Pepper wished his head was clearer. It felt thick, compressed. Fogged. From the pain meds they’d given him?
He worked his way deep into the lot. Much deeper than the other time he came here to meet with Dennis Cole about the Greenhead Snatcher case. He wondered how far he was from Leo Flammia’s space. Would it still be marked with police tape?
“Delaney!” he whispered as loudly as he could, hefting his crowbar.
He was near the back corner of the Big Red Yard, or so he estimated, when he saw a light.
It was coming from the top of a home oil delivery truck. Pepper couldn’t read the company name on its side.
Was someone working on their truck at this time of the night?
“Hello?” Pepper hissed. He reached its side.
The oil truck looked old—the tank had brown rust along its edges. Grass was growing high under the tank, like the truck hadn’t moved recently.
The light was hanging on a hook at the top of the tank, and it highlighted an open manhole hatch cover. Pepper recalled that when he met with Dennis Cole here, he’d said he welded a manhole cover on a truck here last month. Was someone inside making repairs?
Even if emptied, the air inside an oil delivery tank would be foul and oil would coat the surfaces. Similar to the mess in the old coal furnace at the high school. No way anyone would survive for long inside unless they had an oxygen tank and mask. It would be very dirty work.
But the opening at the top of the tank was lit up. Making it exactly the kind of place Delaney would notice and explore. Had she fallen in, been overcome by fumes?
Using his cell phone light, Pepper located a ladder on the front of the oil tank, near the cab. He gingerly climbed the ladder, taking care not to drop his cell phone. It was hard to climb with his injured hand.
When he reached the top, he saw the manhole cover fully open on a hinge. He scooched over to the opening and leaned in with his phone light, bracing for a nose full of oil fumes.
He didn’t smell any oil. He shone his flashlight into the dark space. Despite the tank’s outward appearance, the inside appeared to have never held oil. Or the tank had gotten a hell of a cleaning. It was spotless. A metal ladder lead from the opening down into the tank.
Pepper twisted his phone to illuminate the inside of the tank. And at the far end, he saw something so surprising he almost dropped his phone.
Bodies.
Pepper climbed down the ladder to confirm the unbelievable. The metal ladder was slick, and he had to be careful not to miss a rung. His injured hand screamed from the effort.
He reached the curved floor of the tank and shuffled toward the bodies, his mind spinning.
He saw Delaney. She filled the circle of his phone’s light. She was bound at her hands and feet in duct tape. More tape covered her eyes. Oh my God, oh my God.
Pepper shined his light farther back to where two other people lay. They looked like women and were also bound up. One had darker hair, one had blonde.
The two Emmas!
Chapter Forty-Nine
Pepper dropped to Delaney’s side and began ripping apart the duct tape binding her hands. He put down his phone and used both hands, despite the bandages on his injured hand. He found an edge and started making progress, unraveling the loops of tape.
How the hell had she ended up like this?
He could understand about Emma Bailey and Emma Addison. Their kidnapper Leo Flammia would have left them here totally immobilized while he was away. And the oil tank made sense. It’d be a perfect vehicle for transporting the girls off the Cape. A trojan horse kind of thing.
But Flammia had died yesterday evening, and Delaney visited Pepper at the hospital this afternoon. So who the hell had tied her up?
Obviously, someone else was working with Flammia. Had Delaney texted Pepper before she was caught? Or had her captor texted him using her phone? And why had someone grabbed her? The questions raced through Pepper’s exhausted brain.
With a hard tug, he pulled the last of the duct tape off Delaney’s hands, only to find two loops of tie wraps. The kind which electricians used to bind wires, or police use as cheap handcuffs.
Pepper should call for help. He needed to do it quickly, before whoever tied up Delaney returned. He would stick to the plan—tell Angel to call 911 anonymously from the gas station pay phone. Yes, that’d be smart. After he called Angel, he’d set free Delaney and the Emmas—he needed to do that himself. Then he’d slip away before the police arrived.
