The man said “we”. That meant there were more than one of these creeps. Okay, Jim thought. He could deal with that. The caller said he would call when Jim got to the fisherman’s shrine in downtown Kalkaska. The shrine was a statue of a big brook trout. Some people called it Kalkaska’s elk because an elk diner raised the money to buy the statue. Jim knew exactly where that was.
Jim had watched as many shoot’em up movies as the next guy. He knew the cops would swarm all over the farm. There would be a command post and a yard full of cop cars and State Police troopers and FBI agents and none of them would act fast enough. He’d lose her, he’d lose the only thing that made life worth living. “Okay Jim, get ahold of yourself. Think, think.” His mind raced. He knew all that but what was “the money” thing? What the hell was that all about? What money? He hadn’t been asked for a sum, an amount, just “the money”. Jim pushed the heels of his hands into his eyes. The voice had said the money and the boat. No, it was the money IN the boat!
Jim hurried to the barn, pulled open the tractor doors and inspected the boat. He couldn’t see much.
Some tools lay on the floor. Someone had been working on the boat! He needed more light. Jim rushed to the tool room and found the box of spare light bulbs. Then he tripped the barn’s fusebox, took some tools from his bench and began to remove broken light bulbs from their sockets. When he had replaced them all he flipped the circuit breaker and the interior of the barn was bathed in light.
The Chris-Craft sat in the middle of the barn on a large cradle. Next to the front of the boat a handsaw, several other tools and a tool bag lay on the floor. Someone had intended to cut their way into the boat. Eve must have surprised them before they got started. Jim began his search there.
Chapter 44
Sherrie awoke laying on her side. Her hands were tied behind her back and her shoulders screamed in pain. Her ankles were tied together and her legs were beginning to spasm. She tried to open her eyes, no luck; the left eyelid stuck shut. She squinted hard and tried again. Her eyelid popped open like a stuck garage door. Now her eyes were open, but it didn’t make any difference. There was no light in the room where she lay. Carefully she rolled to her back and stretched her legs. Slowly the spasms stopped and Sherrie let out a low “Ahh…”
Laying there she surveyed the place where she lay. The floor was carpeted. It seemed like a nice carpet too. Thick pile, nice cushion. A window was on one wall, its edges defined by a bit of light seeping around the blind. Okay, must be a room in a house someplace.
She tried to move her arms. It was nearly impossible, the bindings holding her wrists were tight. There was no give there. The cramps were becoming unbearable. Sherrie wanted to scream, she wasn’t sure if it was from the pain, the frustration or the fear. She didn’t.
There was a noise, just over in the corner to the right of the window…it…didn’t…sound…quite…right.
Sherrie froze and listened. It was breathing. Slow, irregular, labored. Instantly every horror movie she’d ever seen flooded back into her consciousness. It was that man, the boat guy. He was going to kill her. No, he had other plans worse then death. She listened. The sound didn’t change. Finally Sherrie asked, “Who’s there?” Seconds went by with only the sound of the breathing.
She stared in the direction of the labored sound. She decided to scream. She sucked in a lung full of air, then thought, “Get ahold of yourself girl. Think, think, think, damn-it!” Her eyes were becoming adjusted to the darkness. She could see a shape on the floor. It was the source of the breathing. She rolled in the direction of the sound. It was a body, laying face to the wall.
“Gerry! Oh my God, Gerry. Say something honey, say something.” She pleaded with the inert figure on the floor but it didn’t do any good. Gerry lay in a pool of vomit. His head bloodied, left eye swollen shut. She knew she had to get him out of the vomit, he could choke on it or drown or something.
Sherrie rolled on her back. Then, like a worm she worked her way backwards until her hands found the collar of Gerry’s shirt. Reversing the process she moved his torso a few inches so that his face rested on dry carpet. She fought down tears. “Sherrie, now is not the time! Keep focused.” She scolded herself.
She needed to see more of where she was. Sherrie wormed her way to the wall then worked her way to a sitting position. She took a moment to rest then began scooting toward the window. It took several minutes but eventually her groping fingers felt the long draw cord of the blind. Now the problem was raising the blind.
