As the helicopters approached Victorville, Sequana spotted the nozzle flashes lighting up the dark desert floor.
"Holy shit! What in the hell is going on down there?"
Louie observed out of his side of the chopper. "Damn, Rick, it looks like World War III down there."
The two men looked at each other and Sequana said, "Vandano. Damnit..." He turned to the pilot. "I want you to head in low, with the spotlight, and box them in." He grabbed the handset for communications and pressed the black button. "Attention forest units ground and air, this is little red riding hood, the big bad wolf has shown up uninvited to grandma's house; all units close in immediately. Approach with caution, but allow no slip-ups, repeat, allow no free passes." He slapped the mike back into its hook and glanced at Fox. "Could anything else possibly go wrong?"
Rick shrugged. "Look at the bright side, Rick, Vandano's people have screwed up, big. We've got them in a shoot-out with LA County officers."
"Yeah, and you and I both know that Vandano's not down there, we've still got nothin' on him."
Fox looked again at the firepower display below. "Damn, they're hittin' those guys with some serious juice, I hope the hell they're still alive..."
"Need I remind you that the men in the house are fugitives, Louie?"
"No Rick, you don't need to remind me. But we both know they're really the good guys who got caught out trying to help a friend? Would either of us have done any differently?"
Sam crouched, waiting for the barrage of bullets to stop before returning fire. Then he heard it.
"Hey," he said, "Listen!" But Monahan and Brill were too busy. "Choppers! I hear choppers!"
Monahan looked over at Fujiyama as if he had lost it. "Are you nuts? There ain't no helicopters out there."
"Lieutenant, I hear them!"
"No offense Sam, but how in the hell would you know?" Danny asked.
"I was attached to a MASH unit in Vietnam. I know the sound."
"You served in 'Nam? How could you have served and never shot a gun?"
"I was a company clerk, never had any reason to play with guns, I typed requisitions and ran litters for the hospital."
And then Monahan heard it. "Well I'll be damned! He's right! And it's not one chopper, but several!"
"I never thought I'd be happy to see the FBI show up here," Brill said.
"Me neither, Brill," Monahan agreed, "but in this case, it's fine with me." Monahan looked over at Asten, who was not joining in the jubilation of being saved by the feds. "Asten? Didn't you hear? It's the FBI!"
"Yeah," Asten said quietly, "I heard."
And the possibilities of Asten's sad countenance landed in Monahan's gut. "Is Quincy--?"
"--No," Asten answered quickly, "but he's bad, Monahan, really bad."
The helicopters landed outside as the ground units pulled in, and Monahan stood, moving quickly over to where Asten was holding Quincy on the floor. "Is he gonna make it, Asten?"
The doctor swallowed back the moisture forming in his eyes. "I don't know, Frank. He's bleeding again into his belly, and the infection's taken a turn for the worse. I shouldn't have moved him."
Monahan squeezed Asten's shoulder. "This wasn't your fault, Bob, Quincy'd be the first one to tell you that. If we get him to a hospital fast, will that make a difference?"
Asten's dark eyes pierced Monahan with hope. "It might, but how the hell--"
"--You leave it to me." Monahan set the shotgun down and ran outside, just as Sequana was approaching.
"Hold it right there, Monahan," the federal agent called, "you're under arrest."
"You can arrest me later," Monahan snarled, still approaching the agent. "Quincy's in bad shape in there, and we need to get him to a hospital, now. I want a helicopter."
"Why you little--you've got some nerve, you know that, Monahan?" Sequana studied the fear in the light blue eyes, and the tense set of the ex-cop's jaw, and after what Louie had said to him, he softened. "Okay," he said quietly, "let's load him on my chopper." Monahan started back into the house, and Sequana growled, "Where are you going? You're still under arrest!"
"Don't worry, Sequana," Monahan yelled over his shoulder heading toward the house, "I'll be in your custody; we'll all be in your custsody."
