Free Tail Spin by Catherine Coulter Page B

that’s what Jack said. Listen, Agent Savich, I do complicated real good. Why don’t you call me Dougie?”
    Savich looked at him. “I can’t.”
    Sheriff Hollyfield grinned. “Yeah, I understand.”
    “But Dougie went real well with the bib overalls,” Sherlock said.
    “Yeah, yeah, why don’t we have a cup of coffee in the cafeteria and you can tell me what’s going on with this guy. Jack and Rachael are both okay, so don’t worry about them. I had to leave them in Parlow since Jack still wasn’t looking too hot. I got the impression, though, that he wasn’t going to let her out of his sight. They went back to the B&B.”
    While Savich sipped his tea, the sheriff said, “Before I left Jack and Rachael to drive up here, Tommy Jerkins, your FBI expert, reported in. He found remnants of an explosive—Semtex, he thinks—but the detonator malfunctioned, didn’t set off all the plastic explosive.
    “After the wheels hit the ground, the fuel exploded the rest of the Semtex. Tommy said Jack is a very lucky man. Even without the bomb detonating, the Cessna was disabled enough to send him right into the mountains.
    “Given how inaccessible the mountains are, even if the bomb had blown them out of the sky, the chances are Search and Rescue wouldn’t have found enough of either of them or the wreckage to determine anything. It probably would have been deemed pilot error.
    “Jack said he was going to miss that plane,” the sheriff continued. “He told me she’s gotten him out of a few tight spots. I told him a wreath might help.”
    Sherlock said, “The person behind this murder attempt will come after Dr. MacLean again. This was his third try, no reason he’ll stop now.
    “Maybe he’ll come after Jack, as well, if he assumes Dr. MacLean told Jack about a patient’s illegal activities, maybe even where to find proof.”
    Savich said, “Our lab will examine what’s left of the bomb and the Semtex, see if they can tell where it’s from. Our people in Lexington are all over the private section of the airport, questioning everyone. Somebody had to see something.”
    Sheriff Hollyfield said, “Jack said Dr. MacLean didn’t tell him any specifics like that. And that’s when Jack said he wasn’t capable. I asked him how that was possible, and he said Dr. MacLean didn’t remember.”
    Sheriff Hollyfield looked suddenly very tough. “Anyone going to explain this to me?”
    Sharp and clean, Savich thought, that was Sheriff Hollyfield’s brain. He looked over at Sherlock. She nodded. Savich said, “Dr. MacLean has an increasingly debilitating brain disorder called frontal lobe dementia. The prognosis for anyone who’s unlucky enough to get it isn’t good.”
    “Dementia? But this man isn’t old.”
    “No, he’s not,” Sherlock said. “Frontal lobe dementia can strike middle-aged people.”
    “What are his symptoms?”
    Savich said, “The disease reduces his inhibitions, makes him say and do uncharacteristic things—like telling the minister after church services that he’s a sanctimonious prig, telling a woman she looks fat, attacking a guy for eyeing his wife—social gaffes like that. Sometimes he remembers saying these things, sometimes he doesn’t. If he does remember, he tends to dismiss them, doesn’t think there’s anything wrong with saying them.
    “As his disease has progressed, Dr. MacLean has started telling tales about his famous patients, even to his tennis partner. Privileged doctor/patient exchanges. Again, he doesn’t necessarily remember what he’s divulged, and if he does remember, he doesn’t think it’s any big deal.
    “As you can imagine, Sheriff Hollyfield, this is not good since many of his patients are very famous and very powerful. And since he’s in Washington, we’re talking lots of politicians, some corporate bigwigs.”
    Sherlock said, “Dr. MacLean has a huge reputation, he’s known for his bone-deep discretion before this disease struck him.”
    Sheriff