by Dan Walsh
The kinds of things that make gunshots pretty hard to hear.
61
It had been almost an hour since Rachel had left Jack at his condo. The forensics team had finished their work and had given Jack the all-clear signal to clean up his place. As expected, it took about thirty minutes. Also as expected, Jack had confirmed nothing had been stolen.
Sergeant Boyd hadn’t called him yet saying he had gotten the warrant. Jack was about to head back to the cabin but decided to call Rachel first, just to see how she was doing on the road. After locking the condo up, he took out his phone to call her as he walked to the car. Her phone rang and rang; she never picked up. It’s possible she had the volume turned down and the car stereo turned way up.
He tried texting her instead: Just called to see how you’re doing. Guess you’re enjoying a little music and didn’t hear. Nothing urgent. Just wanted to chat. Call whenever. Still no word from Boyd. Heading back to the cabin. Love you much.
He’d barely put his phone back in his pocket when it rang. He quickly pulled it out, expecting to see her face on the screen. It wasn’t her. And it wasn’t Sergeant Boyd, either. Jack didn’t recognize the number. Maybe it was Hank Jensen. He and Jack had talked before, but Jack had never saved his number.
“Hello, this is Jack Turner.”
“Hello, Mr. Turner. You don’t know me. But I know you, sort of. I know, for example, you and your girlfriend have been butting your nose into things that are none of your business.”
“What? Who is this?”
“Doesn’t matter. Like I’d tell you anyway. The thing is, I’ve been told you have taken a couple of things from a certain cabin that don’t belong to you. The owner wants them back. In a serious way. You know the things I’m talking about. Some kind of old journal and scrapbook.”
Jack couldn’t believe it. He instantly thought about what that punk, Paco, had said at the arcade. Almost the exact same warning. Should he play dumb?
“I’ve also been told,” the man continued, “that you can take care of yourself pretty good. So I’ve taken some precautions. Or you could say I created an incentive that I think will convince you to cooperate fully and quickly with what I’m about to say.”
Jack wondered what he meant. “This has to do with Senator Wagner, doesn’t it?”
“Like I said, you know what I’m talking about. I want both of those things handed over, tonight, at 6:30. There’s a little wooden table on the porch at the cabin. You can set them there, then take off. Go somewhere else for about half an hour.”
“Now why would I want to do that?”
“Why? Because I think you’re in love.” He chuckled. “And the woman you love, Rachel…I have her. My guess is, you would like to see her again, alive.”
Jack felt like he’d been punched in the stomach. Could this be true? “Rachel’s not even in town. She left an hour ago.”
“That’s not quite accurate. She tried to leave town would be a better way to put it. I followed her, till we came to a nice lonely stretch of road. I convinced her to pull over and get into my trunk. If you want proof, drive north on 441 about ten minutes past town. You’ll see her bright red car parked on the side of the road. Matter of fact, maybe you should go out there even if you do believe me. Both her keys and cell phone are inside. And it’s not locked. Eventually, someone’s going to figure that out and drive off with it.”
Jack’s stomach turned, and his face felt hot. The man wasn’t lying. Oh God, don’t let anything happen to Rachel.
“I can tell by your silence that you believe me. That’s good. You should believe me. Right now, she’s fine. I’ve got her in a safe place. She’ll stay fine and safe, unless you don’t do what I say.”
“Now you listen to what I say.” Jack tried to control his words. “If you’ve hurt her, or if you do anything to her, you will die today. Do you understand me?”
“You don’t need to threaten me.”
“You said it yourself, I can take care of myself pretty good. Well, I take even better care of those I love. My life is nothing without her. Do you understand? I couldn’t care less about this journal and scrapbook. I care about her. You hurt her, you are dead.”
“Well good. Not the part about you killing me, the part where you could care less about the journal and scrapbook. So, we understand each other. I haven’t hurt Rachel, and I don’t want to. You bring those two things to the cabin at 6:30, set them on that table on the porch and leave. Thirty minutes after that, I will call you and tell you where you can find Rachel. It’s as simple as that. Oh, and this goes without saying. You involve the cops in this, it’s over. I mean, Rachel. I’ll kill her.”
He hung up.
Jack saw Rachel’s car up ahead on the right, just as the caller described. His mind had been racing and his heart pounding constantly since that call. If anything happened to Rachel….
He pulled in behind her car. Images of what must have happened here began swirling in his head. The fear she must have felt. Being forced into the trunk. And being driven away to…where? How long was she in there? He said she was in a safe place. Was that place somewhere in town? He said no cops, or he’d kill her. Should Jack call Joe? Should he drive down to the Senator’s office and make a scene? Force him to tell Jack where they had taken her?
He got out of the car and walked to the driver’s side. The window was halfway down. He opened the door. There was her cell phone on the front seat, the keys still in the ignition. He turned the car on enough to raise the window. Then he took her phone, her keys and locked it up.
He leaned back on the fender as a wave of panic overtook him. His eyes filled with tears. He couldn’t lose Rachel. She was the love of his life. The guy said he didn’t hurt her and didn’t plan to. God, he prayed, let that be true. As he walked back to his car, he began to calm down. A clear thought broke through the haze.