After a moment she took the cord in her teeth, leaned back and tried to pull the blind up. It worked; the blind came up two inches. A bit more light crept into the room. Sherrie was elated. She let the cord go, expecting to be able to grab it at a higher point and pull the blind up another two inches. The blind fell back to its original length. Tears filled Sherrie’s eyes. This wasn’t going to work. This was the type of blind that required an offset on the direction of the pull to lock the sting.
She sat and stared at the just barely visible draw cord. “Don’t quit,” she said. Then she gripped the string in her teeth again, pulled back and holding tightly to the cord, fell to her right. It worked! The blind stayed up two inches. Working feverishly Sherrie was finally able to raise the blind six inches above the windowsill.
The added light allowed Sherrie to see the interior of her prison. There was no furniture; the room was totally empty except for Gerry. On one wall a double door with a full length mirror. She was in a bedroom; it had to be a bedroom in an empty house. The walls were painted, it must be a light color, but in the faint light she could only see shades of gray. The ceiling was interesting. It seemed to be made of wood, no it was beams of wood, with a texture between. That meant something. What? A cabin? Was she in a log cabin?
She wiggled to the window, then rolled to her knees. Bending her head she could look beneath the blind. There were no lights on in the yard but there were a few porch lights on at neighboring homes. She could make out an ordinary yard with a walkway leading to a building. Beyond the building was pure blackness. In the middle of the blackness floated a row of evenly spaced balls of light.
“What the hell is that?” Sherrie muttered. Then it came to her. The lights in the blackness were from cabins on the far side of a lake. She was looking out over water.
Chapter 45
Ten minutes later Jim had a circular saw plugged into an outlet. The saw screamed and he began cutting around the broken planks at the front of the boat. Finished with the cut he put the saw on the floor and gripped two planks. A quick pull and they were free.
Having widened the hole he crawled into the bow. Even with the enlarged hole this was a difficult maneuver. The hull sloped steeply downward, sharp edges cut into his side and he had to hold himself up with his left hand.
Carefully he began his examination of the framed interior of the hull. Jim wasn’t sure what he was looking for, the caller had said money, but it could be something that was worth money. He checked behind every frame and bulkhead. Then his light hit what appeared to be a newspaper.
Just out of reach and behind the framing of a smuggler’s compartment what appeared to be a clump of newspaper with…what was that? A picture of, no…a face! Jim stared at a hundred dollar bill! Pushing with his feet, Jim was able to shove his body forward another foot.
Reaching over his head he was able to just get his fingers on the newspaper. It nearly disintegrated at his touch. But as it crumbled a canvas bag was revealed. Gradually Jim pulled the bag out of its hiding place. Seconds later the bag was free and Jim was able to back out of the boat’s interior.
He quickly cleared a few tools from his bench and lay the bag on the oil and sweat stained surface. Then he began to remove the contents. Out came a candy tin which Jim laid to the side, then stacks and stacks of hundred dollar bills. There was a fortune here.
Jim swore to himself then shoved the money back into the bag. This was unfair, he was going to lose his wife to some
nut over a pile of green paper. Jim knew life had its unfair moments but this wasn’t part of the deal. In Baghdad his executive officer, a young Captain who was engaged to a cute little girl, had been killed when a rocket had crashed into his office window. It was the only rocket fired that week, it landed in the wrong spot. Jim understood those bits of unfairness. So did his exec, they all did, it was part of the deal. But here; at home, on a little farm in southern Michigan? Jim’s fear and dread began to turn to something more.
Entering the house Jim went to the bedroom and removed a 9mm Berretta he kept in his bedside stand. Then he went to the basement and opened his gun safe. Jim owned a deer rifle and three shotguns for small game hunting. He selected one of the shotguns then grabbed a box of shotgun shells loaded with large lead balls. Used for hunting deer in thick brush and swamp “buckshot” was deadly at short range.
