by Archer Mayor
The hospital had put Henry in a room by himself, although adjacent to his daughter’s. Joe glanced through the entrance of her room as he walked by, and saw her staring sightlessly out the large window overlooking the trees. Henry, by contrast, had both the TV on and a magazine spread open. Joe noticed that the magazine displayed an ad only, however, and that the older man’s eyes were fixed on a point between both distractions.
He looked over as Joe entered.
“Mr. Filson?” Joe asked.
“Yeah,” he said, almost regretfully.
Joe circled the bed and sat in the guest chair near the window, by instinct putting the light behind him. He reached out and proffered his hand in greeting. “Joe Gunther. I’m a cop. Probably the latest in a long string of them.”
“At least you’re no spring chicken.”
Joe laughed. “Nope. That I’m not. You feel like you’ve been grilled by kindergartners?”
“Not that so much. More like they don’t ever talk to each other.”
Joe couldn’t disagree. That’s what he was doing here, after all. “A case like yours gets kicked around some—state police, Fish and Wildlife, local guys, special unit people. I have no idea what you’ve been subjected to.”
Henry smiled tiredly. “The first one was cute, at least.”
“The game warden?” Joe smiled. “We nickname them the Fish Cops, but they’re really good. From the report I read, there was no way that young woman should have paid attention to the tire tracks leading to that cabin.”
Henry’s words belied his sad expression. “I’m glad she did.”
Joe took the opportunity to ask, “How’s Abigail doing?”
Henry idly fingered the saline IV taped to his forearm. “I can’t tell from what they say. Sure as hell, she’s hasn’t come to.”
After a moment, Joe asked him, “Can you tell me what happened, Henry?”
“Hank.”
Joe nodded. “Got it.”
Hank thought a moment before speaking. “Nancy had come to visit. It wasn’t planned. She said she just felt like it—needed to get away for a while. I thought it was funny, but I didn’t question her. She didn’t seem troubled, so I thought maybe she was just tired. For a while, it was fine. Then, we were all cooking dinner one night, and the next thing we knew, they were there.”
“You had a dog,” Joe prompted him after he lapsed into silence.
He seemed to come out of a dream. “Yeah. Jackson. He’d gone missing earlier. Nancy went looking for him. I guess they got him.”
“I’m afraid so,” Joe confirmed.
Hank accepted the news stoically. “I hope it was quick. He was too old to have done any damage, but they wouldn’t have known that. Or cared.”
“How did they deal with you?”
“It was rough. Abigail overreacted when they came in. They had guns and masks.”
“There were two of them?”
“Yeah. She screamed and yelled at them.” He chuckled unexpectedly. “I’ll give her that much—she actually grabbed a pan to hit one.” He stopped abruptly before adding, “That didn’t go so well.”
He rubbed his face with his free hand, his voice raspy. “I just stood there.”
“Hank,” Joe tried easing his guilt. “They had guns. You reacted rationally. She didn’t. You never know till it happens to you. What did they do?”
“The one she swung at smacked her hard. She hit the back of her head against the doorknob. That’s why I think she’s in such bad shape now.”
“And Nancy?”
He sighed. “She’s like both of us combined. A thinker like me, but emotional, too. She kept apologizing, which didn’t make any sense until she told me why she’d come to visit in the first place—because of the threat to her friend. I still don’t know what that had to do with anything—why we had to go through all this.…”
“Did the two men say anything when they broke in?” Joe asked.
“No. They were in a hurry. They gave us orders to leave through the back door, to drag Abigail between us—stuff like that. One of them kept saying, ‘Speed it up, speed it up.’ It was hard, with Nancy apologizing and crying, and the length of the walk. I finally stopped, so Nancy and I could coordinate with Abigail. The one who’d hit her was pissed by that, but the other one—I guess he was in charge—he saw the sense in it.”
“Where did you have to go?” Joe asked, surprised.
“They’d parked down the road a ways, off to the side. I guess so no one would notice. It’s not bad if all you’re doing is walking the dog, but…”
Joe got the point. “What happened then?” he asked.
“They handcuffed us and put hoods over our heads and they drove. I kept asking them to take care of Abigail. I even suggested they drop her off, since there wasn’t anything she could’ve done to them. There’s a small hospital right in St. J that might’ve helped her. They could’ve just dumped her in the driveway, for Christ’s sake. It’s not like they had to fill out a fucking insurance form.”
He stopped to take in a deep breath. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Joe reassured him. “Totally understandable. Did they respond to that at all?”
“The mean one told me to shut the hell up, if that’s what you’re talkin’ about.”
“Where did they take you?”
Hank stared at him, his face flushed with anger. “I don’t know. I don’t know a goddamned thing, no matter how many times you people ask. We were grabbed, given the third degree, and then dumped, okay?”
Joe gave him a moment before saying, “And they’re still out there, doing the same thing—in fact, killing people. You want that to continue?”
“Fuck you,” Hank said angrily.
“Then help me out,” Joe snapped, his tone matching the old man’s. “Your wife and daughter are safe and being treated. It’s the best we can do. Tell me what happened.”
