The Town of Griswold (Berkley Street Series Book 3)

by Ron Ripley

  “He’s still waiting,” Andrew said.

  Gordon swallowed nervously, nodded, and said, “Lead on then, Andrew.”

  Andrew and the dog, who he called Rex, went into the street. With the passing of the storm, the boy had become fainter. He wasn’t as solid as when Gordon had first seen him. Andrew’s steps were tentative, cautious. The puppy mimicked the boy’s attitude, remaining near the child. Finally, once he had reached the center of the street, Andrew motioned for Gordon to follow.

  With a deep breath, Gordon left the safety of the church, the pistol in his hand. Long strides carried him to Andrew’s side.

  “Follow me, quickly and quietly,” the boy whispered.

  Gordon nodded.

  The boy smiled, turned, and ran towards the far tree line. Gordon kept up with him, worried he might step on a branch and give himself away to the unseen Abel. A small part of him didn’t believe the boy, but a deeper, more primal portion of his heart told him Andrew spoke the truth.

  Gordon never hesitated but slipped into the edge of the forest. Andrew moved silently through the trees, disturbing nothing with his passage. Gordon, however, wasn’t so lucky. His feet made far too much noise as he ran.

  Soon Gordon found himself stumbling along, barely able to see. Too little of the moon’s light breached the canopy overhead, and Andrew was little more than a shape flitting in front of him. Trees loomed up out of the darkness, and more than once he slammed into them.

  This is ridiculous, he thought angrily, tasting blood in his mouth after bouncing off a birch.

  Someone screamed from behind him, a sound full of rage and fury. And madness.

  Gordon’s heart threatened to shatter his ribs as fear spurred him forward.

  Then he was falling, arms swinging wildly as he plummeted into the cold water of an unseen stream. Gordon pushed himself up, gasping for breath.

  “Here,” Andrew whispered, “sit still and be quiet.”

  Gordon sat down in the cold water and forced himself to breathe through his nose. A young woman appeared out of the darkness, following the water towards them. The sight was disturbing, her legs moving but not disturbing the surface of the stream. When she drew nearer, Gordon saw a horrific red line around her neck, and it was only then he realized Andrew had one on his neck as well.

  “You are Gordon?” Andrew’s sister asked.

  Gordon nodded.

  “I’m Eugenia,” she said. The young woman looked at him closely. “You’re a killer.”

  Gordon hesitated before he said, “Yes.”

  Eugenia nodded. “We’ve enough killers here, Gordon. I will lead you away if you will.”

  “Please,” he replied.

  She smiled at him tightly. “Stand then, and we will leave. You must be stealthy. Abel has realized you have slipped away and into the woods. He has yet to realize we are helping you.”

  “Well,” Gordon said, standing up, “let’s keep it that way.”

  Chapter 23: Meeting Again

  Some officers carried a .410 shotgun in their trunks. Henry Martini had an AR15 Bushmaster. After calling in his position he took out the rifle, loaded it, and made his way to the road leading down into Griswold. Protocol required he await backup.

  Within three minutes, an unmarked car squealed to a stop behind his interceptor. A pair of cops hurried out, leaving the doors open. One was a young male, the other was an older female, both African-Americans. The male jogged over to Henry as the female went around to the trunk of the car.

  The man offered his hand, and Henry shook it.

  “Dwayne Reynolds.”

  “Henry Martini,” Henry said. “Nashua?”

  Dwayne nodded. The woman came towards them with a riot shotgun. She had a City of Manchester patch on her uniform.

  “Janet DeMilo,” she said. “You called in.”

  It wasn’t a question. “Yeah. Glanced down the road. Definite signs of a vehicle.”

  “Alright,” Dwayne said. “I’ll take point if you two want to flank.”

  “Sounds good,” Janet said, and Henry agreed as well.

  They went down the road quickly, Dwayne moving several feet in front while Henry took to the left and Janet the right. The three of them kept a steady pace, the cracked and broken asphalt wet beneath their boots. Minutes passed before they reached the curve in the road, and they slowed down.

