Dead Center ac-5

by David Rosenfelt

  I’m finding that another difference between lawyering and detecting is the gaps between events. When I’m on a case, I can fill those gaps with preparation for trial. In my detecting mode, I often find that I’m sitting and waiting for something to happen, like right now, when I’m waiting for Laurie to find out information regarding the flight plans in and out of the tiny Center City Airport.

  It’s almost four in the afternoon when Laurie calls me. “You got a pen?” she asks.

  “I’m a lawyer… what do you think?”

  “Take down this number,” she says, and then reads me a phone number with a 202 area code, which I recognize as Washington, D.C. “It’s the FAA. We got really lucky: Sandy Walsh has a cousin whose wife works there. Ask for Donna Girardi.”

  “Didn’t you find out the information?” I ask.

  “I did, but I want you to hear it from her directly. And you might have some additional questions.”

  We hang up and I dial the number. Within moments I’m talking to Donna Girardi. “Chief Collins said you had information about the flight plans coming out of Center City Airport.”

  “I do,” she says. “There are no such plans.”

  I’m taken aback by this news, but less than fully confident that Ms. Girardi has taken the time to check through all the records. “How were you able to find this out so fast?” I ask.

  “Because there is no such airport.”

  “It’s not really an airport… it’s more of an airfield,” I say. “There’s just a runway, a small hangar, and one other building. I think they just use it for their personal planes… it’s not like United Airlines is flying in and out of there.”

  “Every facility that’s used for takeoffs and landings, no matter how small, is required to be registered with our agency. Not to do so is a federal crime.”

  “It would be really great if you didn’t investigate this particular federal crime for a while.” One thing I don’t need right now is the FAA entering the picture and tipping off the Centurions that something is going on.

  “Chief Collins mentioned something about that as well. Let’s just say that a landing strip in Wisconsin is not a particularly high priority for our investigators. Especially in December.”

  “When might it become a priority?” I ask.

  “Without some incident requiring our attention, I would say you’re looking at July,” she says.

  I look outside at the frozen tundra that is Wisconsin and the snow that is starting to fall.

  “Ms. Girardi, right now there is nothing I would like better than to look at July.”

  I thank her and end the call. The fact that the FAA has no record of the Center City airstrip could be crucially important. It could indicate that something illegal is happening there, and it could be the information that led to the death of Liz and Sheryl, and later Calvin and Eddie.

  Or it could be of no significance whatsoever, merely a reflection of Center City’s resistance to outside authority. They never reported the airstrip’s existence and never filed flight plans, and no one has bothered them about it.

  It does me no good to believe that this new information is unimportant. I have to focus on the airstrip, both because it’s a very good lead and because I have nothing else nearly as good.

  My shortage of things to focus on disappears with the ringing of my telephone.

  “Hello?”

  The voice is young and near panic. “Mr. Carpenter, it’s Madeline. They know I talked to you. They were looking for me, but I got away.”

  “Where are you now?”

  “I’m at a pay phone on Route 5… a picnic area that people use in the summer. Near the Hampton Road exit.”

  “I think I know where it is. Are you alone?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is there a place where you can go inside? To get shelter?” I’m thinking such a place would be good to hide in, but I don’t mention that.

  “Yes. There’s a small building, they sell drinks and things in there in the summer.”

  “Okay, go inside. I’m coming to get you.”

  “Okay,” she says, but her voice doesn’t sound like she thinks everything’s okay at all.

  “It’ll be fine, Madeline. I promise. No one will hurt you.”

  “Please hurry, Mr. Carpenter.”

  “I’m on my way.”

  I rush out to the car. It should take me about fifteen minutes to get there, providing I actually know where the hell it is. Either way, it won’t be enough time to beat myself up over putting another teenager into jeopardy. My mind’s eye has been flashing all week to Eddie hanging from the skylight in that bathroom, and I will simply not be able to stand it if anything happens to Madeline.

  I’m five minutes away before I realize I should be calling Laurie to tell her what’s happening and where I’m going. I dial her number on my cell phone, but the sergeant at the desk says that she’s out of the office.

  “It’s Andy Carpenter. Please reach her and tell her that it’s urgent she call me on my cell phone.”

  “She should be back in a few minutes.”

  “It can’t wait that long. This is life-and-death.” It sounds like a cliché when I say it, but I really believe it’s true.

  He agrees to contact her right away. I tell him where I’m going to be, and that if she can’t reach my cell for any reason, she should go there immediately. I add the strong suggestion that she bring some of her fellow officers with her.

  So as not to drive by it, I slow down as I reach the area where I believe Madeline called from. I spot it and pull off the road. A sign directs me to the picnic area, though the area is frozen over with snow and ice.

  Off in the distance I can see picnic tables and a few sets of swings, all of which have at least another five months’ vacation ahead of them. Just past them is a small building, with a car parked nearby. I assume and hope that it’s Madeline’s car.

  I drive and park about twenty yards from the building. “Madeline?” I call out, but I get no response.

  I walk toward the building, continuing to call her name and getting no response. Finally, I hear, “I’m in here.”

