“They’ll kill me anyway,” I rasped out. “Better a dead hero than a dead coward.”
“Not like this.”
“Sorry I got here too late.”
“I haven’t time for this.” Korby’s reptilian voice cut in. “You are a very stubborn lady, Miss Knight. Perhaps we should try a different approach. Perhaps it will be harder for you to watch someone else being hit than to be hit yourself. You don’t want to see Miss James hurt, now do you?”
“You shit,” I choked out. I grabbed on to Cordelia and tried to hold her, but his thugs pulled her away. One of them slapped her hard across the face, then again from the other side.
“No! Stop it!” I yelled. They froze, waiting. “I admit it, I killed Jimmy Hoffa, not to mention kidnapping the Lindbergh baby.” The thug raised his hand again. “Joanne Ranson,” I said, preventing the blow from landing. “Hutch Mackenzie. I saw you kill him, you bastard. I don’t know who they told.”
“Me. I’m the only one,” Lafitte interjected.
“The D.A.’s office, Miss Knight.”
I shrugged. I didn’t want Cordelia to be hit, but I couldn’t write Danny’s death warrant to save her. The thug lifted his hand again.
“Danielle Clayton,” Thoreau said.
Damn him.
“And Ronald Newson,” I said to make it harder for them. I didn’t mind including Newson because he was a racist, sexist pig and deserved whatever he got.
“Do they know you’re here tonight?” Korby demanded. The thug raised his hand as if to hit Cordelia again. A trickle of blood was running from her nose.
Did they? Could they? And if it was possible that they were on their way here, did I want Korby to know?
“No,” I let out, admitting to myself it wasn’t likely. Even if Joanne was alive and if Danny got home, what were the chances of them getting here in time? “No one knows. And there’s no way they can find out in time…” I trailed off. I was unable to get up from the floor. There seemed no point in moving. “I’m sorry.” I looked at Cordelia. “I’ve fucked up again.” I could feel tears starting, tears of anger and frustration. They slid down my cheeks mixing with the blood from my nose and mouth.
“See, Miss Knight, you could have avoided all this, if you had told me that in the beginning. Now, Miss James, before Miss Knight interrupted us, we were discussing a business deal. You’re a reasonable woman and I’m sure you’ll charge me a fair price for this property. Your cousin Karen is a bit unrealistic in what she thinks it’s worth. I would prefer to deal with you. The documents await your signature.”
“Micky needs medical help,” Cordelia said, wiping blood off her face.
“Sign here and she’ll get it.”
“Euthanasia,” I said.
“No,” Cordelia retorted. “You calmly talk of murder as if property is more important—”
“To me it is.” Korby coldly cut her off. “I had no intentions of becoming personally involved with your demise, but events have rendered it necessary. I’m not surprised that redneck bungled your kidnapping, Miss James, but Miss Knight is only here through the sheer incompetence of those who should have known better.”
“You ordered Beaugez to kidnap me?” Cordelia demanded.
“I take advantage of the resources offered me. A few hints, your whereabouts and how gleeful the Holloways were at getting away with murder. A gun that was no longer needed. And fond wishes for success. That was all.”
“You killed him,” I shouted at Korby.
“Don’t be asinine,” he retorted. “Beaugez shot himself. Your grandfather was so helpful,” he turned to Cordelia, “he supplied me with all the necessary details. Such a trusting confidant.”
Lafitte came over to Korby and handed him his omnipresent phone. He listened for a moment then glanced at his watch.
“Dawn is in a few hours, Miss James. You have until them to think it over. I suggest you sign or you will find out how unpleasant things can be. I have no more time for this.”
Korby stood up. So did the rest of his gang.
“Lieutenant Lafitte and I are going to rendezvous with the stalwart Sergeant Ranson,” he continued, “to convince her of the error of her ways. You were very lucky last time, Miss Knight. This time some of my boys will keep you company and you shall not be so lucky. Milo, stay here and make sure they don’t get away.”
Milo nodded, holding his broken hand. He knew better than to whine.