And he had to do it without Delaney or the two Emmas knowing he was their rescuer. No one could ever know he was there… Detective Miller would use that info to nail him to the wall as promised. Pepper’s future would be toast.
Pepper picked up his phone from the tank floor and saw he had no signal. Which made sense inside these thick metal walls. He climbed the metal ladder as fast as he could, holding his phone in his teeth. When his shoulders were free of the manhole opening, he quickly dialed Angel.
Who answered after one ring. Yes!
“Angel, go make the call. 911. Use a fake voice, don’t give your name. Just say you heard, ah, people breaking into the Big Red Yard. Say you heard gunshots so the police will respond fast. Then get back to the machine shop parking lot. I’ll meet you there.”
“But Delaney?” asked Angel. “Did you—”
“Dude, go! I’ll tell you everything in a few minutes!”
Pepper hung up, shoved his phone in his pocket. He climbed back down, his mind still spinning.
He bumped into Delaney in the dark and kneeled beside her. He grabbed the first of the two tie wraps with both hands. Maybe if he pulled hard enough, he could break the little metal teeth which held the tie wrap in place?
He took a deep breath and pulled as hard as he could.
His injured hand was on fire.
Delaney screamed through her duct tape gag.
Shit. Brute force was definitely not going to work. Did he need to climb out of the tank and look for something sharp?
Pepper checked his pockets. He had his wallet, his house keys…and attached to his keys was the stupid little toy pen knife Delaney had won on their mini golf date. Unbelievable. Would it cut the tie wraps?
Only one way to find out. He flipped open the little knife and began trying to cut one of the tie wraps. He sawed back and forth in the darkness, using his good hand. The knife slid against the plastic, not seeming to make any impression. Pepper just kept sawing.
He stopped, took out his phone and turned on the flashlight. He shone it on the tie wrap. He could see a shiny strip where the stupid little knife had made a small impression.
Okay. That was something.
Pepper continued to cut at the tie wrap. Then he grabbed it again with both hands and yanked with all of his strength. A ragged burst of pain shot through his hands again as he pulled, but finally the tie wrap broke! One down, one to go and Delaney’s hands would be free!
He began the miserable process again immediately on the remaining tie wrap. Back and forth with the little knife in the darkness, trying to keep the knife working on the same spot. But maybe slipping to one side or the other.
He checked with his cell phone light and saw he had made little progress yet. Back to sawing. He couldn’t let Delaney stay tied up one minute longer. He was angry and worn out and in pain.
His mind drifted back to the big question—who the hell had done this to her? The FBI had been wrong that Leo Flammia acted alone. Perhaps they’d been right that the Greenhead Snatcher had above-average intelligence, but maybe Flammia had just been following orders and whoever had kidnapped Delaney was the true mastermind. The real Greenhead Snatcher.
Names flooded through Pepper’s head as he worked on the tie wrap.
Casper Yelle. He was a sex offender and the police report said he had above-average intelligence. He had slipped his ankle monitor and disappeared. He was definitely a possibility.
So was Scooter McCord, whatever his real name
was. He had a passport under a different name, he’d quit his job and had a plane ticket to flee the country…
Pepper even thought about Fester Timmins, the cop wannabe pain-in-the-ass. Why was he always on the scene so fast after trouble happened? Was he craftier then he appeared to be?
Who knows… Pepper needed to focus on freeing Delaney and the two Emmas, ASAP, and getting his own butt out of there before the police arrived.
Or even worse, before the Snatcher came back. He’d left the manhole cover open with a light on—he might return any second. Pepper would be at his mercy down here in the tank. The guy could close the manhole and Pepper would have no way to escape. The man could leave them trapped inside the tank to die, or could drive to a secluded space and shoot them later.
Pepper sawed harder, bearing down on the tie wrap.
