“That means he’s gone already,” said Julie, turning around anxiously.
“He only had tickets from Vancouver,” said Peggy. “He wouldn’t tell Linda how he was going to get to Vancouver.”
“Lemme call Mark,” said Osborne, scrambling down the stairs. He picked up the phone and punched in Erin’s number.
“Mark, any news?”
The answer was negative.
“Now, don’t worry. We think we know where they are. I need you to call the police station and tell them to tell Lew where we’re going. If she isn’t there yet, give these directions to Lucy. Tell her we need backup as soon as possible.
“This is tricky, but Lew knows the way: Take k toward Shepard Lake. Take the right at the sign for Marjorie’s Bed and Breakfast off Old Highway C onto a gravel road, go back a good five or six miles. At the old Cantrell warehouse, drive right back behind it, drive around a landfill and a berm, just keep going. The road dips down to a new log house set way back. That’s the place.
“Got it? Good, we’re on our way.” He hung up before Mark could answer.
“Paul,” Peggy stood before him, “I want you to know something I’ve never told anyone in Loon Lake. Brad got kicked out of Princeton after his first semester. He never worked at Yale. He’s been lying to everyone. He falsified documents about his graduate schools and teaching career and made me swear to secrecy. I want you to know in case it helps.”
“It sure does, Peggy. Thanks.” Osborne gave her a quick pat on the shoulder. “I’ll call you when we know more.”
“Thanks so much for your help,” called Julie as the three of them walked rapidly through the house and out the front door.
Osborne’s car was rolling down Pelham Street before Ray and Julie had shut their doors.
“Back to Erin’s,” said Ray. “We’ll take my truck. I’ve got a goddam arsenal in the back. We may need it.”
“This is one time he’s not kidding,” said Osborne in response to Julie’s raised eyebrows.
“Do you always drive around with loaded guns?” she asked.
“No,” said Ray, “but I just had all my rifles and my shotguns cleaned and oiled by a gunsmith up in Eagle River last week. I picked them up Thursday and then I got bonked on the head before I had a chance to put ‘em back in the gun racks. They aren’t loaded—yet.”
twenty-three
You can’t catch a fish if you don’t dare go where they are.
Norman Maclean
Ray cut the engine and the lights as he turned off the gravel road. He let the truck roll down the grassy ruts toward the old Cantrell warehouse. A cloud bank cut off any light from the moon, but once their eyes adjusted to the dark, they could make out the familiar shape of a car parked in front and to the right of the brick building.
“Lew’s cruiser! That’s a good sign,” said Osborne. His confidence level shot up a hundred percent. His entire body unclenched ever so slightly as, for the first time in hours he began to think that Erin and the baby might be okay. He realized he’d spent the entire drive out from Loon Lake hunched forward in his seat. He sat back and tried to relax his shoulders as he moved his hand to grip the door handle, ready for a signal from Ray.
“I hope you’re right,” said Ray under his breath as he sat motionless behind the wheel. He gave no sign for anyone to move. Instead, he scrutinized what landscape was visible in the deepening blackness around them: the sky faint behind the tree line, the forest hiding anything that might be lurking along the outside walls of the brick structure.
Ray cranked his window down and motioned to Osborne to do the same. He listened. Osborne and Julie sat perfectly still, listening and waiting.
Not a hint of light came from inside the old warehouse. The clouds did not move to unveil the moon. The woods were silent. Finally, in the distance, a great horned owl hooted.
“Do you think anyone’s in the building?” asked Julie softly.
“Nah. I’d be very surprised,” said Ray, his voice low, “but we better take a look.”
The three of them climbed out of the truck on the driver’s side. Ray left the door slightly ajar to avoid making a loud noise. As he walked to the back of his truck, Osborne noticed that the easy, casual lope had disappeared, replaced with the quick step and the deft movements of a man with every muscle on alert.
Ray leaned over the truck bed to unlock the padlock on the beat-up old metal chest he kept in the back of his truck. He opened the lid and reached inside for a black Maglite flashlight, which he handed back to Julie. Then he pulled out his deer rifle, checked the action and the sight, and handed it back to Osborne. “Hold this for me, Doc.” Osborne heard the clink of bullets as he stuffed them into his jacket pockets.
