Page 86 of Holmes Is Missing
“Duff!” shouted Holmes. “Oliver Paul just went out through the back! Set a perimeter!Now!”
Duff holstered his pistol under his suit jacket. “Oliver Paul? You mean your theoretical cold-case serial killer?”
“It’s not a theory, Duff!” shouted Holmes. “We have proof.”
“Don’t bother. You’ll never find him.” The voice came from the staircase. Poe looked up. It was Agnes Matts. Marple was walking her down, gun in her back. “Oliver can smell police,” said Matts. She looked directly at Duff. “He obviously smelledyou.”
Duff stared at Marple. “We got your 911. Who the hell is this?”
“She’s the boss, Captain,” said Marple. “I told you a woman was behind it. St. Michael’s, the school bus, Silvercup, London. Everything. This is Agnes Matts, alias Irene Paul. She’s wanted in the UK on suspicion of kidnapping, conspiracy, and murder.”
“I want a solicitor,” said Matts calmly. “And a representative from the British embassy.”
“Right,” said Duff. “Let’s call the king while we’re at it.” He turned to the cops in the foyer and barked off a series of orders. “Get Grey to a hospital, whether she wants it or not. Escort her majesty here downtown for questioning. Start a door-to-door for Oliver Paul. And as foryouthree…” He looked pointedly from Holmes to Marple to Poe and twirled his fingers in the air like a propeller. “Where’s my goddamn bird?”
CHAPTER92
IN SPITE OFher protests, paramedics wheeled Helene Grey into the ER at St. Michael’s. There were closer hospitals, but Poe had insisted on taking Grey to a place he knew—even if it was a place he’d almost been tossed out of.
He walked alongside the rolling gurney, squeezing Grey’s hand. “How are you feeling?” he asked over and over. “Are you in pain? Does anything hurt?”
Grey turned her head toward him. “You look worse than I do,” she said.
He knew it was true, and it was all from worrying about her. If Oliver Paul hadn’t sensed the police outside his town house and taken off, Helene could be dead by now.
As soon as Grey was lifted from the gurney onto the ER bed, three sturdy nurses crowded Poe to the side. A few seconds later, a doctor in scrubs entered the cramped room and whipped the curtain shut behind him.
“What have we got?” he asked curtly.
One of the paramedics recited the bullet points. “Pregnant patient, thirty-eight. Blunt force contusion to the left parietal.Probable pistol butt. Mild ecchymosis and second-degree abrasion. No loss of consciousness. Pulse 80 and steady. BP 130 over 80.”
“What’s your name?” asked the doctor. He walked to the head of the bed as the paramedics backed out with their gurney.
“Helene. Helene Grey.”
“Helene, I’m Dr. Farnham. I’m going to check a few things, okay?”
“She’s having twins!” said Poe, his voice cracking.
Farnham leaned over and looked into Helene’s pupils with a penlight. “Is that true, Helene?”
Grey nodded. “Yes, it is.”
“How far along?”
“Thirteen weeks.”
He glanced over at Poe. “Is this your husband?”
Grey rolled her head from side to side. “Absolutely not.”
“I’m the father,” said Poe.
“Hold still, please,” said Farnham.
The curtains parted again. Poe looked up. It took a second for the face to register. “Dr. Revell Schulte!”
“Mr. Poe.” Dr. Schulte stepped up next to Farnham, almost bumping him aside. “Is she stable?”