by Stuart Woods
“How do you want to do this?” Rawls asked, grabbing his shotgun from the rear seat.
“First, let’s check the workshop and any outbuildings,” Stone said. “Then we’ll see what we can see through the house windows.”
“All right. Is this guy likely to have an alarm system?”
“Yes,” Stone said. “Come on.” He began walking through the trees toward the workshop, and Rawls followed.
HOLLY CAME TO SLOWLY. Her head hurt on the right side. She tried to put a hand to it, but found herself spread-eagled on a bed, her hands and feet tied. Her mouth was taped shut, and so were her eyes. There was something in each ear, too, shutting out sound.
All she could do was smell, and she concentrated on that. Mildew. Maybe saltwater. She tried rolling back and forth on the bed as far as she could, to see if she could feel the weight of her firearm. She thought it was still there. The bed made squeaking noises. Bare springs under a thin mattress. The mildew smell was coming from the mattress. Old. Disused. She thought she picked up the smell of rotting wood, too.
She tried twisting her hands and feet to shake loose at least one limb. She felt the head of an iron bedstead, rusted. She was tied to that. God, her head hurt.
STONE AND RAWLS worked their way around the workshop to the side away from the house. A breeze brought the scent of the sea, apparently not far away, through the trees. Stone could see some small source of light inside the workshop, and he crept closer for a look through a window.
Suddenly, they were bathed in bright light. “Shit, motion detectors,” Stone said. “That’ll bring him running. Let’s get out of here.”
They ran in the direction opposite the one they had come, hiding behind some bushes. They flushed a deer, which ran toward the house as the porch light of the house came on and Hal Rhinehart came out the door, a shotgun in his hand. He raised it to his shoulder for a shot at the animal, but it was gone. “It was just a deer,” he shouted to his wife.
He came toward the workshop, the shotgun at the ready, and circumnavigated it, then went back into the house and turned off the porch light.
“That was a near thing,” Rawls said.
“Yes, it was. I’m glad he didn’t have a dog with him.”
“You think the house has those lights, too?”
“Probably. I expect he has two alarm systems, one for the workshop and one for the house. You noticed that only the porch light went on when he came out?”
“Yeah, he probably hadn’t armed the system.”
“He may have by now.”
“You’ve been inside the workshop?”
“Yes, a couple of times.”
“What’s in there?”
“A big workroom with a lot of power tools, an office, a storeroom, or what appeared to be one. Probably a paint shop, too.”
“Let’s see if there are any other outbuildings,” Rawls said.
They walked through the woods, keeping the house on their left. “All I see is what appears to be a shed for tools or wood,” Stone said.
“Well, Young and his crowd would have searched the premises by now, wouldn’t they?”
“I don’t know where the hell they are,” Stone said.
He didn’t know where the hell Holly was, either.
Chapter 42
HOLLY WOKE UP with a start. It had been chilly, but it was warming up. Must be daylight. The tape over her eyes allowed no light to enter. She needed to pee really badly, and she struggled again with her bonds, trying to free herself. If she could just get one hand free…
Then she heard a noise, a door closing. Footsteps, lightly, on stairs, then somebody was in the room with her. She tried to speak but could only make noises through her nose. She listened carefully.
Someone approached the bed where she lay. There was a metallic clank next to the bed, then whoever he was grabbed her sweatpants by the thighs and pulled them down. She struggled, but he pulled down the cotton underwear she was wearing, too, then put an arm under her waist, lifted her off the bed and shoved something made of cold metal under her ass. A bedpan. She peed, long and gratefully.
When she had finished, he removed the bedpan, pulled her panties and sweatpants up. Then she heard the sound of paper or cellophane being crinkled. Suddenly, the tape was ripped off her mouth.
“What the hell…” she was saying, but something was crammed into her mouth, filling it. Candy bar. She chewed madly, trying to swallow so she could talk, but the second she got it down, he was pouring water into her mouth. She swallowed, washing down the candy bar, but before she could speak, she heard a ripping noise, and her mouth was taped again. Duct tape, she reckoned. He seemed to inspect her bonds, one at a time, to be sure they hadn’t loosened.
She heard him walk across the room and open a door, then the sound of the bedpan being emptied and a toilet being flushed, then running water. He walked down the stairs, and she heard a door open and close. He hadn’t said a word.
STONE LAY ON HIS BED trying to sleep, telling himself he would be no good to Holly if he was exhausted. Finally, very late he dozed off. He woke to the sound of the ringing telephone. He rolled over in bed and grabbed it. “Hello?”
“It’s Sergeant Young. Has Holly returned?”
