I’m not sure what I expected to find when the camper finally stopped, but it wasn’t this charmingly rustic hillside home in a pleasant neighborhood. Shouldn’t we have gone into the forest, away from people, roads, and the trappings of civilization, especially since we could live fairly comfortably inside the tiny house on wheels? And yet, gazing around at the vast landscape below, I had to admit that it was oddly comforting to look out on the vista and see the lights of the nearby ski slopes. We were still close to town and, if need be, rescue services.
Two men leaned over the balcony railing, shotguns in hand, and hailed us before going back to their surveillances. Were those the “big rods” Jack told them to bring for some night fishing?
“Let’s not dawdle out here,” Jack advised, steering me to the ground floor entrance. We walked into a foyer lined with lockers for ski gear on one wall and a rustic wooden bench on the other.
“This looks like the real deal, a Catskill ski haus,” I remarked.
“It is,” he smiled briefly. “My parents own it. It’s where we have all the family gatherings when they’re in town.”
A flight of stairs brought us up to the main living quarters. Depositing the gear on a dining table by the kitchen, I inspected my temporary quarters. The inside of the chalet was clean and comfortable, casually decorated in a family lodge style, with practical furnishings and finishes. I could imagine children playing on the floor and dogs welcome by the stone fireplace. I wandered around the great room as Jack poured Brutus a bowl of water and placed it on the floor in the kitchen area. The thirsty dog lapped it up with enthusiasm. When he was done, he sat patiently as Jack poured some kibble from a large red plastic scoop into the dish on the floor.
“Okay,” said the K-9 trooper. “Barring any unforeseen circumstances, Marigold, you’ll have the bedroom to the right. Hope you don’t mind sleeping in your clothes tonight. It’s just easier if you do.”
“Sure.” The last thing I wanted was to be rudely awakened from a sound sleep and have to run naked from the house.
“Brutus will be sleeping with you tonight. I should probably warn you that he has a tendency to snore.”
“That’s fine,” I smiled. “I probably do, too.”
“Marigold, can I just ask you one more question? I’m not trying to pry into a case involving the marshals, but I just keep coming back to one thing. You said Tovar’s partner went on maternity leave at the same time the boss retired.”
“Emergency leave,” I corrected him, as he led me over to the plaid sectional and we sat down. It was true, I explained. Eve wasn’t due for another six weeks, but she suddenly went into labor after the office holiday party.
“And the boss had planned his retirement for some time?”
“Actually, he was planning on stepping down at the end of March, but his wife was in a car accident, and she needed him.”
“That’s a lot of unusual coincidences, don’t you think?” Jack’s direct gaze held fast, not letting go. He was serious. “Was Shaun’s wife at fault in the car accident?”
“No. It was a hit-and-run,” I informed him. Watching his reaction, I found myself unexpectedly disconcerted when I realized he wasn’t happy with the answer. To him, it meant trouble. A cold, icy chill gripped my soul, and with it came a dreadful thought. What if someone made all these terrible things happen on purpose?
“Did Eve have any problems at the office gathering?”
“She...um....” I paused, trying to remember. Something had happened. What was it? And then it all came back to me, filling me with inescapable dread. “...felt a sudden stinging sensation in the back of her leg, lost her footing, and fell down the stairs in the parking garage. Tovar said she was feeling okay when she first got back. She just had some bruises, but then she started having abdominal pain and went into labor.”
“When’s your case coming up for trial?” he wanted to know.
“Late spring. The district attorney tried to make a deal with another witness, but he balked after he was threatened, so everything else got pushed back and they reopened their investigation, trying to develop new leads.”
“Any other witnesses have trouble?”
“Just Joe DiMarco. He was my downstairs neighbor when I lived in Rhode Island.” Poor Joe was found unconscious in the walk-in freezer of his Newport restaurant. If his son, Vinnie, hadn’t shown up when he did with the frozen gelato dessert, my favorite caterer would have been a human Popsicle. “He had been with me when we found Jared’s body.”
