An Arm and a Leg (26 page)

So when Larry pushed a bulging laundry hamper out into the hall and closed the door behind him, Hector stepped out of his hiding place.

“¿
Qué pasa, Ese
?”

Larry spun around, his arms instinctively assuming a combative posture. Hector took a step back at the look on his friend’s face.

“What’s going on?” Hector lowered his voice to a whisper. “Are you in some kind of trouble?”

Larry pointed toward the laundry hamper. “They don’t make trouble any worse than I got. Mel and me had a tussle, now he’s dead, and I got to get rid of him.” Larry described what had happened.

“An accident,
amigo
. You got nothing to worry about. Besides, the world is a better place without
El Dedo
.”

“Yeah, but I was with him when he did something bad. I’ll go to prison for sure if the police find out about it and connect me with him.”

Hector patted Larry’s shoulder with one hand while he reached for the hamper with the other. “Let me take care of him for you.”

Larry gripped the hamper tighter. “I can’t let you get mixed up in this stuff, you having a family and all. If the police find out what you been doing, you could go to jail too. Then who’d take care of your little girl?”

Hector gently disconnected Larry’s hand from the laundry cart. “It would be a gift for you to allow me to dispose of this
cochino
. But what are you going to do?”

“I’m leaving town tonight, I got me a girl and we’re going to get married.”

“Congratulations, my friend. I wish you years of happiness.” A beatific smile on his face, Hector pushed the hamper with its grisly contents toward the cutting room.

****

When Larry returned to the lockup he was pushing a wheeled bucket of water from which jutted the wooden handle of a mop. He grinned shyly at Frankie and set to work mopping the floor.

After he’d scoured the Formica counter top, he replaced the scattered instruments. Then he pulled a can of aerosol room deodorizer out of a metal storage cabinet, aimed the nozzle into the air, and sprayed. The sweet fragrance of apples and cinnamon co-mingled with the stench of feces, urine, and vomit.

Frankie’s stomach heaved, and she retched again.

****

Deputy Judy Pritney sat at her desk and stared out the window of the sheriff’s office. Her right leg bounced up and down on the ball of her foot like a piston in an eighteen-wheeler going ninety miles per hour.

She pulled a pencil from among several kept in a wire mesh holder atop her desk and tapped it on the flat wood surface while chewing on her already-raw bottom lip. She studied her reflection in the polished surface of the thermal, stainless steel coffee mug her grandma had given her for Christmas a couple of years ago. The distorted, fun-house face glared back at her.

“What are you looking at?” she said to her image.

How had she managed to get herself so deep into this horrible mess? Stupidity, that’s how. But then, no one had ever accused her of being the brightest bulb in the neon sign of life.

Pritney scowled again at her reflection. Even after three years of working together in close proximity, Nick had never once looked at her the way he looked at Frankie O’Neil the first time he saw her.

Did he not know how she felt about him? He was such a good detective, how could he not have figured that out? She took such pains with her makeup and hairdo. She’d even taken to wearing perfume, and that was saying something. But Nick never even noticed.

Although Pritney didn’t have the delicate beauty of Frankie O’Neil, she’d always had her share of men panting after her. Always had them staring at her round, muscular ass and drooling.

But not Nick. No, he’d been blinded by that bouncy little church-organist bimbo, while Pritney had hated her on sight. It was more than her beauty, although that would have been sufficient reason. It was something about the way she dealt with the shit-sandwich life had handed her. Pritney would have railed against the heavens, cursed at the police and threatened lawsuits. She’d have taken to the streets, guns a-blazing.

But Perky-tits appeared to have taken all the crap in stride. She’d gritted her teeth and dug in her heels. And that had impressed the hell out of Nick.

Pritney couldn’t accuse her partner of any loss of professionalism and courtesy in his dealings with the O’Neil woman. Just the opposite. His behavior had always been completely appropriate. Everyone who knew him respected him.

He’d never made even one pass at Pritney. And that was the problem. No matter what she did, he’d always treated her like she was just one of the guys.

It was obvious to anyone in the room that Nick had loved that stuck up little O’Neil witch from the minute he first saw her in the Eagle Nest Café. It had shown in his eyes. Never mind that, as far as he knew, the little bitch might be a mass murderer.