  Tension filled the air between them and for the first time, Dwayne glanced back at Henry and Janet. Henry gave the younger man a nod, and Dwayne moved forward at a crouch.

  When the road straightened out, the sight which they stumbled upon caused Henry’s stomach to flip. Glenn Jackson’s interceptor was parked close to a pair of pickups. The trooper’s vehicle was a mess. It looked as though an extremely large child had taken an equally large hammer and smashed the car. A pair of uniform boots lay on the asphalt near the interceptor in a sea of broken glass.

  All three of their radios squawked at the same time, the State Police dispatcher requesting an update.

  Janet reached up to her shoulder microphone, pressed the talk button, and said, “Send a team down into Griswold.” She looked at Henry and glanced at the boots.

  Henry nodded. “Tell them it’s Jackson,” he said grimly.

  Dispatch asked for confirmation, and Janet gave it.

  Henry looked from the defunct general store to the church and then brought his weapon to bear on the church’s door.

  Someone was opening it.

  “Church!” Henry snapped.

  Janet dropped to a crouch, the shotgun tucked firmly into her shoulder while Dwayne took up a position at Jackson’s car, covering them both.

  “Hands!” Janet yelled, her voice booming out. “I want to see hands, and I want them now!”

  A pair of hands were thrust out into the open, and a man called out, “There are two of us in here. Male and female.”

  “Both of you come out,” Janet snapped. “Hands where I can see them. When I tell you to, you will turn around and get on your knees. Understood?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” the man replied. The door opened completely, and the man came out first. His arms were fully extended, fingers spread wide. He took one step out, and one step to the side. A young woman followed, mimicking him perfectly. Yet while he looked calm, she was nervous.

  Together the pair walked forward, and when they had crossed roughly half the distance to Henry and the other officers, Janet called out to them again.

  “Stop and turn around,” Janet said.

  The man and the young woman did so.

  “Knees,” Janet ordered.

  The young woman had a little trouble, but the man didn’t. In a moment, the two of them were on their knees, arms and hands still straight up in the air.

  “Hands on your heads,” Janet snapped.

  Both did as they were told.

  “Dwayne,” Janet said.

  Dwayne holstered his sidearm, took his handcuffs out, and waited for Henry to take his out as well.

  Henry watched as Dwayne approached the male first, going in from the left, keeping out of the line of fire. The man made no effort to resist as Dwayne cuffed him. With quick movements, Dwayne slipped over to the young woman and cuffed her.

  From Route 111 came the sound of sirens, quickly followed by the sound of branches being smashed. Seconds later, cruisers and SUVs filled the narrow confines of Griswold’s main street. Police spilled out, quickly moving towards the two buildings. Henry slung his weapon and went to take charge of the handcuffed male while Janet did the same with the female. Dwayne was already with another team surging into the church.

  When Henry helped the male to stand he looked at the man for the first time, and nearly stumbled back.

  It was Shane. Shane Ryan from the shooting at Old Nashua Road and the Roy house.

  Shane looked Henry in the eye and said, “Trooper Martini. This is a bad place to be.”

  Chapter 24: The Interrogation

  Shane’s head hur
t. It hurt a lot.

  No, Shane corrected himself. It hurts like hell.

  He was in a small interview room with a bottle of water. A small camera in the upper left-hand corner of the room stared down at him, the red light blinking occasionally to remind him people were watching.

  Probably lots of people, he thought tiredly. He had been in the room for seven hours. For six of them, he had been questioned relentlessly about the disappearance of Trooper Glenn Jackson. Shane stuck to the story he had come up with, and he didn’t try to get fancy and add details.

  Keep it simple, stupid. One of the finest things he had ever learned in the Marine Corps.

  Shane closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose, and tried to focus on something, anything other than the headache nestled uncomfortably behind his sinuses. The door to the room opened, but Shane didn’t look. He heard two sets of boots, the pair of chairs opposite him were pulled out, and a new set of police sat down.

  Someone closed the door, and still, Shane kept his eyes shut.