“And you. You definitely had trouble,” the state trooper pointed out. It was true. Ever since I got caught up in the investigation, my life had turned upside down.
“And me,” I acknowledged, defeated.
“That sounds like someone is very determined to intimidate witnesses, to prevent them from cooperating with prosecutors. No witnesses, no trial. Is that what you meant when you said you should have heeded the warning before Jared was shot?”
“Yes. I got a call and just thought it was some creep trying to scare me. I should have known the man on the phone meant business. It never occurred to me the man would murder Jared.”
“Who is he, Marigold?”
“I...I don’t know his name. I never even saw him. But he seemed to know everything about me, right down to the names of my business clients, where I did my grocery shopping, and even how much money I had in my bank account.”
“It’s interesting that he went after the other witnesses as a means of intimidating you. He took some time to stalk you.” Jack seemed lost in thought for a moment, as if he were tallying up the clues. “It’s almost like he enjoyed tormenting you. That makes it sound personal.”
“That’s how it felt to me.”
“And then he apparently went after your handlers at the Marshals Service. Eve’s fall probably wasn’t an accident. We know Tovar’s shooting was deliberate. And what happened to Shaun...well, why go after a retired marshal, someone who’s already out of the game, and beat him to a bloody pulp? This guy is not out to kidnap marshals to get the information from them. Maybe he needs them out of the picture for a reason, because they know something that would help investigators to identify him and that makes them dangerous to him.”
“All I know is that the people who looked after me all got hurt and I have to start all over with a new WitSec team.”
Jack studied me, his alert eyes intent. I didn’t really think I had much to offer him, given my physical exhaustion, my injured ear, and my sense of defeat. I had never been in trouble with the law. I ran a respectable business. I handled arrangements for flowers, cakes, and elegant dinners, not killers. There was nothing sinister about it.
“Tell me about your fiancé.”
How much should I tell him? How much could I tell him? Was it relevant to keeping me alive now? Part of me thought so, but part of me just wanted to stop thinking all together. I longed to curl up into a ball and just wait until the trial was over. Right now, the last thing I wanted to do was testify about Jared’s murder. How many more people had to die because of me and my secret past?
“Jared?” I sighed. Jared. How I dreaded remembering him. The moment the memory began to creep back into my mind, it felt like an elephant was sitting on my chest, squeezing the life out of me. I wanted to push the beast off of me and take a deep breath, but I didn’t have the strength. So much time had passed and yet nothing changed. I seemed to be dangling in semi-permanent limbo, waiting for the case to develop, but not seeing any real progress. The odd thing was that the FBI hadn’t identified a suspect yet. All their inquiries seemed to go nowhere, their leads evaporate as the months wore on, even as my handlers started to drop like flies swatted down by some invisible hand of evil.
“What did he do for work?”
I started to compose my answer, but only got as far as opening my mouth. It was a relief when the state trooper’s phone rang and he dug into his pocket to retrieve it. “Hold that thought, Marigold.”
“Sure,” I promised, even though I was hoping he would forget about it while he was on the phone.
“Cornwall. When? How many? Right. That’s the plan,” he told the caller, his tone clipped and concise. It wasn’t hard to figure out something was wrong. One look at Jack’s face made that clear. But I wasn’t expecting him to leap to his feet and grab me.
“Come on!” His hand took hold of my elbow and he gave me the bum’s rush up the stairs to the open loft. We hurriedly crossed the carpeted space to a small door under the steep eave. The determined man yanked it open and looked at me with an intensity that was riveting. “Are you claustrophobic?”
“What? No,” I replied. Barely had those words passed my lips when he gave me a good push and I tumbled into that square black opening, like Alice through the Looking Glass. My hands found the carpeting continued here, soft under my palms, as I crawled further inside. My tote bag was tossed in beside me.
