False Witness

by Scott Cook

  Angie finally decided on a scent and put it on the counter. Tess followed suit with a Snickers bar. “I don’t recall authorizing that,” Sam said sternly.

  Tess flipped him the bird under the counter. “Authorize this, smartass.”

  After Sam paid and they’d left the store, Angie grabbed the stick from the bag, reached under her shirt and immediately applied it to her armpits. “So much better,” she said. “Now I have to go to the bathroom.” She looked around; a sign in the front window that read “washrooms” pointed an arrow towards the back of the building. She picked up a long, narrow block of wood with the word “women’s” written on it in black jiffy marker, and headed for the door.

  Sam gave her an annoyed look. “Again? You just went before we left the cabin.”

  Angie looked at Tess, who rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Go ahead,” she said. “We’ll wait.”

  Sam watched Angie wander behind the building. “What the hell was that about?” he asked testily.

  “You really don’t get women, do you?” It was the first time Sam had seen her go-to-hell grin in what seemed like eons.

  “Apparently not,” he said.

  “She has to do number two.”

  “Why couldn’t she do that at the cabin?”

  “Because you’re only supposed to flush the toilet after number two.”

  “And?”

  Tess clucked her tongue. “Isn’t it obvious? If she flushed, everyone would have known she’d just pooped.”

  Sam stood there with his mouth open. The lady behind the register was right: he didn’t understand women.

  At that moment, he heard the chime of a bell that indicated someone had just rolled up for gas. He thought it was quaint that the station hadn’t done away with it when they stopped full service. It was just another part of the charm of Lost Lake. He glanced over at the vehicle, a late model Ford F-350, and wondered if the owner would have to take out a second mortgage to fill it up, given the ridiculously high price of gas in the town. It was easily a dollar a gallon more than Alberta.

  The driver climbed out of the passenger side and popped the gas cap. As he straightened up and inserted the nozzle, Sam noticed something odd: the driver was almost a head taller than the roof of the truck he’d just stepped out of. A moment later, the man turned to face him. Sam felt like he was in a dream.

  Darcy Flowers was in Lost Lake, filling up right in front of him.

  #

  “Holy shit,” Sam yelled, jogging over to the pump where Flowers stood. “You got my message!”

  Flowers’ eyes were round. “Walsh? What the hell are you doing here?”

  Sam took a moment to process the cop’s response. “You mean you didn’t get my message?”

  “What message? I’m on vacation, I haven’t gotten any messages.”

  Crowe’s voice whispered in Sam’s mind, telling him that, as tempting as it was to confide in the cop and ask for help, it was a bad idea. He thought a moment and reluctantly agreed.

  “Nothing important,” Sam said, trying to sound casual. “I was just apologizing for how I left things with you that last time. I was a real dick. No hard feelings?” He extended his hand.

  Flowers looked confused, but took the offered hand. “Yeah, don’t worry about it. So what are you doing here? Are you covering something?”

  “Nah. I’m on vacation, too. What are the odds, eh?”

  “Pretty slim,” said Flowers. “This place is way off the beaten path. That’s why I like it.”

  “Same here!” said Sam. “Maybe you and I are more alike than we realize.”

  Flowers grinned. “Oh yeah, we’re practically twins. I don’t know why we didn’t see it before.”

  From behind him, Sam heard Tess clear her throat. He turned to see her fixing him with a look.

  “Shit!” he yelped. “Sorry, babe. Tess, this is Const. Darcy Flowers. You’ve heard me talk about him before. Flowers, this is Tess Gallagher.” He swallowed. “My girlfriend.”

  To her credit, Tess didn’t react. On her face, at least. She leaned into him and wrapped an arm around his waist, simultaneously digging the heel of her shoe into his left instep. “Nice to meet you,” she said with a sunny smile. She turned to Sam. “Honey, we really should go grab Angie and head back for lunch. They’re waiting for us.”

  Flowers perked up. “Where are you guys staying? We should get together sometime.”

  “We’re down on the beach,” said Sam, desperately trying to remember the name of any place they’d seen on the drive into town. “Uh, the Essex.”

