Obstetrix(46)

“The FBI has fucked up too many operations for me to trust them,” Tom said. “I was afraid they’d let the cult take you hostage or something.”

“And then today we heard the gunshot while surveilling. So we just moved in. What happened?”

“There was a group that tried to run away. Bethany’s family, and also this woman, Janet. I think the people who went after them probably shot Janet.” I leaned forward in my seat. I wasn’t buckled in. That should probably worry me. “Can you have them look for her? Maybe—”

“Worth a try,” Tom said, and pulled up his radio. “Transport to Ops, you hearing me, over.”

“Ops to Transport, loud and clear, over,” a voice came back.

“Casualty reported somewhere along the road. The other noncombatants may have more information. Can you stop and render aid? Over.”

“Roger that, Transport. We heard that from the other noncombatants and stopped to check. Unfortunately the casualty was shot in the head at close range and is past the point of rendering aid. We left her undisturbed because it’s a crime scene. Over.”

“Is Bethany okay?” I asked.

“Ops, can you confirm that Bethany is safe and in good health? Over.”

Another pause. “Bethany sends the following message: I’m just fine, Dr. Liz, praise God. Over.”

I sat back in my seat. I buckled my seatbelt.

My dad grabbed my hand and squeezed it.

“I still can’t believe you found me,” I said.

“It’s because of your message,” Dad said. “Once I had your message, I’d have found you if I’d had to walk every inch of Idaho. I just needed to know where to start looking.”



* * *



IDAHO FALLS HAD AN FBI office.

“Do you feel up to making a report?” Dad asked. “I’ve got a local lawyer who’ll go with us. I know you don’t believe in talking to law enforcement without a lawyer.”

“It really ought to be different when I’m the victim of a crime,” I muttered.

“Bear in mind, my friends held them all at gunpoint to get you out.”

“Yeah. Lawyer’s a good idea. But I’m willing to go talk to the feds. There are a couple of people who absolutely need to be prosecuted.”

“Do you want to go to a hotel first? I have some of your clothes, and other stuff from your apartment.”

“My apartment, oh my God—”

“I took care of the rent, Liz, everything’s right where you left it. One of your neighbors has been watering the plants, even.”

“That seems really wasteful.”

He scratched his chin. “I thought there might be clues I’d missed. That might help me find you. I didn’t want to lose anything that turned out to be important, by packing it all up and putting it in storage.”

The suitcase my father had brought along for me was a compact little case with the toiletries from my bathroom, four outfits, including a set of dress pants and a respectable-looking blouse, and—

I picked up my battered paperback copy of The Onyx Dagger. “How did you know to bring this?” I asked.

“You reread that book every time you get stressed out. I thought you might have recently been through a stressful experience. Your Kindle is in there, too. Do you want to take a shower? Your lawyer’s on her way.”



* * *



I TOLD THE FBI what had happened to me, with my lawyer, a nice woman named Beth Sheridan, at my elbow. We’d had a brief bonding moment over the whole “shared first name, different nicknames” thing. I kept having to remember not to call people Brother or Sister and slipped up, once, with Beth. As I got into the story of Joy’s surgery, I realized I should talk to whatever obstetrician at the local hospital was caring for her now, because surely that person would have questions for me. The agent taking down my story called a break and said I should go to the hospital for a physical exam anyway.

“What’s happening at the compound?” I asked.

“Law enforcement’s on the scene,” the agent said. “You’ll get a full update later.”

At the hospital, the ER doctor said I was in reasonably good health other than stress, and sent in a surgeon, who turned out not to be an obstetrician because they didn’t have any obstetricians on staff. I told him the details of the surgery, and how Joy needed to be monitored closely for infection. They’d admitted her and the baby, and he reassured me that they’d be keeping an eye out for complications and transporting her to Spokane if anything came up.

I stepped out of the hospital with my father and lawyer and was briefly stunned by bright lights in the cloudy afternoon. “Dr. Gwinn!” someone was shouting.

“It’s press, dammit,” Beth muttered. “Just smile and wave.” I followed her instructions and she shouted something promising a statement later. In the car back to the FBI office, she told me that I probably wanted to answer all the FBI questions first, then write a statement that she could deliver on my behalf. Or she could write it, if I wanted her to.

“Like … what sort of statement?”

“You appreciate all the well-wishes and concern and would appreciate privacy while you recover from this very traumatic event,” she said.