“I do need to tell you something important . . .”
He hit her in the middle of the back, and she fell to the ground on her hands and knees, gasping for air.
“I don’t want to hear your voice. Say one more word, I’m going back to the house and shoot Mrs. Laurens and her husband. Nod your head if you get it.”
Lindsay nodded.
“You should’ve just taken all the hints we gave you to leave.” Marina walked off down the trail.
“Get up and walk, bitch. You’ve been nothing but trouble. I had to come down here and take a job in that greasy spoon just to stick around to see what you were up to.”
Lindsay didn’t say anything but simply walked. When she was on the ground, she had gotten a glimpse of his footwear—cowboy boots. Not good for hiking. He wouldn’t be going far. Lindsay hoped they would go far enough to cross over into the national park.
They walked for about fifteen minutes. It could have been a beautiful walk, with the bright bluets and deep blue spiderwort, and intense red fire pinks along the way. They went farther than she thought he could go in those boots. Must be broken in better than I thought. She guessed they had already crossed over into the national park. At least that was some small comfort. The forest had become so dense only an occasional shaft of sunlight penetrated the canopy to make a small pool of light on the ground. She considered calling out for help, but that had gotten the hikers killed.
“Okay, stop a minute. I’ve got to think.”
Lindsay stopped and turned around. Can’t think and walk at the same time. Great, was that a good or bad sign? A cool mountain breeze blew through her hair. For the first time she got a good look at the gun he was carrying.
“Okay. Turn left and off the trail and keep going.”
They walked through the forest another five or ten minutes, up and down small hills while he looked for a place where she wouldn’t be found for a while.
“Okay, stop.”
“Can I say something?”
“Sure. Go ahead. I’ll give you a last request. We can do more than talk if you want.”
“You have several problems to deal with.”
“Don’t try to snow me. I’ve got everything pretty well covered . . . deep in the woods, unregistered untraceable gun, all the computer evidence is floating to the center of the earth. You are the last problem.”
“No, you and Marina think you’ve come up with an organized plan, but there are several mistakes you’ve made. Do you want to know what they are, or would you rather walk back to wherever you parked your truck wondering if maybe you should have listened?”
“Sure, go ahead. Shoot.” He laughed. “But that’s your line.”
“The Internet.”
“What about it?”
“I sent out the photos in email messages to a couple of lists in my address book.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Do you know what email is?”
“Yes, I know what email is. Do you think I’m ignorant or something?”
Well, yes, Lindsay thought. Anybody who would do a job like this with a black powder revolver has to be a little ignorant. Not that she was complaining. Occasionally, Lindsay let her gaze dart around, looking for any kind of weapon, without him seeing what she was up to. Difficult with him looking straight at her.
“I sent out the photos to all the faculty members in the Department of Archaeology and Anthropology, and to all the FBI agents of my acquaintance.”
“You what? You what?” For a moment, he looked frightened. “You’re lying. The thing has to be plugged into a phone line, I know that much.”
“It was. I was in the living room using the phone jack in there.”
“You’re lying. That old place wasn’t wired for computers.”
“I did send those pictures out, but let’s move along to your other problem.”
Lindsay spotted a limb, possibly a discarded walking stick, under a rhododendron. Could she dive for it before he shot her? No. Getting to it would require that she move toward him. There was a laurel thicket to her right. She might make it, but she needed more information before she acted.
“And what would that be?” he asked.
“We’re in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park.”
“Yeah, how’s that a problem?”
“You’re now in the jurisdiction of the FBI. It’s they who will be hunting my killer, and not the local sheriff.” That gave him pause, and Lindsay continued. “Now, I’m open to a solution that will get us both out of here. If I’m dead, I can’t disavow those photographs I just sent all over the country.”
“You can forget that argument. I don’t believe you. You’re just trying to talk your way out of this.” But he did hesitate a moment. “You may be right about the FBI thing.” He brightened. “Marina said you’ll just disappear. The wild animals will drag your body off.”
