As Tony struggled against the bindings, he fought to control the fear that threatened to consume him. He hadn’t ever considered himself claustrophobic, but he desperately needed to get out. As he pulled, the pain increased and he was forced to stop. Breathing heavily through his nose, he forced himself to lie still. Think. Think!
How in the hell had he gotten here?
He had been with Lisa’s dad and…and then what? He had passed out? No, Nathan Freed had hit him with something. I think he bashed my head with the bottle, Tony thought. Why would he do that? We had been talking about…
Oh no, the thoughts continued to churn. Is it possible Mr. Freed was in on this? Tony refused to believe that. But then why? Tony thought about Freed’s anger and grief, his shaking hands and red face. Another thought occurred to Tony, a terrible, frightening thought. Tony had been cold-cocked because Lisa’s dad had made up his mind to do something about what he had learned. Even as he formed the thought in his mind, Tony became convinced that was exactly what was happening. Now Tony had to stop him. Nathan Freed was no match for cold-blooded killers, and even if he was, any success he had would just result in another life destroyed by these asses. He must stop him.
He squirmed again and the pain in his head and his shoulder and his ribs screamed at him.
First things first, Tony thought, as he fought to ignore the pain. I have to get out of here.
Tony knew he was most likely in the trunk of the Cadillac. Freed owned three vehicles that Tony knew about, plus Lisa’s Mustang which Freed had not been able to bring himself to sell. This trunk was too big to be the Mustang or the BMW convertible, which Tony always had assumed was Freed’s classy response to a middle age crisis. He obviously wasn’t in the Lincoln Navigator SUV, so this must be the Cadillac. Tony felt a spark of hope. He knew about Cadillacs. Tony’s dad had owned a couple of Cadillacs when Tony and Rita were young, wanting a big comfortable family car. Bless you, Dad, Tony thought, for teaching me about Cadillac trunks and their emergency release handles.
With any luck, Freed didn’t know about it or had forgotten about it when he shut Tony in the trunk. Tony prayed Freed hadn’t somehow disabled it.
Tony forced himself to ignore the pain as he twisted around to get his hands closer to the rear of the trunk where the small, T-shaped handle protruded. Sweating and cursing, he raised his back up and pushed it, and therefore his hands, into the cramped space. Ow, ow…there! He grasped the handle and allowed himself to roll forward, face down on the floor of the trunk. His forward movement pulled the handle and the lid popped open. Cold air rushed in as a small light in the lid came on. Probably all of four watts, it still blinded Tony until his eyes adjusted. It didn’t matter all that much. He still couldn’t see anything except a better-illuminated car trunk.
With the trunk open, however, Tony was able to wrangle himself up onto his knees and look out. The Cadillac was in a small paved parking lot. At the end of the row of vehicles was a big brick building that appeared to be a multi-stall garage. Behind the garage and across the parking lot were many large, old trees surrounded by well-manicured grass and the occasional flowerbed.
Everything he saw spoke of pride and attention to detail. Okay, Tony thought. Freed has driven me to the estate of one of his rich friends. Tony couldn’t think of anyone in Orney, or near Orney for that matter, who had an estate as large as this appeared to be. He needed to see more, and once again gritted his teeth through the pain as he twisted around and succeeded in getting his body facing in the opposite direction.
As he did, there it was. Terrace Hill. He was sitting in the parking lot on the grounds of the Iowa Governor’s Mansion. As cold and sore as he was, he was still taken aback by the sight of the giant old house, lit from the outside, sitting atop the hill in front of him. Nearly instantly, however, the pain in his head, side, shoulder, and wrists dragged him back to the problem at hand. He had to get free, and he had to get inside that house before Nathan Freed did something he would regret forever.
He could see his bindings now and realized it all was duct tape. His wrists, ankles, and mouth had all been taped and then something…it appeared to be an ordinary leather belt…was threaded through the gaps in his arms and legs, to pull his wrists and ankles together. It made sense that Freed would have bound him quickly with whatever he could find close at hand. Tony was pretty sure this hadn’t been planned in advance. Freed couldn’t have known what Tony was going to tell him when he showed up at the front door.