“No, Sergeant, she hasn’t, and I’m beyond being just worried.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t get your message earlier, but I’ve been to the mainland and back.”
“Can you keep an eye out for her in your search?”
“We’ve completed most of the search,” Young said. “I had forty people tramping every foot of the island, and we’ve done two-thirds of it. Then, the second woman’s body was found, and I called it off because nobody was missing anymore.”
Stone looked at his watch: eight-fifteen. “Well, you’ve got to get the search going again,” he said, “because whoever is doing this has taken Holly, and he’s getting more dangerous.”
“Why more dangerous?”
“It’s a pattern with some serial killers: Their pace accelerates, they enjoy it more and more. Sometimes they become more reckless, as if they want to get caught.”
“But some of these people go on for years, almost on a regular schedule.”
“Not this guy. He wants more and more, and he’s getting it. He may stop for a few days, but he won’t be able to resist starting again. Three women in less than forty-eight hours: Doesn’t that tell you something?”
“I’ll get on the phone and get some people together. What time did you last see Holly yesterday?”
“About noon, when I went to lunch with Caleb Stone.”
“So we can ignore the parts of the island we searched after noon and concentrate on the rest.”
“Good idea. Have you searched Hal Rhinehart’s place?”
“Not yet.”
“Please go there first.”
“Why?”
“Rhinehart has a criminal background. Dino and I got him for a series of high-end burglaries in New York years ago. He’s done time.”
“Did any of the burglaries have sexual overtones? Did he rape any of his victims?”
“Not that we knew of, but still…”
“All right, we’ll start there.”
“I want to come with you.”
“I’ll pick you up in half an hour.” Young hung up.
Stone got dressed and had some cereal in the kitchen while Mabel protested that he should eat some bacon and eggs. He was waiting at the roadside when Young drove up in his patrol car. There were two men in the backseat who looked more like locals than summer people. Young introduced them, then drove on north.
“You don’t look so good,” he said as he drove.
“I didn’t get any real sleep,” Stone said. “I’m tired.”
“I understand.”
They reached the Rhinehart sign and turned into the drive. Hal Rhinehart came out of the house as they drove tip, apparently on the way to work.
“Morning,” he said, looking doubtf
ully at the four men. “What’s going on?”
“Mr. Rhinehart,” the sergeant said, “we need to search your place.”
“Have you got a warrant?”
Stone spoke up. “Come on, Hal,” he said, “we’re looking for a woman who disappeared yesterday. You know we can get a warrant, but if you don’t let us search, then you’ll automatically be a suspect. Just let us get this done.”
“All right,” Rhinehart said, “look wherever you want. I was just about to open the shop.” He handed Stone a key. “Let yourself in while I tell my wife what’s going on.”
“Stone,” the sergeant said. “You take one man and go through the workshop. We’ll take a look in the house.”
Stone headed for the shop followed by his fellow searcher. He unlocked the door and walked in. “Here’s how we do this,” he said to the man. “You take that side of the shop. Look in every room, every closet, every cupboard, every box—anyplace that’s big enough to hide a human being. Look particularly for trapdoors that might hide a stairway to a basement. Don’t miss anything.”
The man nodded and started his work. Stone went into Rhinehart’s office and, trying not to make a mess, searched every corner of it, pulling back a rug to expose the floorboards. Satisfied there was nothing there, he opened another door and found a storeroom full of tools and paint cans. He moved everything that might conceal another door or a trapdoor. Nothing. He moved on to the paint shop and was joined by the other man.
“I didn’t find nothing, and I looked hard,” the man said.
Stone nodded, and the two of them continued their work. Finally, satisfied that no one was hidden in the workshop, they walked to the house. The front door stood open.
“Hello,” Stone called. He opened the screen door and walked in. Nobody was in sight. He walked through the nicely furnished living room to the kitchen, where he found Mrs. Rhinehart feeding her baby. “Good morning,” he said. “I hope we’re not causing you too much trouble.”
“It’s all right,” she replied. “I know you’ve got to find that lady who’s missing.”
“Where is Sergeant Young?”
“I think they’re all in the cellar,” she said, pointing toward a hallway.
Stone walked into the hall and found an open door, with stairs leading down. He walked downstairs and found Sergeant Young and his other searcher standing, talking to Rhinehart.
“Anything in the workshop?” Young asked.
“Nothing.”
Rhinehart turned to Stone. “This is because of my record, isn’t it?”
“Hal, they’re searching every house and outbuilding on the island,” Stone replied. “Every structure has to be cleared, and the woods and beaches, too. It was just your turn.”
Rhinehart nodded.