Call Joe. You can trust Joe.
Once in his own car, he found Joe’s number on his phone and pushed the button.
Joe picked up fairly quickly. “Hey Jack, great timing. I was just about to call you. Hank secured the search warrant. Are you at the cabin? Probably better for me to come out there and get them.”
Jack didn’t answer. He was trying to think of what to say.
“Jack? Did you hear me?”
“Yeah.”
“What’s wrong? You sound upset.”
“I’m way past upset.”
“Why, what happened?”
“Rachel has been kidnapped.”
“What?”
“Kidnapped. Rachel’s been kidnapped. I got the phone call about twenty minutes ago.”
“Do you know who?”
“Not the man’s name. Who he works for.”
“It’s the Senator, right? I can’t believe it. This guy’s worse than I thought.”
“It is. My guess is the call came from the same guy who broke into my condo, and the cabin.”
“He say what he wants? Never mind. I know what he wants. This thing is getting out of control. I still haven’t heard back from my FBI friend. As soon as we get off the phone, I’ll call him again.”
“No, don’t do that. He said no cops. I really shouldn’t even be talking to you.”
“Jack, they always say that. Because they know if we get involved we won’t stop until we catch them. He’s just trying to manipulate you, Jack.”
“It’s working. But I knew I had to call you. Can’t we just do this, you and me?”
“I don’t know. I don’t like the sound of that.”
“Please, Joe. We get a whole squad of guys involved, somebody makes a mistake and he gets wind of it? It could be all over for Rachel. You could get Hank involved. I’d trust him, too.”
“I can’t believe the Senator would do something so stupid. He’s more desperate than I thought.”
“How about it, Joe? You, me and Hank? And that’s it.”
“Alright, tell me what you know. What’s the plan?”
<
br /> 62
The promised storm came early.
With it, came dark clouds and heavy winds. It hadn’t yet begun to rain. But clearly, it would soon. Jack had spent a horrible afternoon in his condo. There was nothing to do but think. And wait. And pray. Pray that the plan he had worked out with Joe would succeed.
The main thrust was to make sure Rachel was safe. Nothing they did would compromise that goal. But Boyd had thought of a way to still secure the journal and scrapbook after Rachel had been freed. It depended on a number of things happening just right. Then he’d said the chances of all those things going right were slim and none.
It was 6:20pm.
Jack pulled into the clearing, saw the cabin up ahead. Now that his car was no longer surrounded by trees, the sky wasn’t as dark. But the storm clouds were more visible on the western horizon. He wondered how much time they had before the hard rains began to fall.
Mostly, he wondered how Rachel was doing. He couldn’t keep his mind off her. She must be so scared. This man would pay for what he put her through, put them both through. Joe said the aggravated kidnapping charge alone could get him life in prison. Life without parole when you threw in Mrs. Carlson’s death, if they proved he was the same man who’d broken into Jack’s condo.
Jack had been imaging a different kind of punishment for this guy…all afternoon.
He was just about to unlock the cabin door when something caught his eye out on the lake. A flicker of orange light, on one spot in the water. Was it someone fishing? Maybe holding up a lantern? Could it be the kidnapper, watching for Jack to complete his task?
In case that was it, Jack went inside, turned on a few lights and snuck out the back door. Walking through the trees, he came around the other side of the cabin closer to the waterline. He could still easily see the orange light. It was the only bright spot on the lake. But now he could also see, it wasn’t a boat or a lantern. It was a reflection from something on the shore.
Then it dawned on him…the old shack. That’s where the light was coming from.
Suddenly, it went out.
But he was sure he was right. He thought about it some more. What if that’s where the kidnapper was? What if that’s where he’d brought Rachel? Nobody lived there. After Rachel had asked about it, Jack had called the realtor and found out it was part of the property. But the realtor had also said they never rented it out.
So why was there light coming from the shack just now? And why did it just go out?
He was speculating, of course. But it made sense. Maybe the kidnapper was hiding there, and he’d turned out the light so he could make his way through the woods to spy on Jack, make sure Jack put the journal and scrapbook where he’d been told to, on the porch table.
He glanced at his watch. Only five minutes left. He’d better do that now. Walking back through the woods the way he came, he snuck back into the cabin through the back door and headed straight for the living room. In no time at all, he was pulling the safe through the floorboards. He brought it to the dinette table, opened it and pulled out the journal and scrapbook. Walking them to the front door, he stopped briefly and reached behind his back to get a feel for his Glock, nestled in his waistband. The man hadn’t asked him to do this, but Jack turned on the porch light, to make sure the man could see Jack placing the items on the table.
Jack opened the front door, brought the two items over to the table and set them down. Now he was supposed to leave. To go somewhere for thirty minutes. He wished he could call Joe and tell him of his suspicions about the shack. But he knew, Joe was already hidden somewhere nearby in the woods, was already watching him and everything he did.
The plan was for Joe to stay hidden until the kidnapper came for the journal and scrapbook. Then to follow him until he made the call to Jack, telling him where to find Rachel. Jack was to text Joe as soon as Rachel was safe, freeing Joe to arrest the kidnapper. Hank was in town, with another team waiting for word from Joe to go after Harold Vandergraf and the Senator.