The helicopter took off with Quincy lying across Monahan and Asten's laps in the back seats of the bird. Asten cradled the coroner's head, brushing a soft hand over his fevered brow. He could feel Monahan's eyes intensely staring at him and finally, he met them.
"I don't know," he said, "it could go either way."
Monahan looked down then, swallowing his worry as best he could.
"Fujiyama told me you guys autopsied the bones," Sequana said to the two men. "What did you find?"
"A lot," Asten said flatly, "we'll get you your man, Sequana, but it's probably going to cost us ours."
Sequana could feel the anguish coming from behind him and he sighed. "I'm sorry about Quincy, I truly am; we just didn't see any other way."
"Did you even try?" Asten snarled. "Or were you just playing the numbers game?"
Monahan's hand gently reached out to squeeze Asten's forearm. "Settle down, Bob," he whispered.
"I will not settle down, lieutenant," Asten grunted, "Quincy told you, Sequana, he told you he could pin the murder of the victim found at the boat on Vandano; he was sure of it. But you ignored him. And now he's lying here and I don't know if we can save him--"
Asten's voice choked off and Monahan realized the man was overwrought with guilt. He reached a hand over and gently squeezed Asten's neck.
"Sequana," Monahan said, "Sam Fujiyama and Sgt. Brill are bringing the bones and some equipment to the hospital with us, right?"
"Yes."
"Then we'll have a chance to complete the work that was started."
"What's your point, Monahan?"
"My point, Special Agent Sequana, is that we can nail this guy for you, if you give us a chance."
Sequana sighed. "Why is it I have a feeling this is gonna cost me..."
Sequana paced the length of the basement lab at Las Vegas Memorial, impatiently waiting for Brill to finish his phone call. Sam was quietly finishing the assembly of the victim's bones and Danny was leaning against a counter, sipping from a mug of coffee. Brill hung up the receiver and Sequana practically jumped on him.
"Well?"
"Walter Workman's on his way here now. He has the x-rays and medical records of five people who were reported missing during the time span in question, all of them are white males between the ages 35 and 45, all of them between six feet and six feet two inches tall. What about your guy?"
"Agent Larousse is tracking the sports auction records you asked for, I expect to hear from him within the hour." Danny set his mug down then and headed for the door. "Where are you going, Mr. Tovo?"
"To check on Quincy. Is that a problem?"
"I'd prefer you stay here."
"Where'm I gonna go?" Danny asked. "You've got this joint locked up tighter than a rat-a-tat drum on Christmas eve..."
"Fine."
"Danny," Sam interjected, "can you let us know what's going on up there?"
"Sure Sam, sure."
Asten sat stoically in a chair by the bed while Monahan paced at the foot of it, the only sound in the room was the respirator that was pushing air in and out of Quincy's lungs. The door opened and Melissa Asten walked in.
"Bob..." She ran to him as he stood, and threw her arms around him. "Oh Bob, thank God you're all right." Without a word Asten pressed into the crook of her neck, seeking comfort that couldn't be found. "Honey? Honey, what's wrong? Is it Quincy?"
Asten broke away from her then. "I don't know if we got him here in time."
She ran a soft hand down the side of his cheek. "You look exhausted, Bob, why don't you come lie down for awhile in the lounge, hmmm?"
"No. I don't want to leave him." He glanced over at Monahan. "But if you want to get a little sleep, lieutenant--"
"--No, no, Asten. I'm not leavin' either."
Bob sat back down in the chair and Melissa stood behind him, gently rubbing his shoulders. Monahan resumed his pacing, and once again the only sound in the room was the respirator bellows keeping Quincy alive.
"Are you sure, Larousse? I mean absolutely positive?" Sequana listened to the voice on the other end of the phone and then said, "Fine. Stand by, I'll call you if we need something further."
He returned the receiver to the cradle and looked up at Brill. "Anthony Vandano has purchased no baseball bat of Babe Ruth or anyone else in the past ten years."