“Good. Stay quiet. Whatever you hear, don’t come out. Don’t move around. Don’t make any noise. You may be in there a while.”
With that warning, the door shut and I was suddenly, utterly alone. Unexpectedly abandoned in the windowless dark hole beneath the eaves, my senses were thrown into a confused state. It wasn’t as if my eyes, given time, could adjust to the dim light, for there was none. No wonder he had wanted to know if I was claustrophobic. Now what?
As I felt my way around the narrow attic, I managed to avoid striking my skull on the overhead beams. The slant of the chalet’s roof was steep, leaving me little room to maneuver, but at least it wasn’t as bad as being locked in the trunk of that car. I had seen a pull knob on the door to the storage area, but no latch or bolt, so I was pretty sure I could let myself out, if need be. That was a relief. Eventually I realized I could sit up if I stayed beside the door. I managed to shift a couple of boxes and plastic cartons to either side of me, allowing enough room to sprawl out.
Downstairs, things got noisy. I could hear loud voices.
“Good heavens,” I whispered to myself and any critters within earshot, “what is going on?”
Sounds like poker. That was my conclusion after lying on the carpeted floor for what seemed like half an hour. I could hear the titters from raunchy jokes passed around the table as the playing cards were dealt, the belly laughs when the bets were made, and even the exaggerated groans of the losers when the pot was claimed. Had I been shoved into this little rabbit warren so Jack’s friends could have their usual weekly game? Surely I could have simply gone to bed, with Brutus to keep me company, if this was their normal routine. I would have been more than happy to keep the door closed and not complain. There must be another reason I was stuck in the attic. Jack made several phone calls to summon his buddies and arranged for the armed guards outside. They were expecting trouble in some form or another. When would it arrive?
Dozing on and off, I awakened several times to find the party continued downstairs without me. Voices got louder as the night wore on. There was a lot of ribald ribbing as the men poked fun at each other and occasionally I found myself wincing as I overheard snippets of conversation. How long had I been hidden in here? I checked my watch, grateful for the momentary illumination. It was just after two-thirty.
Unlike the trunk of the Toyota, this attic was heated. I was comfortable enough even without a blanket. Bored, exhausted, frustrated by circumstances beyond my control, I put my head down, careful not to disturb my injured ear and, determined not to think about Jared, finally fell into a dreamless sleep.
I wasn’t sure what hour it was when I shook myself awake, but I was suddenly conscious of the need to be alert. Careful not to make a sound, I stretched my cramped limbs and listened with my good ear. This time, the voices were quieter, and they sounded like they were engaged in serious conversation. Stealthily, imperceptibly, I poked at the door to open it a crack, just enough to hear more of the conversation.
“I don’t know what to tell you, Ron. Apparently, someone gave you some bad information. We didn’t actually coordinate with the people responsible for the WitSec case. If she’s in the program, you might want to talk to whoever is in charge.” Jack was talking about me. Who was Ron, one of the poker players? I didn’t think so.
“I’m afraid she’s voluntarily left the program and is hiding out somewhere, unaware of the real danger she’s in,” announced the stranger.
“But why would she leave the program? That would be pretty dumb, wouldn’t it?” The voice sounded like Steve’s, but I couldn’t be certain.
“That’s why I’m trying to reach out to her,” Ron explained to the others. “I want her to know that I can bring her in safely.”
“Don’t you and your people have a way to track her?” That was Jack again.
“We thought we did, but it looks like she’s developed trust issues, so she’s avoiding us.”
“Speaking of the incident at the park, Ron, we never did identify the guy who tried to snatch her and shot at us in the process. Do you know anything about that?”
“Me? Naw! How would I know about that? I’m just a cop from Rhode Island.” Just a cop from Rhode Island. I took an involuntary gasp at that unexpected piece of information. Apparently I wasn’t the only one who found it disconcerting.