But she wasn’t a mass murderer, was she? No, not her. Miss Priss had probably never even jaywalked.

What would Nick think of his partner if he found out what she’d been up to? He’d hate her, that’s what. He’d hate her and then arrest her. And rightly so.

Deputy Pritney sighed. She sat for several minutes, motionless, unseeing. Then she opened a desk drawer and pulled out a pen and notepad. For the next forty-five minutes she wrote.

When the letter was done to her satisfaction, she went through all the drawers in her desk. She removed her belongings, and put everything into the cloth tote bag she’d used to transport homemade bread to the office—another attempt to get Nick’s attention.

After unbuckling her belt, she placed it on top of her desk along with her side arm and shield. She propped the notepad against the terra-cotta colored coffee cup on Nick’s desk, placing it squarely in front of his chair so he’d see it first thing.

With a look of determination on her face, Pritney pulled her jacket and cap off the rack that stood in the corner by the front door. She zipped the jacket, tugged the knit cap over her head, and took one last look around the office.

Her gaze came to rest on Nick’s desk. Tentacles of emotion tugged at her heart as she studied the photo of a younger Nick and his now-dead father on horseback, herding cattle to pasture.

Two equally handsome men. Nick would age well.

But he wouldn’t be growing old with her. Nope, that was a done deal.

The civilian Judy Pritney took in a long breath and slowly let it out through pursed lips. She slung her purse over her shoulder, picked up her tote bag, opened the door and stepped out into the cold mountain air.

Chapter Thirty-Three

“It wasn’t me killed your brother,” Larry said to the still-bound Frankie. “I told Mel not to shoot. But like I said, he sometimes takes a notion and does things on his own.”

Frankie didn’t respond. The way Larry kept referring to them as a couple made her flesh crawl.

One litany of the many from Uncle Mike’s survival training ran through Frankie’s mind: survive, evade, resist, and escape. Keep your thinking in resistance mode, but do whatever is required to survive while looking for an opportunity to escape. And at least one opportunity will usually present itself. She just had to watch for it and be willing to do whatever it took to capitalize on it.

“I believe you, Larry.” Frankie carefully modulated her voice. There could be no patronizing, no false note to her words. If Larry thought she was manipulating him in any way, he might decide to leave her there.

Larry’s smile was shy. “I got plans.” He glanced at his watch. “Got to go.”

Frankie struggled to hold down the hysteria that kept creeping up her throat. “Larry please unbuckle my hands. Dr. Bellamy could come in at any minute.”

“He’s doing an amputation, so he’ll be a while. I got to go get the car, but I’ll be right back. I want us to be on the way out of town within the next half hour.”

“But I really need to clean up. I won’t feel comfortable until I do.”

“Plenty of time for that once we’re on the road.”

“Please…don’t leave me here.”

But Larry was already out the door.

The
shush
of the door closing behind Larry was immediately followed by a muffled thump. Frankie’s ears strained for other sounds, but when the noise was not repeated, she set to work on the partially loosened restraint.

Although most likely only a few seconds passed, it seemed several minutes before she could pull her right hand free. She shook off the leather strap and reached to unbuckle her left hand just as the door was pushed open and Dr. Bellamy entered.

“Brava.” Bellamy applauded in pseudo-adulation. “You had poor Larry eating out of your adorable little hand.”

Dressed in blood-spattered green surgical garb, Bellamy carried a small fire extinguisher to the counter. When he set it down, several drops of a thick red liquid dripped onto the counter top.

He turned toward Frankie, his eyes devoid of expression. “Don’t expect the lad to come to your rescue. Sadly, we had to dispose of your knight errant.”

Think the unthinkable
, Uncle Mike’s voice sounded in Frankie’s head.

If Bellamy would just move a few inches closer…

As if on cue, the doctor took a couple of steps toward the gurney. Like a coiled spring, Frankie’s hand shot toward the doctor’s crotch, her fingers poised to clamp down and twist with all her might. But the experiences of the past several hours had taken a toll on her speed and strength, and Bellamy recognized her intention before she could complete the move.

