“I know you couldn’t do anything to her, Thomas,” I said, hoping to get him both calmed down and back on track. For a split second, I put myself in the cop’s position. I figured I would have asked the exact same questions and would have told him the same thing about nothing being able to be done for at least a full day. I knew it wasn’t true and I’m sure the cop who said that to Thomas knew it as well. Someone could be only be missing for a few seconds and, if the police felt the missing person was in danger, forces could be mobilized. What happens more often is police departments are understaffed and too busy to chase down someone who may be just feeling cold feet about an approaching wedding and decided to visit an old flame or got wrapped up in a bottle of whiskey. “What happened next?”
“I went home. I called her phone at least twenty times and every time it rang until it went to voicemail. The last time I called, it didn’t ring at all; it went right to her voicemail. I just knew something was wrong. I knew something happened.”
“You told me when I answered that Alexander has Bri. How do you know that?” Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Ralph nodding his head slowly, as if agreeing with my line of questioning and the calm tone I was employing.
“About twenty minutes ago, my phone rang. It was Bri’s phone but it wasn’t her calling. He said he has her and he knew he couldn’t take back his heart so he was going to break mine.” Thomas’s voice began to sound wet and creased with fear. “He said he is waiting for me so I can watch how he is going to kill her.”
“Thomas, what is your finance’s full first name?”
“Briallen,” he answered. “Why the hell does that matter?”
“Have you spoken with your mother today?”
“No.” Thomas’s voice was revealing his growing anger. “Did you not hear what I said? He has Bri and he’s going to kill her.”
“I heard you, Thomas. I just needed to know those two things.”
“You think my mother is involved with this? What, because my father was messed up in the head and did what he did with Alexander, that my mother must be just as messed up? You think my whole family are nothing but screwed up criminals, don’t you?”
I didn’t answer his question for two reasons: First, I was pretty close to thinking the O’Connell family was about as messed up as a family can get, and second, there were more important things I needed to say and to ask. “Why did you call me?”
I could hear Thomas’s breathing change. It went from the shallow, rapid sound of someone extremely pissed off, back to the shallow, shaky sound of someone extremely scared. “He told me you and that ass backwards cop from Piseco Lake know where he is and that you were on your way to see him.”
Ralph said, “Now, that may or may not be accurate, Thomas. Not the ass backwards thing; that part is certainly true.”
“Who is that?” Thomas asked.
“Thomas, Ralph and I have an idea where your brother might be, and, he’s right, we are heading there now.”
“Where is he holding her? Tell me right now, or by God I’ll make you pay. Where is he?”
“If he called you twenty minutes ago and told you Ralph I knew where he was, why did you wait before you called me?”
“Don’t play games with me, Cole. Tell me where Alexander took Bri.”
“Why did you wait twenty minutes before calling me? Who did you call first? Don’t tell me you called the police because I can guarantee Alexander told you if you involved the police, he’d kill Briallen the second he heard a siren or saw a flashing light.” There was long pause, during which I could hear Thomas’s damp breaths whispering through the speaker of my phone. “You called your mother, didn’t you? But she didn’t answer. You called your mother because of what you said to me earlier. You said she didn’t handle what went down last year well and that she stays to herself most of the time, visits the graveyard but lies about where she goes. You called your mother, Thomas, because you believe she’s helping your brother, didn’t you?”
“You son of a bitch! Tell me where my brother is.”
“Hilburn,” I told him. “Alexander is holding your fiancé captive in Ward C at Hilburn.”
I ended the call, knowing there was nothing more I needed to say and nothing more I needed to learn.
“Unless you and I are have a completely different understanding of the geography of this wonderful country of ours, I have to say that you either are planning on making a U-Turn right soon or you just told a whopper of a lie to your old client.”
“I’m not making any U-Turns.”
“Ya planning on filling me in as to the reasoning behind your lie?”
“I’m buying us some time, Ralph. We need to do some planning.”
“And now you’re thinking mommy dearest is involved in this whole twisted play?” Ralph asked.
“No, I don’t,” I answered. “In fact, I’m pretty sure she’s dead.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
We spent nearly two hours eating dinner at a place called “The Great Catch,” going over the plan I had been formulating over the last several hours. Though we arrived in town around nine in the morning, Ralph agreed we needed to wait until dark before making our way to the second Straus cabin. We found a motel that allowed for early check in, paid for two rooms, and grabbed several hours of sleep.
It’s not entirely true that I slept for several hours, as I still was working out the finer points of my plan. But in between ironing out some details and doing some more Internet research to clear up any remaining doubts I had, I managed to sneak in a good three or four hours of sleep. I needed it. I had driven the entire way from Piseco Lake after driving all the way from Columbus to Piseco Lake and figured I wouldn’t be getting any sleep later that night. To say I was exhausted would be a tremendous understatement. But I was also charged with nerves and anger.
“What time are you thinking we should make our grand entrance?” Ralph asked after we paid the bill for dinner.
