The wrecker had arrived sooner than expected, allowing them to get to the doctor's office at shortly before five in the morning. Mike had quietly sat in the uncomfortable plastic chair, listening to the elderly man go through his spiel of the dangers of head trauma, the need for adequate rest and any of the other instructions both detectives rarely ever yielded in their chosen –and quite dangerous- line of work.
Steve had sat there stoically, nodding every once in a while, and wincing when Doctor Walters decided to numb the area and put a couple stitches into his temple. If the black and blue marks on the side of his head and upper jaw were any indication, the young Inspector would be sore for a few days.
Aside from his overwhelming concern about his cherished partner's wellbeing, the gears in Mike's mind were turning rapidly. Part of him wanted to rush to Amy Morrison's residence and confront her with the facts they'd gathered thus far, see how she'd react.
The other part, the deeply engrained reasoning accumulated from nearly three decades of police work knew that if he wanted a solid indictment and possibly a confession from somebody who was used to having an entire town cover her tracks, he had to wait till later in the morning, make their prime suspect feel more comfortable, almost smug about the latest incident- that was, if she was involved at all.
In the meantime, it would give them a chance to figure out the last missing link to their puzzle; who really had targeted Jacob Daniels? Amy, to clean up her petty affairs? Amy's father to cover for his daughter? Rory's father to avenge his son's murder and the ensuing cover-up? The Amish to avenge Daniels' involvement in the situation? Barry Sanders even, being that he just so happened to be in the area?
No…that was too far of a stretch.
Nonetheless, with an entire town ever so eager to cover up the situation, the list of potential suspects grew longer by the minute.
For now, Mike's plan would entail talking to Amy's father and dig into the deeply rooted feud one last time, then head back to Amish country. Steve's run-in with the buggy in the middle of the night was no coincidence, and he hoped that somewhere between the jealousy, hate and anguish that had been tormenting this town for far too long laid the answers to his question.
"Well…you are all set, Inspector…", Doctor Walters said quietly, as he pulled the latex gloves off his long delicate hands, "Try to take it easy for a couple of days. No strenuous activity. No running or heavy lifting. If you develop a fever or rash or begin to throw up, feel dizzy or nauseous, come and see me again immediately. Otherwise, have your regular physician back home take off the bandage in a couple of days. Stitches should stay in until the end of next week."
Mike watched his partner nod obediently, like he'd done so many times before, as he got off the gurney effortlessly and reached for his dress coat.
"Thank you very much for all your help, Doctor…", Mike said genially and helped his partner slide his arms into the sleeves of the expensive custom-tailored coat, "We certainly appreciate you opening your practice for us this late…or I guess early…in the morning."
"No trouble at all, Lieutenant, no trouble at all. You two just be safe out there. I'd prefer not to see you again."
There was a strange undertone in the Doctor's voice that wasn't lost on either detective. Carefully nudging Steve out of the treatment area and back out the side door of the small office, Mike had an increasingly hard time shaking the unease that morning.
"What do you want to do now?", Steve asked wearily as they approached the waiting Galaxy sitting parked along the curb. The faint sunlight appearing in the east slowly lit up the damage to the passenger's side of the red sedan, the dented fender and door, the partially detached mirror and the missing hub cab; all of it making Mike sigh in relief knowing that his partner hadn't been hurt worse.
"Well, let's see...it's eh…", using the nearby streetlamp to get a good look at his wristwatch, Mike smiled facetiously, before pointing south, "It's just after six. Say, don't you think it's time for Morrison to get out of bed and start feeding all those chickens just about now?"