“I don’t know how to use a gun,” said Julie lamely, as if apologizing.
“We’ll certainly have to change that, won’t we,” said Ray briskly, glancing at her with a quick smile. Seeing the anxious look on her face, he amended his words. “Not tonight. Don’t worry. If one gun isn’t enough, then even a dozen guns won’t do it.
“What do you think, Doc? You want the twenty-gauge?”
“No, Ray. My eyesight in the dark—God help us if I made a mistake.”
“Not a problem. We know Lew is armed.”
Ray reached through the driver’s seat window for his trout hat. He set it carefully onto his head, tipping it slightly to one side. “Mandatory for good luck.” He winked as he reached for the rifle.
“Ready?” Ray sprinted toward Lew’s cruiser.
“Oh, boy,” he said softly. The front door of the car was ajar, the keys in the ignition. “No interior light may mean the battery is dead, and that means she didn’t expect to be gone long,” whispered Ray. He swung the door wider. No light went on. He checked the keys. “She left the ignition running, too. Out of gas. Looks like she got out to check on the place and never came back. Not a good sign.”
He turned and moved toward the front of the old building. Julie followed right behind, waving the flashlight so the beam bounced through the front windows. Osborne peered over her shoulder. The boxes that had been piled high earlier were gone.
“Aim for the corner to the right,” said Ray. The light picked up a haphazard pile of silver candlesticks, bowls, and other odd-shaped items that glinted under the beam.
“Looks like they dumped the small stuff,” said Julie.
“Or didn’t have time to smelt it,” said Osborne. “Ray, remember the smoke I remarked on yesterday? They’ve definitely been smelting something with a high silver content.”
“We’ll check the house, but I want us to stay back in the trees as we come around that boulder and the berm,” Ray cautioned as the three of them started toward the corner of the building. He shifted his gun to his left hand and reached for the flashlight.
“I’ll go first. Doc, you behind me. Julie, you follow last. Try to stay on grass so we’re not heard. With the cloud cover and no moon, we should be able to get pretty darn close. But keep low and stay behind me.”
Ray adjusted the flash to a low beam, aiming it right at his feet. He started forward slowly. They moved across the ground behind the warehouse and toward the fake boulder that hid the road to the house. As they came around the berm to the point where the road dipped, Osborne was surprised to see that the house was clearly visible and brightly lit, top to bottom. He glimpsed a flash of color and movement on the main floor.
“Looks like a party,” whispered Julie.
“You two stay here,” said Ray. He handed Osborne the flashlight. “I’ll go around to the front, check it out, then come back. Don’t move from here. I’ll be just a few minutes.” His lanky form vanished into the night blackness without a sound.
Osborne took a deep breath. His entire being had switched on a familiar, intense concentration, a mind-set that he remembered from the many times he’d stalked a deer. Every sense tuned, every muscle tensed, his peripheral vision alert to the tiniest motion.
He wi
shed like hell he had his own rifle with the sight adjusted to his eye and vision, the familiar checkering on the stock that fit his hand like a glove and the trigger through which he could slip his finger without thinking. That gun was like an extension of his arm, and how he wanted it right now.
This was no deer approaching. This was the enemy. These were people who threatened what he loved most in the whole world. For an instant, he felt hot tears press against his eyelids, but he blinked them back. He clenched his jaw and forced the fear and worry over Erin and the baby to pump his adrenaline.
The minutes passed slowly, incredibly slowly. He could hear himself and Julie breathing. Then Julie nudged him and whispered, “I see him!” Ray reappeared, as silently as he had left.
“The boathouse doors are wide open,” he whispered. “The boat is outside, tied to the far side of the dock, and a two-engine seaplane is floating in the boathouse. It’s a pretty spacious little four-seater. Looks like they took out the seats. The doors on both sides are open. I could see several wooden crates. Hard to tell from a distance, but I thought I saw Judith sitting in the pilot’s seat with interior lights on, studying something.”
