by E H Davis
“You left your wine glasses on the porch.”
The phone went dead.
Jens exchanged panicked looks with Nola.
“Shit, he’s out there. NOW!”
“What are we going to do?”
He duck-walked to the porch door to make sure it was locked. Visible on the table where they had been sitting earlier were their wine glasses. He shivered, feeling violated.
It made him realize what a fool he was — isolated in the woods, Laurent at large. New Hampshire’s stand-your-ground law legalized his right to shoot an intruder on his property. Where was Daniel’s gun now that he needed it?
Armed with an iron poker from the fireplace, he hunkered down with Nola behind the kitchen island, a strategic location, ready to fend off any threat.
Nola wanted them to escape in one of their cars parked in the drive, but Jens didn’t want to risk them being sitting ducks if Laurent had a rifle.
They’d tried to call out on the landline for help, but there was no service after the caller had hung up. Laurent must have cut the line.
________
With dawn approaching, the bogeyman faded. They began to downplay the seriousness of the phone call. Still, like trauma victims with OCD, they kept peeking through the blinds.
Finally, when it was fully light out, Jens went onto the porch and scoured the woods behind his cabin. Theirs was the only property this side of the ridge.
“They’re gone,” he reassured Nola, though he was reluctant to go exploring without a weapon more formidable than a poker.
He went around to the front of the cabin where telephone lines were attached to the house. The line hadn’t been cut, only disconnected. He wired it back up.
Inside the house, they breathed a sigh of relief when Jens confirmed that the phone was working. Nola, agitated, began making coffee to calm down.
“Shouldn’t you call the Conway police?”
Jens shook his head.
“They’re long gone. Besides, it will take the local cops at least a half hour to get up here. I’d rather talk to Ferdie — get her state troopers to hunt them down.”
“Why don’t you have a gun?”
She poured water into the German coffee maker.
“No, no guns.” He hadn’t told her about Nils yet.
“Up here in the woods? Don’t believe in them?”
“Something like that.”
“You said ‘they’. Was someone with Laurent?”
“Just a feeling.” He sat down at the breakfast nook.
“Obviously he’s got a better network provider than you.”
“Why?”
“He called you on a cell phone, so he had to have reception.”
“Maybe we can get the police to track him.”
She put a mug of coffee in front of him and sat down with hers.
“For blackmailers, they’re pretty stupid. They should’ve given you a deadline to have the money. They came a long way just to threaten you.”
“You think we’re over-reacting?”
Jens was convinced that the caller was Laurent, calling at Vivian’s behest, to scare and intimidate him out of suing for Teddy’s custody.
“One thing bothers me.” Nola began cleaning up. “Would she use her own son as a pawn?”
Jens pondered this.
“Bottom line, I need to know if Teddy’s all right.”
“So call him.”
“She keeps changing his phone on me so I can’t.”
“Ferdie will know what to do.”
He stroked her cheek while he dialed and waited for Ferdie to pick up.
“Maybe you’d better sleep back in town until this blows over.”
“You think the sex is all I’m about?” Her anger flared.
“You wouldn’t be here if that’s all it was.”
She held herself back, reading him until she was certain he was sincere.
________
When Ferdie picked up, Jens told her what had happened. She promised to drive right over to the house in Lee and check on Teddy and Vivian. She wanted to send someone to look in on Jens and Nola, too, but Jens convinced her that the threat was over — for the time being.
Chapter Forty-Two
The blackmailers jumped into Warren’s pick-up truck. Warren rolled it a short way down the steep incline before starting the engine, to ensure a silent getaway.
Corbin, he feared, may have been spooked enough to call the cops once he realized they’d been stalking him outside the cabin. This had not been part of the plan. Now they were sitting ducks for the cops patrolling Conway and Jackson’s back roads. He gunned the engine and flew over a tar mogul, landing with a thump that rattled the flatbed.
