It's Never Obvious

By R. A. Carter-Squire

Terry and her husband Rick are nearly killed in an explosion at the local hospital. Terrorism is suspected but she believes there’s more to the story. She follows her instincts, becoming the force behind the FBI and ATF investigations. Attempts are made on her life, suspects are killed, an assassin is operating in the city. Arnold is wounded. The Bureau makes her a licensed consultant. They use her information to make arrests, but she isn’t satisfied until the last detail is unraveled. Murder, bribery, corruption, drugs, she picks through the clues, eliminates the false leads, and finds the brains behind the carnage. Her instincts and a brilliant mind combine with the knowledge that; It’s Never Obvious.

• Language: English
• Publisher: R. A. Carter-Squire
• Release date: Jan 18, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463595503

R. A. Carter-Squire

Married with children. My wife and I live in Manitoba, Canada. Writing has become my passion because the words can make pictures that others have never seen.

Book preview

Chapter One

Her eyes drifted from one poster to the next, reading the list of wounds and ailments that received priority treatment. The procedures to follow if she was pregnant. A man came through the double doors carrying a canvass bag for keeping pizza warm.

Yes, I spend money, what’s wrong with that? She said into the phone, her voice echoed off the walls. She listened to the voice on the other end of the line.

I’m buying furniture for the new house, it isn’t free. Darrell, you’re my son and I love you, but this isn’t the time to discuss my budget. Your father had a fall on the icy step. He’s getting stitched up in the emergency department at the hospital.

The pizza delivery person went to the security counter and then followed the guard to the only door into the rest of the hospital at this time of night. There was no checking the package to confirm a pizza was within, no screening of identification. The guard simply walked to the door and unlocked it allowing the delivery man to disappear.

No, I’ll let you know how he’s doing tomorrow. We can talk then. A hand touched her shoulder. Oh, he’s here now, do you want to talk to him? She listened to her son while looking up at her husband, Rick. The white bandage was too big for the wound, it covered most of his forehead and the entire left eye. She laughed without meaning to be cruel. He smiled back. Okay, I will, talk to you tomorrow. Terry dropped her phone in the purse and stood next to her husband. I guess I’m driving home. Darrell says hi.

Yeah, they said I can change this tomorrow. Let’s get out of here, he glanced over at the clock on the wall. Three hours to get a few stitches, what did Darrell want? They pushed open the door into the parking lot of the emergency ward. As the door clicked shut behind them, an explosion sent plumes of fire into the night sky at the front of the hospital to their right. Rick pushed Terry to the ground covering her head with his arm. Glass rained down on them, alarms rang inside the building. The November sky became bright.

Are you okay? Rick shouted.

He held her arm as she struggled off the ground. I think so, are you? She brushed snow and mud off her clothes. The glass made a silhouette of their bodies on the driveway.

Yeah, he bent over to brush the chunks of glass from his hair.

Terry looked up at the building. Fire raged in the windows of the fourth floor. Sirens wailed in the air, growing louder. Several people ran along the sidewalk away from the north side of the hospital. Her and Rick rushed to lend any assistance required. They rounded the corner and slid to a stop at the sight of the destruction. People, on gurneys, in wheelchairs, on foot, flooded across the street at the front of the hospital. Staff pushed those not able to walk or helped anyone too sick to be on their own.

Fire from above lit the scene. Folks running, orderlies pushing beds or wheelchairs through the debris which littered the ground stretching from the base of the wall into the parking lot. Cars, the closest to the hospital were crushed by chunks of concrete or steel. Others had no windows, blown out by the blast. Bodies littered the ground, one or two still moved or groaned in pain.

The MacArthur’s ran to help push a gurney. An elderly woman lay on the bed, her face white with fear as she clutched the blanket to her chin. The orderly’s eyes were glazed, he was operating on instinct. Terry saw the pizza guy helping an elderly man with a head wound across the parking lot. A fire truck skidded to a halt at the intersection closest to the building. Another roared down the road leading to the front doors. Other sirens came closer as the first two became silent. Men rushed to connect the trucks to hydrants, hoses unfurled, some of the men raced inside the hospital. Chaos turned to order as the firemen took control. Ambulances arrived, then the police.

Chapter Two

Detective Arnold Jackson could see the glow in the night sky two blocks from the hospital. He slid to a stop at the side of the road a block from the devastation. Lights from every emergency vehicle in the city winked off houses as he ran toward the scene. The first patrol officer he encountered tried to stop him at the parking lot entrance.

Baker, contact headquarters and have them call in every available cop in the city, and then we need help from the government. He ordered after showing his badge. Another uniformed officer stood nearby. Reynolds find out who has the keys for that clinic across the street. Get it open so these people have someplace warm. Organize a team to help move them inside.

Arnold knew that vital evidence was innocently being destroyed or moved by panicked people running for their lives. More would vanish as the fire department did their jobs. He walked closer to the devastation searching for the fire chief. A white helmet atop a burly body paced along the sidewalk across from the hospital, shouting orders aloud or into a microphone. Fire hoses gushed water from the street or from nozzles attached to elevated ladders. A river of black sludge ran from the front doors to the street drains nearby.