That was the plan. But plans never turn out right. That’s what Joe said.
Jack couldn’t worry about that now. He had to stay focused on his part. Drop the things off and drive away. Wait for the kidnapper’s phone call. As he drove down the tree-lined dirt road, the sky grew darker again. The winds were picking up. Small branches began to break off and fly sideways between the trees. One startled him, bouncing off the hood of his car.
Jack slowed down as he drove past the dirt road on his right that led toward the shack. It was all he could do not to drive down that road. His gut told him that the orange light he had seen reflected off the lake came from the shack. The shack that was supposed to be empty. Empty and dark.
But he kept driving until he reached the main road. Then he got an idea. The kidnapper was going to call his cell phone, which meant Jack could be anywhere he wanted when the call came. He quickly found a place to pull over and got out of his car. Anticipating the events of this night, Jack had dressed all in black. He was very glad he did now. He took out his phone and, using the GPS, got a sense of where the shack was. He began walking in that direction through the trees. As he did, he pulled out his Glock and held it in front of him. He stayed closer to the waterline for better visibility.
In about fifteen minutes, he had reached the opening in the trees for the clearing around the shack. The shack was just up ahead.
It was totally dark inside.
Joe Boyd had arrived twenty minutes ago, dressed in dark hunting garb. Using the GPS on his smart phone, he had navigated through the woods and was now positioned near the cabin, set back about twenty feet in the woods. He’d arrived just as Jack had turned the porch light on then came outside to put the journal and scrapbook in place.
He’d watched Jack drive off just as he’d been told. Boyd had his gun ready and pointed toward the porch.
All he could do now was wait.
63
Carefully and as quietly as he could, Jack walked toward the shack. His gun straight ahead, his index finger resting as close to the trigger as he dared. He didn’t hear a sound.
That is, until he came close to the doorway.
Now he heard something. Muffled sounds. An occasional bump. Was that someone moaning? He had to go inside. If he had figured this right, the kidnapper wasn’t here. He should be at the bigger cabin by now, ready to snatch the journal and scrapbook.
Jack decided to come in low in case he’d guessed wrong and the kidnapper fired his gun chest-high as the door opened. He closed his eyes, said a quick prayer and turned the knob until it clicked. He pushed the door open, grateful that it didn’t squeak. He breathed a sigh of relief when it reached the halfway point.
No gunfire.
He stepped inside. Now he could hear better. There was definitely someone in the room. Someone positioned against the far wall. But they didn’t say anything. He reached up where a light switch should be, but found none. Must be on a pull chain.
He took a few more steps. Still no reaction to his presence. He wished he had a flashlight but, wait…he did. The flashlight app on his phone. After pointing his gun toward the far wall, he tapped the app and the light came on.
“Rachel!” He said as quietly as he could.
It was her, and only her with him in the room. She was sitting in a chair, her eyes and mouth covered by strips of duct tape. Her feet were also taped, her arms to the chair. He put his gun in his waistband, set the phone on a cot next to her, hugged her with one hand and gently pulled the duct tape off her face with the other.
“Jack,” she cried as soon as her eyes focused. “I can’t believe you’re here.”
He freed her arms and she quickly reached down, tore off the tape around her ankles. They hugged tightly.
“We have to get you out of here now,” he whispered. “The guy could come back any second.” He glanced at his watch. “He’s probably at the cabin right now getting the journal and scrapbook. Are you hurt? Can you walk?”
<
br /> “I’m a little stiff, but he didn’t hurt me.”
“Then we need to go.” Jack helped her stand. He tapped the flashlight app off, plunging the room into darkness once more. He picked up his phone. “Hold my hand tight and follow me. We’re going back through the woods toward my car. It’s out on the main road.”
They stepped outside onto the dirt. Just then, an incredibly bright flash of lightning struck very close, followed instantaneously by a loud crack of thunder. It startled both of them and they dropped to the ground.
“That was thunder, right?” Jack said.
“Yes, but it sounded a little bit like a rifle shot.”
“That’s what I thought. C’mon. We need to get into the woods.”
Right on time, Boyd watched a dark figure emerge from the trees on the far side of the clearing, heading straight for the front porch. He was carrying a gun and his head swiveled back and forth nervously with each step. When he reached the porch, he seemed satisfied that he was alone and stuck the pistol in his waistband. He saw the items on the table and went right for them. Boyd waited for him to pick them up and step back off the porch. As soon as he did, Boyd came out from his position with his gun pointed at the kidnapper’s chest.
The plan was, for Boyd to follow him until he called Jack. But Joe had thought about it. He didn’t want to take a chance of this guy leaving the scene and somehow getting away.
“Freeze,” Boyd said, not yelling but loud enough to be heard over the wind. “This is the police. You’re under arrest. Don’t even think of going for your gun.”
The man obeyed, turned his head toward the sound of Boyd’s voice.
The next moment, there was a bright flash of lightning and a loud bang of thunder. It was so close, Boyd instinctively hit the ground. So did the kidnapper, but something about the way he went down looked strange. The journal and scrapbook flew out of his hands.