“No, no, no.” The doctor chuckled and danced backward. “Mustn’t hurt the visitors.” Bellamy grabbed Frankie’s wrist and forced her hand back down to her side.

She struggled, but he soon had her tightly buckled down again.

“We hate to mention it, dear, but you really do smell. Judging by the smears on the floor, Larry did at least try to clean you up before we arrived.” Bellamy compressed his lips. “Your meddling has cost us a great deal of energy. Energy put to better use helping people who are in need.”

“I may not know everything about what you do, but I know you’re not helping people.”

“You wouldn’t begin to understand. We take in people no one wants, people either without family or whose families can’t be bothered to see after them. We feed them and take care of their medical needs.”

“Right. You’re just a misunderstood philanthropist. I know better…I know about Esther Emory.”

Bellamy arched one eyebrow. “Sarcasm? Impolitic, in light of your current situation. You have no idea the kind of work to which we have dedicated our life.”

“I know you’re responsible for my brother’s death and for an attempt on my life. What you are is a liar and a delusional egomaniac.”

“My, my. So pompous.” He moved his face to within inches of Frankie’s. “Your dear, departed brother was heavily involved in our little side business. Was, in fact, happy to receive money from it.”

“Tim would never willingly be part of anything illegal or unethical.”

Bellamy shot Frankie a look filled with mock sympathy. “And now who’s delusional? When we approached Tim with the idea of selling the body parts surgical hospitals are required by law to dispose of, he was happy to become our partner.”

“You’re lying.”

“Really? Have you found his stash of money yet?”

Frankie’s face must have mirrored her reaction to those words, because Bellamy continued his onslaught.

“Where did you think he got it? You must have known he couldn’t possibly have saved that much from his paltry resident’s income.” Bellamy’s lips twisted in a sneer. “However, on to the issue at hand.”

The doctor walked to the counter and studied the instruments there. He moved the pieces around on the cloth pad upon which they lay. Metal clinked against metal as he sifted through them.

He made a
tsk-tsk
sound through his teeth. “All this disorder. We really must speak to the help.” He selected an instrument, returned to the gurney, and looked down his nose at Frankie. “We usually allow Mel to participate in matters of this nature. He’ll be disappointed when he learns what he missed, especially after what you did to his nose. But he is apparently off doing God-only-knows-what to God-only-knows-whom.” Bellamy turned the metal object over in his hands. “It’s probably just as well. His work is generally too messy for our taste. And we wouldn’t want to do anything to mar that lovely face.”

Frankie’s eyes opened wide.

Bellamy chuckled, a reflective look on his face. “We would have given a month’s income to see you in action. What did you use on him, a palm-heel strike to the nose? A straight-on punch? Perhaps a head-butt?” The doctor bent slightly and peered into Frankie’s face, as if looking through a microscope at some new-found species. “But now that we are aware of your apparent expertise in hand-to-hand, we’ll be doubly vigilant.”

Bellamy held his chosen instrument in front of Frankie, rotating it so she could see it from all angles. The gleaming silver metal thing consisted of a handle of the same type found on scissors at one end, and a drinking straw body that ended in tiny pincer jaws at the other. He worked the handle, opening and closing the razor sharp instrument like a hungry little mouth.

“This marvel of engineering is so small, yet can inflict such pain. Ever heard of what the ancient Chinese called the death of a thousand cuts? In this case, it would be a thousand tiny bites.” The doctor caressed Frankie’s lips with the cold metal. “Now, where shall we begin?”

Frankie looked directly into the man’s eyes. She’d regained her composure, and other than her tightly fisted hands, nothing indicated she’d heard his words.

“You are in possession of some things your suddenly-sanctimonious brother took from us.” Bellamy’s face reddened at Frankie’s continued silence. “Please do not waste our time denying it. We are aware that the police are in possession of the leg. But it means nothing without the accompanying documents. And according to our very reliable source, those are in your possession. You will tell us where to find them, or we will dissect you one millimeter at a time.”

Gorge rose in Frankie’s throat, and she swallowed. The resultant gulp was loud enough for Bellamy to hear, because he smiled.