Hank tucked in his chin slightly at the rebuke, but when he spoke, the resolve was clear in his voice. “I’m sorry. You’re right. They drove us somewhere—I don’t know where because of the hoods—but it was about half an hour. Maybe more. When the hoods came off, we were where you found us. That cabin. Handcuffed to the walls. Abigail was still out, but they did the same to her anyhow. At least they put me next to her so I could reach her with one hand. That’s how I knew she was still alive. Nancy, they moved to the far end.”
“How were the cuffs attached to the walls?”
“They looked like oversized metal drawer pulls—like a ship’s hatch handle, maybe. I don’t know. But they were solid.”
“And had clearly been set up beforehand?”
Hank nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah. You’re right. They must have been. I hadn’t thought of that, but the place had been prepared for us.”
“Okay, keep going. They had Nancy located on the far wall.”
“That’s when the difference between the two men really came out,” Hank went on. “The mean one started taking off Nancy’s shirt without saying a word, and the other one stopped him.”
“Go on.”
“But he played on it,” Hank explained. “He told us, ‘You can see how this can go, can’t you?’ Or something like that. He told us that if we gave them what they wanted, they’d just walk away, and leave it at that.”
“What did you have to give?” Joe asked.
Hank’s eyes widened. “That was the crazy part. Sure as hell Abigail and I didn’t know. And even Nancy kept asking, ‘What do you want? What do you want?’ It was totally nuts.”
“But they told you,” Joe suggested.
Hank lay back against his pillow, spent. “Yeah,” he conceded. “It was the kind of thing you could’ve asked over the phone. ‘Who brought you the pictures?’ That was the question.”
“And what did Nancy tell him?”
Hank pressed his lips together for a moment, his expression dark.
“Hank?”
“She didn’t, at first. She told
him that was confidential.” His eyes had dropped to studying his hands.
“Talk to me,” Joe prodded him. “What’re you holding back?”
“I yelled at her,” he whispered.
“What?”
“I yelled at her,” he repeated loudly, his voice resonating off the walls of the small room. He blinked before repeating quietly, “I yelled at her to tell them what they wanted. That her mother was dying. That she needed to get her fucking priorities straight.”
Joe imagined the scene. The tension in the air. “And?” he asked.
“She gave them what they wanted. Rachel Somebody. I don’t remember the last name. They asked a few details, like where did this girl live, was anyone else involved, where were the original negatives—stuff like that. And Nancy told them that she really didn’t know. That the arrangement between the photographer and this Rachel person was confidential. She did say that the girl lived in a dorm on campus, and gave them the address.”
“What was the nature of the interview?” Joe pressured him. “Was it conversational by now? A free exchange?”
“No. They wouldn’t believe her at first. At least the mean one wouldn’t. He pulled out a knife at one point and held it to Abigail’s throat, threatening to kill her if Nancy didn’t spill the beans. This time, the boss didn’t stop him.”
Joe was surprised. “Did he cut her?”
“No. I was shouting, Nancy was crying and screaming. I guess they finally believed her. Eventually, they packed up and left.”
“And that was it?”
“Except for the cold and the lack of water. After a while,” Hank admitted, “I couldn’t make sense of it. I think I went in and out. I don’t know. I felt light-headed. I have a bit of a problem with diabetes.…” His voice trailed off.
“Hank,” Joe addressed him quietly. “Is there anything you can tell me about the two men? Their accents, movements, any scars or tattoos? Anything at all.”
But the older man was already shaking his head. “Their masks never came off, they kept their gloves on. The accents weren’t local. They were city guys, but I don’t know from where. Just away.”
“How ’bout any expressions they might’ve used? Or did they call each other by name at all?”
“No. I’ve already thought about all this, since the first cop who asked me. But they were really careful.”
Joe stood up, preparing to leave. “And the things that Nancy told them? Anything you might’ve forgotten?”
Hank looked hapless. “It was so stupid. Just the girl’s name, where she lived. Nancy didn’t have any more to give them.”
Almost as an afterthought, Joe returned to an earlier part of the man’s story. “In the car, I know you said you were blindfolded, but did you hear anything? Notice something that might be useful?”
Filson stared at him for a moment, his face registering surprise. “I’ll be damned.”
“What?”
“There was something. Well, maybe. Anyhow.” Here, he twisted in his bed and reached for a crumpled scrap among some tissues on the rolling table designed to hold meals. “I could see just a little, out of the bottom of the hood—at my feet, really, and the car’s floorboards. I saw this, so I picked it up. It was an impulse, I guess. I’d forgotten all about it. I just crumpled it up and kept it.”
He handed Joe a slip of paper.
“I thought you were handcuffed?” Joe asked. “How could you reach anything?”
“They cuffed us with our hands in front. That was for Abigail, to make it easier to carry her.”
Joe studied the item, a hardware store receipt. The date was a few days prior, and the address was Burlington. It wasn’t clear what item had been purchased, however, since the description had been reduced to an inventory code.
He extracted an empty evidence envelope from his pocket and slipped it inside. “This is great, Hank. It may be really helpful. Thanks.”
He laid his business card on the night table and extended his hand for a second time. “I’ll get out of your hair. That’s how to contact me if you think of anything else. Otherwise, take care and best of luck. We’ll do our damndest to get these two.”