Unfortunately, he could be right about that. “Maybe. Provided I didn’t drop anything on the way through the woods. Were you watching me the whole way? Did you know if I had a ring that I might have slipped off my finger?”
“You’re reaching. No one would ever find it. If they did, they’d never know who owned it. Is that all you have?”
“Where did you get the gun?”
“I’m getting tired of this.” He raised the gun and cocked the trigger.
That was the information she needed. She turned and sprinted around the laurels, leaving him cursing his gun. The admonition to not go off halfcocked sprang to mind. She stopped still, thankful that the forest was dense and the light was dim. Now what? She looked around for a path. There—through a copse of trees. She might be able to make it.
She picked up a rock and tossed it and ran. He fired. She jumped and rolled into the bushes, scrambling deep in the thick of them. He had learned to cock his gun, but he had only five more shots remaining. After that, even if he had anything to reload with, she could be halfway to the Chimneys before he got the thing loaded. Maybe there was some way to get him to use up the remainder. She stayed still.
“Come out, dammit. If I have to find you, it won’t be a quick kill.”
“Mike . . .” She heard a far-off call. “Mike . . .”
“Barrel, is that you?”
Oh no, the other one. She needed a weapon.
“Barrel. Over here.”
“Did you have to go so deep in the woods? I’ve been trailing you forever. Where is she?”
“She ran for cover. This gun you gave me don’t work half the time.”
“You have to cock the hammer, but that’s what I came to tell you about.”
He takes his advice on guns from a man named Barrel? Maybe she had more than half a chance to get out of this.
“Better not use that gun. That’s what I came to tell you.”
“Why not? You said it’s not registered.”
“It’s not. But I didn’t realize—Clayton said he loaded it last week.”
“So? What’s the problem?”
“That kind of gun—it’s not good to leave it loaded. He didn’t mean to leave it like that.”
“Dammit, Barrel. We’ve got to get her, or we’re in trouble.”
“You know, Mike, I don’t like this. They found that couple.”
“Exactly. That’s why we need to get rid of her.”
Lindsay listened to them talk. They seemed to be standing in one place and not looking for her. She slowly turned her head to one side, then the other, looking for a quiet way out of the bushes. Behind her was the best bet, then up the slope. The only drawback was that part of the path would be in the open before she could escape down the other side. She eased backward until she could stand.
“What’s that?” said Mike.
Lindsay started running up the hill as fast as her legs would go.
“There she is,” yelled Mike.
“Wait, don’t shoot,” Barrel yelled.
Lindsay didn’t hear a shot. Maybe
he took Barrel’s advice. She topped the ridge, slipped on the leaves, and went sliding down the other side, just missing a huge oak. Unhurt but hearing her pursuers, she scrambled and hid in another thicket of bushes.
“It didn’t fire, dammit,” yelled Mike.
“Don’t go waving that thing around. It’ll fire and you’ll hit me, or yourself.”
“It won’t fire. I don’t have my finger on the trigger. Think I’m stupid or something? I wouldn’t climb a hill with my finger on the trigger.”
“No, I don’t mean that. I mean, after it clicks like that, sometimes it don’t fire right away after you pull the trigger. It waits a while.”
“Waits a while? What the hell kind of gun is that?”
“Put it down. You don’t know when it’ll fire.”
“Barrel, I told you, I need an unregistered gun, not some kind of maniac gun. What is this thing?”
“I told you, it’s a black powder gun. It’s not the same as a gun that uses bullets.”
“Barrel . . . What do you mean, not the same as a gun that uses bullets? What am I shooting at that woman with?”
“They’re bullets, but . . .”
As much as Lindsay wanted to wait around and listen to the conversation, she decided to take a chance. Farther down the slope it leveled off to a place of large moss-covered rocks and huge trees. If she could find a good place to hide, she could wait them out. It was doubtful they knew anything about the woods. She had just started to run when the gun fired, and she heard a scream.
