Twice Dead

by Catherine Coulter

  “I want you to think carefully now, Mr. Tyler. When she handed you the film, which hand did she use?”

  Teddi frowned, furrowing his forehead into three deep lines. “Her left hand,” he said at last. “Yes, it was her left hand. She had her purse on a long strap hanging over her left shoulder. It was kind of clumsy.”

  “Did you ever see her right hand?”

  Again Teddi went into a big frown. “I’m sorry, Agent Savich,” he said finally, shaking his head, “I don’t remember. All I’m sure about is that she stayed all bundled up—again no surprise, since it was so cold.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Tyler. Now, a special agent will take your place behind the counter. Agent Briggs will be in soon and you can go over procedures with him.” Savich raised his hand, seeing that Teddi Tyler wanted to argue. “There’s no way you are going to face this woman again, Mr. Tyler. She’s very dangerous, even to us. Now, show me those photos.”

  Savich took the photo envelope from Teddi and moved away from the counter to the glass front windows. The sun was shining brightly for a November day. It didn’t look like it was forty degrees outside. He slowly opened the envelope and pulled out the glossy 4x6 photos. There were only six of them.

  He looked at one after the other, and then looked again. He didn’t understand. All of them were beach shots, undoubtedly taken in the Caribbean. Two were taken in the early morning, two when the sun was high, and two at sunset. None of them was very well done—well, that made sense since she had only one arm—but what was the point? All beach shots, no people in any of them. What was this about?

  He held the photos up to Teddi. “Did she say anything about the photos? What they were? Anything at all?”

  “Yeah, she said they were vacation photos she wanted to show her roommate. Said her roommate didn’t believe her when she’d said how beautiful it was down in the Caribbean. She had to prove it.”

  If Tammy hadn’t lied, then Marilyn was alive. She wanted Marilyn to admire the beaches in the Caribbean.

  He told Teddi Tyler to take off as soon as Agent Briggs arrived. As for Briggs, he was a natural retailer, experienced in undercover jobs. He was fast, a good judge of people’s behavior. Savich trusted him. Briggs knew how dangerous Tammy was, knew everything Savich knew.

  They had three hours to get it all set up. There were three agents undercover near Marilyn’s boyfriend’s house just off Newport Drive. He doubted they would see either Marilyn or Tammy at the boyfriend’s house. Of course not, Savich thought, that would be too easy.

  Savich left, drew the salty air deep into his lungs, and called Simon Russo on his way to the meet with the other agents. He hadn’t spoken to Russo or Lily in nearly thirty hours. He knew they were all right; otherwise Hoyt would have yelled out. Still, he wanted to know what was happening. He was worried about Lily, just couldn’t help it. He knew Simon would protect her with his life, knew Hoyt and the Eureka police were with them all the way. But still, she was his sister, and he loved her deeply. He didn’t want anything to happen to her. When he thought of what she’d already endured, he felt rage in his gut.

  The more he thought about it, the more Savich worried.

  He pulled his leather jacket collar up around his ears and dialed. Simon’s cell phone didn’t answer. Savich wasn’t about to second-guess himself and try to believe that the battery was dead. He immediately put in a call to Clark Hoyt.

  TWENTY-THREE

  Bar Harbor, Maine

  Clark Hoyt answered his cell phone on the third ring. “Savich? Good thing you called. We can’t find Simon or Lily. Our guys have been sticking close to them, but when Lily wanted to go to the cemetery, everyone decided they’d be safe there, and so we agreed to give them some privacy. Savich, they went after them in the cemetery!

  “When they didn’t show up in an hour at Bender’s Café in Hemlock Bay, my agents called me, then drove to the cemetery. We found Simon’s rental car and one of the Frasiers’ cars in the parking lot. There weren’t any other cars around. We know Lily visited her daughter’s grave because the daffodils she’d bought were there.”

  Hoyt paused.

  “What is it, Clark? What else did you find?”

  “Some blood on the front seats, Savich, just a trace, but there was blood on the parking lot cement, a good bit more. We’re testing it. We screwed up, Savich. I’m sorry. We’ll find them, I swear it to you.”

