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The Waiting Room

~ Chapter Fifty-Two


The Culprit


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But I thought you were going to let us go down in the basement?” Roux asked Blake as he watched the cowboy put the key into his pocket.

“I’ve changed my mind. There is nothing that needs fixing down there and I only trust you. Rainey will only get into trouble. I know he wants to get into the boxes. I can’t let that happen. Angie gave me the key for a reason.” Across the room Mort cussed as he watched Blake point upward.

“He wants the boxes safe and sound. That is why they are locked up. Don’t ask for the key again, Roux. Only if there is something that needs fixing.”

Roux gave a small bow and a nod. There were some things that were not meant to be. The gypsy turned and walked back to Mort, holding his hands out in a defeated gesture.

“It seems we may have to wait another day to satisfy your curiosity, Mr. Rainey. I am sorry.” Roux returned to his guitar and began strumming a quiet ballad. The bowl of strawberries had been refilled.

“F--k it all to hell,” Mort whispered his curse, pushing himself deeper into the couch. He let himself look over to the Inspector. Crane was still tinkering with the demolished computer, taking measurements and plucking components out from its insides as if plucking berries from a pie.

Crane continued his investigation. He surveyed the mangled electronic before him, hand to lips as he made a mental calculation. The detective stared at the computer then slowly turned on his heel, facing the kitchen, but more to the point, faced the table next to the kitchen door.

“Commander,” Crane had made his way to Spencer Armacost. The astronaut turned away from the static-filled radio. Emily was talking to him again, but Crane’s voice had distracted him.

“Commander, if I recall you have a small object that emits a beam.” Crane kept his voice in a low whisper.

Spencer nodded. “Yes, my keychain. A birthday gift from Emily. It has a laser.”

“Yes, yes, that’s right,” Crane waved a finger indicating that was the information he sought.

“Would it be too much of an inconvenience if I asked to borrow it for a few minutes. I promise to return it as soon as I am finished.”

A slight hesitation came to Spencer’s face. He had already seen the chaos that forgotten items could create. But that had been between Blake and Sparrow. Spencer had better control over his emotions. And Crane was a professional.

“Of course, Inspector. That would be just peachy.” He said as Crane accepted the keychain.

Ichabod returned back to the desk, giving his attention to the computer, his fingers following the damage until he found what he was looking for; the bullet’s point of entry. He inserted his finger into the hole, confirming his find, then walked to the other side of the desk.

Cautiously he placed his hand inside the hollow of the computer, the laser keychain in hand. He worked his way through the insides, past computer boards and wires until he had the laser aligned with the hole.

Then with a flick of a switch sent a red beam straight across the room.

“Gentlemen,” Crane announced. “I have found the culprit.”

All eyes turned to see the red laser cutting across, dividing the room in half. Their gaze started at the computer and followed the telling sign as it ended at the table next to the kitchen door, just as Crane predicted it would. But now he had the proof.

The end of the red laser beam disappeared beneath the table. With the keychain secured in the hole, Crane removed his hand and came about the desk. Slowly he walked towards the table, walking besides the laser beam, towards the man he now knew was responsible for the shooting of Mort Rainey’s computer.

As Crane came nearer he watched as the man tilted his head, listening as he approached. Crane froze when Sands brought the gun out from underneath, cocking it and pointing it in the Englishman’s direction.

“Now what the f--k do you want, Inspector? The truth?” Sands bent his head forward waiting. “Can’t hear you, Crane. Is that what you want? Why I shot the computer?”

A noise brought Sands' left arm up, pointing his other gun at the new intruder.

“Back off, Sparrow,” the CIA agent warned, recognizing the soft shuffle of the pirate’s boots. “Dead men tell no tales, blah, blah, blah.” The pirate stopped. He wanted the truth too, but he had to stay alive to hear it.

“Yes, Agent Sands,” Crane brought the agent’s attention back to him. “We want the truth. We need to know why it was necessary for you to destroy Mr. Rainey’s computer. Why you felt threatened that the Captain here wanted to talk to his girl, Jess.”

Sands clicked the hammers back on both guns and motioned for Crane to sit.

“But just you, Inspector. This is for your ears only.”

Crane looked about the room and slowly the rest of the men gave a wide berth, moving out of hearing range. All except Jack...

Sands turned to his left. “I don’t hear you moving, pirate.” Sands sneered. Jack glared at the agent, but Crane waved him away. Reluctantly, Sparrow moved back to the bar.

“Now Agent Sands, I expect the truth, and nothing but the truth, if you are so capable of providing it.”

“Sure, sure, Crane. But listen and listen carefully, because I only will tell the tale once.”

“Of course, of course.” The Inspector nodded his head, painfully remembering that Sands could not see the gesture. He watched as Sands shoveled another forkful of the pork dish into his mouth. Sands chewed then swallowed, chasing it down with a swig of beer.

He smacked his lips and wiped his mouth as he leaned forward towards Crane who waited for him to begin his story.

“Once upon a time in Mexico,” Sands began.



 

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