  A young woman spoke in Spanish. “Do you think he’s good for this?”

  Another woman answered, speaking Spanish as well. “Doesn’t matter. He knows something one way or another. More than what he’s saying.”

  “Wonder what he’s thinking of,” the first woman said.

  “Who knows, Angela,” the second said. “And really, who cares?”

  “We should,” Angela said angrily. “Have you seen the preliminary report on the scene?”

  “No,” the other woman said, “I came in half an hour ago. Just finished getting the low down.”

  “Lisbeth,” Angela said, lowering her voice, “they said there are gallons of blood there. From two distinct individuals.”

  “Damn.”

  Shane opened his eyes and looked at the officers. They were both middle-aged women, dressed in button-down shirts with empty shoulder holsters. Both women had their dark brown hair pulled back in ponytails, their eyes deadly serious.

  “You want to start?” Angela asked, still speaking in Spanish.

  Lisbeth nodded. In English, she said, “What’s your name?”

  “Shane Ryan.”

  “Shane,” Lisbeth said, “what can you tell me about what happened to trooper Glenn Jackson?”

  Shane repeated the same story, without variation. Both officers frowned at him when he finished.

  “Your friend tells almost the same story,” Lisbeth said.

  Shane didn’t reply.

  “You don’t think that’s a little odd?” Lisbeth asked.

  Shane shook his head.

  “You don’t want to add anything?” Lisbeth said.

  He looked at her but didn’t reply.

  “Now’s your time, Shane,” Angela said. “We just want to know what happened to the trooper. Any help you can give us will go a long way.”

  “We understand things happen,” Lisbeth said, picking up the line. “Accidents always happen. It's why they’re called accidents.”

  “We just want to know where he is, what’s going on with him,” Angela said, smiling warmly. “You can understand, right?”

  Shane kept his mouth closed.

  The smile vanished from Angela’s face, replaced by an expression of sadness. “Really, Shane?”

  “You know,” Lisbeth said, “I’ve seen your record. All of your information came up when we punched your name and social in. Did you know that?”

  Shane waited.

  “We know you were a Marine,” Lisbeth continued. “A career man, too. Looks like you did some regular grunt work, then some Arabic and Pashto language work, even some intelligence gathering.”

  “Glenn was a soldier,” Angela said. “Saw some time in Afghanistan.”

  “So,” Lisbeth added, “we’re kind of wondering why you don’t want to help us. You being a Marine and all. You gave decades of your life for this country, and it’s looking like Glenn gave his for it. Why don’t you tell us what happened? I mean, was it the Quill brothers?”

  “We know they had some trouble with the law,” Angela said. “Especially the younger one, James.”

  They want me talking, Shane thought. They think I did something. They want to tease it out of me. Whatever it is. He wanted to tell them. He burned to speak of it. But it won’t do any good.

  Shane yawned, and Lisbeth’s face went cold.

  “Are we boring you, Mr. Ryan?” she snapped.

  Shane looked at her with disinterest, then he looked at Angela. In perfect Spanish, he said, “I’m tired. I had a hell of a night, and I listened to some terrible stuff. I told you what I know.”

  He looked at Lisbeth, satisfied to see a glimmer of surprise in her eyes. Continuing on in Spanish he said, “I feel horrible about the young officer’s disappearance. If I could help you, I certainly would. But I can’t. Pretty soon you’re either going to have to let me go home, or you’re going to have to hold me as a material witness. Either way, I don’t care. Let’s make a decision and be done with it.”

  Lisbeth glared at him, but Angela looked at him with interest. In Spanish, she asked, “Where did you learn to speak Spanish, Mr. Ryan? The Marines?”

  Shane nodded. “The men I served with.”

  “You sound like you’re from Puerto Rico,” Angela said appreciatively. “Your accent is perfect.”

  He tilted his head in thanks.

  “You said there was a man who grabbed trooper Jackson,” Angela said, continuing in Spanish. “Can you give me a description?”

  Shane did, the women’s eyes widening slightly.

