by Tim Downs
“And your fiancé figured all this out?”
“We both did. Nick figured out the bug part, but Trygg found the scent on the mattress—that’s the part that really points the finger at that nurse. The bugs only prove that the nurse was negligent; the mattress proves he was trying to cover it up, and that’s what’ll send him to jail.”
“Then your fiancé doesn’t know yet?”
“Not ’til I can find him. I can’t wait to see the look on Nick’s face when I tell him—he’ll think twice before he leaves me behind again.”
“What about that fly expert down at NC State—did you tell him?”
Alena turned and looked at him.
“I knew I should have gotten rid of that mattress,” Malone said.
He was pointing a gun at her head.
32
Nick sat up straight and watched the vehicle’s headlights as they approached; the car was definitely slowing down. Nick had pulled his own car off the road about fifty yards ahead and tucked it in behind a stand of pitch pines where he would have a clear view of the road. Through the blinding glare of the approaching headlights he could make out only a single passenger, in the driver’s seat. It had to be Donovan—it was only the third vehicle that had passed in the last half hour and the only one to show any interest in the obscure side road that led down to Yanuzzi’s cabin. The car slowed to a stop, flashed its brights once, and began to turn.
Nick gave it a few seconds, then started his own engine and followed.
The other car had already rolled to a stop and killed its lights by the time Nick pulled up beside it. He looked over at the hunting cabin to make sure there were no signs of activity before he switched on his dome lights and nodded a greeting to the other car. Donovan did the same, and both men got out of their cars and quietly shut their doors.
Donovan took in the surroundings. “When you told me this place was out of the way, you weren’t kidding—I think my GPS gave up the ghost. Why did you pick this place?”
“The cabin belongs to Ed Yanuzzi.”
Donovan gave Nick a look. “Are we talking about Tony Womack—the guy you think tried to shoot you this morning?”
“That’s him—it happened right here.”
“Nick, why in the world would you risk coming back?”
“Does it seem ridiculous to you?”
“It sure does.”
“Then it’ll seem ridiculous to him. This is the place he tried to kill me, Donovan—he’d never expect me to come back here.”
“Maybe that’s because he doesn’t think you’re an idiot.”
“I’ll try to take that as a compliment.”
“If this is Womack’s place, how did you know he wouldn’t be here?”
“It’s a hunting cabin. Nothing’s in season right now.”
“What if he comes out here just to get away?”
“You know, you’re starting to depress me. If you’re going to worry about all the things that might go wrong, we’ll be here all night.”
“I thought that was the plan.”
“Well, I don’t plan to spend the whole night depressed, so lighten up.” Nick walked over to the cabin and pointed to a splintered half-inch hole in one of the wooden posts; then he stepped up onto the porch and leaned against the post just as he had done that morning before the shot was fired.
Donovan nodded. “Yeah, I’d say that was a close call. You’ve had closer, but it definitely qualifies.”
“Yanuzzi said somebody was just trying to run me off—he said I was too big a target to miss.”
“That all depends on range and windage,” Donovan said. “It also depends on how good the guy was who was taking the shot.”
“What if it was Yanuzzi?”
“Then he was telling the truth, he was trying to run you off—or you’d be dead right now.”
“I can’t figure out why the guy would want to run me off.”
“Are you kidding? Even I want to run you off sometimes.”
Nick turned to the cabin door and tried the knob. “That’s odd.”
“What?”
“The door—it’s unlocked.”
“Was it locked when you came out here before?”
“I’m not sure.”
“That’s kind of important, Nick—if it was locked the last time, that means somebody’s been out here since.”
“Well, we’re here now and the door’s open, so we might as well go in. No sense worrying about Yanuzzi; he isn’t going to show up at this time of night.”
“You sure about that?”
“There you go again—Mister Negativity.”
Nick pushed open the door and stepped into the darkness. He remembered the location of one of the wall sconces; he felt around until he found a box of kitchen matches and lit the wick—the lamp cast a warm orange light over the cabin.
Donovan shut the door. “Just one lamp,” he said, “and keep the shades down—no sense advertising that we’re here.”
Nick stood in the center of the cabin with his hands on his hips, looking around the room. “It just doesn’t make sense,” he said.
“What doesn’t?”
“Yanuzzi had a deputy, a guy named Marty Keller; Keller was killed back in December.”
“Killed how?”
“Hunting accident—at least, that was the official ruling.”
“But you’re not convinced.”
“No, I’m not. Keller was married; after he died his widow moved away, but she comes back to visit from time to time— and guess where she stays whenever she’s in town? Right here at the Yanuzzi Inn.”
“Seems a bit obvious.”
“That’s what I thought. Funny thing is, Yanuzzi told me all about it.”
“He did?”
“I asked him why he told me and he said it was because he has nothing to hide. He said his wife knows all about it—that they just loan out the cabin so the woman won’t have to pay for a hotel.”
“You buy that?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I met the woman.”
“Where? Here?”
“This is where she stays. I met her here the other night and we had a long talk. She just didn’t strike me as a grieving widow.”
