Russ felt the car slam into him.
Along with the horrible thud, he could almost hear his own bones crack. He flew through the air, the breath knocked out of him. All he could see was white—blinding, harsh white. Then suddenly, he hit the ground on his side. It felt like he’d been dropped from twenty feet in the air. He heard more bones crunching. On impact, the gravel and dirt on the roadside seemed to shift beneath him.
But for a crazy second, he thought: I’m okay, I’m not dead. I just broke a few bones.
But he hadn’t tried to move yet.
His vision came back. A red cloud of dust, reflecting the brake lights of the car, settled around him. The vehicle was idling just a few yards up the road.
Then he felt the searing pain.
He couldn’t breathe right. It wasn’t just a few broken bones.
Russ tried to move his legs. They were working, but the right one felt like a very bad break. It was bleeding, too. Still, he was pretty sure his spinal cord was okay. From the severe ache on the left side of his abdomen, he thought he might have a damaged spleen or a ruptured diaphragm.
The car was still there. But he couldn’t see the driver.
“Call 911!” Russ yelled with what little breath he had.
God, please, don’t drive off and leave me here, he thought. He was so afraid he’d pass out or die before anyone got to him. He had to tell someone that Anna was in danger. He imagined passing out, then waking up in a hospital two hours from now—only to find out that Anna was dead.
He heard a woman crying hysterically. “I’ve hit somebody with my car . . . He—he just came out of the middle of nowhere . . . I’m here all alone . . . I think he might be dead . . .”
Russ managed to lift his head, but couldn’t see the woman. He figured she must be inside her car. He hoped she was talking to the police. But after a few moments, all he could hear was muted whimpering. He realized she must have raised her car window. It was the smart thing to do if she was alone. She was probably locking the car doors, too.
Please, be talking to the police, he thought. Please . . .
Russ wanted to yell out Anna’s address and ask the woman to send the police there. But he knew she couldn’t hear him. Still, the address went through his head like a mantra: 3221 Fairview Avenue, Dante-Patricia Moorage Number 3, on the Lake Union Loop.
He had to tell someone.
His breathing was getting worse. He wondered if he had a lung injury. He knew he’d broken or cracked a few ribs. Maybe that accounted for the breathing problem. Russ figured, if he tried to diagnose himself, then that would help take his mind off the excruciating pain. He thought about the possibilities of internal bleeding and abdominal damage. One leg was definitely broken. One of his arms, too, he was pretty certain of that.
He felt himself getting colder.
Please, hurry, he thought.
The red brake lights of the woman’s car were his reassurance that he wasn’t alone. She hadn’t driven off yet. She was waiting for help, too, God bless her. Nowadays, so many people would have driven off.
Everything started getting darker. You’re not dying, he told himself. He was dizzy, probably about to pass out. The pain was making his body shut down. Still, as horrible as he felt, Russ tried to remain conscious. He kept struggling to breathe.
But for a few minutes, he must have blacked out, because suddenly he noticed the car had moved. The driver had backed up a bit and switched to her hazard lights. Russ couldn’t hear the car engine anymore.
But he heard a siren in the distance.
He told himself to hang on and stay awake.
And if he had any breath left in him when the ambulance finally arrived, he’d tell the paramedic: 3221 Fairview Avenue, Dante-Patricia Moorage Number 3, the last house on the dock, the one with the red door . . .
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
Sunday, July 26—1:09 A.M.
Sitting across from Anna in the small boat, Taylor kept the gun pointed at her. “Knot it again. Give the cord a good tug.”
Anna reluctantly tied the jump rope around the second ten-pound barbell, which was coated in a yellow rubbery material. Her hands shook as she tightened the knot.
Taylor intently watched her every move. She’d already admonished Anna for allowing some slack in the knot when she’d tied on the first barbell. “Shake the rope so I can see they’re both on good and tight,” she demanded.
Grimacing, Anna hoisted up the jump rope—with twenty pounds of weights attached to it. Her arm muscles strained and tightened as she wiggled the rope. Once Taylor gave a nod of approval, Anna lowered the cord. The weights hit the boat’s floor with a thud.
