“I’m dying to know what Susan had to say—”
“Please don’t use that word ‘dying.’”
“Well, think for a minute, Marshall. Think of all the people who seem to have responded to the alleged bug. There were the Windsor cops who knew they could find you at Strachan’s after you told me you’d be there—”
“It’s not likely they’d have the recording equipment. They’re too far away.”
“So somebody who did have the recording equipment must have tipped them off.”
Marshall got an idea, and a little bit of color returned to his face. “I’m wondering about Brummel.”
Bernice’s eyes brightened. “Sure! Like I said, he and the cops in Windsor are in cahoots all the time.”
“He fired Sara, you know. She wasn’t there today. She’d been replaced.” New ideas began to form in Marshall’s mind. “Yeah … she talked to me on the phone and ratted on Brummel a little. She said she’d help me out if I could help her out … we agreed to deal … and Brummel fired her! He must have heard that conversation too.” Then it hit him. “Yeah! Sara! Those filing cabinets! Brummel’s filing cabinets!”
“Yeah, you’re cooking, Marshall, just keep going!”
“He had his filing cabinets moved out into Sara’s reception area to make room for some new office equipment. I saw it there, sitting right in his office, and there was a wire coming out of the wall … he said it was for the coffeemaker. But I didn’t see any coffeemaker!”
“I think you might have it there!”
“It was telephone wire, not appliance cord.” Excitement made his head hurt, but he said anyway, “Bernice, it was telephone wire.”
“If we could find out for sure that the recording equipment is there in his office … if we could find any tapes of phone conversations … well, that might be enough to bring some kind of charges at least: illegal wiretapping—”
“Murder.”
That was a chilling thought.
“We need Sara,” Marshall added. “If she’s on our side, now’s when she can prove it.”
“Whatever you do, don’t call her. I know where she lives.”
“Help me up.”
“You help me up!”
CHAPTER 31
HANK AND MARY were still shaking as he took a careful look at the front door.
He shook his head and whistled his astonishment. “She cracked the doorjamb. Look at this! The stop is moved out about an inch.”
“Well, how about changing your shirt?” Mary asked, and Hank remembered that half his shirt was gone.
“Here’s another one for the rag box,” he said, slipping the shirt off. Then he winced a little. “Oooo!”
“What’s wrong?”
As the shirt came off Hank raised his arm to have a look, and Mary gasped. Carmen’s teeth had made some very impressive welts. The skin was broken in some places.
“We’d better put some peroxide on those,” said Mary, hurrying into the bathroom. “Come here!”
Hank went into the bathroom, still carrying the torn shirt. He held his arm out over the sink, and Mary started dabbing the wounds.
She was astonished. “Goodness! Hank, she bit you in four different places. Look at this!”
“Boy, I hope she’s had all her shots.”
“I knew that woman was up to no good the first time I saw her.”
The doorbell rang. Hank and Mary looked at each other. What now?
“Better go answer it,” said Hank.
She went out into the living room while Hank finished cleaning his arm.
“Hank!” Mary called. “I think you’d better come out here!”
Hank went out into the living room, still carrying the torn shirt in his hand and sporting the bite marks on his arm.
Two policemen stood at the door, an older, taller one and a younger, new-on-the-force type. Yeah, the neighbors must have thought something terrible was happening in here. Come to think of it, they were right.
“Hi there,” said Hank.
“Hank Busche?” the older one asked.
“Yeah,” he answered. “This is Mary, my wife. You must have received a call from the neighbors, right?”
The big officer was looking at Hank’s arm. “What happened to your arm?”
“Well …” Hank wasn’t sure how to answer. Even the truth would sound like a pretty tall tale.
No matter. He didn’t have time. The younger officer grabbed Hank’s shirt right out of his hand and unfolded it, holding it up in both hands. The older one happened to have the rest of Hank’s shirt discreetly hidden behind his back. Now he produced the torn piece and made a quick comparison of the materials.
The older one nodded to the younger one, and the younger one got out a pair of handcuffs and rather forcefully twisted Hank around. Mary’s mouth dropped open and she squealed, “What on earth are you doing?”
The older one started rattling off the prisoner’s liturgy. “Mr. Busche, we are placing you under arrest. It’s my duty to advise you of your rights. You have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be used against you …”
Hank had an idea, but he asked anyway, “Uh … mind telling me what the charges are?”
“You oughta know,” snapped the older one.
“Suspected rape,” said the younger.
“What?” Mary exclaimed.
The younger one held up his hand as a warning. “Just stay out of this, lady.”
“You’re making a mistake!” she pleaded.
The two officers led Hank down the front walk. It happened so fast that Mary hardly knew what to do. She ran after them, pleading, trying to reason with them.
“This is crazy! I don’t believe this!” she said.
The younger one just told her, “You’ll have to stay out of the way or face charges of obstructing justice.”
“Justice!” she cried. “You call this justice? Hank, what should I do?”
“Make some calls,” Hank answered.
“I’m going with you!”
“We can’t allow you in the squad car, ma’am,” said the older one.