“I think we’re about done here,” Young said.
They all trooped up the stairs. Young thanked Rhinehart and apologized for the intrusion, and the four men got into Young’s cruiser.
“I guess that clears Rhinehart,” Young said.
“I guess so,” Stone replied.
“I’m taking you home so you can get some rest.”
“All right.”
Young dropped Stone at the top of the driveway. “I’ll call you the minute we find anything.”
Stone noted that he didn’t say “Holly” or “her.” She had already become an object.
Chapter 43
STONE WENT BACK TO THE HOUSE, and Mabel brought a sandwich on a tray to the study.
“You look terrible,” she said. “Eat; you need your strength.”
“Mabel, when was the last time you saw Holly?”
“Well, after you left for your lunch appointment, she had a sandwich, then she did some work in that little room of Dick’s while I was vacuuming, then she changed into her running clothes and went out. I saw her stretching when I took out the garbage.”
“What time was that?”
“Pretty close to one o’clock,” she replied.
Stone looked at his watch. Holly had been missing for twenty-four hours. After that long, the chance of recovering her alive fell off sharply as the hours passed. And after forty-eight hours, she was very likely dead.
There were exceptions, he knew, and that was what kept the hopes of friends and relatives of missing people alive. There was that girl out in Utah who was kidnapped and held for more than a year. But that rarely happened.
Thinking of friends and family, he suddenly had an awful thought: He had not called Hamilton Barker, Holly’s retired master-sergeant father. He opened his address book and picked up the phone.
“Hello?”
“Ham?”
“Yep.”
“It’s Stone Barrington.”
Ham’s voice brightened. “Hey, Stone, how are you?”
“Not so good.”
He became wary. “What’s happened?”
“It’s Holly; she’s disappeared.”
“What do you mean, ”disappeared“?”
“First of all, Holly and I are on an island in Maine called Islesboro. There have been some kidnappings and murders here; some of them were women.”
“Anybody who tried to kidnap Holly would have his hands full,” Ham said.
“I know that,” Stone agreed. “Nevertheless, she went out jogging yesterday at this time, and she hasn’t been seen since. A search of the whole island is under way, but she hasn’t been found yet.”
“What’s the name of the island again?”
“Islesboro; it’s in Penobscot Bay.”
“Hang on a minute.” Ham left the phone, and Stone could hear him talking to a woman, probably Ginny, his girlfriend. “Stone, I’ve got an atlas here. I see Penobscot Bay.”
“It’s a long, narrow island off Camden.”
“Got it. Does it have an airport?”
“Yes.”
“Here’s Ginny, tell her about it.”
Ginny picked up an extension. “Hello, Stone?”
“Yes, Ginny. Nice to hear your voice.”
“Tell me about the airport.”
“It’s a paved strip, twenty-four hundred feet long; the runways are one and one niner. The identifier is five seven bravo, and the unicorn frequency is 122.9.”
Ham spoke up. “We’re on our way, Stone. We’ll call you from our fuel stop and give you an ETA. Can you meet us?”
“Wait a minute, Ham,” Stone said. “The strip is unlighted, and there’s no way you can get here before dark in… what are you flying?”
“A Bonanza B-36TC,” Ginny replied. “We just bought it.”
“It’s a good twelve hundred nautical miles, so you’re at least six or seven hours away; even with a tailwind by the time you’re airborne it will be mid-afternoon.”
“We’re coming,” Ham said.
“I want you to come, Ham, but please, at least spend the night at your fuel stop. There are trees at the southern end of the runway and a house at the other end. It’s a short strip, and you do not want to land there at night.”
“He’s right, Ham,” Ginny said. “We’ll take off this afternoon, spend the night along the way and take off again early tomorrow morning. We’ll be there around mid-morning.”
“All right,” Ham said, resignedly.
“Call me when you take off tomorrow morning, give me your ETA and I’ll meet you at the strip.”
“Okay,” Ginny said. She gave him her cell phone number. “Call us if there’s any news. I’ll get the message at the fuel stop.”
“All right,” Stone said, “and I’ll have a bed for you here.”
Ham spoke up again. “Stone, where’s Daisy?”
“Holly left her in a kennel in New York.”
“Goodbye,” Ham said, and hung up.
Stone hung up. Now he was going to have a distraught father on his hands, not that Ham was the sort to show his distress.
The phone rang. “Hello?”
“Stone, it’s Lance. I’m sorry to take so long to get back to
you, but I’ve had something of an emergency here. I tried to call Holly on her cell phone, but I was sent straight to voice mail. What’s happened?”
Stone told him, as briefly as possible.