Tony knew the multiple wraps of tape would be too strong to pull free, but he also knew duct tape was designed to tear across the grain. He just had to find something with an edge sharp enough. Of course Cadillacs’ trunks are well designed and insulated, so this proved fruitless at first. Tony debated trying to kick through the back seat into the passenger compartment, but worried it would take too long and he would get stuck trying to squirm through or, if he made it, would find himself stuck in the back seat which was far more plush than the trunk. He thought about the tail light assemblies, but they were recessed too far into the corners.
He first tried the trunk latch itself. The lower part of the latch, affixed to the main body of the car, wasn’t much more than a U-shaped piece of rounded steel. Tony turned and leaned back to it, but between its round shape and the grease from the latch, Tony was unable to get any purchase. The tape slid off. Tony tried more than a dozen more times. Realizing he had made no progress, he gave up.
Drooping his head and breathing hard, Tony looked at the floor of the trunk and got another idea. He hooked the heel of his right shoe on one of the side braces of the trunk and pulled off his shoe. He then allowed himself to flop back down to the fetal position – my God that hurts – and pushed himself as far into the front of the trunk as possible. He then curled his toes around the carpet at the open end of the trunk and squirmed around ninety degrees, peeling back the heavy material as he turned. The carpet pulled free and fell back into place twice, but on the third try, Tony succeeded in getting enough of it turned back that it stayed, as he rolled over it onto the bare floor of the trunk.
Just as he remembered, the surface under the carpet was a false floor covering the spare tire. Holding the false floor in place was a single recessed bolt – the same bolt and hand-sized wing nut that held the tire in place. The end of the bolt didn’t protrude very far above the nut. It was designed, of course, to make sure it didn’t. But when Tony rolled onto his back with his hands under him, he was just able to get the tape to catch on the end of the bolt. Rocking back and forth, he could hear, and then feel, the tape tear away bit by bit. Five minutes later, his hands were free. One minute after that he was completely free and standing beside the car rubbing his wrists and ankles, and pulling on his shoe.
***
Tony checked the pocket where he always kept his phone. Of course, Freed was smart enough to remove his cell. So, what to do? It seemed to Tony he had three options, and in considering those options it occurred to him he had to be very careful. Standing where he was, he was an intruder on the grounds of the Governor’s Mansion in the middle of the night. If he wasn’t smart, he could trade the trunk of the car for a hospital bed, or worse, the stainless-steel table at the morgue. The state troopers and security personnel who guarded the governor took their jobs very seriously.
So, option one: start screaming or smash a car window and wait for the guards to respond to the alarm. Option two: run down the driveway to the guard shack at the street and ask for help. Option three: go the rest of the way up the hill to the house, quietly and carefully, and try to understand what’s going on before raising any hell.
Tony contemplated the fact the governor was clearly the bad guy in all of this. Considering he had at least one deputy sheriff on his payroll as an assassin, it wasn’t too much of a stretch to worry that the guards at Terrace Hill might be the governor’s hand-picked henchmen as well. Tony also considered that, whether good guys or bad guys, the guards might arrest him, hurt
him, or shoot him first and ask questions later.
So, it’s option three, Tony thought, and slowly began limping up the hill, moving from tree to tree as he skulked through the cold, wet grass.
***
Ben Smalley looked up from his desk and saw a tall, slender man striding across the newsroom in his direction. Looks like a cop, he thought, and then realized it was Tony’s friend from the DCI. He didn’t know him personally, but had read about him plenty of times and had seen pictures.
Ben held out his hand. “Ben Smalley. It’s Rich, isn’t it?”
“Yes sir,” Davis replied with a quick shake of Ben’s hand. “I’m looking for Tony. Do you know where he is?”
“No, I don’t,” Ben answered truthfully, noticing how tense the agent looked and the urgency in his voice. “Is there some sort of problem?”
