The Edge

Chapter Twelve

Mac. It's time for you to wake up. Come on now, you can do it."

I didn't want to move. I didn't want to open my eyes. The voice came again, low and insistent. I recognized that twangy voice vaguely, and I hated it. It made my head ache. Finally, I managed to get words out of my mouth. I said, "Go away."

Twangy Voice said, "No can do, Mac. Open your eyes. Let me see that you're alive."

"Of course I'm alive," I said, pissed now, wishing I could lift my arm and punch the voice out. "Just leave me the hell alone."

I heard the man speaking to someone else. "Slap his cheeks," a woman said. It was Mrs. Himmel.

Smack the man-that was a woman for you. "No," I said. "Don't hit me."

"He's coming around," Twangy Voice said, and I swear I could feel his breath on my skin. Skin? What did that mean? I felt something cold touch my bare chest. I didn't have my shirt on. How did that happen?

"Vitals are stable," another man said. I didn't recognize his voice at all. "Yeah, he's coming back now."

It pissed me off even more that this damned stranger would stick his oar in.

"Mind your own business," I said. "Nobody asked you."

Twangy Voice chuckled. "It will take him awhile to get back to normal. Just give him a few more minutes.

He's coming out of it just fine."

"Yes," I said. "Go away." Then I opened my eyes and stared up at Dr. Sam Coates, Jilly's doctor, Mr.

Twangy Voice.

"Ah." he said, smiling down at me. "You're back. Can you understand me, Mac?"

"Yes, I can understand you. What's going on? What are you doing here? Where's my shirt?"

"It seems you managed to drive nearly into the Emergency Room itself before you collapsed. You smashed down the horn with your forehead. There were a dozen nurses, orderlies, security, patients, and doctors with you within two seconds."

I remembered the loud noise. The horn blasting in my ear. "I've been pushing too hard, haven't I? My body's angry at me and finally just shut down?"

"Paul told us you'd been in a terrorist attack out of the country, and in the hospital until very recently. But no, this had nothing to do with any relapse. Actually, you had a high level of phenobarbital in your system. You've been out of it for about three hours now. Once we guessed the problem, we began treating you, but this kind of thing takes time. You're going to feel groggy for a while."

I thought about the likely treatment and nearly turned green. "Tell me you didn't pump my stomach. I saw that done once and nearly puked."

"Sorry, Mac, we had to. We didn't have a choice. But hey, you were unconscious. We also put some activated charcoal in your stomach. There's still some flecks of black above your mouth and a bit dried on your chest. Pretty gross, but it soaks up all the poison. Don't worry about the IV and the oxygen.

That's just in case something goes wrong. We'll keep them in for a while longer. Does your throat hurt?"

It did hurt. I nodded. My brain was finally kicking in again. "I was drugged, you said? With phenobarbital?"

"Yes. No one's suggested yet that you were trying to kill yourself. Who gave you the drug, Mac?"

I looked up at Dr. Coates, then over at Mrs. Himmel, whose face was shocked and still, and at a man I didn't know. "Well, damn," I said.

A few seconds later, Dr. Coates knew I was very much awake because I had his wrist in a vise as I said, "This is important. The cops need to get to Laura Scott's house in Salem. That's where I was this morning. She may have tried to kill me."

Dr. Coates wasn't a young man, but he could move fast. He was out of the room in a flash. Mrs. Himmel patted my hand. "You'll be all right now, Mac. Oh, this is Dr. Greenfield, he's the one you told not to butt in."

I looked at a skinny older guy who wore a thick black beard and sported a green and white dotted bow tie. "I'm alive," I said. "Thanks."

He said, "Your body's still not fully recovered. That must have been some terrorist, er, incident."

"Yeah, an incident."

"You're young and strong, Mr. MacDougal. You'll pull through this just fine. I'll leave you in good hands."

He turned on his heel, gave Mrs. Himmel a little salute, and left.

"He's our resident guru," Mrs. Himmel said. "Now you just rest, Mr. MacDougal. Why would this woman try to kill you?"

"I don't know. I drove to Salem early this morning to speak to her. I'd like to think she had something to do with Jilly's leaving the hospital last night, but I didn't find out anything. I drank her coffee, then got really tired. I left." I wanted to cry or howl, I didn't know which. How could I have been so wrong about her?

"You almost didn't make it back, Mac," Dr. Coates said, coming back into the hospital room. "Why didn't you just pull over and go to sleep?"

"I didn't think of doing that, for some reason. I just thought about getting back. I guess I was blurry because stopping wasn't an option in my mind."

"Well, you made it back. Some of that road you were driving is tricky enough when you're not drugged to the gills."

