Instinct by Jason Hough (best memoirs of all time TXT) 📕

“Greg?!”

“Yeah, I know. Crazy, right? He may have been under Conaty’s little spell or whatever, but he was aware and listening. With all that going on the tenacious old son of a bitch was gathering evidence.”

I smile. Can’t help it.

Davies goes on. “Conaty, Ang, Dr. Ryan, even Senator Meecham… they all spoke as if Greg and the others weren’t even there, so confident were they in their ability to control the gang. So yeah, Greg learned a lot in the week he was with them, and is sharing all of it with the investigators.”

“Time-out. The first thing Conaty said after they dosed me, after telling me to obey her, I mean, was to speak to no one of the treatment.”

“Yep. Greg was told the same thing, of course, and with that drug in him he could do nothing but obey Mrs. Conaty. But she made a simple mistake. A greedy mistake, really.”

“Which was?”

Davies grins ear to ear.

“What?” I ask him.

“This is the best part. It was your friend Clara’s idea, actually, inspired by how you guys foiled her plans up there.”

“Well go on, dude, tell me!”

“Trusting Conaty requires only her voice. A visual helps, but it’s mostly the voice. All we needed was a recording of her saying ‘cooperate’ with the investigation and, boom, they do. Greg rolled over like no witness ever before him. Told them everything he could. Is still talking, actually.”

I close my eyes, picturing the wise old fart with his long mustache and squinty gray eyes. “I hope they don’t go too hard on him. He’s not responsible for his actions, Sheriff… err, James.”

“I know, Mary. They know, too, I think, but this is all uncharted territory. Going to take a long time to untangle it, and figure out what to do. Especially with so many agencies involved.”

It’s the best I can hope for, I suppose. “Thanks,” I say, even though I know the sheriff is not the one calling the shots in this matter. “What about Conaty herself?”

He shrugs. “Cooperating to a point. Well, she was until her lawyers arrived. But that was enough. We got her on tape, saying what was needed to help, uh, contain the situation. For now.” He says this last very quietly. The implications don’t take long to sink home.

“Her words are dangerous,” I mutter, thinking it through. “For certain people. Greg…” I let the thought trail off with an involuntary shudder. “I should have aimed for her head.”

“Don’t say that, Mary. No one’s blaming you for anything. You did good.”

For a long time neither of us speak. He pours me more water, holds it for me as I sip through the straw. Then he settles back in his chair and waits, giving me time to process, I suppose.

“What about Mr. Ang? Doc?”

A shadow passes over James’s face. The sheriff rubs at his chin, considering his words. Perhaps figuring out what he’s allowed to tell me.

“Mr. Ang’s in the wind,” he says, simply. At my stare he grimaces and adds, “Slipped away while Kyle and Clara were getting you help. Seems he boarded the helicopter with Conaty’s… clients.”

“Any idea who they were, by the way? She called one Mr. Secretary…”

“That,” he says weightily, “is a big ball of wax, and one I’m definitely not cleared to know about. Whoever they are, it appears Ang left with them. Or they took him. I guess it doesn’t matter. The worry is that they see all this as a setback, not an end. As long as they have him…”

“They can try again,” I finish.

“Bingo.” He takes a deep breath. “They stopped long enough to burn the senator’s mansion to the ground, then left. Swapped the chopper for a chartered jet just across the border in Canada, then flew on to who-knows-where. A reported destination of Anchorage was bullshit, obviously. They could be literally anywhere now and are officially the feds’ problem. That is all I know.”

“Well, whatever, as long as they’re far from Silvertown.”

The sheriff takes my hand and turns it toward me. The words are still written there, though they’ve faded a little. “ ‘You need help,’ ” he reads.

I stare at him.

James stares back, then pulls away his hand and returns to spinning the hat around with his fingers. “Did you know you were acting differently?”

“Only after the fact, when it no longer mattered.”

He gives a slow nod. Thinks some more, then nods again. “There’s a shrink here. Can’t remember which agency he’s with. The CDC, I think. Anyway, I heard him say something interesting. The human brain has something of a flaw. It trusts its own instincts, and so when those instincts change, our mind apparently just rolls with it. So the theory goes. This is all uncharted waters.”

It makes a lot of sense, I think, and say as much. “So what about Doc? Is he cooperating? Unlike Greg and the others, Doc’s like me. He didn’t get the latest—”

“Dr. Ryan is dead, Mary.”

My jaw clamps shut. For a long minute I say nothing at all.

“Shot himself,” James adds, quietly. “In the police station, right after you collapsed.”

“I cuffed him. I—”

“He couldn’t aim for his head, so he shot himself in the leg, hit an artery. A trained doctor, so he knew where to aim, I guess. Bled out before a life flight could get there.” The sheriff watches my face, conflicted. Probably thought Doc was no great loss, and my reaction isn’t meshing with that.

I say, “I suspect he felt guilty for everything that had happened, but for Johnny Rogers in particular.” A shudder passes through me. “Unlike Greg, Doc wasn’t acting out of some programmed loyalty. He was a willing participant.”

“Maybe.”

I cast the sheriff a glance. “Meaning?”

He lifts his shoulders. “There’re other ways to manipulate people. The old-fashioned ways, if you will.”

It’s a good point. Still, for some reason I can’t help but feel a pang of remorse at Doc’s fate. “I locked him up in the hope that he could help unravel all this. And maybe,