But Cartwright’s auto was right in front the entire time he was here, waiting for us, talking to us.
I’m sure we’ll discover nothing was done to his car in front of this place, where anyone would know that we have video surveillance! ”
“They didn’t do anything to his car here,” Shelly said. “I don’t think he was even intended to crash here. But I’d bet big money on the fact we’ll discover that someone did tamper with his brakes, and he had no control of his car whatsoever when he went plowing into that pole.”
“I believe you’re right,” Perry assured her. “All right. Cartwright is alive. Just barely. I’m running back in to tie up and grab a few things, and then I’m heading to the hospital. If someone was trying to kill him—which we believe to be true—we need to protect him with our blood and bone.”
“Agreed,” Grant said. “You get moving. Shelly and I will search the car.”
Perry turned and left them.
“You really think we can find a curse stone?” Grant asked Shelly.
“Tablet,” she corrected softly. “I know, I say ‘stone,’ too, because we found a stone. But this time, we’re going to find a curse written on lead.
Grant, Cartwright didn’t do it. He didn’t kill—or kidnap—George Maynard.
Nor did he pay to have it done. This was supposed to look like a suicide; we’re not supposed to find the tablet.
We’re going to be left wondering what the truth might be while thinking that, in this case, Cartwright was guilty.
And because he was guilty, with his life already going to hell and law enforcement questioning him, he decided that suicide was his best option. ”
“Front or back?” Grant asked.
“What?” she asked, looking at him quizzically.
He laughed. “Front seat or back. Where do you want to start?”
“With gloves, of course,” she said dryly. “Back?”
“I’ll take the front. Not sure, but my dad spent years fixing up an old Charger, so I may be able to be a bit more careful about touching any mechanisms forensics will be checking on the car.”
“Ah, and how do you know I didn’t spend half my life working on a vintage Mustang?” she crossed.
“You did?”
She laughed softly. “Not exactly. I didn’t like getting oil all over me, but, yeah, my dad had a vintage Mustang. But on this, you take the front. That way, if we do mess anything up before the forensic crew moves in, it can be your fault!”
“Thanks. I think.”
He grinned, and they headed straight to the car. The front was crashed in badly, but the “jaws of life” had removed the front door, so he was able to slide into the seat.
He went with the obvious firsts—the center console and then the glove compartment in front of the passenger’s seat.
Nothing except the usual: a flashlight, owner’s manual, and a few tools in the one; restaurant coupons, store receipts, some single bills, and a worn paperback novel in the other.
He was beginning to wonder if they were both crazy. Just as George Maynard might have accrued a zillion enemies, there were now hundreds of people—if not thousands or even hundreds of thousands—out there who had been cheated by Gen-Zec.
But they hadn’t been cheated out of their lives’ savings; the Gen-Zec machine had made its money by charging many, many people relatively small amounts of money. For most people, that was something to be angry about—but certainly not angry enough to kill.
He thought about Rome.
And a man who had confessed to murder and then committed suicide.
But Grant knew the dead man hadn’t been the killer.
No. He had been a scapegoat. Someone who had confessed in fear for his loved ones.
And now …
Now it appeared that Cecil Cartwright was supposed to have died.
A man who was obviously a suspect in the murder or disappearance of George Maynard.
But Grant didn’t believe Cartwright was guilty. If they had any luck, the man wouldn’t die.
He looked at the seats, under the mats, and all around the seat mechanisms. Nothing. The man kept his car clean, but there was shattered glass everywhere, making it important to be careful with every move. He was so focused on the task he almost forgot that Shelly was behind him.
Until she called out.
“Got it!”
“What?” Grant twisted around to look at her through the break in the front bucket seats.
“It wasn’t just in a back pocket—”
“No. Someone very carefully slit the seam toward the top of the back passenger’s seat right behind the driver’s seat. And Grant! This one is lead!”
“Be careful—”
“Grant! You’re the one who handed me gloves!” she reminded him.