“I hope not but I have to confess I’m getting nervous.”
Ben raised an eyebrow but remained quiet.
“Has Tony told you about what he calls his ‘wild-ass idea’ regarding the murders we’ve seen over the past two years?”
“I’m sorry, Agent Davis, but you must know I’m not at liberty to discuss what information one of my reporters may or may not have.”
“Please, call me Rich. And please understand I’m only here for Tony’s benefit. He shared with me his suspicions about the political conspiracy behind the murders and even the possibility of the governor’s involvement. I thought he was completely insane at first, but the more I thought about it, the more I began to wonder if it was possible. So, I went to see my boss, Director Vandergaard, to discuss it.”
Ben moved discreetly around Davis to pull closed the door to his fishbowl office and then moved back around to his desk. “Please sit down…Rich.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Smalley, but I need to go off the record here.” Ben didn’t reply except to tell Davis to call him Ben.
Davis continued, “To my complete surprise, Vandergaard didn’t think Tony was crazy. He actually described his own curiosity regarding the governor’s unusual interest in the events in Orney. He said from the first report of the double homicide, the governor had been hovering in the background, wanting to know everything about the investigation. The governor had demanded personal ‘Eyes Only’ reports and had even made suggestions along the way for Vandergaard to carry back to his agents. Then, the governor himself had ordered the surveillance on Tony and had insisted on knowing everything Tony told me.”
Davis went on to say that when he heard this, he realized Tony may have been right in his suspicions. “I hate the thought of this. The possibility the governor of Iowa could even contemplate something as horrendous as this is beyond the imagination, but I can’t ignore the possibility. So, after meeting with my boss, I called Tony to tell him what I’d heard and warn him to watch his back in case the governor or his people got wind of the fact we were looking at him.”
“And…” Ben prompted.
“And my calls went to voice mail. Now I’ve tried to call him six or eight times and have been to his house. I didn’t find him there but his Explorer is sitting in the driveway. He had talked about taking a bike ride today, but surely he would have been back from that hours ago. So, I decided to stop here to see what you know.”
Ben smiled grimly, deciding it was time to share what little he knew. “Well, I know one thing. Tony’s bike is in the back of my pickup truck, or at least that’s where Tony threw it when he left here this morning. He said he would come right back, but obviously he didn’t. So, trust me, I’m more worried about him than you are.”
Ben then shared everything with Davis: Tony’s arrival on his bike, his condition, the phone message he received, his unusual use of the “bat phone,” and his quick departure.
“I don’t suppose you have any idea how to reach this Molly Parks?” Davis asked. Ben confirmed he didn’t with a shake of his head. Davis then launched into full agent mode. He got a description of Ben’s old truck and called it in to the state patrol dispatcher, asking for distribution of an all-points bulletin. He then called the local police and asked them to send a couple of detectives to Tony’s house, to see if they could find any clues as to where he might have gone.
Ben said he would go to Willie’s and some of Tony’s other regular spots to see if anyone had seen him. Davis thanked him and said he was going to visit the only other person he could think of who might have a clue about Tony’s whereabouts. He headed out the door to pay a visit to Nate Freed.
***
It was dark, but Rich Davis immediately spotted the Chevy pickup parked in the illuminated circle driveway just short of Freed’s front door. However, when he rang the bell, he got no answer. He waited and pushed the button again, followed by loud raps on the door. Nothing. Davis then called the phone number. He could hear the phone ringing inside the house, but no one answered. He peeked through the narrow windows beside the door but couldn’t see much, so he walked around the back. He barely noticed the large swimming pool and deck or the well-manicured lawn as he sought a decent view into the house. He did notice the rose bushes that poked at him as he pushed up next to the huge windows that reached from floor to ceiling of the great room. Pressing his nose to the glass, Davis could see inside. It was a beautiful room with a fireplace, comfortable furniture, and a wet bar. The lights over the bar were on and the room appeared to be empty. Davis almost moved on when his eye caught sight of a crystal stoppered whiskey decanter lying on its side on the floor near the couch.