"But that can't be," Sam said, "the wood chip is white ash, and the information we have indicates that a bat with that logo made out of that wood, weighing between 40 and 50 ounces could only have been Babe Ruth's."
"I'm not arguing that the murder weapon was Babe Ruth's bat, Fujiyama, just that Vandano hasn't bought any such item at auction."
"What if it was a private transaction?" Brill asked.
"Then we can't access such a record."
"No," Sam said, "according to the sports memorabilia experts, bats like these are always sold at public auction because it brings in more money. There's got to be a record. Maybe he bought it before ten years ago..."
Sequana pursed his lips, sighing. "Fine, we'll go back as far as we can then and see what comes, but I'm warning you, if you fellas don't deliver on Vandano, I'm throwing the book at every last one of you, and that includes Quincy."
"If he makes it," Sam said quietly.
Sequana felt the weight of the statement land in the pit of his stomach, and without another word, he picked up the phone to call the office and put the ferret back on the chase.
The phone in Quincy's room rang and Tovo picked it up. "Yeah?" He listened for a moment, then said, "Yeah, sure Sam, hang on...Asten? Sam wants a word."
Danny handed Asten the receiver and the director held it to his ear. "Yes Sam?" He waited, then said, "We'll come right down, thanks." Asten hung up the phone and turned to Monahan. "Brill's man Walter showed up with the x-rays. They want the two of us down in the lab."
Monahan looked toward the bed. "Okay."
"Melissa, Danny, can you two stay here?"
"Sure we can, honey, don't worry."
"I just don't want him to be alone, you know, in case he wakes up."
Sensing Asten's deep concern, Danny pat his shoulder. "We'll both be right here, Dr. Asten, and if anything changes, we'll call you down there."
Asten nodded gratefully, then clasped an arm around Monahan's shoulder. "Come on..."
Working with the five sets of x-rays and medical records, Asten compared the information and pictures with the x-rays Sam had taken of the skull. He was immediately able to eliminate three of the missing persons, noting that the skull configurations and recorded injuries were not consistent with the skull of the victim from the boat. The final two were very close, and the tension in the room mounted as he continued to study them at length.
"Asten," Monahan prodded, "what are you doing?"
"We have to be sure beyond any doubt, Monahan," he answered.
Asten finally superimposed the images of the skulls over each other, and the second one was an exact match. He pulled his glasses from his face and let out a slow sigh.
"That's it, gentlemen. Our victim is Evan McGee."
"The pawn shop owner?" Sequana asked with disbelief.
"Yes."
"You're sure, Asten?" Monahan questioned.
"Yes, I'm positive. The skull x-rays are an exact match, there can be no doubt. The damage to his right eye socket and lower jaw were caused from a car accident three years ago. It also deviated his septum, causing a chronic nasal drip and the associated damage. You can see it clearly here on the x-rays. McGee's our man."
"Why in the hell would Vandano kill a stupid little pawn shop owner? Why would he take such a chance with such a small fish?"
"Because the guy had somethin' Vandano wanted," Monahan said.
"What?"
Monahan smiled. "A baseball bat. Call your boy Larousse, and tell him to check for Babe Ruth bats purchased by this guy Evan McGee and see what comes up."
Sequana stared at Monahan for a moment. "If you're right, lieutenant, that's a dandy piece of deduction..."
"Hardly deduction, son," Monahan said, "an educated guess is more like it. If this guy McGee went up against Vandano in an auction for a Babe Ruth bat, and McGee won, that might tick Vandano off to the point of killin' the guy. And he just might go after him personally."
"And kill him with his own bat," Sequana finished. The agent picked up the phone, dialing the number. "I hope the hell you're right, Monahan."
The ex-cop shrugged. "I might be." He looked over at Asten. "But I'd gladly trade bein' right about this for Quincy to pull through..."