  Savich felt fear twisting in his belly, but when he spoke, his voice was controlled. “The fact that you found the Frasiers’ car there as well as Simon’s—were the Frasiers taken, too? Or were the Frasiers a part of it and just left their car there? If they plan to come back, then why would they leave their car next to Simon’s—that’s a sure giveaway that they were involved.”

  “That’s what we think.”

  “At least you didn’t find them dead. They’ve been taken. By whom?”

  “We’re trying to track down the Frasiers, but nothing yet. They must be with Simon and Lily. Lieutenant Dobbs and I went to the hospital to see Tennyson Frasier. He claimed he didn’t know where his parents were. Seemed to me that he really didn’t care one way or the other. When we told him Lily was gone, I thought he’d go nuts. This Dr. Rossetti—you remember, the shrink who wanted to treat Lily when she was still in the hospital after the accident? The guy Lily didn’t like? Well, he was there with Tennyson. He got all huffy, said Tennyson was a fine man, a great doctor, and his wife was a bitch and didn’t deserve him. He then gave Tennyson three happy pills while we were watching. I’ll tell you, Savich, I think Tennyson really doesn’t know anything about the disappearance.”

  Savich was hearing everything, but he wasn’t thinking a whole lot in that instant. He was flat-out scared. He wanted to leave Bar Harbor and fly immediately out to California, but he couldn’t. He simply couldn’t leave. It was that simple and that final. He said, “I’m not sure what I think right at this moment, Clark. And I can’t break free. I’m up to my eyeballs right now.” He drew a deep breath. “Actually, we’re about to confront a psychopathic killer right here in Bar Harbor, Maine, and I’m in charge.”

  “Look, Savich, there are a whole bunch of us on this. We’ll find out who took them.”

  Yeah, yeah, Savich thought, then said, “If this Olaf Jorgenson is behind this, we’re talking about a lot of resources, like a private Gulfstream jet here, with flight plans out of the country. It won’t be hard to find them.”

  “We’re already on that. I’ll call you when we get something. Ah, good luck in Bar Harbor.”

  “Thank you. Keep me posted.”

  “Yes, I will. Look, Savich, I’m sorry. I was supposed to keep them covered, keep them safe. I’ll do everything I can with this. I’ll call you every hour.”

  “No, Hoyt, call me only if it’s an emergency for the next three hours. Otherwise, I’ll get back to you when I can.” Clark Hoyt didn’t know what nuts was, Savich thought, as he punched off his cell phone. He had to call Sherlock, tell her what was going on. Thank God she was home and safe. He didn’t want her to hear about Simon and Lily from Hoyt or Lieutenant Dobbs. He had two hours and forty minutes left to set up the operation. He walked over to Firefly Lane to the Bar Harbor Police Department. He knew he simply had to try to stop thinking about Lily and Simon now. He had to concentrate on killing Tammy Tuttle.

  He wanted to press his fingers against the pulse point in her neck and not feel a thing.

  LILY heard moaning, then a series of gasping curses that seemed to go on forever. Those curses sounded strange, long and drawn out. Then she heard crying. Crying?

  No, she wasn’t crying. Nor was she cursing. She felt movement, but it wasn’t tossing her around; it was just there, all around her, subtle, faintly pulsing.

  Simon. Where was Simon?

  She opened her eyes slowly, not really wanting to because her head already hurt and she feared it would crack open when she opened her eyes.

  There was a woman moaning again. Crying, then more
of those soft, slurred curses.

  It was Charlotte. Lily remembered now. She’d shot Charlotte, but she was still alive. And hurting. Lily at least felt some satisfaction. If her head hadn’t hurt quite so badly, she would have smiled. She hadn’t saved herself or Simon, but she had managed to inflict some damage.

  She moved her head a little bit. There was a brief whack of pain, but she could handle it. She saw that she was sprawled in a wide leather seat, some sort of belt strapping her in. It cut into her belly and didn’t hurt much, just a little tug, and that was a relief.

  She saw Simon was seated next to her. He was strapped in, too. She realized then that he was holding her hand on top of his leg. He was looking toward Charlotte.

  “Simon.”