Around each ankle, Anna had already tied an exercise strap with a baby blue eight-pound weight attached.
“Okay, fasten the jump rope around your waist—like a belt,” Taylor said. “I want you to tie three knots.”
With a sigh, Anna started to secure the weighted rope around her waist.
That made thirty-six pounds of deadweight she’d be carrying once she plunged into the deepest part of the lake.
Taylor would remain in the little boat until she was sure Anna had drowned. Then her friend CJ would pick her up.
Anna figured that, tomorrow, the search-and-rescue team would probably find the aimlessly drifting, empty dinghy long before they ever found her.
The sports cruiser had been trailing closely behind them since they’d pulled away from Anna’s private deck. Anna hadn’t gotten a good look at Taylor’s friend, because the boat’s lights remained off. But she remembered his dorky, impish face from their encounter at Taylor’s.
Following Taylor’s orders, she’d rowed out toward the middle of Lake Union—away from all the other floating homes and houseboats. Sweaty, scared, and exhausted, Anna had done what she’d been told to do, hoping it meant she could stay alive just a little longer.
Taylor’s plan was clear to her now. Within the next day or two, everyone would know that the late Anna Malone had confessed to Courtney Knoll’s murder. It was all there in a suicide note, taped to the sliding glass door in her houseboat. She’d written the note shortly before rowing out to the middle of Lake Union and drowning herself.
It would all be in the newspapers. CJ would slip a newspaper with the story through a slot in the door of the RV bedroom where Taylor and Russ were imprisoned.
“I’m sure Russ will feel bad when he reads about what happened,” Taylor had explained while Anna had been rowing. “But by then, the news that you murdered Courtney won’t be much of a surprise to him. I think Russ is already starting to accept it as fact. Still, I’m certain he’ll be sad that you’re dead. But don’t worry, Anna. I’ll be there to comfort him. And you know, Russ won’t be the only one grieving for you. CJ has this whole routine worked out, a beautiful monologue Bud will give outside the RV for Russ to hear—a drunken rant about how devoted he’s been to you ever since he first saw you on TV, and how he did all this to protect you, and how none of it matters anymore now that you’re dead. And very soon after that, Russ and I will realize that Bud has left us. Poof... disappeared. I’ll discover that he must have unlocked the door locks before clearing out in the middle of the night. He’ll have taken all his things with him—including that recorded confession of yours. Then Russ and I will be free. He’ll be so happy that he’ll forget all about you, Anna. I’ll see to it. He’ll love me more than he ever loved you.”
Silent, Anna had kept rowing the boat toward the center of the lake. She’d wanted so much to tell Taylor that she didn’t stand a chance of pulling off her insane, cockamamie plan. What was to keep her friend CJ—or Bud or whatever he called himself—from turning on Taylor and killing her, too? Maybe she was protected because she was his cash cow. But he could still blackmail her. Taylor couldn’t afford to have him out on the loose. As for Russ, even if he was gullible enough to swallow all the garbage she fed him—which he wasn’t—there was no way he’d ever fall in love with her. Taylor was d
elusional to think they had a future together.
But Anna had held her tongue—until now.
Now she had nothing to lose. She was sitting in a boat in the middle of Lake Union with a crazy woman who had a gun on her. It was almost surreal. To the north, Anna could see the headlights from the traffic on the Aurora Bridge, which towered over the dark lake. East of the bridge was Gas Works Park—with lights twinkling on the old gas works plant. And in yet another direction, the sports cruiser was looming close by, waiting to pick up Taylor once her mission for the night had been accomplished.
“Taylor, do you really think you’ll be happy with Russ?” she asked, looking her in the eye. “How can you expect to build a decent relationship with him when it’s based entirely on lies and deceit? The whole time you’re with him, you’d always be worried about Russ someday finding out that you murdered his wife—and me. And believe me, he will find out, Taylor. And when he does, he’ll fucking hate you.”
Taylor looked stunned. “No, he won’t! Besides, he won’t find out! And if he did, then Russ would love me even more because he’d realize that I’d killed for him.” She took a deep breath to calm herself.
