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“Nope,” Dalton says as he comes into the room.
“I locked both doors and double-checked them. Who else has a key? Yolanda, I presume.”
“Probably?” I say as I look around the room. “But there’s the problem of getting Bruno out of here. No one person could have picked him up and carried him. I know you set that fracture in his leg, but he still couldn’t walk on it.”
“Heshouldn’t.”
“But could he?” Dalton asks.
The answer should be no. Yet that bed is clearly empty.
I open a cupboard. “His clothing was in here. Did you move it?”
“Certainly not.”
“It’s gone. Everything except his ball cap.” I stride to the door.
“You think someone forced him to dress and leave? I would have heard…”
She trails off, realizing she’d be wearing earplugs.
“You’d have heard sounds of a struggle,” I say. “Or raised voices.”
I circle the room, taking in the scene. I pause and shine my light on the floor. Muddy boot prints lead from near the cupboard to the back door. Bruno’s boots had been dirty when I put them away, and I’d left them like that, in case he hadn’t said his fall was accidental.
“The door opens from the inside, right?” I say, as I walk over and answer my own question. “It does. It’s a one-sided key lock.”
“You didn’t answer my question,” Dalton says. “Could he walk out of here? If he was determined enough?”
I remember something I noticed in the other room and stride back in there. A cupboard door is ajar, and my sister leaves nothing ajar. I open it and see a small assortment of assistive walking devices.
“Anything missing?” I ask April as I wave at it.
She only needs to glance inside. “One pair of crutches. There should be two. But I cannot imagine he’d leave of his own volition.”
“It’d be painful,” Dalton says. “Not just the leg, but the broken wrist.”
“He was on enough medication to make him comfortable, but I was very clear that he shouldn’t even be getting up to use the toilet. I provided a buzzer. He knows he has injuries thatrequire serious medical attention and any weight bearing could further injure his leg or ribs.”
“He was motivated then. Damn motivated.”
“Fleeing a murder charge by fleeing into the forest?” April says. “He wouldn’t survive long, and he realizes that.”
“Then he’s not going far,” I say. “There’s something he needs to do before he’s shipped out.”
“Someone he needs to talk to?” Dalton says.
“Or something he needs to hide.”
We have the advantage of Bruno not realizing we have a tracking dog. So while he’s careful to stick to hard ground and not leave any footprints or crutch marks, he makes a beeline for his target. Which is good, because he does not go where I expect.
When his trail leads into the forest, I figure he’s circling around to his target. Instead, it keeps going into the woods. When I see that, I quickly escort April back and ask her to stay locked in the clinic. Then I hurry back to Dalton, who’s still on the trail with Storm. He hasn’t gone much past where I left him, and before I can catch up, he motions for me to stop.
I halt, and after a moment, I catch it: the low murmur of voices.
I creep up to Dalton and Storm. Dalton leans down to my ear and whispers, “He came to meet someone. He must have been waiting. I heard him say ‘finally.’ Then they lowered their voices.”
I nod and turn to listen. I can still only make out the murmur of voices. Two people? Three? I can’t tell. I gesture that I’m going to get closer. Dalton nods and tells Storm to stay with him. Then he takes out his gun. I do the same and then start walking.
