TailSpin - Catherine Coulter [16]
A pale brow shot up, fingers hooked the wide belt over the bib overalls. “You gave me a lot more than I thought you would. Let me remark that the FBI doesn’t do things like fly planes to fetch a noncriminal citizen back to Washington, Agent Savich.”
Savich said, “Since Agent Crowne knows the family, it was personal.”
Sheriff Hollyfield said, “Why don’t you add that the main reason the feds are in this is because some very big, high-profile names are involved? What did this Dr. MacLean do to really piss off one of his high-roller patients?”
“Now that I can’t tell you.”
“All right, I’ll buy that for the moment. So we keep things even here, Agent Savich, let me tell you Dot—she’s Parlow’s other paramedic—told me about the downed search-and-rescue plane. She figured the pilot was from a law enforcement agency since they’re the ones who usually use those planes. She said the pilot was good, bringing the plane down in the valley. She should know—Dot’s a pilot herself, as well as a paramedic. She wondered why Agent Crowne was flying it since she hadn’t heard about any accidents.”
“I believe it was the only plane available.”
“So after they medevaced Dr. MacLean out, Dot examined the plane.”
Savich waited. He knew there wasn’t much left after it had exploded on the ground. He also knew he wasn’t going to like what the sheriff was about to tell him.
“Dot didn’t have the time or the expertise to do a thorough check, but from the look of what was left of the fuselage, it looked to her like the luggage compartment was blown outward by some sort of explosion, maybe a bomb. Seems like it didn’t work too well, since the plane wasn’t blown out of the sky. So, I’d appreciate it, Agent Savich, if you don’t try to pawn off the crash on some sort of a malfunction.” Sheriff Hollyfield was rocking back and forth on his toes. He was wearing galoshes, Savich saw, though very clean, thankfully, as if they’d been hosed down.
“Yes,” Savich said, “that’s what Agent Crowne thinks. We’ve got an expert coming to verify. If you wouldn’t mind keeping a deputy at the crash site to protect it until our people arrive.”
Sheriff Hollyfield nodded. “All right, then. You’ll keep me in the loop, Agent Savich?”
Savich nodded. You never knew when you were going to find good law enforcement, he thought as he shook the sheriff’s hand, thankfully as clean as his galoshes.
Savich looked over the scattered wreckage while Sheriff Hollyfield hooked up the tow to Rachael’s Charger. “Hard to imagine surviving that,” Sheriff Hollyfield said, straightening to look out over Cudlow Valley, his hand over his eyes to shade against the strong morning sun.
“Believe me, we are very grateful.”
Before the sheriff dropped him and Rachael’s duffel off at Monk’s Café, Savich said, “Could I come to your office a bit later, Sheriff, and use your landline to call the Franklin County Hospital? See how Dr. MacLean is doing?”
Sheriff Hollyfield nodded.
First Savich wanted to speak to Sherlock, see what she was doing with Rachael Abercrombie. He tried his cell again, but couldn’t get a signal. Mix mountains with the boondocks, and technology didn’t mean squat.
Monk’s Café was on Old Squaw Lane, a small skinny white building with an apartment on the second floor, sandwiched between May’s Cleaners and Clyde’s 24/7. It was kitty-corner from the Parlow Clinic on Rosy Bill Avenue.
Savich set Rachael’s duffel next to her on the seat.
“Thank you, Agent Savich. Where did you have my car towed?”
“We’ll talk about that in a moment.” Savich picked up a menu. “What’s good?”
A waitress with impossibly ink-black hair sprayed up in a cone walked briskly to their table, her bright yellow