“Barrel, you son of a bitch. I’m hit.”
She heard several explosions and another scream. This time, she imagined, the other four rounds went off.
“My hand. You son of a bitch! Oh, God, my hand. Barrel . . . help me.”
“It don’t look that bad.”
“What do you mean, it don’t look that bad? My hand is burning off.”
“Go stick it in that creek. The cold water will stop the pain.”
Lindsay started running. She heard gunfire behind her. This time it was an automatic. Barrel must have brought another gun.
Chapter 42
A Barrel Of Laughs
LINDSAY STOPPED BEHIND an outcropping of rocks to catch her breath. It would be better not to run deeper into the Smokies but to double back toward the site. John and Lewis would be coming, sooner or later.
“Stand up.”
Lindsay looked behind her to see a man with dirty blond hair and cornflower blue eyes holding an automatic pistol on her.
“Barrel?” she said.
“You got her, Barrel? You got her? Shoot her, dammit, and let’s get out of here. My hand’s killing me.”
“No, Barrel. You seem smarter than he is. You know this is a national park. The FBI will be all over you.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Think about this, Barrel. Don’t get in any deeper. The hikers were an accident. You hadn’t intended to kill them. This is intentional. In court there is a big difference.”
“None if we don’t get caught,” he said.
“Shoot her, dammit, shoot the bitch.” Mike came up with a wet handkerchief wrapped around his hand.
“You still have a problem, Mike. Why don’t you quit screaming and listen to me? You and Barrel are both in trouble.”
“What do you mean?” asked Barrel.
“Do you know your way back? Mike, did you think to keep track of where you were while you were leading me into the woods? Barrel, did you just follow the trail, then the sound of the gunshot to locate Mike? Did you watch for landmarks?” They looked around, then at each other. “I do know the way out,” she said.
“So do we,” snarled Mike. “We just follow the trail back.”
“Which one? The woods are full of animal trails. You’ve made too many mistakes for me to believe you kept track of where you are, and you’re bleeding. Go ahead, Barrel, tell him what that means.”
Barrel looked at her, hair falling in his face. “What are you talking about?”
“Don’t listen to her, Barrel, she’ll say anything to stay alive. Shoot her, dammit.” He grabbed for the gun, but Barrel pulled it away.
“Marina was right about the wild animals,” Lindsay said. “You do know there are bears in the woods?”
“Everybody knows that. The rangers keep them away from people. Drive them back into the mountains. That’s what Marina said.”
“Do you see any rangers here? This is where they drive them to. Do you see any tourists?”
“You know, she has a point, Mike.”
“You’re bleeding and they’ve probably already smelled your blood. That’s why they have those long pointed noses. They’re as good as bloodhounds.”
Lindsay didn’t tell him that in the park’s history, no one had ever been killed by a bear. Mauled when they’d provoked one, but never killed.
“However, the bears are not the worst. The wild boars are the worst. Did Marina tell you about the wild hogs?”
“What about them?”
Mike was getting tired and scared. That meant he was getting either more dangerous or less. She wasn’t sure which.
“Lots of people have disappeared in the Smokies and have never been found again—not a trace, not a piece of clothing, nothing whatsoever is ever found of them. Do you know what the park rangers think happened to them?”
“What?” asked Barrel.
As Lindsay spoke, she was forming a plan. If she could surprise them, it might work.
“Wild hogs. Some of them weigh five or six hundred pounds and run like a horse. They eat everything that has blood on it, bones, clothes, even a stick with blood on it. If you don’t get out of the woods and get help, you’re going to be sniffed out, run down, and eaten by a wild boar and the only thing that will be left of you is pig shit—but perhaps I’m being redundant.”
Lindsay watched Mike get angry and Barrel start to laugh. She made her move. She shot her arm out hard and shoved two fingers in Barrel’s eyes. He yelled and she grabbed his gun. He held on. Mike lunged at her and she grabbed at his hurt hand and hit his nose with the heel of her hand as hard as she could. He fell to the ground, stunned. Barrel was still rubbing his eyes and yelling. She picked up a rock and hit his gun hand. He still held on and squeezed the trigger. It missed her by a fraction.