“Make some calls, Mary,” Hank repeated.
They strong-armed him into the car and closed the door. The two officers got in and away they went, down the street, around the corner and out of sight, and Mary remained there on the curb all by herself, without her husband, just like that.
TAL AND HIS warriors and couriers knew where to look and they knew what to listen for; so they heard the telephones ringing all over town, they saw the many people roused from their televisions or from their sleep by the phone calls. The entire Remnant was buzzing with the news of Hank’s arrest. The praying began.
“Busche has fallen,” said Tal. “Only Hogan remains.” He turned to Chimon and Mota. “Does Sara have the keys?”
Chimon answered, “She had several keys copied before she left her job at the police station.”
Mota looked across the town as he said, “They should be meeting with her right about now.”
SARA, BERNICE, AND Marshall conferred in a tight, hushed little huddle in the middle of Sara’s small kitchen. Except for the light from one lamp out in the dining room, there were no other lights on in the house. Sara was still up, fully dressed. She was packing to move.
“I’ll take whatever I can squeeze into my car, but I’m not staying around past tomorrow, especially after tonight,” she said in a near whisper.
“How are you set for money?” Marshall asked.
“I’ve enough gas money to get out of the state, and after that I don’t know. Brummel didn’t give me any severance pay.”
“Just booted you right out?”
“He didn’t say so, but I’ve no doubt he overheard that conversation I had with you. I didn’t survive very long after that.”
Marshall handed her a hundred dollars. “I’d give you more if I had it.”
“That’s all right. I’d say we have a deal.” Sara passed a set of keys to him. “
Now listen carefully. This one here is for the main door, but first you have to deactivate the burglar alarm. That’s this little key here. The box is around the back, just above the garbage cans. You just open the cover and flip the switch off. This key here, with the round head, is to Brummel’s office. I don’t know if that equipment is locked up or not, but I don’t have any key for it. You’ll just have to take the risk. The night dispatcher is still posted at the fire station, so there shouldn’t be anyone else there.”
“What do you think of our theory?” Bernice asked.
“I know Brummel’s very protective of that new equipment in there. Ever since he had it installed, I’ve not been allowed in his office and he keeps the door closed. It’s the first place I’d look.”
“We’d better go,” Marshall said to Bernice.
Bernice gave Sara a hug. “Good luck.”
“Good luck yourselves,” Sara replied. “Be very quiet going out.”
They sneaked away in the darkness.
LATER THAT NIGHT Marshall picked up Bernice at her apartment and they rode together downtown.
Marshall found a good spot to hide the Buick just a few blocks from Courthouse Square, a nice vacant lot with lots of overgrown shrubs and trees. His slipped the big car down into the jungle and turned off the engine. For a moment he and Bernice just sat there wondering what the next move should be. They thought they were ready. They had even changed into dark clothes, and they had brought flashlights and rubber gloves.
“Sheesh!” said Marshall. “The last time I did something like this was when we kids stole the neighbor’s corn.”
“How did that turn out!”
“We got caught, and boy, did we get it!”
“What time does your watch say?”
Marshall checked his watch with his flashlight. “1:25.”
Bernice was clearly nervous. “I wonder if real burglars work this way. I feel like I’m in some kind of hokey movie.”
“How about some charcoal for your face?”
“It’s black enough now, thank you.”
They both sat there for a few more moments, trying to build up the nerve to proceed.
Bernice finally said, “Well, are we going to do it or aren’t we?”
“Die all, die merrily,” Marshall replied, opening his door.
They tiptoed up an alley and through a few yards until they reached the back of the courthouse/police station. Fortunately, the town hadn’t gotten the funds together yet for any floodlights over the parking lot, so the darkness was pretty concealing.
Bernice couldn’t help feeling petrified; only sheer determination kept her carrying on. Marshall was nervous, but for some reason he felt an odd exhilaration in doing something so sneaky and dirty against these enemies. As soon as they had crossed the parking lot they ducked into a nearby shadow and stood tightly against the wall. It was so nice and dark there that Bernice didn’t want to leave.
About twenty feet down the wall were the garbage cans, and above them a small gray panel. Marshall got there quickly, found the right key, opened the little door, and found the switch. He signaled to Bernice, and she followed him. They walked quickly around to the front of the building, and now they were in the open, facing the large parking area between the police station and the town hall. Marshall had the key ready, and they were able to get into the building without delay. Marshall quickly closed the door behind them.
They rested just a minute and listened. The place was deserted and dead quiet. They heard no sirens or alarms going off. Marshall found the next key and went to Brummel’s office door. So far Sara had predicted right on the money. Brummel’s door opened too. They both ducked inside.
And there sat the cabinetry housing the mysterious equipment—if it was truly there. Marshall clicked on his flashlight and kept the beam subdued under his hand so that it would not play on the walls or shine out the window. Then he swung open the lower left cabinet door. Inside he found some shelves on roller tracks. He pulled the upper one out …
And there sat a recording machine with a good supply of tape. “Eureka!” Bernice whispered.