"A truck nearly got me and the adrenaline surge bolstered me up for a few minutes. I was singing, shouting, anything to keep myself awake. I just couldn't go over a cliff in the car, like Jilly. I had to make it back." I drew a deep breath. "All right, what about Laura Scott?"

"Detective Minton Castanga will get back to us as soon as they get to her house and find out what's going on. I got him when I mentioned the words attempted murder and FBI agent all in the same breath."

"She could be long gone. If she wanted to kill me I don't think she'd hang around." Then I thought that if Laura had done it, she'd go to prison. I wondered: In prison for what? What has she done? It had to be something bad enough to make her believe she had to kill me.

Dr. Coates said, "As to that, there's no way to know if her intent was to kill you, unless she's caught and admits to it. You had a butt-load of the drug on board, but you probably would have survived the dose even without us. Your blood level was never that high, and you were never really unstable. They'll have to find her and see what she says."

I shook my head as I said, "I just don't think they're going to find her. She's a very smart lady. She won't be there and they're not going to catch her."

Dr. Coates listened to my chest again and Mrs. Himmel took my blood pressure. Then he said, "Oh, I nearly forgot. Dr. Paul Bartlett was here, pacing and upset, until finally we got him to go home. I'll call him and he can bring back the sheriff and some of your other friends who were trying to pile into your room. Maggie did tell me she was going to call the FBI and tell them what happened."

"Oh, no," I said. "I don't suppose you tried to talk her out of that?"

If Maggie did call the FBI, she would have gotten my supervisor, Big Carl Bardolino. I looked at the phone beside my bed. I didn't see much choice now. I made the damned phone call and got put on hold by his secretary. Big Carl was a man I respected, a twenty-five-year veteran, a canny team player but not a yes-man, and I really didn't want to talk to him about this.

"Yeah? Is this you, Mac? What the hell's going on? I get this call from a sheriff out there in boondocks U.S.A. telling- me about your getting yourself poisoned."

"Yes, sir, that's why I'm calling. I wanted to let you know that I'm fine. The local cops are on it. No need to worry."

"Damnation, you got yourself involved with a woman, didn't you? How many times have I told you young people that you've got to be careful about letting your hormones go on a rampage and getting you compromised. Or should I say poisoned?"

"Yes, sir, you've told all of us that at least half a dozen times. That isn't exactly what happened."

"Yeah, right. I can hear the truthfulness in your voice. You're a lousy liar, Mac. How many times have I told all of you that only vigilance conquers lust?"

"At least half a dozen times."

"Right. And none of you ever listens. I'm fifty-three years old, thankfully beyond all that sort of thing, but you're not. You're supposed to be on leave. You're supposed to be taking care of yourself, not getting poisoned. How are you feeling? How's your sister?"

"Well, she was in an accident and she's okay, but she's out of the hospital right now, and I'm not sure just where she is. I'm sorry the sheriff called you. I really don't think the drug I took was meant for me. There really wasn't any need to call you."

"Mac, I'm going to ream you if you get yourself hurt, you understand me? The FBI is a team, not a bunch of hotdoggers doing their own thing."

"I understand, sir. I'm not hotdogging. This is all about my sister, and where she's gone. It's not an official investigation. I'd appreciate it if you'd let me deal with it for now. I don't see any need to call in the cavalry."

He grunted. Finally, after I knew he'd chewed his unlit cigar nearly through, he said, "You will keep in touch with me, you understand?"

"Yes, sir. I understand."

I was so thankful I fell asleep, the oxygen still up my nose and the IV still dripping into my arm.

I woke up to see another man I didn't know staring down at me. His expression was thoughtful, and his long fingers stroked over his clean-shaven jaw. He had light hair, a narrow nose, and an obstinate look.

He was dapper, no other way to say it, from his French-cuffed white shirt to his highly polished Italian loafers. I put him at about forty, on the lean side, probably a runner, with smart, dark eyes that had seen more than their share of the world. He didn't look at all like a doctor.

When he saw that I was back among the living, he said quietly, in a lazy drawl that shrieked Alabama, "I'm Detective Minton Castanga from the Salem Police Department. I understand that your name is Ford Mac-Dougal and you're an FBI agent here to find your now-missing sister.'

"That's it exactly."

"Well, not all of it. You're flat on your back because someone laced your coffee with phenobarbital."

"Laura Scott," I said. "Did you find her?"

"Oh, yes, I was at her condo within ten minutes of Dr. Coates's phone call. However, she didn't tell us a thing."

"She's very smart. I doubted you would find her."