She ran as fast as she could in the direction of the site, leaving them yelling after her. Gunfire behind her kept her running faster. She hadn’t been in this part of the woods, but she did know which direction she needed to be running. The important thing was to leave the two maniacs behind her, especially now that they were very angry.
Lindsay was in better shape than the two of them, and she was wearing sneakers. She stopped to catch her breath, gulping down lungfuls of air. Her sense of the sun was that she was heading away from it, though it was climbing rapidly overhead. She wasn’t really sure where she was or which direction to go without stopping to think about it, and she had no time to stop and figure it out.
The way sloped down abruptly, terminating at a rock overhang and a creek. Growing near the creek was something she could use as a weapon. She fished her Swiss army knife out of her pocket. It would take forever to cut a devil’s walking stick with this. “Damn,” Lindsay said as she scanned the ground near the edges of the grove. There—a pile of them felled, perhaps by winter ice. If she lay flat, she could reach one lying just inside the grove. She didn’t hesitate, even when the thorns tore the skin of her arm.
They’re called devil’s walking sticks because of their shape. They would make good walking sticks were it not for the sharp, prickly thorns covering them from end to end. She took her knife and shaved the thorns off the parts she wanted to hold and slipped her knife back in her pocket. She took the stick and followed the creek, which went more or less west.
Lindsay walked thirty minutes before she came out on Highway 129. She knew where she was. She wasn’t that far from the dirt road leading to the s
ite. She walked along the Little Tennessee River side of the road toward the turnoff. Just ahead of her, Mike and Barrel stumbled out of the woods.
They saw her just as she saw them. Lindsay looked down the embankment to see if there was any safe haven. Nothing but sharp rocks. This was a major highway. Surely, they wouldn’t shoot her here. She was wrong. Mike had the gun now. He raised it and fired. A car came by, and she tried to flag it down. They didn’t stop or even slow down. Instead, they gunned the engine.
Mike shot again. This time, Lindsay had another plan. She fell onto the grass and slipped down the embankment as if she’d been shot. She grabbed a piece of driftwood, threw it in the water with a splash, hunkered down among the jagged rocks and a fallen tree, and waited.
“I got her. I got her, didn’t I? Did you see?”
“No, man, I can’t see a damn thing. Look at my eyes. Did she poke them out?”
“No, stupid. You saw well enough to get out of the woods and cross the road, didn’t you? You want pain and misery, you should have my hand and nose. I’m going to need plastic surgery on my nose. I can’t breathe through it. I tell you, the money Marina’s offering isn’t worth this.”
Lindsay waited until she saw the gun and then Mike’s head, as he leaned to look for her in the water. Without hesitation, she struck his hand with the thorned walking stick. The gun went flying into the rocks, along with a spray of blood from his wrist. She briefly took note of where the gun landed, stood, and struck him again across the kneecaps. Mike yelled, cursed, and fell into the water.
“What is it, Mike? What’s happening?”
“Help, she’s killing me. Find the gun.” Mike clung to the rocks, his legs dangling in the river. “Help me, Barrel. I’m going to drown.”
“I’m getting out of here.”
Lindsay heard tires squeal and braced herself for a thump. It didn’t come. Instead, she heard Sheriff Ramsey telling Barrel to put his hands behind his back.
* * *
The sheriff took Barrel and Mike to the farmstead to pick up Marina. The three of them were in the dining room sitting at the table. Marina was cuffed to Mike. Barrel, squinting around him with deep bloodshot eyes, had his hands cuffed behind him. Lindsay sat across from them. Mr. and Mrs. Laurens stood by the kitchen door, behind Lindsay, looking very cross at Marina. The crew were in the living room gathered around the door.
Airtight Case Page 40