On a bend of the road, he rolled down his window and hurled the chip from the burner phone they’d used to call Corbin.
Warren was cursing under his breath. He pounded the steering wheel.
According to plan, they’d driven up to Conway to view the property and to impress on Corbin how vulnerable he was and that they meant business. Fool that he was, Laurent had given their hand away by talking about Vivian. It wouldn’t take the cops long to figure out who was behind this.
Laurent, riding shotgun, guiltily fiddled with the strap to the binoculars hanging at his neck — the ones used to watch Corbin and his girlfriend on the back porch.
“Get rid of those.” Warren pointed at the binoculars. “Put’em in the glove compartment.” He gave him a sour look. “If we get stopped, I’ll do the talking.” This time hung unspoken in the air.
Meanwhile, Laurent looked like the recently-paroled con that he was. If stopped, they’d both go back to prison, and that was not going to happen.
Warren looked away in disgust.
Perched on the edge of the seat like a scolded child, Laurent stared dead ahead, ignoring all the log cabins similar to Jens’s bordering the road. Most had for sale signs.
“You can’t stay on my boat.” Warren had been hiding him on his Boston Whaler moored at the marina in Newington — isolating him from Vivian until Warren was done with her. “I got too much to lose. When we get back to Portsmouth, you clear out.”
“What’s eating you, anyway?” Laurent glared at him.
“That bit about him being a thief, stealing your woman — that really blew it. He’s going to think his wife is in on this, and go right to the police.”
Vivian was in the dark about all of this; Warren had made sure of that. She just needed to be terrorized long enough for him to bleed her dry. Using Laurent to scare Corbin off was a perfect play. It would keep the disputed marital assets in Vivian’s hands, for Warren to snatch up after the divorce. Laurent, meanwhile, was the ideal patsy: the fall guy. Warren knew he had to do something permanent about him, but for now he served a purpose.
Laurent pounded the dash. “Okay, okay. I was hyped. I wanted to scare him.”
“I warned you,” he fumed. “But you had to go and make it personal.”
Laurent clenched his fists. “He’s not going to the cops. Not if he wants to keep his son safe.”
Warren shook his head. “I was never here.”
“What d’you mean? You can’t back out now.”
Warren touched his Glock, hidden under the seat.
“I can and I will. This better not come back on me if you get pulled in.”
“I thought you needed the cash — to cover the rip-off at the pot farm.”
Warren snorted. “Who told you that?”
At the bottom of the ridge the development community gave way to farms on either side. Warren turned onto the secondary road and picked up speed.
“What about all your pot, from the harvest? Didn’t you tell me you’d been ripped off?”
“Still mine.” Warren smirked.
“You ripped it off — conned your partners.” Now it’s my turn to get fucked. “If I collect, you’re out?”
“You happen to notice all those for sale signs? Corbin will be luc
ky if he ever gets an offer.” He glared. “Someone didn’t do their homework, pardner.”
“He doesn’t need to sell. He’s got book and movie royalties. I don’t get it.” Then it came to him — Vivian was the one with the money. She’d lied to him, told him the marital assets were all tied up in divorce court. Corbin, though a one-time bestselling author, was cash poor.
Was Warren extorting her behind his back? Was that why Vivian had dropped him?
A cloud of hostility settled over them. They drove in silence, taking secondary roads to avoid police checkpoints on the highway.
Laurent considered the events of the last few weeks. Finally, it all came together.
So, that’s how it is, he realized. Warren’s going after Vivian’s money — he only needed me to get to her. Today was misdirection, to put me off track.
By the time they got to Portsmouth, Laurent knew what he had to do. He wasn’t surprised when Warren dropped him at the traffic circle, not at the marina.
“Give me a call in a couple of days, maybe we can still work something out,” Warren told him insincerely before driving away. “Where you going to be if I need to get a hold of you?”
Laurent slammed the door.
“I’ll be around, don’t worry. I know where to find you.”