"You don't understand, Agent MacDougal. Laura Scott was lying unconscious on the floor of her living room, a huge cat curled up on her back and a mynah bird squawking on the seat of a chair just a foot from her head.

I couldn't take it in. "No," I said, struggling up to my elbows. "She's not dead. She isn't dead, is she?"

He cocked his head to the side, and I could nearly see his mental wheels turning. "No, no, she's not dead. She's at Salem General Community Hospital. They're still working on her, lavaging her stomach, the whole bit you went through with the nasogastric tube, the oxygen up the nose, and the rest. They said she's going to make it.

"So, Agent MacDougal, she gave you coffee, you drank it, and she drank it as well, in front of you?"

"Yes." I thought back. "She had only about a half a cup, at least while I was there. I got more of the phenobarbital than she did. I drank two cups."

"Was anyone else there in the condo? Or was it just the two of you?"

"No, no one else that I saw. Just me, the bird, the cat, and Laura."

"One of two possibilities, then," he said, smiling down at me. It was a smile filled with irony and a good deal of understanding. "Someone wanted both of you dead, which doesn't ring true unless that person knew you were going to visit her."

"I didn't tell anyone I was going to visit her."

"All right then. It appears that you were an accident and it was Ms. Scott they were after."

"But who would want to kill Laura?" Saying the words made me crazy with worry, and guilt. Because I'd blamed her.

"Not a clue yet. We have to wait to talk to her. You don't think she did try to kill you and then gave herself just a bit of the drug to fool us?"

"No," I said. "Absolutely not. Now that I've got my brain back in gear, I realize there was no reason for her to try to kill me. As far as I know she isn't guilty of a thing. Don't get me wrong, Detective, there's lots of stuff going on here, stuff I haven't figured out yet. My sister, primarily. Why she went off a cliff and now has vanished. I know she believed that Laura betrayed her. She didn't want to see her. Perhaps she was even afraid of Laura. Or was that a lie? No matter how I slice it though, there's no reason why Laura would try to kill me."

"Maybe you were getting too close-to something, Agent MacDougal." I heard the tinny ring of a cell phone. He excused himself and walked over to the windows. He pulled a small cell phone out of his jacket pocket and spoke quietly.

I couldn't just lie there like a piece of meat, just like I had back in Bethesda for more than two weeks.

Slowly, I slid my legs over the side of the bed. They'd left me stark naked. I looked around for anything to put around me.

Detective Castanga said from behind me, "Ms. Scott is waking up. Oh, yes, I had my forensics folk check over her condo. They found a bottle of phenobarbital in the medicine cabinet of the second bathroom. It didn't have many pills left in it. It was prescribed to a George Grafton, and expired at least a year ago."

George Grafton had been her uncle George who'd left her the condo in his will. But how did it get in the coffee?

I said it aloud. "Laura isn't stupid. The more I think about it, the more certain I am that someone else did it. And whoever did it meant for Laura to die, just like you said."

I stood slowly as I spoke, bringing the sheet and thin hospital blanket with me and wrapping them around my waist.

"Was Ms. Scott expecting anyone else to come see her?"

"Not that I know of."

"I'm going to speak to Laura Scott, Agent MacDougal, but first I want you to fill me in on everything so I don't have to start all over."

I told him everything I'd heard, everything I'd verified and realized that there was precious little. For an attempted murder investigation, the tangible, solid facts in my pocket were pitifully few. "Bottom line, the first crime I can point to for certain is what just happened."

Detective Castanga jotted some notes and asked a few questions, but mainly he just listened to me. I could feel the weight of his attention. He was good. He was just putting his notebook into his pocket when 1 heard a sharp indrawn breath from the doorway.

I looked up to see Maggie Sheffield in her sheriff's uniform. She wasn't looking at me. She was staring at Detective Minton Castanga.

"Hello, Margaret," Detective Castanga said, taking a step toward her. He stopped cold at the look of mean dislike on her face, obvious even to me. "I wondered if I'd see you here."

"Of course I'm here," Maggie said. "I'm the damned sheriff. Where else would I be? The question is, what are you doing here?"

"We found Laura Scott on the floor of her living room, doped with phenobarbital, just like Agent MacDougal here. You're looking well, Margaret."

"Yes. So are you. Mint."

Mint? Margaret? What was this all about? "You two know each other?"

Maggie Sheffield turned to face me as I stood beside my bed, a sheet and a single blanket knotted around my waist. "Hi, Mac. You've still got some impressive battle scars. You steady on your feet now?"

"I don't know about how steady my feet are, but at least they're holding me up."

Detective Minton Castanga finally answered my question, as he gave Maggie a long, cool look.

"Margaret was my wife at one time, Agent MacDougal."