  He made no sudden movement, just slowly turned his head to look down at her. He smiled, actually smiled, and said, “I knew I should have left you at home.”

  “And miss all this excitement? No way. I’m so glad you’re alive. Where are we?”

  “We’re about thirty thousand miles up, a private jet, I’d say. How are you doing, sweetie?”

  “I don’t feel much like a sweetie right now. We’re in an airplane? So that’s that funny feeling, like we’re in some sort of moving cocoon. Oh, dear, I guess maybe we’re on our way to Sweden?”

  “I guess it’s possible, but why did you say it like you already knew.”

  “When those guys were chasing me down the beach, they shouted to me. They’re foreign, very stilted English, Swedish, I think. I thought then that Mr. Olaf Jorgenson had gotten tired of waiting to have things done for him.”

  “You’re right about their being Swedish.” He was silent for a moment, then said, “You said you were running down the beach to get away from them?”

  She told him what had happened, finding the trail back up, finding him unconscious, and then about Charlotte.

  “If Charlotte hadn’t been there, we would have gotten away and I would have moved us to the Eureka jail, no visitors allowed.”

  He picked up her hand and held it. “That crying and cursing—it’s Charlotte Frasier. The pilot, who also seems to be a medic, has been working on her. You shot her through her right arm. Pity, but she’ll be all right. Before you came awake, she was screaming that you were an in-grate, after all she’d done for you. She said she was going to kill you herself.” He didn’t add that she’d punctuated everything she said with the foulest language he’d heard in a long time.

  She was thoughtful for a long moment, then said, “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, just a slight headache now. How’s your head?”

  “Hurts.”

  “Ah, they see we’re awake. Here comes Mr. Alpo Viljo. No, I’m not making it up, his name is Alpo. Sounds Swedish to me. He’s an enforcer, a bodyguard maybe. I’ve never run into a real Swedish badass before. From what I’ve heard, he’s the one who smacked his pistol butt against your head.”

  Alpo Viljo was indeed one of the men who’d chased her on the beach near the cemetery. He was even bigger up close, but really out of shape, his belly hanging over his belt, unlike most of the Scandinavian people she’d met. At least he was blond and blue-eyed. Had to be some Viking blood in there somewhere.

  He didn’t say anything, just stood there, his arms crossed over his chest, staring down at her.

  Lily said, “What’s your partner’s name?”

  He started, as if he wasn’t sure he understood her, then said in his stilted, perfectly understandable English, “His name is Nikki. He’s a mean man. Do not do anything to piss him off.”

  “Where are we going, Mr. Viljo?”

  “That is none of your business.”

  “Why is Mr. Olaf Jorgenson bringing us to Sweden?”

  He shook his head at her, grunted, turned, and walked back to the front of the cabin, where Charlotte Frasier was still muttering a curse every little while.

  “You got that, Lily? No pissing off Nikki. As for Alpo, I think he likes you. You do look like a princess, and maybe Alpo’s a romantic man. But don’t count on it, okay?”

  She had to grin, even though it hurt her head to move her mouth. She looked out the window at the mountains and canyons of white clouds. She said as she turned back to face him, “Simon, I really do like your hair. Even messed up, it’s cool the way it curls at your neck. Long, but not too long. Sexy.”

  “Lily,” he said, leaning closer, his voice very low, “you’re not thinking straight at the moment. I want you to close your eyes and try to sleep.”

  “I think that’s probably a very good idea. All right. Maybe I could have some aspirins first?”

  Simon called out to Alpo Viljo, and soon Lily was downing a couple of aspirin and a very large glass of water. She gave him a silly grin as her eyes closed.

  And in that exact moment, Simon knew it was all over for him. He’d met a woman to trust, a woman loyal to her bones. She sent his feelings right off the scale. His princess, all delicate and soft and pale as milk—well, not right now, since she was still damp from the rain, her clothes torn and splattered with mud, and that hair of hers, all limp and tangled around her head; it was his opinion that she looked superb.

  What was a man to do?

  He eased a small airplane pillow between her belly and the seat belt. He leaned back against the seat and closed his own eyes.