He set off for the marina, to move to another boat he knew was unoccupied.
Revenge, he consoled himself, was a dish best served cold.
Chapter Forty-Three
Vivian was exhausted from a long day at the State Street gallery “qualifying” prospective buyers who wandered in to look at the art on the walls and socialize, but hardly ever to buy.
The court had tied up what was left of the marital assets and Warren had drained her and Jens’ accounts and maxed out their cards. She was left holding the bag, and needed to earn enough to cover the basics. It was tough, but she’d survive. She had to, for Teddy’s sake.
She made her way to the municipal garage on Hanover Street, resisting the urge to stop for a drink at one of the many watering holes in town.
But she couldn’t. She had to pick up Teddy at school, even though Warren had reassured her that as long as she stuck to their “bargain,” denying any connection with Laurent that would endanger her share of marital assets or reveal his, Warren’s, extortion, he would leave Teddy alone.
Half-dazed, she mounted the steps to the roof level, trying to remember where exactly she’d left her Volvo, confused from one day to the next.
The events since her life-changing first contact with her blackmailer — a man she now knew as a real killer from Hell’s Kitchen, and not an accidental one like Laurent — had left her numb and drained. She thought back to her ordered, safe existence before Laurent, before Warren, when the hardest thing for her to stomach was a bad night with Jens.
Safety, security, beauty, love. Sanity. Gone, all gone.
She tried not to feel hopeless, but she was. Like a trauma victim, her brain churned with toxic acetylcholine, the stress transmitter. Still, she soldiered on, acting as if, hoping for the best.
Teddy was the only thing that mattered, and for his sake she had to keep up pretenses. And not go to the police. Warren, no dummy, knew all about her past. And if he didn’t make good on his threat to harm Teddy, then he would make sure the divorce court learned about her previous marriage and her crimes. Destroying her in Teddy’s eyes and likely eliminating her bid for custody.
In some ways, Warren was the same as her uncle who’d abused her as a teenager, threatening to kill her and Laurent if she hadn’t gone along. Thankfully, Warren did not force sex on her as a manipulative tool. Though she knew it was dangling as a possibility, should she balk at following his orders. Repulsed, she imagined his cruelty in “lovemaking” would match his verbal abusiveness.
She clicked the Volvo’s key fob and followed the reassuring chirrup of her car’s locking system to a row of parked cars leading to the roof. Hers was in the shadows.
As she opened the door to get in, she felt a hand block her. Even before she heard the insidious voice of her personal demon, she knew it was Warren; he sent off a vibe, like a predator stalking and toying with its prey.
“Well, fancy running into you, Madam Corbin, or should I say, soon-to-be D’Arcy.”
Vivian trembled with fear. She turned her face up to him, exposing her neck like prey hypnotized into surrendering.
“What do you want?” she asked, trying to keep the terror out of her voice.
He smiled.
“Get in, just a few last-minute pointers for your exciting day in court.”
There was an odor emanating from him that made her gag. Sulphur, she decided, from his roofing contracts, mixed with cheap underarm deodorant.
“What’s the matter?” he sneered. “Got something against the sweat of an honest working man?”
“I have to pick up Teddy,” she said, talking through her gag reflex.
“Get in,” he growled, “Or would you rather we pick him up together?”
Chapter Forty-Four
The autumn leaves had turned and the colors were high. So much color! Shades of orange, red, mauve, apple green! It was almost painful.
It was a sword slicing him up the middle, tenderizing Jens for the confrontation tomorrow in Dover, at the family circuit court, where he would learn the fate of his relationship with his son and sever ties with Vivian.
As he slowed to pay the toll on Route 16, his cell phone chirped with an incoming call. He glanced at the unfamiliar number.
“Hello,” he answered hesitantly, as he tossed three quarters into the collection cage.
“Mr. Corbin, this is Dr. Reese, the assistant principal at Oyster River High. I’ve been trying to reach you all week.”