Probable cause? Perhaps not, but Davis made up his mind it was all he needed tonight. He strode over to the deck doors and smashed in the glass with the butt of his service revolver. He checked the house quickly, turning on lights as he went, and confirmed it was empty. Then he examined the decanter of whiskey and the corner of the nearby coffee table. Dried blood was evident on both. He took out his cell once more, calling for local police to secure the house and calling for a state crime scene van to be dispatched.
“Okay, Tony and Mr. Freed, where are you?” Davis headed for the garage and immediately saw the empty stall. The phone came out again. “Dispatch, this is Agent Davis once again, DCI number 02-47345. I need you to run the name Nathan Freed of Orney through the state license database and tell me what vehicles he owns.” Less than a minute later, Davis knew that Freed owned three cars and a 24-foot sailboat. Two of the cars were sitting in front of him but the third, a large late-model Cadillac, was missing.
“Dispatch, it appears the Cadillac is missing. Please contact GM Onstar and request a GPS location on that car. Yes,” Davis said, trying to keep a measure of calm in his voice, “I’ll wait.”
When the dispatcher returned to the phone, Davis listened intently and then felt the blood drain from his face. Freed and Tony were missing and Freed’s car was parked at Terrace Hill, the Iowa governor’s mansion in Des Moines.
He ended the call and then moaned, “Dear God, Tony. What have you gotten yourself into?”
***
When Tony reached the top of the hill on the grounds of the mansion, he saw he was facing the business entrance to the building. It was at ground level and on the west side, facing away from the streets that bordered the grounds on two sides. Most likely designed originally as a servant’s entrance, this now was the entrance used for the daily routines at the mansion. The grand front entrance was reserved for official receptions and events, and the family used the entrance at the back which had a staircase and elevator directly to the living quarters on the second floor.
The business entrance had been modernized to be disabled accessible and had a metal detector and security booth discreetly built into a small structure at the side of the house. Tony peeked out from behind the nearest tree, expecting to see a guard in the booth. He did not. He strained to hear any sounds. It was as quiet as a tomb except for the occasional car passing by on Grand Avenue at the bottom of the hill. Tony took a deep breath and walked up to the door.
When he reached th
e guard booth, he looked inside, expecting to see the guard sitting on a stool sipping coffee or perhaps even asleep on the job. What he saw was a uniformed man crumpled in the corner with a bruise on the side of his head and duct tape wrapped around his arms, legs, and mouth.
It was obvious to Tony that he was right. Nathan Freed had come to Terrace Hill to confront the governor or, God forbid, had come here to kill him.
Tony stepped into the guard’s booth just long enough to check the man’s pulse and then stepped out again. The pulse was strong, and Tony didn’t want to get caught there and be accused of having done this. So, ironically, to avoid a charge of assault, Tony quickly stepped through the door into the house, making himself guilty of illegal entry and, because it was this house, probably a host of other crimes.
Tony stepped through a small reception area and into an anteroom with waiting room furniture. He was so frightened he almost forgot how much he hurt and in how many places. Moving as quietly as he could, he passed through and entered the hallway beyond. Clearly a recent renovation, the hallway was lined with a series of offices on each side. At the end was a pair of large wooden doors. Tony put his ear to the doors, heard nothing, and pulled open the one on the right.
He stepped into a large, formal office in what appeared to be the former parlor or sitting room of the mansion. This clearly wasn’t a working office. The governor undoubtedly used it for meetings with dignitaries, other elected officials, and business leaders. There was a small ornate desk on the left, bay windows on the right, and a large fireplace at the back of the room. Between the desk and the fireplace on the left wall was another door, so Tony kept going.
His exploration of the first floor took twenty minutes and gave him nothing but growing bewilderment. Where is everybody? he wondered. Surely they have a surveillance system in here. Someone must have seen me by now.
Burying the Lede Page 26