Chief, Arnold held up his badge. I put in a call for every available officer, what else do you want us to do?

I don’t know, Jackson. I have units coming from surrounding districts to help with containment. He keyed the microphone to give an order.

Okay, I’m moving everyone into the clinic. No sense in having people freeze to death. Any idea what happened?

Nothing definite, an explosion, obviously, but we won’t know the cause until we get inside and that won’t happen until we have the fire knocked down and determine structural integrity. Six, seven hours is my guess.

Thanks, Chief.

Arnold watched the water rushing through the debris on the street clearing away the horror and the potential solutions to the crime. He called to an officer helping push a gurney toward the clinic.

I don’t know how you’re going to do it but find something to put over that sewer drain and the other ones on the street over there to catch debris. There’s evidence literally going down the drain. He pulled his phone out of the coat pocket. A shiver ran through him as he called the police chief. The trench coat wasn’t made for standing outside for extended periods of time. He headed toward the clinic.

Boss, detective Jackson here, I’m at the hospital. Looks like an explosion took out the fourth floor. I’ve called for every available officer to attend. The fire crews are working hard, and I’ve secured the sewer drains to collect evidence. We’re moving patients into the clinic or transferring them to other hospitals.

What the hell caused the explosion? Could this be terrorism?

Too soon to tell. The fire chief says it’ll be six hours at least before they can start checking. I’m going to organize a search for potential bomb fragments when the crime scene techs get here. Witness statements will have to wait until I have more men.

Fine, I’ll leave it up to you to organize everything. Keep me informed. I’m sure the mayor will be up my ass for a solution. If anyone gives you trouble, send them to me. The line went dead. Arnold stuffed the phone into his pocket as he entered the warmth of the clinic.

A din of voices assaulted his ears. People screamed in fear, the medical staff shouted for assistance, many of the people sat on chairs or hugged their knees on the floor weeping. He felt their pain. His eyes searched the crowd for anyone he recognized. A tall man with an oversized bandage on his forehead moved among the throng.

Rick, where’s Terry?

Because Arnold was standing on his left side, Rick had to turn his entire body to determine who was speaking.

Arnold, she’s going to want to speak with you. The last time I saw her, he swiveled his head searching for his wife. She’s there, by the window tending to that woman on the gurney.

Jackson followed his friend’s gaze. You okay?

Yeah, stupid accident on the steps of the new house. I’ll be fine. Go talk to her.

Arnold wove through the crowd until he stood beside Terry.

Are you okay?

She jumped at the sound of his voice. Oh, yeah, I need to tell you something, but not here. Her eyes darted around the space. Upstairs, there has to be a room we can use that isn’t full. They made their way to the stairs and climbed. Fewer people moved on the second floor, but more were arriving off the elevator. She opened a door marked ‘office’. The room was dark. Her hand flipped on the lights and he followed her inside.

I saw something earlier, just before the explosion. It may not be connected, but I thought you should know.

What was it? He trusted her instincts.

When Rick and I were in emergency, a man came in delivering a pizza. That’s what I assumed, but then the explosion happened. The security guard didn’t check the package, the delivery guy didn’t show any identification. I can’t think of a single reason why anyone would blow up this hospital, but the situation struck me as odd until I saw him helping with the evacuation.

Hmm, yeah, the timing does seem coincidental. Can you describe the delivery guy?

She hesitated, becoming nervous. I don’t want to jump to conclusions or profile anyone based on their ethnicity.

Just tell me, Terry.

He was swarthy, Arab maybe. It seems too stereotypical. Every terrorist is from the Middle East, that sort of thing. My gut is telling me there’s more to this incident than a pizza delivery.

I agree, but we won’t know until we can get onto the fourth floor. Are you okay, you look like hell?

Thanks, Arnold, that makes me feel better. She laughed. I’m fine, it’s been a stressful day. We should get back downstairs. Terry pulled open the door. The hallway was crowded with people. Anyone nearby stared at them as they left the office. She had a moment of guilt knowing she’d suspect something disgusting happening between two people in a situation like this, but there was no way to refute the suspicion.

The sun was well into the sky by the time she and Rick dragged themselves through the front door of their house. They’d spent an entire year organizing the country house the way they wanted, but she couldn’t make their old furniture suit the décor. They were doing each room as required which meant the living room and master bedroom, first. The other rooms weren’t important. A fresh paint smell still hung in the air as they sagged into chairs in the breakfast nook.

What did Arnold say? Rick asked. His voice sounded the way she felt, exhausted.

I told him about the pizza delivery guy and that I didn’t feel certain that he was involved. He agreed to wait until they had more evidence. She yawned, her shoulders slumped toward the table.

I’ll lock the door on my way upstairs. You turn off the phones. He yawned as he shuffled out to the front entrance. Terry rested her elbows on the table to better prop up her chin with her hands.