Apparently too hard, because the knife’s blade snapped in half. Shit! He only had left the handle and a tiny stub of blade. He almost threw it away in rage, but didn’t want to hit the Emmas, so instead he thrust the stump of the knife in his pocket and grabbed the tie wrap in both hands.
This was really going to hurt…
Pepper leaned in and pulled as hard as he could, trying to break the tie wrap. Hard and relentless. Until the pain in his fingers changed to numbness. But the damned tie wrap didn’t break.
He heard a clang from the direction of the oil tank’s manhole cover. He let go of the tie wrap and scrambled to his feet. Had it closed?
Then a loud rumbling noise filled the tank. Someone had started the oil delivery truck’s engine.
A moment later, the truck lurched into motion, toppling Pepper off his feet.
Chapter Fifty
Pepper fell against the curved floor of the oil tank with a jarring crash. His cell phone crunched under him.
Lying on his side, he pulled it out of his pocket, touching the shattered rough screen. It didn’t light up. He pushed the buttons frantically, trying to bring it to life. Nothing. It was toast.
He struggled to his feet as the oil truck bounced through the puddles and ruts of the contractor park.
What should he do?
He couldn’t stay down here. He was at the mercy of whoever was driving the truck. If the person had locked the manhole cover, Pepper would be trapped with the three girls. In a minute or two, the truck could be on the road and soon be anywhere in New England.
He lunged for the metal ladder. The only sure way to save Delaney and the Emmas was to stop the truck.
Pepper realized he’d been stupid not to tell Angel about the oil truck and the tank full of victims. By the time his buddy figured out that everything had gone to crap and fessed up to the police, they wouldn’t even know they were looking for a home delivery oil truck. It would be long gone.
He climbed quickly, ignoring the sharp pain of his stitches and his even more painful hand. Had the man checked the manhole cover and relocked it? If so, Pepper was screwed.
He had to prevent the truck from getting out the gate. He had to keep the girls here and the driver too. But the girls were the priority. Hopefully, Angel had called 911 by now and the police were on their way.
Pepper reached the top of the ladder and saw the manhole cover was closed.
Shit!
He shoved against it and it budged a little. The hooks which held the metal ladder in place prevented the cover from closing flush with the tank. Maybe he could force it open?
He shoved at the lid with his good shoulder. It moved a tiny bit—the latch had some wiggle room. He stepped up one farther rung on the ladder, planted his shoulder against the lid and gave an even bigger shove.
But the cover didn’t open.
Pepper got a desperate idea. He took out the stubby pen knife and wiggled it in the small opening between the tank and the cover. It rubbed against something hard, so he pressed the stub of the knife blade as hard as he could, praying it wouldn’t completely break off this time.
Nothing.
The truck kept bouncing through the Big Red Yard.
He tried again, just as the truck thumped through an extra deep pothole, rocking the oil tank. And he felt the stub of blade push something hard out of the way.
He put his shoulder into the lid again and pushed. The manhole cover slammed open!
Pepper scrambled up through the opening and crawled across the cold metal top of the oil tank. It was still almost completely dark because the truck’s headlights were off. The night was still warm and the air felt great. He swayed with every bounce of the truck, clinging to whatever his hands found to grip. He didn’t want to think what would happen if he fell from that height.
The truck was nearing the gate. He had to act.
He stood, swaying precariously, and jumped toward the roof of the truck cab. He fell for a half second—a brief moment of fuck it. He landed with a loud thump. The roof partially collapsed under his weight.
The truck lurched to a halt and Pepper toppled down over the windshield, slamming onto the hood and bouncing off down to the muddy lane.
Muddy, but still way too hard. He hit with a bone-jarring thud which drove the breath from his lungs. Instinctively, he rolled over and over, away from the truck, until he bumped into the side of a shipping container.
Pepper heard the splash of someone jumping down from the cab of the truck and saw a flashlight flick on. A man’s voice swore (oddly familiar?) and the flashlight beam swung in the darkness toward Pepper’s location.