“You’re a cop from Rhode Island with a witness in a federal protection program? How does that work exactly? Are you on loan to the FBI? Or to some other federal agency, maybe the DEA or Treasury?”
“The Department of Justice took jurisdiction, right after Jared Spears was murdered, and all our files were turned over to the FBI.”
“So, you’re not actually working on a federal task force?” I didn’t recognize the voice that said that, but I understood the concern he and the other men shared. Had they just caught Ron in a bald-faced lie?
“Yes and no. I knew Jared Spears personally. I worked some private security details for him. He was a good guy. I’m just trying to look out for his fiancée and to make sure what happened to Jared doesn’t happen to her. I feel like I owe that to him. And I plan to share my information with the local FBI field office. Consider me a consultant on the case.”
“Do you have a reason for thinking the FBI doesn’t have this straight?” Steve asked.
“No, no. It’s nothing specific. It’s just that with the marshal shot and Marigold out on her own, I’m worried about her.”
“Who told you her handler was shot? How did you know she was out on her own? You have a source in the Marshals Service...or one in the FBI? What’s the guy’s name? I’d like to talk to him.” Jack’s voice took on an aggressive note as he poked holes in Ron’s story. “It seems unusual that the feds would share that with someone who’s, as you put it, just a Rhode Island cop.”
“Okay, you got me,” the admitted liar agreed, sounding sheepish. “I’m investigating another murder case, an informant shot last week, and I think it might be related. If there are connecting threads, it could change the outcome of both investigations, but I’ll only know when I question the witness.”
Chapter Seven
“Meaning Marigold,” the third voice offered, “a woman who’s been in a witness protection program for how long now? How exactly does she have information for your new case?”
“Well, the murder case is new, but the suspects go way back....” Even I could hear how lame Ron’s explanation was. After all, it had been months since Jared’s face was obliterated by a gunshot wound. The date was permanently etched in my mind: May 1, 2013, better known in party circles as May Day. I had been whisked away two days later. From that moment on, I hadn’t set foot in Rhode Island, let alone spoken to anyone from the old days there. The prosecutors kept asking for delays as witnesses suddenly developed amnesia, while I undertook the task of rebuilding my life. I left the old Margot Floyd behind and created a whole new career for myself as Marigold Flowers, Lake Placid party planner, with Tovar and Eve’s help.
Your new name is Marigold Flowers. We’ve created a fictitious fami
ly background to give you credibility. You will maintain a blog to promote your new party business. Don’t post any photos of yourself. We don’t want anyone to recognize you. These days, with all the photo recognition software, we just can’t chance it. If you need us in an emergency, all you have to do is include the word ‘special event coordinator’ on your profile page. We’ll get the site updates and know you’ve got trouble.
“If you’re just a guy trying to determine if your case is tied into a federal case, shouldn’t you be having this conversation with the FBI, Ron?”
“We still have an open murder investigation and the feds apparently closed theirs.”
“So the FBI has concluded there is no case to prosecute?” said that third unidentified voice. “That sounds odd.”
“I really do need to talk to Marigold,” Ron told the group. “Even if the feds did cut her loose after her handler was shot, she’s still got information we need for our case and I can get her protection.”
“Like I told you before,” Jack replied, “I haven’t talked to anyone at the Marshals Service, so I don’t really have the kind of information you’re looking for, Ron. I’m just a K-9 cop.”
“But you never answered my question. Do you know where she is at the moment?”
“I actually did answer that. Your best bet is to talk to whoever is in charge. Why you thought tracking me down at my weekly poker game was a good idea is beyond me. Personally, I think you crossed a legal line in the sand and I’m beginning to resent....”
“Don’t get me wrong,” Ron replied, quickly changing his tone to seem harmless, jovial. “I’m not pumping you for information on a whim, Cornwall. I ran into someone at the barracks who saw you talking to the girl before she disappeared again and he suggested I might find you at this address.”
Reluctant Witness Page 5