“One moment, please.” Jens pulled off the road and parked.
“What’s this about? Has something happened to Teddy?”
It was school hours and he thought instantly of Sandy Hook and Parkland. Schools were getting to be as hazardous as state department postings in Middle Eastern countries. His anxiety mushroomed when he remembered the blackmail call, threatening Teddy. Had he discounted it too easily?
“He’s all right, isn’t he?” asked Jens tensely.
“Don’t worry, he’s fine. However, there are some issues that I’d like to discuss in person. Are you free tomorrow afternoon?”
“Have you contacted” — Jens almost said ‘my wife’— “Mrs. Corbin?”
“Well, that’s just it. I’ve left numerous messages for her for over a week now. You’re listed as an emergency contact. Is this the best number to reach you?”
“Yes.” The news that Vivian had been unreachable flared his anxiety.
“Will four o’clock be okay?”
“Yes, fine.” Jens assumed his court hearing would be finished by then; Oyster River was only one town away.
“Good, we’ll hold Teddy over. He can join us after we talk.”
“Can you give me some idea what this about? He hasn’t been in a fight, has he?”
“I’d rather we talked tomorrow, Mr. Corbin.”
Jens disconnected without saying goodbye. Why hadn’t Vivian returned the vice principal’s calls? That wasn’t like her — she’d always been a responsible parent, despite her self-absorption.
Jens pulled back onto the highway, heading for the bridge to Newington. Traffic was moderate as he crossed the Little Bay, which sparkled in the noon sun like a tray of diamonds.
By the time he got to the Newington side, he knew he had to know everything about Vivian before facing her in court. He picked up his phone and speed-dialed Ferdie.
“Hi, Jens. Everything okay?”
He pictured her at her desk at state police headquarters in Epping, the blue from her computer screen casting shadows over her features.
He knew that she was one of only twenty-seven female New Hampshire state troopers and, as she’d told him, she constantly suffered harassment from male colleagues as well as c
ivilians. Jens felt honored by her concern for him and his family. He tried not to take advantage. But this was about Teddy and she would want to know.
“I just had a disturbing phone call from Teddy’s vice principal. He says he’s been trying to reach Vivian all week about Teddy.”
“What’s Teddy done?”
“He’ll only tell me face to face. I’m seeing him tomorrow, after the hearing.”
“Why don’t I swing by the house in Lee this afternoon and check up on them?”
“Would you?”
“Call you later.”
“Thanks.”
“Hang in there, amigo.”
“You, too, amiga,” he rejoined, to which she scoffed and hung up.
Jens sped up, weaving past slower moving vehicles, anxious to get to his meeting with Vincent. The final report from Spears, the private detective, was in, just in time for Vincent to use in the hearing. Jens would know, once and for all, if Vivian had been in on the blackmail call.
________
“He’s waiting for you,” Molly said, as she ushered Jens into Vincent’s inner office. Jens was not surprised to see another man seated as he entered.
“Jens, I want you to meet Larry Spears. He’s the guy I put on the investigation.”
Spears, a solid-looking man in his thirties, extended his hand for Jens to shake.
“It’s an honor, Mr. Corbin, sir.”
Vincent suppressed a laugh.
“Larry’s ex-military, as you can see.”
Jens sized him up. He was dressed in a tailored suit of gray, light-worsted wool, a rep tie, and Bostonian oxfords. Hair was short but longer than military. Jens nodded to himself as he took the man’s hand, prepared to have his own crushed. There was iron in his grip but it was subdued. Jens thought he saw amusement in Spears’ eyes, as though he was often misjudged as a brute.
“Larry was with the military police, Navy.” Vincent motioned for everyone to sit.
“M.P., like Jack Reacher,” Jens commented wryly.
“Reacher is supposedly Army. I’m Navy. We call it ‘M.A.,’ Master at Arms, not M.P. You a Lee Child fan, too?”