He ignored his lack of wind and lunged forward, body-checking the man into the side of the oil truck. The man’s flashlight spun away and left them in near darkness.
A punch glanced off Pepper’s head as he bounced away. He retreated down the side of the oil truck away from the man. His head was ringing from the blow and from…well, probably everything over the past two days, including the drugs.
A loud, low fit of angry barking erupted somewhere not too far away. Stinky the monster dog! Perfect.
Pepper felt his way backward along the oil truck and circled its rear, then moved away down a narrow aisle between two containers. Trying to regroup.
What should he do? Fight? Slip away and wait for the police to respond to Angel’s 911 call?
What if the man climbed back into the truck and drove away? Would the police arrive in time for Pepper to send them after the truck before it disappeared into the night?
No, he couldn’t risk the man getting away with Delaney and the two Emmas. He had to do whatever it took to stop the man, whoever he was. Casper Yelle? Scooter McCord? That clown Fester Timmins? Whoever, the man was a psychopathic criminal—responsible for three kidnappings and at least one murder.
The man stomped past Pepper through the muck. So he didn’t plan to drive away, at least not yet. The man was swearing and muttering things Pepper couldn’t make out. Again, sounding so damned familiar. If only he wasn’t so worn out and battered… If only he had a second to just think….
Pepper crouched down, and the man passed right by, close enough that he could have taken two steps and grabbed him.
But Pepper didn’t. In his injured condition, he needed to improve his odds. Too much was at stake. He moved as quietly as possible away from the oil truck, ending up against a metal trailer full of lawn-cutting equipment.
Pepper’s hand found the head of a rake and then its smooth wooden handle. As he pulled it upward from its holder, something hit him on the side, sharp and painful. Maybe the metal end of a shovel.
Pepper grunted and pulled back. The man’s next swing hit the trailer, ringing loud, and it sounded like the shovel snapped in half.
Pepper swung his rake wildly and hit nothing.
Then something knocked over Pepper from behind. A tremendous blow, like a car had hit him.
Stinky the monster dog had found them.
Pepper smelled the bitter stench of its breath as it ripped into his shirt and tugged him upward. But it didn’t bite him. It paused. As if it remembered Pepper? Remembered him
as the source of the roast beef sandwich a few days ago? No, that was ridiculous.
Then the man fighting Pepper made a stupid mistake. He swung the broken shovel handle where he thought Pepper was and he hit Stinky instead. The dog released Pepper’s shirt and sprang at the man with a growl.
Pepper crawled away as the handle thumped into the dog, over and over. The dog howled furiously.
Pepper rounded the end of the lawn-cutting equipment trailer and smacked into a container. His hand touched a ladder, and he pulled himself up it, his entire body—especially his injured hand—screaming in protest.
The struggle between the man and the dog continued loudly. It sounded like Stinky was being beaten to death.
Pepper scrambled onto the top of the shipping container, huddling low to avoid creating a silhouette against the sky in case a sliver of moon broke free of the clouds. He breathed deeply, momentarily safe from both the man and the dog.
The police would be coming any minute. Pepper decided to lie low and make sure the man didn’t drive away in the oil truck. He just needed to delay the man—he didn’t have to beat him.
Pepper couldn’t see anything of the battle below him between the man and the monster dog, but he heard the howling and growling and the sound of wood hitting the dog’s body over and over.
But it was keeping the man busy… All Pepper had to do was stay on the container, out of reach.
That would have been the smart move for Pepper—maintaining the high ground while the man fought the dog. But his mind focused briefly around two ideas: the man was going to beat the dog to death…and Pepper had actually figured out who the man was! He felt stupid that it took him until now.
So Pepper leaped off the container, falling, falling…goddamn, it was farther on the way down than he’d expected.
He collided with the raised handle of the shovel, then the man’s shoulders, knocking him to the ground. The dog, suddenly free from the rain of blows, rolled away. It lashed out at them, missing, then retreated into the blackness with a long whine.
Kill Tide Page 26
