Holly’s mouth dropped open. Rosie’s eyes widened. Both boys gave their full attention as Jake continued, “It looks like he was murdered.”
“Murdered?” red hair asked.
Jake nodded grimly. “Yes, and recently.”
The boy stood and came closer. “How do you know he was murdered?”
“I’m the one who found the body. He appeared to have been killed by a knife.”
The other boy wandered over and pushed his baseball cap back on his head. “So what makes you think we might be in danger?”
Jake stood and looked curiously at the boy. “Is it worth it to take a chance?”
“Dunno.”
“Why didn’t you go for the cops?” the boy with the cap asked.
“Our vehicle has been sabotaged. It won’t start. The game warden has gone for the police, but in the meantime, I think you should find another place to camp or get out of here entirely.”
Rosie and Holly stood and the four of them huddled around Jake. “I think we should leave,” Holly said.
Red hair frowned. “I don’t think there’s anything much to what this guy says. Why would he want to do anything to us? We didn’t hurt anyone.”
Rosie gave him a slug on the shoulder. “Didn’t you hear what Jake said? A man has been murdered.”
“You guys can do whatever you want. I’m staying.” He waved it off, turned, and went back to his spot by the tree. The other boy followed and sank down beside him.
Jake sighed, frowned at them and shook his head. He turned to Holly. “You can do whatever you want. I’m just warning you.”
Rosie smiled. “Thanks. We’ll try to talk some sense into those guys. I don’t want to go anywhere without them. They might be useless, but there’s safety in numbers and I say we all stick together.”
Holly glanced at the boys, and then at Rosie. “You might be right. I prefer to leave, but I’m not going alone.”
Jake had done what he could. The rest was up to them and he hoped they would make a sensible decision. “I have to get back to my family and wait for the police,” he said. “Just be careful.” He turned to go.
“Thank you, Jake,” Rosie called. “Come back and stay the night some time. You can sleep in my tent.”
As Jake walked away, he could tell by the tone of Holly’s voice she wasn’t too pleased with Rosie’s comments. Under different circumstances, he would’ve enjoyed a good laugh.
CHAPTER 36
Saturday, 5:15 PM
RCMP SERGEANT LANCE BREWER was sick and tired of getting the runaround. He’d sent a pair of detectives to give Lucas’s cellmate a little visit and they’d turned up empty. Stephan Padre was tightlipped and stubborn.
He realized, if they were going to get anything useful from Padre, he would have to do it himself.
He’d spent most of the afternoon making the long trip back to Haddleburg, and as he pulled into the maximum-security penitentiary three miles dead west of town, he was determined not to leave until he had some information that would nail Lucas.
He pulled through the inner security gate of the ten-acre walled enclosure, flashed his ID for the second time, and was let into the main staff area. His eyes roved over the modern facility, recently built to take the place of an outdated establishment that stood empty a hundred miles away.
The notoriety of this new institution’s predecessor had grown over the years, fueled by many prisoners’ accounts of daily beatings at the hands of wardens, brutal riots, and extended periods in “the box”. In contrast, this prison was the epitome of modern punishment and humane rehabilitation.
They were expecting him, and when he strode into the administrative office of the state-of-the-art facility, the deputy warden had already been apprised of his arrival and welcomed him with an offered handshake, introduced himself, and said, “Welcome, Sergeant. As you know, I’ve interviewed Padre extensively as have your two detectives, and we can get nothing from him.”
Brewer shook his hand, disregarded the youthful and green deputy warden’s statement and got right to it. “I need to see Padre immediately.”
The younger man hesitated. “Don’t you want to talk in my office first? I can show you what we have.”
“You just told me you have nothing, and I’m not here to chat with you. I’m here to talk with Padre and I don’t have time to waste.”
The deputy cocked his head, taken aback by Brewer’s abruptness. He shrugged one shoulder and said, “Very well, then. He’s ready for you.”
“Lead the way.”
Brewer followed the deputy warden through a series of secure gates and they stopped in front of a metal door. “Here we are. Padre is already inside.”
Cell doors clanged around him. A large tempered glass window was the only barrier between him and the common room. Inmates milled about on the other side of the glass, well within his view of them, and their view of him.
Brewer scowled. This was not what he expected. He opened the door and stepped inside, followed by the deputy warden.
The interview room was modern, clean, and roomy, but bare, and not much different from an inmate’s cell. There was a table in the middle of the room, bolted to the floor. Padre sat on the other side of it, on a stainless steel bench, also bolted to the floor. He was handcuffed and securely chained to a ring in the table. Two comfortable chairs, presumably for the investigators, were on the near side.
A camera hung in one corner of the room, facing Padre. Its red light glowed; always ready to capture any important comments from whoever was unfortunate enough to sit on the hard bench. Brewer gave it a cursory glance.
Padre glared at the sergeant, hostile and unmoving.
This was far from the ideal surrounding Brewer wanted in order to conduct a successful interview. He turned to the deputy warden. “This won’t do.”
“This is all we have. This is where we conduct all our interviews.”
“Then I’ll use your office.”
