old man, unless you want a bullet in your feeble brain right now.”
Dr. Hodges said, “Listen, you young fool, I’ve got two ex-wives spending all my money, and with a malpractice insurance company charging me more than the national debt and cutting back what they pay me every year, I haven’t got that much to look forward to. Why do you think I’m still here? I have to be here, to keep a roof over our three heads, three different roofs, three different heads. I’m the one living in a ratty apartment, not those two harpies.”
Savich heard Duvall laugh. He was distracted, perfect. He texted Sherlock, typed only “Now.” In the next second, earsplitting music erupted from bullhorn, a Sousa march, so loud it shook the building. He heard Duvall curse and run to the window.
Savich stepped back and ran full tilt at the wallboard, hit it at full speed. It buckled and splintered, and he burst through. “Duvall, drop the gun! Now!”
For a wild, confused instant, Gary Duvall didn’t know what was happening. He whirled around, saw a big man pointing a gun at him, and raised his Colt, but he wasn’t fast enough. He heard a shot and felt a sledgehammer slam into his shoulder. He screamed, felt his precious grandpappy’s Colt slip from his fingers as he sank to the floor. He lay there only a second, still aware enough to know he couldn’t let it end like this, couldn’t go back to Red Onion. He made a grab for his Colt.
A boot heel smashed down on his wrist, and he screamed again as he felt the bones crack.
It wasn’t Savich’s boot; it was Teddy Janko’s. His hands were still tied, but he’d managed to stumble to Duvall and kick down. Then Janko kicked Duvall’s Colt across the room, managing to keep his balance. He stood over Duvall, panting.
“Good going, Officer Janko,” Savich said.
Jenny Connors leaped up, her intentions as clear as water to Savich. She raised her foot, then slowly lowered it, blinked, and stepped back. “Sorry, I nearly lost it. I’d still like to put his lights out.”
Dr. Hodges said, a good deal of satisfaction in his voice, “Better not to smash him more, Jenny. I don’t want you killing the idiot.” He grinned big at Savich. “Whoever you are, that was one amazing rescue.”
“I’m Special Agent Dillon Savich, FBI. I must say it’s a relief to see all of you in one piece.”
Jenny turned to Savich. “Thank heavens you understood what I was saying about the Sheetrock. I wouldn’t care if you were the coffee maker repairman. Thank you. Now, Dr. Hodges, let’s get you and Officer Janko untied. I can put this bozo’s lights out later.”
Savich called Sherlock. “All clear. The hostages are fine. Get an ambulance here fast for Duvall. I had to shoot him in the shoulder to bring him down, and Officer Janko broke his wrist.”
They heard shouts and cheering from outside. Savich turned to Jenny Connors. “Yes, I understood what you meant. Along with the building plans, your information made all the difference.” He paused, then said, “Dr. Hodges, I think Jenny deserves a raise. Officer Janko, I’ll tell Chief Collette what you did here, maybe it’ll mitigate the butt-kicking he’s planning.”
Teddy Janko took a deep breath. “Thanks, I’ll probably need any good words you can say. But you know, I can tell him if I hadn’t seen Duvall, if I hadn’t come in, things might have turned out differently.” He gave Savich a huge smile and looked hopeful.
“Good luck with that,” Savich said.
51
ST. LUMIS
POLICE STATION
TUESDAY NIGHT
When Pippa stepped into the warmth of the St. Lumis police station, she saw Deputy Davie Hauck bundled in a heavy coat, handmade fingerless mittens on his hands, hunched over, talking on his cell. Davie looked up, punched off his cell, and waved. “Hello, Chief, Agent ma’am. I got a call from Mrs. Gilly about a varmint, probably a possum, raising a ruckus in her she-shed. She locked it in.” Davie lumbered to his feet. “I guess I gotta go see what’s what.” He walked toward the door, still hunched over in his coat.
Wilde said, humor in his voice, “Looking at Davie, you’d think the station was the North Pole.” He pointed to another older man, his brown uniform starched cardboard stiff, expertly twirling a pencil between his fingers. “Clem? This is Special Agent Cinelli, FBI. Clem’s my dispatcher. He’s very proud of his full name, right, Clem?”