“Must be signal activated … switches on automatically whenever an input comes in.”
Bernice clicked on her flashlight and checked the other door on the lower right. Here she found some files and folders.
“It looks like a catalog!” she said. “Look—names, dates, conversations, and what tape they’re on.”
“That handwriting looks familiar.”
They were both astounded at how many names were on the list, how many people were being listened in on.
“Even Network people,” Marshall observed. Then he pointed to a listing near the bottom of one page. “There we are.”
He was right. The Clarion phone was listed, the conversation noted as being between Marshall and Ted Harmel, recorded on tape 5-A.
“Who in the world has the time to list all this stuff?” Bernice wondered.
Marshall only shook his head. Then he asked, “When was that conversation between Susan and Weed?”
Bernice thought for a moment. “We’ll just have to check all of today, yesterday … who knows? Weed didn’t say exactly.”
“Maybe that call came in today. There’s no record of that here.”
“It must be on the tape that’s on the machine now. Those calls haven’t been logged yet.”
Marshall wound the tape back, put the machine into play, flipped on the speaker switch, and set the volume down low.
Conversations began to unfold from the recording, a lot of everyday, innocuous stuff. Brummel’s voice was in a lot of them, talking business. Marshall ran the tape ahead on Fast Forward a few times, skipping over several conversations. Suddenly he recognized a voice. His own.
“You already ran once, remember?” came his recorded voice. “As long as you’re alive, Eldon, you’re going to be living with this and they’re going to know it …”
“Eldon Strachan and I,” he told Bernice.
It was scary hearing his very words coming out of the machine, words that could tell the Network anything and everything.
Marshall skipped forward some more.
“Man, this whole thing is crazy,” came a voice.
Bernice brightened. “That’s him! That’s Weed!”
Marshall wound the tape back and flipped it to Play again. There was a gap, then the abrupt start of a conversation.
“Yeah, hello?” said Weed.
“Kevin, this is Susan.”
Bernice and Marshall listened intently.
Weed replied, “Yeah, I’m listening, man. What can I do?”
Susan’s voice was tense and her words hurried. “Kevin, I’m getting out, one way or another, and I’m doing it tonight. Can you meet me at The Evergreen tomorrow night?”
“Yeah … yeah.”
“See if you can bring Bernice Krueger with you. I have materials to show her, everything she needs to know.”
“Man, this whole thing is crazy. You ought to see my place. Somebody came in here and tore it all up. You be careful!”
“We’re all in great danger, Kevin. Kaseph’s moving to Ashton to take over everything. But I can’t talk now. Meet me at The Evergreen at 8. I’ll try to get there somehow. If not I’ll call you.”
“Okay, okay.”
“I have to go. Good-bye, and thanks.”
Click. The conversation was over.
“Yeah,” said Bernice, “he called to tell me about this.”
“It wasn’t much,” said Marshall, “but it was enough. Now the only question is, did she manage to get away?”
A key rattled in the front door. Bernice and Marshall never moved so fast. She replaced all the files, and Marshall slid the machine back inside the cabinet. They closed the cabinet doors.
The front door opened. The lobby lights came on.
They ducked behind Brummel’s big desk. Bernice’s eyes were full of one question: What do we do now? Marshall gestured to her to
keep cool, then he made fists to show her they might have to fight their way out.
Another key worked at Brummel’s office door, and then it opened. Suddenly the room was flooded with light. They heard someone going to the cabinets, opening the doors, sliding out the machine. Marshall figured the person’s back had to be toward them. He raised his head to take a quick peek.
It was Carmen. She was winding the tape back to the beginning and preparing to make more entries in the record.
Bernice took a look also, and both of them felt the same rage and indignation.
“Don’t you ever sleep?” Marshall asked Carmen right out loud. That startled Bernice and she jumped a little. It startled Carmen and she jumped a lot, dropped her papers, and gave a short little scream. She spun around.
“What!” she gasped. “What are you doing here?”
Marshall and Bernice both stood up. From their battered and dark-clothed appearance, this looked like anything but a nonchalant, cordial visit.
“I might ask you the same thing,” Marshall said. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”
Carmen looked them both over, and she was speechless.
Marshall could certainly think of some things to say. “You’re a spy, aren’t you? You were a spy in our office, you wiretapped our phones, and now you’ve run off with all our investigation materials.”
“I don’t know—”
“—what I’m talking about. Right! So I suppose you do this every night too, go over all the recorded phone conversations and log them, listen for anything the big boys might want to know.”
“I wasn’t—”
“And what about all the Clarion’s business records? Let’s take care of that first.”
She suddenly broke down crying, saying, “Ohhh … you don’t understand …” She went out into the reception area.
Marshall was right on her heels, not about to let her out of his sight. He took her by the arm and spun her around.
“Easy, girl! We have some real business to take care of here.”
“Ooohhh!” Carmen wailed, and then she threw her arms around Marshall as if she were a frightened child and sobbed into his chest. “I thought you were some burglar … I’m glad it was you. I need help, Marshall!”
This Present Darkness Page 39