“Why not?”
“Well, for one thing . . . she was flirting with me.”
“She was flirting with you? How do you know?”
“How do I know? How would anybody know?”
“I know how anybody would know—I’m just not sure how you would know. Was she emitting some kind of chemical indicator?”
“Be serious. You know, she could have been the one who fired that shot. She’s the one who called and asked me to meet her here, and then she didn’t show up. Yanuzzi said she left town the day before, but maybe not.”
“You think she took the shot?”
“It’s possible—she would have had the same motive as Yanuzzi. I hate it when a woman flirts with you and then tries to kill you.”
“Has that happened to you a lot?”
“Well . . . there was my high school prom.”
Donovan sat down on the leather sofa. “Describe this woman to me.”
“Medium height, athletic build, short dark hair. She was attractive.”
“You found her attractive.”
“I didn’t say I found her attractive—I said she was attractive.”
“Attractive to you.”
“There was nobody else there, Donovan. What are you trying to say?”
“I’m just making a simple observation: You met a woman and you found her attractive.”
“So?”
“Did you flirt back?”
Nick squinted at him. “What’s with you tonight? You’re even weirder than usual.”
“Answer the question, Nick: Did you flirt back?”
“Donovan, I’m engaged to be married.”
“You’re reminding me? Answer the question.”
&n
bsp; “No—I didn’t flirt back.”
“Did you enjoy the fact that she was flirting with you? ”
“Is there a point to this fascinating discussion?”
“The point is, you’re getting married tomorrow, Nick— right about now you should be singing ‘I Only Have Eyes for You.’ Is that the way you feel about Alena? Or are you still looking around?”
“I just came out here to do an interview.”
“You drove all the way out here.”
“That’s right.”
“Just to do an interview.”
“Yes.”
“With a woman. Late at night.”
“Do I need to use smaller words? You seem to be having trouble following.”
“Nick, do you mind if I give you a piece of marital advice?”
“I wish you wouldn’t.”
“Just shut up and listen. When a man is married—or wants to be—he does not drive to a remote place in the wee hours of the morning to meet with a lonely widow.”
“Alena trusts me.”
“Really? What did she say when you told her about this little ‘interview’?”
Nick didn’t reply.
“You didn’t tell her, did you?”
“We’ve had cell phone problems.”
“When’s the last time you talked to Alena?”
Nick paused. “What day is this?”
Donovan shook his head. “I told you this would happen. You get started on something and you lose track of time—you lose track of everything except the thing you’re working on. You know what I think?”
“No, but I’m sure you’re about to tell me.”
“I don’t think you want to get married.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Is it? Why haven’t you called Alena?”
“I told you—”
“Have you missed her, Nick? Have you even thought about her?”
“I’ve been . . . preoccupied.”
“Nick, you’re getting married tomorrow—preoccupied with what? What’s so important that it makes you forget your own fiancée? What is important to you, Nick—what is it you really want?”
Before Nick could reply the cabin door burst open and two hooded figures stepped into the room; one held a shotgun at waist-level, while the other swung a revolver back and forth between Nick and Donovan.
“Hands up, both of you,” the man with the revolver said. “Lock your fingers behind your head—drop ’em before I say so and you won’t have a head anymore.”
Nick and Donovan both complied.
“Shut the door,” the man told his partner. “We need a little privacy.” When the door was sealed and the cabin was quiet again, the man who held the revolver pulled the pillowcase from his head.
“If it isn’t Tony Womack,” Donovan said. “Or do I call you ‘Ed Yanuzzi’? I hear you’re a sheriff now—glad to see you’ve been making yourself useful.”
“Who are you?”
“Special Agent Nathan Donovan—and you’re under arrest.”
“That’s real funny. Turn around.”
When he turned, Yanuzzi lifted the back of Donovan’s jacket and pulled the handgun from his waistband holster. “I see the Bureau’s still handing out the Glock 23,” he said.
“It’s a good weapon,” Donovan replied. “Want me to show you how it works?”
“No, thanks. I’ll take that backup .40 caliber from your ankle holster too.”
Yanuzzi shoved his revolver against the base of Donovan’s spine while he knelt down and removed the gun from under Donovan’s trouser leg.
“What happens now?” Nick asked.
“We roast marshmallows around the fire,” Yanuzzi said.
“What do you think, Polchak?”
“This was never about Marty Keller’s widow, was it?”
“I tried to tell you that—you didn’t believe me.”
“And it wasn’t about that cold case either—it was all about you hiding out from the FBI. That’s why you shot your deputy, and that’s why you killed Pete Boudreau. You didn’t want a Vidocq investigator digging around here—there was too big a risk that he might dig up something about you.”
Yanuzzi tossed handcuffs to Nick and Donovan. “See those water pipes on the wall? Get down on your knees and cuff yourselves to them—I won’t tell you twice.”
The two men knelt down facing the wall and chained their wrists to the thick iron pipes.
“How did you know we’d be here?” Donovan asked.
“I have my sources.”
“I don’t get it,” Nick said. “How does killing us solve your problem?”