“Besides, I didn’t set out to kill Courtney,” Taylor said quietly. “That was an accident. It never should have happened. I loved Courtney. And I loved the two of them together.”
“Then why did you do it?” Anna asked.
“It wasn’t really my fault,” Taylor answered, frowning at her. “You’re the one to blame, Anna. You came between the two of them and ruined everything. I knew about you before anyone else. I’d been watching Courtney—and Russ. I figured out that he was seeing someone else. You thought your affair was this big secret, but I’ve spied on you two countless times since last summer and fall.” She smirked a bit. “Anna, if you’re going to screw a married man you shouldn’t live in a place with such big windows. See, I have a small boat like this one, though mine’s nicer. From the water at night, I used to watch you and Russ. I told Courtney all about you two.”
“When?” Anna asked.
“Last November. I lied when I told you that I barely knew Courtney. Yes, we met at a charity function. But then Courtney reached out to me. She was hoping I could introduce her to some of my mother’s friends in TV and show business. I knew I was being used, but I didn’t mind. Courtney was a beautiful, talented, important person. I was flattered she wanted my help. But the truth is, I’m not very well connected at all, and I couldn’t help her. I sensed Courtney pulling away. So I made myself useful to her in another way. I told her about you and Russ. I was her spy. Like I told you, in my boat at night, I’d watch you two. With my binoculars, I could even read your lips sometimes, especially when you were both outside, talking on your deck. I told Courtney about some of your conversations. She took me into her confidence. We were very close.”
Anna squirmed, and for a moment, the weights tied to her ankles dragged against the floor of the boat. Taylor was confirming what she’d suspected: Courtney had known about them for a long time.
“If you and Courtney were so close, why did you end up killing her?” Anna asked.
Taylor hesitated before answering. She looked down at her gun—and then at Anna. “That Thursday night,” she finally said, “from my boat, I saw that you weren’t home. Neither were Courtney and Russ. Imagine my surprise when I spotted the three of you together, coming down their dock. I could see how drunk you were. You could barely stand up. Later, when I spotted you and Russ leaving their house together, I started to follow you. But then, I decided to talk to Courtney instead.” Her voice started to shake. “You see, I’d seen her with you for the last three days. I was angry—and maybe a little jealous. I hadn’t been able to help her in the way you were helping her—with a TV spot and so much publicity. And all that time, she’d been ignoring me.
“Anyway, I was hurt, and I wanted her to know that. So I went to their door and rang. But she wasn’t answering. I wondered if there was something wrong with the doorbell system. Maybe the lights weren’t flashing. But finally Courtney came to the door. She’d changed into a gorgeous, floor-length purple robe. I tried to explain how upset I was at her, but she was drunk—so dismissive and nasty. I told her she wasn’t acting like a good friend should. But she laughed and said we weren’t friends. That’s when I realized she’d just been using me. She was horrible to me that night, so mean . . .”
Taylor’s eyes filled with tears and her voice quavered. “I know she was drunk. I shouldn’t have taken her seriously, but she said, ‘You’re just a pest . . . a frumpy, little pest.’ That really hurt me, and I desperately wanted to hurt her back.” Taylor wiped her tears away. “So, I grabbed the first thing I saw and hit her. I bashed in her skull. The thing I grabbed was Courtney’s writing award.”
Anna stared at her—and at the gun in her hand. “So I was right earlier,” she murmured. “Everything happened pretty much the way you had me describe it in the recording—only it was you.”
Taylor nodded. “I dragged her body out to my boat, then rowed to my car and loaded her into the trunk. When I had Bianca make you say how difficult it was lugging around all that deadweight, believe me, it came from personal experience. I ended up burying her in those woods by Lake Bosworth. I remembered you did one of your stories from there. On the drive back, I got the idea about pinning the whole thing on you. So the next morning, while you were at work, I pulled out the skeleton key I’ve been using on your place and let myself in. I took some of your clothes, and I loosened the ropes to your boat . . .”
Anna wasn’t listening anymore. She was trying to think of what to do. Though tempted to lunge at Taylor and snatch away the gun, she knew she’d only end up getting shot. She thought about tipping over the dinghy. But she had thirty-six extra pounds strapped to her. Once she hit the water, she’d immediately start sinking. She probably wouldn’t have a chance to grab on to the side of the capsized little boat.