  Lily awoke thinking of her brother, knowing he must be frantic. Surely Hoyt and Dillon knew they’d been taken. But did they have any idea where? And, for that matter, why had they been kept alive at all?

  She looked over at Simon’s seat. It was empty. He was gone. But where?

  She heard a man’s deep voice say in halting English right next to her ear, “You eat now.”

  Nikki eased himself down into Simon’s seat. He was holding a tray on his lap. It was the man who’d shouted to her on the beach, the man Alpo had said was mean.

  “Where’s Simon?”

  The big man just shook his head. “Not your worry. Eat now.”

  She said very slowly, very deliberately, “No, I won’t do anything until I see Simon Russo.”

  Nikki cupped his big hand around the back of her neck and dragged her head back. He picked up a glass of something that looked like iced coffee without the ice and forced her to drink it. She struggled, choked, the liquid spilling down her chin and onto her clothes, soaking in, smelling like coffee and something else. Something like pills went down her throat. She felt dizzy even before Nikki let go of her neck. “Why did you do that?”

  “We land soon. Officials here. We want you quiet. Too bad you did not eat. Too thin.”

  “Where’s Simon, you son of a bitch?” But she knew the words didn’t sound right coming out of her mouth. She wished she’d eaten, too. She heard her stomach growl even as she fell away into a very empty blankness.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Bar Harbor, Maine

  Special Agent Aaron Briggs, neck size roughly twenty-one inches, biceps to match, a gold tooth shining like a beacon in his habitual big smile, nodded from behind the counter at agents Lowell and Possner. Both agents were dressed casually in jeans, sweaters, and jackets, trying to appear like ordinary customers looking at frames and photo albums.

  It was two o’clock, on the dot.

  Savich was in the back. Aaron knew he had his SIG ready, knew he wanted Tammy Tuttle so bad he could taste it. Aaron wanted her, too. Dead was what Tammy Tuttle needed to be, for the sake of human beings everywhere, particularly young teenage boys. He’d listened to every word Dillon Savich had said on the flight up here. He knew agents who’d seen the wild-eyed guy in Antigua who’d slit Virginia Cosgrove’s throat, agents who couldn’t explain what they’d seen and heard. He felt a ripple of fear in his belly, but he told himself that soon she’d be dead, all that inexplicable stuff he’d heard she’d done down in the airport in Antigua would then be gone with her.

  The bell over the shop door sounded as the door opened. In walked Tammy Tuttle, wrapped up in a thick
, unbelted wool coat that hung loose on her. Aaron put out his big smile with its shining gold tooth and watched her walk toward him. He could feel the utter focus of agents Possner and Lowell from where he stood, his SIG not six inches from his right hand, beneath the counter.

  She was pale, too pale, no makeup on her face, and there was something about her that jarred, something that wasn’t quite right.

  Aaron was the best retail undercover agent in the Bureau, bar none, with the reputation that he could sell a terrorist a used olive green Chevy Chevette, and he turned on all his charm. He said, “Hi, may I help you, miss?”

  Tammy was nearly leaning against the counter now. She wasn’t very tall. She bent toward him and his eyes never left her face as she said, “Where’s the other guy? You know, that little twerp who spells Teddi with an ‘i’?”

  “Yea, ain’t that a hoot? Teddi with an ‘i.’ Well, Teddi said he had a bellyache—he’s said that before—and called me to cover for him. Me, I think he drank too much last night at the Night Cave Tavern. You ever been there? Over on Snow Street?”

  “No. Get my photos, now.”

  “Your name, miss?”

  “Teresa Tanner.”

  “No problem,” Aaron said and slowly turned to look in the built-in panels, sectioned off by letter of the alphabet. Under T, he found Teresa Tanner’s envelope third in the slot, which was exactly where he’d placed it himself an hour before. He picked up the envelope with her name on it, was slowly turning back to her, knowing Savich was ready for him to drop to the floor so he’d have a clear shot at her, when suddenly he heard a hissing sound, loud, right in his ear, and he froze. Yes, a hiss, like a snake, right next to him, too close, too close, right next to his neck, and its fangs would sink deep into his skin and ...