“You are my problem,” Yanuzzi said. “I told you to leave it alone, Polchak, but no—you had to keep pushing. You just had to call your buddy here from the FBI, didn’t you? Now he’s here to take me in—so what am I supposed to do? Don’t blame me for what happens next—you brought it on yourself.”
“Am I supposed to apologize?”
“No—you’re supposed to disappear.”
“Don’t you think people will come looking for us?” Nick asked.
“I doubt anybody cares what happens to you. They’ll come looking for your friend here—but by the time they do I’ll be long gone. This just buys me some time.”
Yanuzzi turned to his partner and nodded to the door; the man opened it and held it for Yanuzzi. Yanuzzi stopped in the doorway and looked back at the two men kneeling against the wall. “This cabin is a great place to think things over,” he said. “You might want to give it a try—it’s the last chance you’ll ever get.”
33
The two men stepped out into the darkness and closed the cabin door behind them, leaving Nick and Donovan alone.
Nick turned to his fellow prisoner: “Where are they going?”
“My guess is to walk the property,” Donovan said. “They probably want to make sure there aren’t any neighbors out relaxing on their decks when two gunshots go off.”
“That should give us a few minutes anyway.”
“I recognized Womack,” Donovan said, “but who’s the guy with the hood?”
“No idea. Maybe just some guy from town who doesn’t want to be incriminated later.”
Donavan tugged on his handcuffs. “I don’t think that’s gonna be a problem.”
Nick sat down and planted his feet against the wall, one on either side of the water pipe, and began to pull hard—the pipe didn’t budge.
Donovan watched. “Are you kidding? That’s cast-iron pipe.”
“Maybe there’s some way to loosen it.”
“Good idea—see if you can get the monkey wrench from my back pocket.”
“This is no time to be sarcastic, Donovan. You’re in law enforcement—don’t you carry a handcuff key?”
“Sure do.”
“Where is it?”
“In the car, with my handcuffs—why don’t you run out and get it for me?”
Nick moaned.
“We weren’t planning on picking up Womack until morning, remember? I left everything in the car.”
Nick looked up at the wall sconce. “If I could reach that oil lamp with my foot, I might be able to knock it off the wall. It would set fire to the cabin—somebody might spot the flames.”
“Way out here? They’d think it was a campfire. And even if somebody did spot the fire, by the time they got here we’d both look like shish kebabs. Thanks—I’d rather be shot.”
“Have you got any ideas?”
“Don’t look at me.”
“You’re an FBI agent, aren’t you? Don’t they train you people for situations like this? What am I paying taxes for?”
“You want an idea, Nick? Here’s an idea for you: Why don’t you chew off one of your limbs like a badger does when it’s caught in a trap?”
Nick looked at him. “What’s eating you?”
“Gee, I don’t know. Maybe it’s dying—that always puts me in a foul mood.”
“There has to
be some way out of this.”
“You think so? We’re in the middle of nowhere and nobody even knows we’re here. We’re chained to a wall, and two guys with guns are coming back in just a couple of minutes—and they have no reason to negotiate. Face it, Nick, we just ran out of luck this time.”
“Sorry,” Nick mumbled. “I didn’t think things would get this serious.”
“You didn’t think? You didn’t think it would matter if you left Virginia less than a week before your wedding. You didn’t think the Philadelphia police would care if you violated a crime scene and stole phone records. You didn’t think your fiancée would mind if you drove up to the Poconos on some wild-goose chase—and you didn’t think Yanuzzi would come back to this cabin tonight either. Sounds to me like you haven’t been doing much thinking lately.”
“It was a calculated risk,” Nick said.
“Whose risk, Nick? Do you ever think about anybody besides yourself? You’re not the only one chained to a wall here, you know. Do you have any idea how many times you’ve called me and put me in harm’s way just to get you out of some tight spot? Okay, I’m an FBI agent—maybe I signed up for this kind of thing. But what about my wife—did you ever think about Macy? And we have a baby now—or did you forget that? They depend on me, so you put them in harm’s way too—did you factor that into your ‘calculated risk’? How’s Macy gonna feel when I don’t come home tomorrow—or ever again? She always knew it was a possibility, but that won’t make the reality any easier.”
Nick said nothing.
“But you have no idea what I’m talking about, do you? ’Cause you’ve got nothing to lose. Nothing to risk, nothing to lose, nobody to leave behind—for you, life is just the next case. You’ve been that way ever since I’ve known you, but I was dumb enough to think maybe you’d changed—maybe you’d grown up a little. I mean, you actually asked a woman to marry you—that seemed pretty grown-up to me. And I was happy for you—for both of you—until a few days before the wedding when you just upped and disappeared, and that’s when I knew you were the same ol’ Nick. How will Alena feel when you don’t come home tomorrow—or do you even care about that? Do you ever think about the way she feels? Do you think about how your choices might affect her? You asked a woman to marry you, Nick—do you think marriage is a promise that you don’t make until your wedding day? ’Cause I got news for you. You started making promises the minute you let that woman fall in love with you.”