The doorbell rang followed by heavy pounding on the front door. Her mind struggled to orient to her surroundings. She heard Rick shout from the stairs. Another man’s voice bellowed a moment later. Terry barely had the energy to keep her eyes open, but curiosity touched with fear forced her toward the front entrance.

Arnold stood on the mat shaking snow off his coat and wiping his feet. Rick had sagged against the wall with his arms crossed.

Good, you’re awake. Jackson said.

Well we weren’t, her annoyance compounded by a stiff neck infected her tone.

Sorry, but I couldn’t get through on your phone. I was worried, sue me. A smile brightened his face. Anyway, that’s not why I was trying to reach you. The chief wants a detailed description of the man you saw. Can you come with me to the station? I’ll have you sit with an artist…won’t take long.

Arnold, we’ve been up for twenty-four hours, we just got home.

So, have I. He looked flustered, uncertain. Look, at this point he’s the only lead we have, and the mayor is pulling out all the stops to find out why and how this happened. The fire department tells me they won’t know if it’s safe to enter the fourth floor until later today. We’re spinning our wheels.

Fine, give me a minute to wash my face, and grab a tea. She climbed the stairs. The water felt refreshing, for a moment. A glance in the mirror over the sink suggested the face staring back looked as terrible as she felt. Terry pulled on a fresh set of clothes and went downstairs. The two men were in the breakfast nook sipping coffee. She made a single cup of tea in the coffee machine, it always had a slightly odd flavor.

She poured the tea into a go mug. Arnold looked like he might fall asleep at the table too. His eyes had a distant stare.

I’m ready if you are.

Her friend roused himself and followed out to the doorway. A cold northerly wind punched her in the face as she walked down the driveway to Jackson’s car. It was still warm inside after sitting for half an hour. He sagged behind the wheel with a sigh before starting the engine. They drove in silence until they reached the highway.

You said last night that you thought there was more to the explosion than a pizza guy, what did you mean? His attention was focused on the road.

She didn’t answer immediately, choosing her words carefully. When I saw the man delivering the pizza, my first reaction was fear. I don’t know why, maybe I’m becoming a racist. It made me angry to think that way. Then the bomb exploded, if it was a bomb. I know that other people will instantly believe this was a terrorist attack, but I’m not certain it was.

Arnold was silent. Terry wondered if he’d fallen asleep until she glanced at him. His red rimmed eyes stared at the road, his lips set in a tight frown. She was about to ask him what was wrong when he spoke.

We don’t have any proof, yet, but that’s what the mayor believes. He wants a task force set up immediately to uncover the group responsible.

That’s wrong, she said. Have you questioned the security guard? He must know if the man was legitimate.

We can’t find him. The supervisor said the guard was a temporary replacement for the guy who was supposed to be on duty last night. We can’t locate the scheduled officer either. This is turning into a shit storm, Terry, excuse my language, but that’s how it seems. Unless we get some concrete evidence or a lead in another direction soon, the department is treating the explosion as a terrorist attack.

So, I’m about to describe a person to your sketch artist who might be a victim, and yet the picture will be used to convict the man and his family without proof. She sipped her tea.

Yup, he turned off the highway onto a secondary street on the way to the station. I know you, Terry. I’m hoping you’ll still give an accurate description of the man regardless of your feelings or suspicions. It’s still the best way to exonerate the man.

I know, I just wish there was some other way of looking at this crime without jumping to conclusions.

They pulled into the parking lot and went into the station. Arnold led the way down a hall to a windowless room. A man sat at a table with an artist pad and a metal box the size of a briefcase in front of him. He stood when they entered, shaking hands with both.

Ninety minutes passed before the young man brought a paper rendering and Terry into Arnold’s office. The technician handed the picture to Jackson while she sat with a sigh into an empty chair across the desk.

He studied the drawing, noting the middle eastern features, the heavy brows, the hawk nose. A stereotypical reaction hit him in the stomach. Hatred for a terrorist, a murderer, and the word; ‘Muslim’ whispered in his mind.

You’re certain this is the man you saw last night? He dropped the picture on his desk.

Yes. She tipped the go-mug to her lips draining the last drop of tea.

Stay away from this one, Terry, I mean it. This investigation is going to involve many departments including the FBI, Homeland Security, maybe more. They won’t be tolerant about you poking around in this.

Well even though my husband and I were nearly killed in the explosion, I’m not interested in solving this case. I have furniture to buy. Are you taking me home or do I have to call a taxi?

Chapter Three

She dropped her keys back in the purse, hung up her coat, and shuffled through the house looking for Rick. The last of her energy draining away with each step. Terry found her husband in the living room, sleeping on the couch. The television was playing a daytime drama, the voices barely above a whisper. A smile touched her lips. Her entire body was screaming for rest, but her mind was resisting. She needed a cup of tea.

When the brew finished steeping, she poured a large mug and took it into the den. The ancient sofa they kept from the basement of the old house beckoned to her promising comfort and relaxation. She resisted the temptation and sat at her desk. Rick had