The young man stared at Brewer as if the sergeant had lost his mind. “My office? That’s ridiculous.”
Brewer stepped outside the door and the deputy warden followed him. “What do you mean, my office? I can’t allow that.”
Brewer moved in close. “Deputy, I’m here to get some information from Padre. You failed and I don’t plan to. Do you think he’ll tell the truth when he can hear cell doors slam or know the first thing he’ll face once he leaves the room will be the eyes of other inmates.” Brewer waved his hand impatiently. “I might as well interview him in his cell.”
“What’s the difference?”
“The difference is …” Brewer raised his voice. “The difference is, I want to get him away from bars and barred prison cells. You can do whatever you want with him when I’m done, but I want your office.”
The deputy backed up a step and spoke meekly. “It’s highly irregular.”
Brewer had calmed down. “And what’s wrong with irregular? I’ve had a successful career in this business and I don’t do regular.”
The warden thought a moment, then, “He’ll have to remain handcuffed.”
A smile touched the corner of Brewer’s mouth and he shook his head. “Deputy, I don’t mean to usurp your authority, but look at the size of him, and now look at me. Do you think he could ever get the best of me?”
The warden shook his head.
Brewer put a hand on the deputy’s shoulder and spoke softly, but firmly. “Just leave a pair of guards outside the door. We’ll be fine.”
The deputy took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “All right, we’ll give it a try.” He raised a finger. “But just this one time.”
“Just this one time,” Brewer said. “Take me there first. Remove Padre’s handcuffs outside the office then bring him in.”
“Will do.”
“And the leg cuffs too. I want him relaxed.”
The deputy frowned at Brewer and let out an impatient sigh. “We’ll remove the leg cuffs too.”
; The warden led the way and Brewer followed. He smiled to himself. He wouldn’t likely have gotten his way with the other warden—God rest his soul—but he knew what he was doing.
They arrived in front of the warden’s office. The young deputy opened the door and motioned with his hand for Brewer to enter. Brewer did, and after glancing around briefly at the luxurious surroundings, he said, “This is perfect. You can leave now.”
The warden scowled and left the office. Brewer examined the warden’s desk, opened his cigar box, removed a cigar, clipped the end, and lit it. It was a fine smoke.
Brewer took a seat in a stuffed, leather chair facing a matching couch. He dropped his arms on the armrests and smoked the Cuban in the former warden’s honor.
Five minutes later, Padre appeared in the door. The inmate’s scowl had softened, but the stubbornness remained in his eyes. He stood at the doorway a moment, looking around curiously, his eyes finally coming to rest on Brewer’s face.
The sergeant stood and motioned toward the couch. “Have a seat.”
Padre sat on the edge of the couch, his back straight, and frowned at Brewer.
“Relax, sit back,” Brewer said, leaning over, and offering a hand. “My name is Sergeant Lance Brewer.”
Padre disregarded the offered hand and sat unmoving, his eyes scanning the office. “Nice cell,” he said.
“Yes, it is,” Brewer agreed. He sat back down and crossed his legs. “It’s not fair the staff get all the perks while you guys have to put up with nothing but iron bars and crappy food all day.”
Padre nodded his head uncertainly.
Brewer uncrossed his legs and leaned forward. “I can make your life a lot easier in here.”
“I’m not a snitch.”
“We don’t like to call it that,” Brewer said. “Confidential informant is a better term.”
“Still the same thing.”
“Maybe, but confidential informants get better treatment. We protect them.”
Padre studied Brewer’s face. “How?”
“How? I’ll tell you how. You’re in here for murder. Is that right?”
“That’s right.”
“That’s a pretty serious thing, but other than the unfortunate events on Wednesday, which I can make go away, you’ve been a model inmate. No trouble, right?”
“Nope.”
“You never killed the guard when Lucas escaped, did you?”
“Nope. It was all Lucas. He planned it all.”
Brewer smiled. “That’s what I thought. You’re not such a bad sort, and I think I can get you moved to a medium-security facility. Away from all these guys who would like to cut your heart out as soon as look at you.”
Padre’s eyes narrowed. “I still ain’t no snitch.”
“Now Stephan, I would sure hate to hear something happened to you in here. I mean, rumors spread fast, and as soon as they found out you cooperated with us—”
“They can’t find out if I don’t cooperate.”
“I’m afraid they can, and they will.” Brewer motioned toward the door. “Some of the guards here have a habit of talking just a little too much.” He sighed. “And there’s nothing I can do to stop that. You know how it is.”
Padre dropped his eyes and brushed at the leg of his orange jumpsuit. Only the ticking of the clock could be heard until finally the convict looked up and took a breath. “You’ll get me out of here?”
“I will.”
“Minimum security?”
“Yup. Better food. Better terms, and better everything else. Away from certain people who might want to kill you.”
Padre hesitated, looked around the room, and then sat back. “He’s gone north.”
“North where?”
Padre’s brow wrinkled, his eyes narrowed. “Not exactly sure.”
“I need you to be sure.”
Padre picked at his fingernails a moment. “He’s got a cabin up there.”
“Where?”
“You’ll keep your word?”