  “Really? Boy, you reporters don’t get paid very well, do you?”

  “Well, we can’t all make the big cop dollars,” said Sam.

  He looked at Tess. She was looking at Flowers curiously. “Constable,” she said.

  “Darcy, please. To him I’m constable, but to you I’m Darcy.”

  She smiled. “Darcy. Have I ever interviewed you for a story?”

  Flowers swept his hands down the length of his body in a “ta-da” gesture. He was wearing a loose-fitting muscle shirt that showed off his upper body. He wasn’t a bodybuilder, but the sheer size of his arms and torso were impressive. “I think you’d remember if you’d seen this before, don’t you?” he said with mock arrogance.

  “I guess I would,” she chuckled. She put a hand on Sam’s arm. “I’m going to get Angie. Then we really should go.”

  She disappeared around the corner towards the bathrooms. Sam wondered again if he should confide in Flowers. He was smart and he was tough; he’d be a huge asset, literally and figuratively. But there was that last conversation they’d had. And there was Chuck Palliser. He was as tough as they came, and he was dead.

  Flowers pulled the pump from his tank and replaced the cap. “You’ve been holding out on me,” he said. “She’s gorgeous.”

  “I don’t tell you everything, Tiny. Gotta keep a little mystery in our relationship or you’ll get bored with me.”

  “She doesn’t happen to have a six-foot-three sister, does she?”

  “Yeah, we have threesomes all the time.”

  Flowers pulled out his wallet and headed for the store. “You’re a sick man, you know that?”

  Tess emerged from around the corner just as Flowers entered the building. She looked on the verge of panic.

  “The ladies’ room door is locked and there’s no answer when I knock,” she said. “I think something is wrong.”

  Sam felt a tug at his guts. He jogged into the building. Flowers was at the till, paying. Sam looked at the cashier. “Do you have a spare key for the ladies’ room?” he asked.

  “Not feeling manly enough for the men’s room?” Flowers asked.

  “There’s just the one key,” said the old lady. “That girl who was with you took it.”

  “Shit,” Sam muttered. He hurried back outside.

  Tess was standing outside the bathrooms. There were two blue steel doors side by side with the universal man and woman symbols on them. Tess pounded on the ladies’ room door. “Angie!” she cried. “Angie, open up!”

  Flowers came around from the front. He looked at Sam with confusion. “Something wrong?” he asked.

  At that moment, the familiar warble of a smart phone ring began behind the ladies room. Sam looked to Tess, who was biting her lip.

  “I’m worried,” she said.

  Sam turned to Flowers. “Our friend went to the bathroom and now she’s not answering. That’s her phone ringing.”

  Flowers glanced at the door. “No extra key.”

  “No.”

  “Does your friend have a medical condition?”

  “We don’t know. But there’s definitely something wrong.”

  The phone continued to ring. Flowers trotted around to the front of the building. “Wait there,” he called.

  The phone quieted after the tenth ring. Tess called Angie’s name one more time. No reply. Flowers returned with a crowbar in his hands. “They really do
have everything in that store,” he said. “The lady at the cash register wasn’t too happy with me, but I told her I’m a cop and it’s an emergency.”

  He slid the bar’s flat tines into the space between the door and the jam. With what looked to Sam like a mere shrug of his shoulders, Flowers popped the heavy steel door open. He looked inside. Then he turned to Sam and Tess, thinly veiled suspicion in his eyes.

  “Is this some kind of joke?” he said. “Because it’s not funny.”

  Tess and Sam stepped around Flowers’ bulk to see into the room. It was empty. The only signs that anyone had been there was that the toilet roll had been unspooled all over the floor and the garbage can lay tipped on its side. Angie’s smart phone lay on the closed toilet seat lid.

  Sam picked it up. A notification was printed on the screen in green letters: one missed call from unknown caller. He slid his thumb across the screen. It was still open to the texting function; there was a single-message conversation from an unknown number.

  WE HAVE HER, it read. WAIT FOR INSTRUCTIONS.