It felt odd being in charge of this operation. Not that I wasn’t comfortable or confident enough to be in charge, I am a “Freelance Detective” after all. It was just odd knowing Ralph, a man with ten times the experience than me, was willingly taking a backseat. As good as Ralph was at running an investigation and solving mysteries, his ego knew when to step aside. That felt good.
“The later the better,” I said. “ The two AM hour seems to have a certain draw on me.”
“We have everything we’re gonna need?” he asked.
“I could use a bit more courage. If I’m wrong about all this, we will be at a disadvantage.”
“While the possibility certainly exists that you’ve chased the wrong rabbit down the wrong hole, I highly doubt that is the case.”
“Strange, though, isn’t it?”
Ralph said, “This whole thing is strange; you need to be a tad more specific.”
“It’s strange that Thomas hasn’t called me back. Makes me wonder.”
________________________
A Black:
Changes needed to be made. What was thought to be a complete list, turned out in need of edits. Even the greatest writers in the world rely on editors to check their work, to complete plot holes and tighten what is loose and loosen that which is too tight. Names needed to be added and names removed.
There is no shame in adapting.
That is why you are sitting here now; because of the edits.
Now, you should sleep. I have no idea when the other guests will arrive but I can’t imagine it will be too much longer.
CHAPTER THIRTY
There was only one way to get to the Straus cabin in Long Beach. One road, carved along the shoreline of the lake then twisting away and heading into the heavily wooded forest. We were quiet as we drove down that road and even quieter when he passed the dirt road which led to the cabin. I drove past the dirt road for a few minutes until I found a parking area at trailhead. Mine was the only car in the area. And considering it was close to two in
the morning, I wasn’t surprised.
“You got a .40 loaded and ready?” Ralph asked.
“I do,” I replied then let out an exaggerated sigh. “I hope I’m right about this.”
“Sure feels right to me,” Ralph said. “Derek, I should have said this before, but, if this turns out the way I believe and hope it does, you’ll have earned my greatest respect. If you’re right, which I believe you are, this whole thing is the shining example of the finest detective work I have ever witnessed. Too bad we won’t be able to tell anyone about it; being highly illegal, and all.”
“It’s only illegal if I’m wrong.”
“A more probable outcome if you are wrong, is that this will be fatal. With that said, let’s be on our way.”
Ralph walked down the road, heading towards the dirt road driveway which led to the Straus cabin, while I ducked into the woods and bushwhacked my way towards the cabin. I figured my pace through the thickly wooded forest would be about the same pace as Ralph walking down the smoothly paved road. I was sure I’d end my trek with more than just a few scratches but I was more concerned about Ralph and what he might encounter once he made the turn off the road. I wanted to take the more dangerous “road approach” and have Ralph flank from the side, but he insisted on our eventual paths.
“I am not sure you took a good look at my gut when I was all naked and passed out in that chair, but I am not in the proper condition to do any forest walking.”
“But he’ll be expecting us to come down the driveway,” I protested. “No offense, but if things go sideways, I can move a hell of a lot quicker than you.”
“There’s two things of importance you said there, Derek. You said he’ll be expecting us to make our approach down the driveway. If he sees just me, he’ll know you’re approaching from a different direction and is likely to draw a tad concerned and nervous.”
“Not sure why that matters,” I said. “What’s the other thing of importance I said?”
“Well, there was only one. I was hoping the one thing would have been enough to get you off track and to just agree with me.”
In the end, I was glad it was me hiking through the woods. It was tougher going than I had expected. I had viewed images of the area on my iPhone, but those images were unable to detail the steep, rutted hills my chosen path had in store.
I walked for twenty minutes before slowing my pace and being much more cognizant of noise my footfalls were making. I was tired from the lack of sleep and from the challenging hike, but the rapidity of my breath told me I was also nervous as hell. I started thinking about one of my favorite fictional characters, Jack Reacher, and, as I had done a hundred times before, I imagined that I was him and asked myself, “How would Reacher be reacting right now?” It’s a stupid question considering I wasn’t him and no one could since Reacher wasn’t real. Didn’t matter, I guess. Just asking myself that question calmed me down a bit. My breathing relaxed and my confidence grew a few inches.
When I saw the cabin’s light through the heavily leaved branches, I lowered myself to the ground. The light spilling through the cabin window wasn’t enough for me to see any details around the cabin, but when coupled with the crescent moon in the clear sky, I could see well enough. Unless my enemy was using night-vision goggles, we were both handicapped by the darkness which surrounded the area.
I inched forward, continually scanning the area as best as I could. When I reached the end of the tree line—twenty yards from the cabin—I angled my approach towards the rear of the cabin, expecting (and hoping) to find a back door. I’m sure I didn’t breathe a single puff of air as I crossed the cut grass surrounding the cabin. When I reached the backside of the cabin, relieved to see there was indeed a back door, I pressed my back hard against the cabin’s wall. I crawled my back up until I was standing straight. I turned my head enough to afford myself a view through the window-paned door. As quietly as I could, I reached for the door handle and turned it counter-clockwise.
It was unlocked.