“No sign of Brad?” asked Osborne.
“No. The lake-side windows on the house have their shutters closed tight, so I couldn’t see a thing. Let’s try this back window to the right.”
They crept forward. The house had been situated against a thick stand of evergreens fronted by arbor vitae, which made it easy to get within five feet of the windows yet remain hidden. If the builder had deliberately tucked the house under the towering pines in order to hide it, the opposite had also been accomplished: a visitor could approach and remain hidden until nose-close to the back windows.
They looked directly into a kitchen. Fully lit and empty. Even as they peered in, Brad entered the room from the left. He was dressed for a business trip in a dark suit with a pale-colored shirt and a tie. His jacket was open, and Osborne could see he wore his pants, as usual, belted primly up and over his potbelly. Slung around his neck was a long red silk scarf. He looked less like a criminal than a pretentious fop.
He walked rapidly straight across the room, crossing in front of them to a closed door opposite the window. He stopped and crooked his head as if to listen. For a long moment, he stood quite still. He must have heard something because he lingered. Then Osborne heard something, too, and grabbed Ray’s arm. He heard the distant, muffled sound of a baby crying. Osborne recognized the cry of his grandson.
“They’re here!” He almost spoke out loud.
“Steady, Doc,” Ray whispered. He laid a reassuring hand on Osborne’s shoulder.
They watched as Brad shrugged and started to walk away from the door. As he started to move, an outdoor air compressor, not far from where they were standing, clicked on with a loud, sharp whir. Julie yelped in surprise. Brad twisted toward the window, his eyes wide and alert.
Osborne backed quickly into the brush with Ray and Julie right beside him. He wasn’t sure if they’d been seen. Brad hurried to the back door. An outside light clicked on, but the pool of light that it threw over the stoop and stairs fell a good ten feet short of where the three of them huddled.
Brad stepped out into the night, peering into the dark around him. Osborne was reminded again of how serpentine the man looked: Brad seemed to hold his head perfectly still with only the flat fish eyes moving in their sockets.
“Jude?” he called into the crisp night air. “Is that you?”
No one answered. He listened for a few seconds. Not even a breeze rustled a branch. Only the faint calls of young peepers down at the water’s edge broke the silence. An owl hooted, soft but piercing. It hooted again, this time a shriek—the aggressive cry of an owl striking prey. Brad jumped back into the doorway.
What he couldn’t see was that the owl was six foot four, wore a stuffed trout on its head, and happened to be standing right beside Osborne. Startled but satisfied, Brad stepped back in the house and closed the door. Ray waited a few beats and hooted again. Then he moved up toward the window. Osborne and Julie followed. The kitchen was empty.
“Where’s Lew?” asked Julie. “This doesn’t look good, Ray.”
“Okay, I’m going in,” said Ray softly. “I want you two to wait here. If I have any trouble, I’ll fire the rifle. That means you head for the truck and get help. Doc, here’s the key.”
He moved swiftly to the back door, which opened silently. He disappeared inside.
Osborne took a deep breath and shifted his feet. Julie reached over to give his arm a squeeze. “He knows what he’s doing,” she whispered.
Suddenly, the air compressor kicked off as quickly as it had come on. An instant of silence followed and then a shrill cry that seemed to come from underground. A baby’s cry.
Osborne was through the back door without even thinking. He ran down a short hall, turned sharply to his right, and crossed the kitchen toward the door he had glimpsed through the window. If the sounds had come from below, he figured this must be the door to a basement.
Curiously, instead of a knob, it had large silver handle in the shape of an airborne eagle. The right wing was designed to lock down into a steel hook on the wall, but it wasn’t in place at the moment. Instead, the door stood slightly ajar. He grabbed the wing, the door swung open toward him, and he found himself staring down at rows of wine bottles. He ran down a short stairwell into a fully stocked wine cellar.