  #

  The kid’s directions had been bang on; Crowe found the mine with no trouble at all. The office building looked all of its fifty-plus derelict years; windows broken out, paint fading, moss growing on the roof. It was surrounded by newer growth that obscured it almost entirely from the walking path. If it weren’t for the handful of KEEP OUT signs posted around the perimeter, there would be nothing to indicate it was even there.

  He’d approached the building from the dense bush, not the walking path, cursing the sandals on his feet the entire time. Now he crept closer, keeping in the shadows of the overgrowth. The office was two stories plus a basement, maybe six thousand square feet per floor. All the windows, including the basement, had been boarded over with plywood. Judging by the level of decay and the graffiti, Crowe estimated there hadn’t been glass in them for decades. The building was surrounded by a gravel lot that was overgrown with generations worth of weeds. Crowe couldn’t help but see similarities between it and the Rosebush.

  From his vantage point in the brush, Crowe could see the front double doors were laced with a rusty but thick chain, clasped with a serious padlock. No entry there. He stalked around to a spot where he could see the back. Same scenario. How the hell did Pimples and his buddies manage to get in? Then he saw it: the graffitied plywood in a single window well in the basement was slightly askew. It wasn’t nailed to the inside of the window frame; it was resting against it on the outside.

  He pulled out his cell phone and flipped it open. Dialed Shitbox’s number. The big man answered on the first ring.

  “Boss,” said the voice on the phone.

  “I think I’m onto something,” said Crowe. “There’s an old abandoned mine office on the east side of the lake. It’s off the walking path.”

  “I know it. You think it’s the place?”

  “It’s the spot I would have chosen. I’m going inside for recon.”

  Shitbox paused before saying, “But what if they’re inside?”

  A dark grin spread across Crowe’s face. “Then I guess I’ll have to introduce myself and have a chat.”

  “Jason, don’t do this alone,” said Shitbox, his nasal voice rising. “Let me help. Please.”

  “Sorry, big boy. You’ve got your orders. Besides, it doesn’t look like anyone’s home anyway. I’ll keep in touch.”

  “Okay,” Shitbox said, sounding defeated. “Be careful, all right?”

  “I always am,” Crowe said. “One more thing. I know I’ve been keeping this on the down low, but I don’t think I’ve got that luxury anymore. I need to know something.”

  “What is it, boss?”

  Crowe sighed. “Are you able to kill someone you know? Someone you’ve worked with? Without hesitation?”

  The coldness in Shitbox’s voice was encouraging. “You bet your ass,” he said.

  “Good.” Crowe flipped the phone closed and scanned the area. If anyone was watching, they were well hidden. He reached into the small of his back and pulled the Sig Sauer from his belt. He pointed it at the ground as he crab walked his way from the cover of the brush to the open window, a distance of about sixty feet. Gravel crunched softly under his sandals. When he reached the plywood, he quickly pulled it aside and looked in the window. A drop of about four feet down to a workbench that the kids obviously used as a stepping stool. He slid through onto the bench, then turned and pulled the plywood back into place.

  Crowe hopped down to the dirty floor. It was almost as dark in here as it was bright outside. A few beams of sunlight sliced through cracks in the plywood, but not enough to get a good sense of the basement’s layout. The battleship linoleum floor was littered with empty cans and bottles; he had to watch his step if he didn’t want a broken ankle.

  He pulled a penlight from the pocket of his cargo shorts and turned it on, holding it in his left hand as he crossed his forearm over his extended gun arm. The white light fell on huge cobwebs that hung from the ceiling beams like hammocks. He swept them away as he moved forward, panning the light from side to side. He emerged in a long hallway that appeared to bisect the basement and feed into a number of rooms. A steep stairwell sat at each end of the hall. He swept the floor with the light; other than a few bugs and an empty condom wrapper, there was nothing.

  He chose the stairwell at the front of the building and crept toward it, stopping at the doorway of each room for a quick recon sweep. Nothing worth looking at.

  He was almost to the stairs when he heard a sound behind him like an avalanche of paper hitting the floor. He spun around, heart pounding, and aimed the penlight at the area he’d just passed through. He crept forward, finger tight on the Sig’s trigger, and spun into the doorway of the room he’d passed last. Nothing to shoot at. Just a stack of dusty papers that had given way off the corner of a desk. Crowe took a deep breath. His heart rate began to slow.

