Chapter 8: Tales from the Clinic
Scarsdale, 6 p.m.
“This place’s burgers look pretty good.”
At the entrance of a small-town fast food joint, Mona returned to the car with her burger and soda, handing half to Roan as she spoke between bites, “What’s our next move?”
Roan had led Mona straight to the breakthrough that afternoon, and his performance in tracking down the killer had firmly established him as the leader of their duo. Mona now naturally deferred to him when in doubt.
Taking a hearty bite of his burger and washing it down with a long swig of cola, Roan started the car and turned the wheel. “I called August earlier. He’s sent Conrad Cutler’s information to every police precinct in the New York area. The wanted notice is already out.”
“Good!” Mona’s eyes sparkled. Tilting her head, she asked, “How much is the bounty?”
“Five thousand dollars. But August is already on his way here with a SWAT team.”
At the mention of SWAT, Mona’s excitement faded quickly. “If they catch him before us, the money…”
“It won’t have anything to do with us,” Roan finished off his burger, drained the last of his soda, and pulled the SUV onto the main road. “That’s why we need to catch Conrad before they get here!”
“Wait a second, Roan.” Mona, having finished her food, picked up her laptop. Her sharp intellect switched gears as she turned to Roan, a trace of worry in her voice. “Even if we find Conrad, the two of us probably can’t take him down alone, right? According to the files, Conrad is a highly experienced soldier… Like you said before, I don’t want to risk my neck before we even see a cent.”
“If we catch the killer and solve the case, we’ll get fifty grand from the New York Press Association, plus the five-thousand-dollar bounty.”
“…”
“That’s twenty-seven and a half grand each.”
“…”
“We only make two grand a month on our salaries.”
“...Once we get that money, I’m moving out of that dump in Brooklyn and getting myself a big apartment in Manhattan!”
Hearing Roan’s dreamy tone, Mona pounded her keyboard with determination. “So, where do we go to find Conrad now?”
Roan laughed, stepped on the gas, and steered onto another road through town, pointing at the gun they’d bagged—Conrad’s, left behind at the scene of the shootout.
“Back at the villa, when the shooting started, I hit Conrad’s left hand. That’s how we ended up with his pistol.”
Mona nodded, turning to her laptop. “Conrad will need to stop the bleeding somewhere, but a household first aid kit won’t be enough for a gunshot wound. Most likely, he’ll head for one of the private clinics in town.”
“Exactly,” Roan agreed, flooring the accelerator as the SUV shot forward.
...
Scarsdale wasn’t large, and there were only two private clinics. Roan and Mona arrived quickly at the nearest one.
“Hello, FBI.” Mona and Roan, fully armed, entered the clinic. Roan flashed his gold badge at the pretty receptionist. “Have you had any patients with a left-hand injury this afternoon?”
“Uh, no,” the receptionist replied, a bit stunned but recovering quickly. “The only patient this afternoon was a girl with a scrape on her back.”
Roan and Mona exchanged a glance, guessing instantly who she meant. They were about to ask more when a side door opened and a middle-aged white doctor in a lab coat stepped out, hand-in-hand with a flushed, indolent-looking middle-aged woman.
Roan and Mona shared a look—adults themselves, they instantly understood what had just transpired.
“See you the day after tomorrow, Dr. Tim,” the woman said cheerfully, ignoring Roan and Mona as she blew a kiss to the doctor before heading out with her pet dog.
“See you then, Mrs. Yorland,” Dr. Tim replied, expression unchanging. Only after the woman left did he turn to Roan and Mona with a polite smile. “How can I help you, agents?”
Roan didn’t care about the doctor’s extracurricular activities and got straight to the point. “Has anything unusual happened at the clinic this afternoon? Missing medication, malfunctioning cameras, anything like that?”
“No, everything’s normal.” Dr. Tim shook his head. He explained that for his clients’ privacy, the clinic didn’t have surveillance cameras installed.
Of course, Roan thought, probably so you can sneak around easier.
He was about to press further when a shrill scream sounded outside—the voice of Mrs. Yorland: “Where’s my car? Who stole my car? Damn it, I’ll kill that thief!”
Mona dashed outside and found Mrs. Yorland, who was nearly hysterical. “Ma’am, when did you arrive at the clinic?”
“Forty minutes ago!” Mrs. Yorland, clutching her dog, looked frantic as she grabbed Mona’s arm and shook it. “You must find my car! My husband is a Yale senator! You have to get it back! If you don’t, I’m finished!”
Hearing that the woman had been at the clinic for forty minutes, Roan’s mind raced. He turned to the doctor. “Doctor, take me to the pharmacy right now. We need to check if anything’s missing!”
“There’s no need, Agent,” Dr. Tim stammered, looking even more panicked than Mrs. Yorland. “The pharmacy keys are gone!”
“Damn it!” Roan swore under his breath. The doctor and Mrs. Yorland had been in the exam room for forty minutes—God knows when the keys were taken.
He rushed out to the SUV, only to find Mona already waiting in the passenger seat.
“Don’t worry, Roan.” As Roan slid behind the wheel, Mona was already typing away, calm and collected. “I got the make and license plate of Mrs. Yorland’s car—it’s the newest model Cadillac.”
“So?” Roan wasn’t much of a car guy and didn’t follow her logic.
“The latest Cadillacs come with satellite tracking as a standard feature for security,” Mona explained, her fingers dancing over the keys. The screen filled with code Roan couldn’t decipher, and seconds later, Mona tapped the space bar. A sparkling red dot appeared, racing across the map.
“It’s on the highway north of Scarsdale,” Mona said, showing him the screen with a grin. “Looks like he hasn’t gotten far.”
“I love you, Mona! Recruiting you was the best damn decision I ever made!” Roan laughed heartily, spun the wheel, and floored the accelerator, sending the SUV hurtling toward the red dot on the map.