  I don’t like the way this is setting up. She should have heard me the first few times I called, but she didn’t answer. And if I were her, I wouldn’t be calling me to come inside. I’d be coming outside, so as faster to get away to safety.

  My hope is that I’m just being paranoid, but either way I have no choice. I’ve got to go inside. I walk up the three steps and see that the door is open. “Madeline, are you all right?”

  “Yes.” Her reply is shaky, worrying me even more. I reach the door. Here goes…

  When I get inside, I don’t see her at first, and then there she is, at the far corner of the room. My worst fears are realized because standing next to her is one of the servants of the Keeper. I’ve seen him before in the town, but he looks even larger and stronger now.

  His hand rests on the back of Madeline’s neck, and she’s cowering from it. She’s trying to control her sobs and repeating over and over how sorry she is. She and me both.

  “Come in, Mr. Carpenter,” says her captor. I’m already in, but there’s an open door behind me, and he obviously doesn’t want me running out through it. It’s not the worst of ideas, but even I couldn’t leave Madeline behind like that.

  “Don’t hurt her,” I say. “She’s done nothing to you.” I have no expectation that anything I say will make him any more conciliatory or compassionate, and that’s not my goal. My goal is to keep him from doing anything until Laurie and her officers can get here.

  “She spoke to you,” he says.

  “She told me nothing. She didn’t know anything at all.”

  “You believe that?” he asks.

  I start to tell him that I do, and then I realize that he’s not talking to me. I half turn and see that behind me is another one just like him, only even larger. They probably represent close to five hundred pounds between them, and with a fe
eling of panic and dread, I realize that they are not here to warn us. They are here to kill us.

  “You expected him to tell the truth?” number two asks. “You know what he is.”

  I can feel number two start to walk toward me, so I turn toward him, not wanting to be attacked from behind. Suddenly, he seems to turn horizontal, almost suspended in midair, as something smashes into the side of his head. That head and his shoulders fly to the left, and his feet leave the ground to the right. When he hits the ground, standing in my line of vision is Marcus Clark.

  Marcus just stands there, expressionless, as his victim lies on the ground, moaning. His eyes are trained on the other servant, who no longer looks quite so confident. His hand is still on Madeline’s neck, but it seems as if he’s doing so to get support rather than to threaten.

  “I can break her neck,” he warns, and there is no doubt he is capable of just that. There is also no doubt that Marcus is undeterred by the threat as he walks slowly toward them.

  I pick up motion back near the door, and I see that the guy who Marcus hit has gotten shakily to his feet. “Marcus!” I yell, and Marcus turns to see what is going on.

  Apparently, Marcus didn’t knock the first guy senseless, because he’s maintained enough of his faculties to know that he doesn’t want any more of Marcus. He runs out the door, and as he does so, the guy holding Madeline throws her across the room. She crashes into a counter as her former captor runs out a side door.

  I go to make sure that Madeline is okay, while Marcus goes out the side door to see if he can catch the two servants. I hear the sound of motors starting, and I look out the window. They are taking off in snowmobiles, which had been parked behind the building. It’s why I only saw Madeline’s car when I drove up.

  Madeline seems shaken but all right. My cell phone rings; it’s Laurie calling as directed. “We’re on our way there now. What’s wrong, Andy?”

  “Everything’s under control now, thanks to Marcus. But you should get an ambulance out here as well… Madeline Barlow may be injured.”

  I hang up and do my best to comfort Madeline, who seems to be in shock. Marcus comes back in from outside; there was no way he could go after them on the snowmobiles.

  Laurie arrives within five minutes with Cliff Parsons and two other officers. The officers attend to Madeline until the ambulance arrives, while I give Laurie and Parsons a detailed accounting of what happened.

  When I get to the part about the second servant coming up behind me, I say that Marcus arrived just in time. “Which is amazing, because he came here all the way from New Jersey,” I say pointedly at Laurie.

  “I’m sorry,” she says, “I know you told me you didn’t want him here, but I thought you might need him.”

  “Me? Need him?” I sneer. “You must be kidding.”

  Laurie just smiles and goes out to the ambulance, as Madeline is being loaded in. Laurie leans over, squeezes her hand, and kisses her on the head. She whispers something to her, but I can’t make out what it is.

  Then Laurie and Parsons go back inside to attempt to interview Marcus.

  Lots of luck, guys.

  • • • • •

  MADELINE BARLOW has gone through more than anyone should have to. She has seen her sister and friends murdered, and she cannot get anyone in her town, including her mother, to understand the continued danger that lives among them. She has been threatened and kidnapped for simply talking to someone trying to learn the truth. Now she is away from her home, from what’s left of her family, and she remains in fear for her life.

  Fortunately, her physical injuries are quite minor, just a few bruises from her fall. Emotionally, she is trying to put up a good front, but she is one damaged young lady. She has adamantly refused to see her mother, though Jane Barlow has spent considerable time in the hospital lobby, hoping she will change her mind.

  Stephen Drummond has called me to express outrage at my intervention in the affairs of his community and the Barlow family. He started to launch into a denial that Madeline was in any danger in Center City, claiming that we coerced her to leave. Not in the mood for any more of his bullshit, I suggested that he file a complaint with the police, and I hung up.