He began to hurry, faster and faster, his mind made up. Jim went to the garage, opened the back door of the Jeep and placed the gun on the vehicle’s floor. He opened the driver’s door and was about to get in when he heard Molly’s whine at the kitchen door. Automatically he turned to the dog and said, “I’m busy now Molly, you’re on your own for a while.” Then, like a light from an angel, an idea hit. Jim laid the bag of money and pistol on the Jeep’s front seat and ran back into the house.
One of Jim’s favorite pastimes was rabbit hunting. The great fear of any rabbit hunter is the loss of his dog. Beagles are bred to find a rabbit then trail the bunny as it attempts to flee. Most cottontail rabbits will run in a large circle, sometimes a hundred yards or more in diameter. The beagles’ role in the hunt is to pursue the rabbit until it comes back to the starting point. But, sometimes a beagle will run into a smart rabbit. The smart ones will double back on their trail or make a feign one way then go another; all in an effort to shake off the trailing dog. If the rabbit is successful, the dog sometimes becomes lost and the hunter now must find the dog. In days gone by this was a very difficult proposition. Inevitably the dog was lost at the far side of swamp or patch of briars so thick the hunter couldn’t pass. Many dogs have been lost for good in this fashion. It was a problem that vexed many hunters and cost a great number of family pets.
Modern technology came to the rescue with the advent of the global positioning satellite system. Now, rabbit hunters equip their dogs with a GPS locator on a collar. A small receiver, no larger than a cell phone is carried by the hunter and the dog’s position is shown relative to the hunter. It was this collar and receiver that Jim sprinted down the stairs to the gun cabinet to retrieve.
Returning to the Jeep Jim pushed the collar into the newspaper bag. Its bright, hunter orange color jumped out at Jim even in the dim light of the nighttime garage.
“Damn” Jim moaned. He slumped against the seat and thought a moment. Then he had it. He ran to the barn, and hurried to his workbench. A short search and he had what he’d come for. A filthy rag hung on a nail pounded into the end of the bench. It was gray, oil stained and perfect. Returning to the Jeep Jim emptied the newspaper bag. Then, he turned on the collar, wrapped it in the rag and positioned it at the bottom of the bag. A quick glance and the rag appeared to be part of the bag itself. Satisfied, Jim piled the money bundles back in and set the bag on the floor of the garage. Now the test.
Jim climbed into the Jeep and backed down his driveway to the road; here he checked the unit. Direction was shown accurately, distance was correct and the signal meter showed five bars. The unit was working perfectly.
Chapter 46
Sherrie lay perfectly still on the carpeted floor. Her attention was divided between the sounds of her husband and the sounds of the house, or cabin, or prison, whatever she was in. She had spent the last several hours trying to break free of the binding that cut into her hands and feet. She’d ended up with bloodied wrists and sore shoulders but hadn’t made any progress in loosening her restraints. The night was quiet, the only sound an occasional owl’s hoot or Canadian goose’s honk.
Without warning a moan could be heard in the far, far distance. She listened, straining for some clue as to what caused the noise. Then she recognized the sound of a garage door opener. Panic gripped her as she lay on the floor; he was coming. She was going to meet her fate and there wasn’t a damned thing she could do. She glanced over at Gerry. He lay where she had left him. His breathing was steady now, regular, deep, and healthy, but he was still unconscious.
In the cool night air she heard a door slam. Then she heard a woman cursing. Someone was in the backyard. Sherrie wiggled to the window, rolled onto her knees and peered into the darkness. She didn’t know if the ambient light was better, or her eyes had fully adjusted to the darkness, but things were clearer now. A man was dragging, pushing and kicking at a woman as he forced her to walk the length of the sidewalk to the large building at the end of the walk. At the door the two stopped, the man appeared to be trying to find the key for the door.
Suddenly, the woman turned and kicked him. The toe of her shoe connected squarely with his knee. A small cry of pain, then a shove. The woman bounced off the building, lost her balance and fell to her knees. He grabbed her by the hair and hauled her to her feet. An instant later the door opened and they disappeared inside.