  “Why didn’t you do anything to help?” Lisbeth asked, her voice hard.

  Shane looked at her, waited until she blinked, and said, “I had my girlfriend with me. When I first saw the attacker, he smashed through a window without any hesitation. That tells me he’s either unbelievably strong, insane, or cooking on something. I’m not a young man anymore, officers. I know my limits, and if I had to sacrifice myself, it was going to be for Courtney.”

  Lisbeth switched to English, the disdain in her voice plain. “Pretty cold, Mr. Ryan.”

  “I made a decision, officer,” Shane replied. “I’d make the same one again.”

  “This isn’t really getting us anywhere, is it?” Lisbeth asked coldly.

  Shane shook his head.

  “Why don’t you tell us a little more about what happened?” Angela asked.

  “There’s nothing more to say,” Shane answered.

  “Come on, Marine,” Lisbeth sneered. “Nothing else you want to add? No little tidbit you’d like to share with us? You’re telling me you didn’t notice anything special, with your keen eyes?”

  Shane laughed, shook his head, and said, “Ma’am, if I didn’t think I’d lose a couple of teeth, I’d tell you what I’ve been able to notice about you.”

  Lisbeth’s face became a hard mask and Angela’s hand stole out, gripping the other woman’s arm tightly. A knock sounded, and the door opened. An older man Shane hadn’t met gestured to the two officers. The women stood up, ignored Shane and left the room.

  Shane settled back into his chair, closed his eyes and tried to ignore the pain in his head.

  Chapter 25: Running, August 2nd, 1975

  Somewhere in the darkness of the forest, the man called Abel searched for Gordon. Moonlight passed through Eugenia, flickered on the water, and allowed Gordon to follow the young woman. He had a stitch in his side and every breath hurt.

  Behind him, and off to the left, he heard a tree crash. It was a terrible, foreboding sound. One that spurred him on.

  Andrew and the dog had vanished, leaving Gordon alone with Eugenia. Occasionally she would look back at him, a concerned expression on her face.

  She’s asking if I’m worth it, Gordon told himself. A small voice denied the truth of the statement, but Gordon knew better. Abel can hurt her, I’m sure. And she’s wondering if I’m worth the possibility of pain.

  Seriously, am I? he wondered, trying to get
control of his breath.

  Evidently she decided he was because she continued to lead him along the stream.

  Gordon tripped over either a submerged stick or protruding stone and fell with a crash into the water. Something cold gripped him, dragged him up and pressed him against the bank.

  “Silence,” Eugenia hissed.

  Gordon closed his mouth, shivering with a chill which was more from fright than the water’s temperature. Memories of Vietnam swarmed over him, patrols in the dark. Ambushes. Blackness lit by muzzle flashes and followed by screams from wounded men.

  He closed his eyes, bit on his tongue to keep himself quiet, and was able to get control of his fear. The shivers subsided, Eugenia removed her hands, and Abel passed by them, unseen. Each footstep sounded like a tree being felled, a terrible cold sweeping through the air. For a split second ice formed on the top of the water, and it became painful to breathe the air.

  Then the ice melted, warmth returned to Gordon’s lungs, and Eugenia sat down on the bank beside him. She looked at Gordon closely before she whispered, “He hunts for you still.”

  Gordon nodded.

  “Why did you come into Griswold?” she asked shortly.

  “I saw your brother,” Gordon replied in a low voice. “Up on the edge of the road. I thought he was lost. Abandoned. I was worried about him.”

  She looked at him intensely. “You came because you were worried about my brother?”

  Gordon nodded.

  Several minutes of silence passed between them before Eugenia finally broke it. “I will make sure my father doesn’t take you, Gordon. You will reach Charles’ Lake alive and well.”

  “Thank you,” Gordon whispered.

  “You’re welcome. Now come,” she said, standing up. “Abel will soon realize he passed you by, and he will double back.”

  “Okay,” Gordon said, sighing. We sure as hell don’t want him to come back. Not at all.

  Chapter 26: Courtney and Trooper Martini