It seemed hopeless. Besides, even if she could surprise Taylor and overpower her, Taylor’s friend was still watching over them. The sports cruiser drifted closer and closer. It was only a few feet away now.
“I never meant for Russ to be blamed,” Taylor was saying. “That was the last thing I wanted.”
Taylor fell silent as the little boat started to teeter in the water. The sports cruiser came up alongside them. “CJ’s getting impatient.” She sighed. “And he’s right. We’ve been out here too long. For someone who couldn’t hear for most of her life, sometimes I talk too much.”
With the other boat so close, Anna knew she didn’t have a chance. She could almost reach out and touch the side of the sports cruiser. She glimpsed a shadowy figure on deck, but only for a second. He bent down, grabbed something, and then threw a rope ladder over the starboard side. The bottom wooden rung hit the water with a splash.
“It’s time, Anna,” Taylor said. “I want you to stand up—very slowly.”
Trembling, Anna didn’t budge.
From the other boat, Taylor’s friend looked down at them. Anna could see him now. He wore a black T-shirt—and a ski mask.
Taylor gave him a brief glance and chuckled. “He wears that ski mask for Russ and me.”
He climbed over the side. He was close enough to reach into the boat, but he perched there on the rope ladder for a moment, watching and waiting.
Anna knew she was doomed.
“C’mon, Anna, stand up.” Taylor brandished the gun at her.
Suddenly, the man kicked the weapon out of Taylor’s hand.
The gun flew into the water.
Before Anna knew what was happening, the man jumped down into the boat, almost capsizing it. Bracing herself, Anna clung to the dinghy’s sides as water splashed all around them.
Taylor was screaming. “What are you doing? You stupid . . .”
Everything happened so fast. The boat violently rocked back and forth as the man stood between the two of them, with his back to Anna. He grabbed a weight from t
he boat’s floor and then hauled back and hit Taylor in the face with it.
Anna heard a crack.
Taylor let out a frail gasp and collapsed.
The man in the ski mask was breathing hard as he stood over Taylor’s crumpled form. Anna could see she was still alive—but completely incapacitated. Her face was bleeding. It looked like her jaw was broken.
He stood there for another few moments until the boat stopped teetering.
All Anna could think was that she’d been right about Taylor’s friend CJ. He’d turned on her before they’d even finished their work together tonight.
She sat there, too stunned to move. She watched him push Taylor’s near-lifeless body over to one side. Taylor let out a sickly groan.
Then he turned and sat down across from Anna.
She waited for him to start talking in that raspy singsong voice of his—to tell her that it was time for her to jump into the water.
Instead, he let out a sigh. “Hey, Anna Banana . . .”
That was when she noticed his neck tattoo.
Astonished, she watched as Stu pulled the ski mask from his head.
“I’m sorry I took so damn long,” he said, still breathing hard. “I wasn’t sure what the hell was going on. I was watching your place tonight and recognized the sports cruiser—just like Terry Adalist’s boat back on Bainbridge. I saw it drifting near your place for a while. So—I figured, hell, I better go check this out . . .” Stu gasped for air. His face was flushed—and shiny with sweat. He looked so exhausted. “Anyway, I swam over and climbed aboard. Only this guy with a knife wasn’t too welcoming . . .” Stu laughed and then coughed until he finally caught his breath again. “I knew he was either crazy or up to no good, because, here it is, a beautiful summer night, and he’s wearing a ski mask.”
Anna struggled to untie the weighted jump rope around her waist. “Stu, I can’t believe you came back.”
“I had to,” he said, chuckling weakly. “I couldn’t leave you thinking I was such a shit. And I was . . . I’m so sorry . . .” He closed his eyes for a second. It seemed like he was in pain. He did that nervous tic of his. Anna saw his dimples as he winced and scratched his head. “I’ve created a hell of a mess for you, Anna. That guy, I managed to take his knife away . . . but, I . . . I ended up using it on him. I—I stabbed him in the chest. The guy’s dead.”
The Night She Disappeared Page 38