Several minutes passed, then Sherrie watched the man walk back across the yard in the direction of the house. It was Cole. Panic gripped her. Instinctively she began crawling, rolling, moving anyway she could think of toward the darkest corner of the room. Then she stopped and without conscious thought reversed direction and placed herself between the door and her husband.
Eve had lain on the floor of the van for the past several hours. She was sore, stiff, angry and scared. During the long ride she had managed to lift the blindfold an inch allowing her to see below the edge. It hadn’t been easy; her hands were bound together behind her back using a plastic cable wrap. In the darkness Cole hadn’t noticed her efforts.
He pulled her out of the van and hurried her through a door. Then she was pushed and dragged across a grassy yard to a sidewalk. She cursed, screamed and struggled to get some separation from this monster. Finally, they stopped at some sort of door. She could hear him fumble with a key. She tilted her head back and spotted his leg below the blindfold. Eve’s right leg flew out in a vicious kick, catching Cole squarely on the knee. He swore and slapped her hard on the side of her face. She fell back against a wooden door, recoiled forward and fell to the wooden walkway.
Suddenly he had her by the hair and was pulling her up. She stomped downward with her foot, managing to land a glancing blow on her antagonist’s foot. The kicks hadn’t helped her situation but Eve was determined to fight.
Cole opened the door and violently pushed her inside. She landed hard. Her head bounced off the building’s wooden deck and her blindfold flew across the floor. Dazed, she lay on her stomach for a moment then rolled to her knees. Cole smirked then reached to the side of the door and turned on the lights.
Even terrified, Eve had room for amazement. Two rows of boats floated on either side of a wide waterway. Each boat rode at a small dock and the entire structure had a golden glow under soft light reflecting off the cedar log paneling. The whole thing was majestic.
Cole hooked one hand under her arm and lifted Eve to her feet. “No more! Stop fighting me.” She glared at him. He leaned forward, nearly touching his forehead to hers. “Stop kicking or I will hurt you and I will hurt you bad,” he said it as if it were routine.
“Your breath stinks,” she said. He smiled, opened his mouth and exhaled in her face. Then, pushing and pulling, she was marched around the left set of docks.
They walked past two ski boats, a fishing boat and what looked like some sort of paddle boat. She spotted a door at the end of the walkway, just past the last boat. There, Cole opened a door and, with a violent shove, flung Eve inside.
The boat house janitor closet smelled of cleaners, was small, dark and a prison. Her wrists screamed in pain. The thin plastic wrap cut
into her skin and she could feel the sticky blood on her right hand.
She lay where she had landed for several minutes. She tried vainly to see in the darkness of the storage closet. Finally conceding defeat she wiggled to her knees, then stood. Relief washed over her. She had been terrified that Cole had intended to load her on a boat and dump her in the middle of the lake.
Now she set about exploring her new prison. Carefully, Eve pushed her right foot forward until she bumped into a solid object, then she stepped to her left and repeated the process. After a moment she found the side of a metal shelving unit. This might hold something that she could use. She would return to the shelves later.
She worked her way around the closet, finding some wooden handles, mops, brooms and the like. Finished with her initial exploration she returned to the metal shelves. She wanted to know what was on the shelves but couldn’t see anything in the dark room.
Slowly an idea formed. Awkwardly she fell to her knees, then to her side. Carefully she wiggled backward until her finger tips touched the lowest shelf. A bit more effort and she could reach the back of the shelf. Now she began feeling the items on the lowest shelf. She found what she thought was a bucket, a plastic bottle and several spray cans. Nothing that could help.
She got to her feet, did her best to stretch her shoulders then turned and faced away from the shelves. She bent her knees and squatted so that her hands were level with the second shelf. This was much harder. Her legs cramped, but she stayed in the awkward position. Her fingers identified objects; several spray cans, a plastic jug of some sort and some gloves.
By standing at her full height she was able to back up to the third shelf and explore it. Another jug of cleaner or something similar, a package of sponges, a small pile of rags and more cleaning supplies.
H.J. Gaudreau - Jim Crenshaw 02 - The Collingwood Legacy Page 18