Hank gave him a hard look, as fueled by guilt as by anger. “You can shoot ’em, as far as I’m concerned. Bastards.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Beverly Hillstrom opened the passenger door and slid into the front seat, a box of pizza in her hands. The heat of it immediately fogged the inside of the car. It had begun to snow at long last, and her coat was glistening with beads of melting white flakes.
“You are redefining the meaning of eating out,” she said, loosening her scarf and opening her collar. It was evening, and dark, and Joe was parked inconspicuously by the side of the road in Colchester.
Joe laughed. “When it comes to some of the things I eat and where I eat them, you better be prepared for worse. I’m just happy you’re providing something that’s been cooked within the last two days.”
“And well cooked at that, if my staff is any judge,” she said. “I found this place through their recommendation.” She handed him a couple of napkins and began rummaging through her shoulder bag.
“How’s Rachel holding up?” he asked, spreading out the napkins and placing one of the Cokes she’d extracted onto the dash.
“The novelty’s worn off,” Beverly conceded. “Now she’s just bored.”
“She’s still doing her work online, isn’t she?” he asked. “She’s not falling behind?”
“Not in the least,” she said brightly. “Besides, if all this effort results in her being released back into the wild, I will be happier than you can imagine.”
“She calling you a lot?”
She rolled her eyes. “If I had any doubts about equipping youngsters with cell phones—or anyone under thirty, for that matter—they’ve been settled. She’s even got me texting now.”
Her preparations completed, she asked, “What, exactly, is going on? You just mentioned something about hoping to spring a trap.”
“That about sums it up,” he replied, opening his can of soda. “We figured that in addition to putting Rachel under wraps, we ought to see about offering a substitute for these two sharks—draw them out, if we’re lucky.”
“Sammie?” she asked.
“Oh, God. Don’t start. I already had Willy beat me up about that.”
She spoke through a mouthful, an unusual breach of decorum for her. “No, no. That’s not what I was saying. I assumed that she’d be perfect for it—still young and athletic enough to pass for a student. What was Willy upset about?”
“That I constantly expose the mother of his child to danger.”
“Good Lord,” Beverly exclaimed. “How sweetly old-fashioned. I don’t suppose I should be surprised.”
Joe’s cell phone began buzzing where he’d placed it on the console between them. He reached for it, explaining, “We decided to keep off the radio on this. Just to be on the safe side.”
“Joe?” It was Sam.
“Go ahead,” he said, putting it on speaker so Beverly could hear.
“We’re thinking we’ve got some action here.”
“Is everyone in place?”
“Yeah. That’s all set.”
“What’ve you got?”
“It’s hard to say. The same car’s been by twice, driving slowly. Tinted windows, rolled up. Can’t make out who’s driving. Willy wants to launch an RPG at it, of course. The others go from wanting to stop it to assuming it’s a decoy to draw us out.”
“That’s what I’m thinking.”
“You want to ignore it?”
“Not ignore it, but don’t jump on it. What do your instincts tell you? You’re in the thick of it.”
“I think it’s a diversion,” she answered without hesitation, which helped him believe that she wasn’t simply agreeing with him.
“What kind of car?”
“Dark red Ford Focus. Not a rental. Vermont registration.” She ra
ttled it off quickly.
“You run it?”
“Yeah. Came back to some local yokel from the Old North End, in Burlington. Multiple arrests. Mostly petty stuff; nothing major.”
“All right. This may be it, or it may be he’s just lost. Keep me posted.”
“Really?” Beverly asked after he’d hung up. “Lost?”
“No,” he said, taking another bite. “They’re circling the bait. Anyhow, it would be dumb not to think so. I just wanted Willy to think for three seconds before he blows it up.”
“He wouldn’t,” she exclaimed, never having been completely sure of Kunkle’s mental balance.
“No,” he agreed, “he wouldn’t. But he’d like us to believe it.”
She was no longer eating. “What are you going to do?”
“Eat,” he replied cheerfully, sipping from his can. “They don’t want Rachel harmed—they want to know what she knows. More immediately, given what we’ve learned about how they operate, they want to find out if this isn’t exactly the trap it is. A large part of me doesn’t believe we’ll catch ’em tonight, unless we get very lucky.”
“So why are you doing it?”
“To stir things up,” he answered simply. “When the dust settles, we may be in a whole new ball game.” He raised his pizza slice as if in a toast. “At least, here’s hoping.”
The phone went off again. “A diversion—no doubt about it,” Sammie started right off. “The car just came by for a third time.”
“What’s everyone else seeing?” he asked, his mouth full.
“Nothing.”
“Okay.” He hung up.
“You want to drive out there?” Beverly asked, not actually knowing where the trap was located. The development they were near was older, dating back a few decades, and consisting of three interconnected circular drives, tethered to 2A via two feeder roads. The houses were a mishmash of plastic-clapboard, cookie cutter boxes, and more individually built, traditional suburban homes.
He pointed with his chin. “It’s only a couple blocks away. We’re good.” He narrowed his eyes then and told her, “Slump down in your seat.”
