Tail Spin

That’s why they killed Jimmy and have tried to kill me.”

FIFTEEN
    “And then three days later, you ended up drugged and thrown into Black Rock Lake,” Jack said.
    “Yes.”
    Savich added, “But bottom line, Rachael, all you have in the way of proof that he was murdered is your belief that your father had given up both driving and drinking.”
    “If I’d managed to come up with any proof, I would have camped out at the gate of the White House while I called the Washington Post. I wouldn’t have run like a rabbit after they tried to drown me. Not that it mattered. They found me fast enough.”
    Sherlock rose and stretched, nudged her husband’s shoulder. “Well, boss, what now?”
    Savich grabbed her hand, gave it a squeeze. “First, Rachael, I want you to write all this down: Senator Abbott’s accidental killing of Melissa Parks, his death, your attempted murder—both times. Put in every detail you can think of. Do it fast. Make six copies. We’ll take a couple. I’m thinking it might be best to simply go public now. That should stop any more attempts on your life.”
    She shook her head. “I’ll write everything down, but I don’t want to go public. Not just yet.”
    “What? You like being bait?” Jack said.
    She replied, “I don’t need your sarcasm, Agent Crowne. I’ll tell you, when I climbed out of that lake, I saw everything very clearly. I agree that going public might stop them, but they’ll get away with killing Jimmy, their own brother. I have to find proof, don’t you see? I want to bring them down, and if it means my neck is out there, then so be it.” She looked at each of them. “Maybe you can help me do this, maybe you can’t. But it’s my only goal at the moment. Then I’m going public and telling the world exactly what kind of man Jimmy was. After all, only an honorable man would feel such devastation about accidentally killing a child.
    “I know you’re all concerned about the repercussions, but I firmly believe that people are forgiving.
    “Now that I’ve spilled my guts to you, I’m going to get my car fixed, and I’m driving to Slipper Hollow. I’ve got lots of thinking to do, lots of planning, lots of writing things down, as Agent Savich wants.”
    Savich said, “Rachael, what is the state of your finances?”
    She blinked. “I suppose I’m very rich, at least in theory, since Jimmy left me one-third of his estate. In actuality, what I have is some money in my duffel I pulled out of Jimmy’s petty-cash box before I ran Friday night. I haven’t counted it, but there’s maybe a couple thousand. As to the disposition of the rest of his estate—I don’t really know. I intended to call Mr. Cullifer next week, ask him what to do about it.”
    Savich typed something into MAX, then looked up. “I think it’s a good idea you disappear into Slipper Hollow for a while. Jack, can you escort her there, check everything out, make sure she’s safe?”
    “Hold on, Savich What about Timothy? I’ve got—”
    “He’s still unconscious,” Savich said. “We’re moving him to Washington tomorrow, easier to protect him. Another thing you need to do is put your head together with Rachael’s, make sure she gets all the details down. We’ll look for proof on our end. A few days. All right?”
    “For a few days, then,” Jack said. “Rachael?”
    “For a few days,” she repeated. “Then I want to come back and take them down.”
    “Sounds like a plan.” Savich rose, shook Sheriff Hollyfield’s hand. “Thank you for all your assistance. I like Parlow, Kentucky. The sheriff of Maestro, Virginia, Dix Noble—he’s not more than three, four hours away—is a good friend. You two would have a lot to talk about—he was a detective with the NYPD before he moved to the boondocks. Don’t tell him I said so, but I’d put your brain right up there with his.
    “We’ll keep in touch. Sherlock, you and I are going to spend the night near the hospital. Besides seeing Dr. MacLean, I want to see if our shooter, Roderick Lloyd, still wants a lawyer.”
    “And here I’d counted on spending the night at Greeb’s B&B,” Sherlock said, “falling asleep with that stuffed duck’s head staring at me.”

    Roy Bob was the wounded hero of Parlow. By the time he stepped out of the clinic, arm in a sling, both he, Rachael, and the gunman who’d shot up his garage were major celebrities.
    Everyone wanted him to tell what had happened in the garage that day. He was