“If you tell the truth and we get Lucas, then yes, I’ll keep my word.”
“Will you put me in the bucket right now? Keep me safe until you move me?”
Brewer nodded. “Absolutely.”
Padre looked at Brewer as if trying to decide whether or not he could trust him. Finally, he said, “He’s gone to Algonquin Provincial Park. He’s got a cabin there. That’s one hundred per cent truth and that’s all I know.”
“Think Stephan. It’s a massive park. What area is he in?”
Padre looked Brewer straight in the eye. “I swear to you, that’s all I know.”
Brewer had done this kind of thing many times before and he knew when someone was telling the truth. “I believe you, Stephan.” He stood and went to the desk, opened the warden’s cigar box and selected a Cuban. He clipped the end, handed it Padre, and held the lighter while the inmate sucked eagerly on the smoke.
Brewer sat back down. “I believe you, Stephan, and I appreciate your help. Enjoy the smoke.”
CHAPTER 37
Saturday, 5:31 PM
VARICK LUCAS had watched the big guy leave their campsite. He followed him through the woods for a few minutes, stopped as they neared the beach, and saw him head toward the kids at the end of the lake.
He saw their tents from where he stood and wondered why the guy would be going there, especially when the game was well underway and his family was left alone.
He stood a moment and watched, adapting his plans. He would kill the big guy eventually, but just as it was in the past, right now it would be too easy. No challenge. The end result would be much sweeter if there was more thrill to the hunt and the game was drawn out to its logical conclusion.
The backpackers might fit in later—if they were foolish enough to hang around—but right now, he had better things to do.
He turned and retraced his steps back to the camp, approaching it from a different angle. The woman sat by a tree, her knees up, reading a book.
She flipped back and forth through the pages, often resting the book in her lap, and appeared to be having trouble concentrating. Her mind must have been on other things.
One of the kids had come from the tent earlier and she has shooed him back with a wave of her arm and a stern look. The boy ducked back in. He was remarkably obedient, unlike any kids Lucas has known.
And now it was time to make his move.
He backtracked, circled around again, and approached the camp at her back. He paused thirty feet from her, removed the hunting knife from the sheath at his leg, and grinned.
He crept forward, choosing his steps carefully, avoiding twigs and dead leaves, attempting only to tread on the soft-carpeted areas of moss and soil.
Carefully now. Carefully. Quietly.
Three feet from her he dropped to his knees, swung his left arm around her neck and brought the right one in front, displaying the sharp blade of the knife gripped in his hand.
She gasped. He covered her mouth and bent his head toward her ear. “Shhh.”
The book fell to her lap, and obediently, she stayed still.
“Slowly now, stand up,” he hissed in her ear. “Don’t make a sound.”
With the help of his arm around her neck she eased to her feet. He brought the knife closer to her throat, the razor-sharp blade tickling her skin.
He spun her around slowly, turning his body with hers, staying behind her. “Now walk,” he said, prodding her forward.
They moved slowly, very slowly at first to avoid rousing the kids, and then he removed the knife from her throat and pushed her gently from behind. “Keep moving.”
She turned her head to one side as if to catch a glimpse of him. “Where … where are you taking me?”
He laughed. “Not far. Just keep moving.”
She moved obediently as he continued to prod her forward. Her husband could be back any time and they had to get out of the area before then.
The big guy would be a bit confused at firs
t, thinking she’d wandered off, then find the boys in the tent, and perhaps panic. At least, that was the hope—the plan, as it were.
He didn’t want to traumatize the boys in any way, but alas, certain things couldn’t be helped in light of the bigger picture. And if they ended up seeing their father dead in front of them, they would get over it. Boys always did.
He remembered the day he’d seen his father dead. Lying there, stone cold, taking the easy way out. Drank himself to death. And Lucas had recovered. He got over it. Boys always did.
There would be a bright side. A silver lining. When life hands you lemons, and so forth.
They walked in silence for some time. The woman was being remarkably compliant with his demands, so far, and then she stopped abruptly and whirled to face him.
He held the knife close to her cheek and glared at her. She glared back.
Her eyes grew wider and her mouth dropped open, a glint of recognition in her pretty blue eyes. In a hoarse whisper she managed to say, “It’s you.”
“Do you know me?”
She nodded carefully, aware of the knife teasing her cheek. “You’re … Varick Lucas, the escaped convict.”
He laughed out loud. “You’re very attentive. How did you know?”
“It’s your eyes,” she said. “I know you by your eyes.”
She was a smart one, and didn’t seem to be all that fearful of him, just cautious.
“What do you want with me?” she asked.
“I’m afraid you’ll have to wait and find out.”
She put her hands on her hips. “Are you the one who sabotaged our vehicles?”
Oh, she was being obstinate now. He had some respect for that. She was feisty, careful yes, but standing up to him. Just like his mother did when his father got out of control.
He laughed aloud again, a short laugh, more like a cackle, and ended in a grim smile. “It might’ve been me.”
Her eyes flashed in anger. “It was you.”
He held the knife poised just in case she got too brave.
Justice Overdue: A Private Investigator Mystery Series Page 13