Before I pushed the door open and made entry, I wanted to see what I might be walking into. I craned my neck again, and peered through the window pane. What I saw was what I had seen ten months ago, though at least one of the players had changed. I saw a pale, thin man, sitting in a deeply cushioned chair. His pallor was gray; deeply so. He was bald and I could see the joints of his elbows and shoulders revealing themselves beneath the thin cotton shirt he was wearing. Ten months ago, it was Stanley Mix. I saw him from the balcony of my hotel room in Alexandria Bay and watched him as he sat, speaking words I could not hear to his wife, Michelle. This time, it was Alexander Black at whom I was looking. Both Stanley and Alexander were dying and both had been reduced—each by a different form of approaching death—to a shell of what they once were.
I turned my body to fully face the window, not afraid of being seen. Though Alexander was holding a semi automatic in his hands, his eyes were half-closed and seemed lacking of the baby blue color that once hinted at intelligent life behind those eyes.
The one constant was the woman sitting, tied to a wood-backed chair across from him. Though I couldn’t see her face, I knew who it was. I knew I would see her the second Thomas asked me if I knew where his brother was holding his fiancée.
It was Michelle Mix sitting across from Alexander. And though seeing her didn’t surprise me, the visual proof that she was the captive, angered me. I should have done more when I spoke with her. I should have told her not to answer the door when someone had rung her doorbell and she ended the phone conversation we were having. She probably wouldn’t have listened, but I should have tried.
And now she was sitting, tied up and facing a gun being held by a dying man, who had nothing to lose.
Michelle was never on his list; she, for some reason I might never know, had earned favor and respect from Alexander. But Alexander wasn’t the director of this play.
My plan had plenty of points of failure. Ralph helped mitigate several of those points, but if there had not been a back door and if the door was either solid wood or secured with a deadbolt style lock, I would have needed to enact the much riskier “Plan B.”
Plan B’s always suck. They are never as well thought out and really only come into play if the preferred plan—that being Plan A—is foiled. My Plan B fell in line with the whole “suck” factor, so the relief I felt when the door handle turned and I was able to crack the door open, was immense. But apparently, my Plan A sucked as well. And based on what I heard behind me, it sucked more than my Plan B.
________________________
The sound a double action revolver makes is unmistakeable. There’s a “click” then a slightly muffled sound of the hammer locking into place. I’ve heard that sound a thousand times, mostly when I was holding a revolver, perfecting my aim at my favorite gun range outside of Columbus.
“Drop your gun and put your hands over your head.”
“Hello, Thomas. Good to see you again.”
“You don’t seem surprised. I’m impressed.” Thomas slammed the gun’s barrel into the back of my head, forcing my head into one of the window panes. It shattered, slicing a deep gash in my forehead and startling Alexander and Michelle awake. “Open the door, walk inside. And if you scream, I’ll end this right here and now.”
It’s weird what bothers people. What bothered me was not that Thomas was holding a gun to my head but that I would, more than likely, have another scar on my face. As my warm blood started its decent, it burned my eyes. I wanted to wipe the blood away, but as soon as I moved my arm, Thomas jabbed the gun into my head again. “Move without being told, and this ends now.”
I walked inside where Thomas directed me to sit down in a chair a few feet from where Michelle, who was now wide awake and staring at me, was seated.
“Where’s Chief of Police Ralph Fox?” Thomas asked. “He must be around here somewhere.”
“You hit him too hard back at your dad’s place in Piseco Lake. He passed out when w
e crossed the Indiana border. Had to take him to the hospital. I would have been here sooner, but, you know how slow emergency rooms can be.”
“You expect me to believe that story?” Thomas asked.
“Actually,” I said, “I don’t care if you believe me or not. It is what it is.”
Thomas smiled, then nodded to Alexander sitting a few feet from me. “You remember my brother, don’t you?”
I turned and looked into Alexander’s dying eyes. The blue of his eyes was gone, replaced with a shade of gray only slightly lighter than the gray of his skin. “Good to see you again, Alexander. You look...well, you smell better. That’s for sure.”
“I am glad you decided to join us,” Alexander whispered. “I trust your trip, besides the unfortunate condition of Chief Fox, was a pleasant one?”
“Uneventful,” I replied. “ It was enlightening, however.”
“Either you are much smarter than I thought,” Thomas said, “or I made some egregious errors. Tell me, why are you not surprised it was me the whole time?”
“It wasn’t you the whole time,” I said. I looked at Alexander, and said, “You somehow survived that night in Hilburn and the events in the morgue. You took the medical examiner captive, you killed her and buried her at that abandoned house in Prattsville and you left that message in the candy tin in her mouth. You were probably planning something but whatever has been keeping you alive all these years, started to stop working. That’s when you contacted your brother and pleaded for help.”
“I did not plead,” Alexander said.
“Whatever. I’m not sure of the timeframe, but you started dying, and you knew you were dying. So when Thomas agreed to meet, you knew you were too weak to finish your sick and twisted mission to exact your revenge, so you had to agree with Thomas’s demands. How am I doing so far?”
Still Heartless: The Thrilling Conclusion to Heartless (Derek Cole Suspense Thrillers Book 5) Page 14
