MATT DUGGAN - DETECTIVE SERIES

Part IX

Tossing several packs of narcan nasal spray on top of the desk in the abandoned office, Sutton stepped back and stared at the small boxes. “These are what I had in my apartment," he revealed. "We’ll just spray a canister or two up their noses and let that take affect.”

“You seem to forget that narcan is used for treatment of opioid overdoses," Lundsten reminded him. "It will not neutralize the effects of the sedative they’ve been administered. It’s useless in this case as an antagonist.”

Removing a revolver from his waistband, Sutton raised and pointed the weapon at the disheveled and battered doctor. “Administer the narcan, Dr. Jekyll, or I’ll introduce you to the real Mr. Hyde in short order.”

***

“Where the hell are you?” Morelli yelled into his cell phone. "I’ve been calling and texting your evasive ass for more than an hour.”

“I’ve located Sutton. He’s …”

“I told you to stay put and wait until …”

Matt tapped the red disconnect call button on his iPhone. “He’s madder than a grimy skunk dipped in perfume.”

“Tell me about it. And dropping the call isn’t going to help matters either. He wasn’t even on speaker and I could hear him yelling.”

Matt paused, them exhaled a heavy breath. “Let’s get through the fence. We’ll pursue on foot until we spot the van. Whichever warehouse he’s parked next to, that’s the one he’ll be inside, then we’ll contact Morelli again and wait for the cavalry.”

***

“From what you’ve told me, it sounds as if Duggan has knowledge of Sutton’s whereabouts, and possibly Melissa Barton and Holland," Blanchard explained to Morelli. "Knowing Duggan like I do, he’ll initiate contact again as soon as he’s confirmed that information.”

“So, we’re going to do nothing while we wait for Sherlock Holmes and his assistant, Watson?”

“What can I tell you?” Blanchard piped in frustration. “When Matt and Delia have pinpointed Sutton’s location, we’ll be alerted. In the meantime, I strongly recommend we place our SWAT personnel on alert. Position your team discretely outside Sutton’s last known residential address. I’ll have my team meet me here in the event Matt provides a location closer to me than yours. In either case, we’ll be ready to roll.”

Acknowledging with a grudging sigh, Morelli turned and glanced at his senior agent. “Go ahead and issue a SWAT alert,” he ordered, walking past the agent and back toward their unmarked SUV. “Get the team over here ASAP.”

“I’m on it,” Anderson replied.

“I swear I’m going to lock his ass up as soon as …” Morelli’s voice trailing off in the distance.

***

Cutting enough of the chain link fence to allow entry, Matt pushed the fence inward before securing it in place using a discarded marker stake. Tossing the bolt cutters aside, he stooped down and scooted through the opening, then helped Delia through. The poorly illuminated warehouses were logistically built and spaced to facilitate movement and storage of stock and merchandise via an asphalt covered grid between the buildings.

Walking approximately one hundred yards in the direction of the first row of warehouses, they took notice of the eery silence. “It’s as quiet as a moth in a cotton box,” Matt whispered, looking in every direction.

“Or the deep blue region of Yellowstone,” Delia whispered back.

“These warehouses are either empty, or they’re being used to store discarded items and other unusable junk,” Matt quietly muttered. “That would explain why there’s no activity in this sector."

“Including posted or vehicle security patrols. Perfect for hiding a kidnap victim," Delia muttered.

Matt placed his hand on Delia’s arm and stopped walking. “Del, I’ll check out this first row of warehouses on the left. You do the same with those rows on the right," he pointed. "They extend about a hundred years. Do a visual check down the access aisle of each new row of warehouses. Text me if you spot the van. I’ll do the same.”

“Got it,” she acknowledged, scurrying off in the opposite direction.

***

Administering a canister of narcan to Holland and Melissa, the gang of three waited. After three minutes and no response, a second dose was administered. Another three minutes elapsed. Again, no response. Duggan banged his fist against the wall.

“I tried to tell you this wouldn’t work,” Lundsten grumbled.

Sutton sucked in a sharp breath. “I was prepared for this," he revealed. He began to wheel Holland toward the closed office door.

“Hold on ... what’s plan B?” Shyner nervously asked.

“He doesn’t want to wake-up, so I’m going to see to it that he never does. In the meantime, keep an eye on sleeping beauty,” he ordered, glancing at Melissa. "She’s an escapee and will be returning to the hospital for permanent admission.”

“He’s going to kill that man,” Lundsten whispered to Shyner.

***

“Del, I’ve spotted the van,” Matt texted

“Where are you?” she texted back.

“Eight rows down and to the right; the fifth warehouse on the left. Contact Morelli and provide our location, then make your way back to the gate and wait for his arrival."

“Will do,” she replied.

The medical transport was parked unoccupied next to a mini-warehouse. A small aluminum service entry door on the side of the metallic building opposite the van was incorporated into the framework. Matt grabbed and turned the doorknob. It was locked. Removing a credit card sized lock pit set from his outside jacket pocket, he stooped down and inserted a pick and tension wrench into the keyway, probing and torquing the wrench until the plug and knob turned in unison with the wrench. He grabbed the round handle and turned it all the way to the left, then carefully scooted inside as he pushed the door inward, shutting it behind him. Hearing a noise, Matt removed his holstered snub-nosed revolver before darting behind a dusty metal shelf several feet to the left of the door. A silhouette of an occupied wheelchair being pushed by a large figure suddenly emerged, the result of a stream of light flowing out of what appeared to be an office door opening approximately twenty-five feet straight ahead. Matt’s eyes squinted, trying to make out the two figures cocooned in the soft glow of the fluorescent light.

Sufferin’ cats — that’s Sutton … and Holland in the chair.


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