  Suddenly his back was in agony, as every muscle in it seemed to tense simultaneously. His teeth clamped together involuntarily, and his hands dropped the penlight and pistol to the floor. Behind him he heard a faint, rhythmic clicking as he dropped to his bare knees. His body jerked in painful spasms, his nerves and muscles dealing with the aftermath of having their normal operations interrupted by fifty thousands volts.

  Unlike Tom Ferbey, Crowe had been Tasered before, and he managed to stay conscious. But he was still incapacitated. He grimaced, as much in disgust as in pain. They’d gotten the drop on him. How?

  He saw the silhouette of a man step gingerly behind him as he writhed on the floor. Powerful hands gripped Crowe’s arms and yanked them behind his back. He felt the sharp edge of hard plastic against his skin, and the signature clicking sound as his assailant drew the ziptie closed around his wrists.

  Crowe lay on his left side as the spams subsided, scheming as best he could with his scrambled brain. The Taser had actually given him an unexpected advantage, if only fate felt generous enough to give him the opportunity to use it. For now, he simply breathed. He was caught.

  His assailant crouched down and retrieved Crowe’s penlight and the Sig Sauer from the floor. He slid his thumb over the clip release button, dropping the magazine to the floor. Then he racked the pistol’s slide, sending the single shell stored in the barrel skittering across the floor.

  The man turned the penlight on Crowe’s face. “Wow,” said a voice he knew. “It’s like déjà vu all over again.” He leaned closer, until the penlight’s corona illuminated his own face as well. Crowe’s eyes grew wide and his mind raced as he realized who he was looking at.

  “Ah, fuck,” he breathed. “Not you.”

  “Nice to see you, too, buddy,” said the voice. He grabbed Crowe by his bound wrists and lifted him to his feet. Crowe’s shoulders cried out as his arms were yanked to the breaking point behind his back.

  “Why couldn’t you just leave it alone, Crowe?” the voice said angrily. “Why didn’t you take off, like you were supposed to? Just le
ave Hodge to die and move on with your life? Everything would have been fine. And now you brought other people into this. It’s a fucking mess, man. Whatever happens to them is on you.”

  A hard fist connected with Crowe’s temple. Then blackness.

  CHAPTER 34

  Sam showed the phone to Tess. Tears welled in her eyes as she read the message. “Oh my God,” she whispered, her voice husky and strangled. “What have we done?”

  Flowers was eyeing them both sternly. “I’m going to have to insist you tell me what’s going on here,” he said. He was in full cop mode now. “Whatever this is, it’s not funny.”

  Sam put an arm around Tess’s shoulders. He leaned in close to her ear. “I think Flowers can help,” he said softly. “In any case, if we don’t tell him what’s going on, he’s going to start questioning us. And I can’t come up with a convincing lie that fast.”

  Tess looked him in the eye. “You-know-who said –”

  Sam put a finger to her lips. He turned to Flowers. “All right,” he said. “Can I make a quick phone call first?”

  Flowers frowned. “You don’t need a lawyer, Bernstein. I just want to know what’s going on.”

  Tess looked from Flowers to Sam. “Bernstein?” she said. “I thought that was our thing.”

  “One problem at a time,” said Sam. He pulled out his phone and speed-dialed Crowe’s number. The spring in his stomach started to twist again when Crowe didn’t pick up after the first two rings. After the eighth, he hung up and turned to Tess. “You-know-who’s not answering. That’s not good.”

  She bit her lip. “I guess we don’t have a choice. And we need as much help as we can get.”

  “Better to ask forgiveness than permission, right?”

  “All right.”

  Sam walked over to a concrete retaining wall and sat down. He motioned for Flowers to do the same. “Better take a seat, buddy,” he said. “This is going to take awhile.”

  He spent the next fifteen minutes bringing Flowers up to speed. His phone rang once during the conversation; the caller ID said it was Shippy again. He ignored it, as did Tess when hers rang a minute later.