  Laurie has assigned Cliff Parsons to investigate and try to apprehend the two men who terrorized Madeline before themselves being terrorized by Marcus. Three days have gone by, and if any progress has been made, I haven’t heard about it. Center City is a tough place to crack, and though it’s part of the area Parsons has always covered, he’s very much an outsider there.

  Laurie has gotten Madeline placed under the control of Wisconsin Child Protective Services, even though Madeline is only five weeks from her eighteenth birthday. Legally, it makes it possible for us to find a safe place for her to stay, and I took care of that yesterday. Richard and Allie Davidson generously offered to let her share their home, and Madeline agreed, at least for now. Part of her going along with it was my promise that Marcus would help watch over her. After his performance the other day, with Marcus at her side Madeline would feel safe in Jurassic Park.

  I’ve been visiting Madeline every day and have taken occasion to gently probe to see if she can provide any more helpful information about the case. She cannot, a fact that causes her obvious frustration.

  Laurie has seen her every day as well, and she was there yesterday when I arrived. They have established a remarkably close relationship, and Laurie obviously feels very protective of her. Her motherly instincts have come to the fore, and they are impressive indeed.

  The events at the picnic area have made me more anxious than ever to nail the people who killed Liz, Sheryl, Eddie, and Calvin and tried to do the same to Madeline and me. If my knowledge matched my motivation, I might even succeed.

  All I really have to go on is my belief that the airstrip is central to the solution. And the only way I’m going to find out for sure is to execute a stakeout there.

  I have been told by a number of cops, Pete Stanton and Laurie among them, that there is nothing more boring than working on a stakeout. It can be endless hours of having to stay alert while absolutely nothing happens. I don’t mind the endless hours or the nothing happening; you can put me in front of a TV showing sports and I’ll sit there until a week from Tuesday. It’s the staying alert that’s the problem; I prefer drinking beer and occasional dozing.

  Fortunately, I’m very rich, and it is “so not chic” for multimillionaires to do stakeouts. I call Dave Larson and tell him that I need his help, with a stakeout of the airport as his first assignment. He’s very enthusiastic about getting the work; the private eye business in Findlay has apparently experienced a bit of a slowdown these last hundred years or so.

  We discuss his hours, which I suggest should be as many as he can handle. He tells me that he has an associate who will be on the scene when he can’t. We also discuss his pay, and I increase what we earlier agreed upon by twenty-five percent. It’s still half of what I would pay in New Jersey, but the raise makes me feel less guilty about turning him into a frozen snowman.

  He asks that I inform the Findlay police about what we’re doing, and I have no problem with that, especially since I’ve already told Laurie. Dave wants to have someone know his whereabouts in case of sudden trouble, and for some reason he doesn’t consider me a significant enough emergency lifeline.

  “What is it we’re looking for?” he asks.

  “I’m not sure… something bad.”

  “How bad?” he asks.

  “Bad enough that four people got killed over it.”

  “Oh.”

  “So be careful,” I say.

  “You got that right.”

  • • • • •

  I KNOW THE Bible says otherwise, but Christmas must have been invented in Wisconsin. It just looks the part. The streets remain white for days after it snows, not turning dark and dirty like what happens in the city. Virtually every house is decorated with colored lights; after dark Findlay in December beco
mes a frozen Vegas strip.

  Laurie and I have been quite out in the open about our relationship, now that the case has been over for a while. And with Jeremy cleared of the murders, the portion of townspeople that resented my appearance on the scene seem to have gotten over it. They are making me feel welcome, though I suspect most of them are wondering exactly why I’m still here. It’s a terrific question.

  I’ve seen Madeline Barlow a handful of times, and she’s doing quite well with the Davidsons. She’s homesick for her mother and friends, but not yet willing to see any of them. Laurie has seen her much more often and is struck by Madeline’s unwillingness to say anything negative about Keeper Wallace or the Centurion religion. Madeline considers this to be about a few bad apples, and not in any way a reflection on the lifestyle. Belief runs deep in Center City.

  I’m now three weeks into the Dave Larson airport stakeout, and absolutely nothing has happened. No planes have taken off, and none have landed. The only sign of life, other than Dave, is a snowplow that arrives daily to plow the landing strip and keep it functional.

  Cliff Parsons has reported no progress in finding the two guys who grabbed Madeline. No one in Center City will admit that they even exist, and there simply is no way to locate them, given the lack of cooperation within the community.

  To make the futility complete, Laurie’s investigations into the murders of Liz, Sheryl, and Calvin have gone nowhere as well. There has been no new evidence, no discoveries, no nothing for a while now. Short of a confession, the chances for solving these cases are looking as bleak as the terrain around here.

  Yet Andy the Idiot Lawyer continues to persist, hanging around in the frozen north and waiting for something to happen. It reminds me of the old joke… I think I heard it as a lawyer joke, but it could have been about any group or nationality. “Did you hear about the lawyer who froze to death at a drive-in movie? He went to see Closed for the Season.” Well, Findlay has been closed for the season for a while now, but I’m still sitting in my car waiting for the coming attractions.