Osborne stopped and looked around. He could hear a voice off to his right. He recognized Brad’s. At that moment, the baby wailed again, the sound still muffled but closer—definitely off to his right. But Osborne couldn’t see where the noise was coming from. He looked frantically to his left and to his right, along a wall of bottles. The baby had begun to cry hard. Osborne walked quickly between six-foot-high stacks of bottles in the direction of the noise. Sure enough, at the far right end of the wine cellar, set back so it was nearly hidden by shelving, was another door. This one was steel and it, too, was ajar. Osborne stepped through. Cold, cold air hit him in the face.
At first, all he could see was another short hallway. He crept down the hallway to peer around the corner. At the end of a room about five feet wide and fifteen feet long were three chairs. In the chair farthest to his right, tied hand and foot with cord and with clear packing tape twisted around her head and over her mouth, was Lew.
Beside Lew, her son tied to her chest with a bath towel so his little head and body faced her, was Erin. The baby was banging his head against his mother’s collarbone and screaming. She was also tied hand and foot and gagged with the tape. If Lew and Erin had worn jackets earlier, they didn’t have them on now, and the room was absolutely frigid. Osborne could see his breath in the air.
Beside Erin, tied into a chair, was a third woman, a blond wearing jeans and a short-sleeved T-shirt, whose head drooped down against her chest so Osborne couldn’t see her face. The exposed skin of her arms looked dead white. In front of the three, his back to Osborne, stood Brad. He was rocking back and forth on his heels with his arms tightly crossed and chattering at his victims, a condescending tone to his voice.
Lew’s eyes caught Osborne’s, but she looked away quickly, focusing on Brad. Erin didn’t see him. Her face was turned up toward Brad with a pleading look in her eyes. Tears were streaming down her cheeks. She was making guttural noises in her throat.
“Oh, hush that disgusting child! And wipe that look off your face, you stupid woman.” If Brad Miller had ever attempted to hide his whining, effeminate mannerisms, he certainly didn’t any longer. “I’m sick of that idiot child crying,” Brad shook a threatening finger at her. “I’m doing you a favor, you know. It doesn’t hurt to freeze to death. Just ask dear departed Miss England here. See? No pain on this face.”
From behind, Osborne saw him step forward and reach to yank back the head of the frozen corpse beside Erin. “Oops, sorry—ha, ha, ha,” he laughed his flat, humorless laugh, “I forgot, frozen solid
.” Brad blocked his field of vision so Osborne couldn’t see his daughter’s face. Whatever her reaction may have been, she was silent. The baby wailed again.
Brad took a step toward Erin, raising his right arm. Osborne saw he had a little Colt .25 automatic in his hand, holding it so the butt gleamed in the light. “I think I’ll just clock that little sucker and put him to sleep early.” Brad walked forward, the pistol raised. Osborne heard Erin scream from low and inside her chest. Now he could see her frantically wresting her body back and forth as if she thought she could jerk herself and the baby out of Brad’s way.
Brad laughed louder at the sight of her twisting and raised his arm higher. Time suddenly stood still for Osborne as Brad’s arm came slowly, slowly down. Osborne felt himself airborne, and as he traveled in space, an image flashed into his mind of a woman he’d watched years ago, a young mother in her twenties, who had had no trouble lifting a Ford Thunderbird off the broken body of her seven-year-old who lay pinned beneath the vehicle. He felt that strength. He knew he could tear Brad’s arms from their sockets with his bare hands.
As Osborne dove, he saw a burst of movement in front of Brad. Lew heaved up from the floor, chair and all. She thrust her body across Erin and the baby. The arm and the pistol butt cracked down hard on Lew’s head, the gun going off just as Osborne tackled Brad’s knees from behind.
Brad stumbled back over Osborne but caught himself even as he sprawled off to the right. He yanked his legs and kicked hard at Osborne’s head, connecting solidly with Osborne’s nose and right eye. Osborne slipped into red flashes and blackness for an instant. When his vision cleared, Brad was scrambling to his feet with the gun in his hand.
“I got more bullets here, stay right there, you stay right there, don’t you move.” Brad’s voice cracked, and he waved the gun like a schoolteacher frightened by a class out of control. On his hands and knees but fiercely alert, Osborne stared up at him.
Dead Creek Page 23