Korby, Lafitte, and their assortment of goons left. Milo and two other thugs stayed. They led the three of us out to the barn and hog-tied us with nylon rope, knotting it halfway between our hands and feet. Milo held a lighter under each knot to melt the strands together.
“Try your luck against these knots, bitch,” Milo sneered. He was holding his left hand. I hoped it hurt like hell. “I ought to put it in you and straighten you out, so you don’t die a dyke,” he threatened.
“Milo, you’re such a hot stud that all the watermelons in the area are trembling,” I retorted. One of the thugs snickered.
“Cunt,” he spat out and kicked me in the stomach.
Someday I will learn to keep my mouth shut. If I live long enough.
Then they left. It was cold here in the barn and I guess they wanted to be comfortable.
I lay on my side, not moving, hoping the pain would ease a bit.
Chapter 24
Prisoners have one advantage over jailers. The jailer believes captivity is a constant, that, for example, once you’re securely hog-tied and left in the barn, you will stay that way. The jailer doesn’t constantly worry about recapturing you. But the prisoner is always looking for ways to escape.
Korby was right. The last time I had been lucky. But this time I was prepared.
I rolled and inched my way over to Cordelia until we were back to back and her hands could touch mine.
“You can’t untie this,” she whispered.
“What are you doing?” Thoreau asked from where he was lying.
“Not so loud,” I cautioned. Milo might have posted a guard. “Can you maneuver a little closer and touch my hands?” I asked Cordelia.
“But what are you doing?” Thoreau persisted.
“Quiet,” I hissed at him. To Cordelia, “The left sleeve edge.” I felt her hands groping for my sleeve. “There’s a flat object inside the cuff, through the torn part. Can you get it?”
“I think so,” she grunted, straining for the right angle. “I feel something… Aha, I think I’ve got a finger on it.”
“Can you pull it out?”
“What are you doing?” Thoreau again.
“Trying a new sexual position,” I retorted. “Oh, yes, put your fingers on it, take it, faster…”
“Quiet, both of you,” Cordelia said. “I’ve got it out. I’m taking the paper off now.”
“Careful, don’t cut yourself,” I cautioned.
It was an industrial razor. One side is blunted with a metal flap and the blade is wrapped in light cardboard. They come in handy at times like this. And fit neatly in the cuff of jean jackets.
“Can you cut my ropes?” I asked. She performed surgery on people; she could probably handle nylon rope.
“Yes, I’ll try. Don’t move.”
I tried not to move. “Speed counts. I can tolerate a few nicks,” I said. I grunted as she took my advice to heart.
“Sorry,” she apologized.
“Just keep cutting.”
She did. Even so it took a while for her to cut through the ropes. It’s hard to get good cutting leverage when your hands are tied behind your back. I could only hope that Milo was feeling cocky and wouldn’t check on us every half hour or so.
As soon as I was free, I started to work on Cordelia’s bonds. They had used a lot of rope on each of us, and I had to saw through several strands to get her free. Time was passing and I wanted to be long gone before dawn showed up. I finally hacked through the last nylon fibers and was able to untangle the coils from her wrists and ankles.<
br />
“God, that’s good,” she said with a quick smile at me.
“Hurry up, I’m in pain,” Thoreau whined.
I started cutting through his ropes. He was probably a decent guy; I just wasn’t in a position to like him. It seemed to take longer to cut his bonds. The razor was getting duller, but his constant requests to hurry up didn’t speed things along. When I finished cutting, I left him to untangle himself. He could tell himself to hurry.
I wanted to know where Milo and the goon brothers were. Opening the barn door a crack, I looked out. No one in sight. But it was still too dark for sight to be wonderfully reliable.
“I’m going to look around,” I whispered to Cordelia. Thoreau was still thrashing about. “Be right back.”
I slipped out of the barn. I let my eyes adjust to the dark before I moved on. I hung close to the barn until I got to the corner nearest the house. From there I scurried to a covering of trees. I worked my way through the trees until I could see the house. There were still a few lights on and all the curtains were open. Milo and one of the backup goons were in the parlor drinking and eating. Unfortunately, the other backup goon was standing guard in the driveway, lounging on Karen’s car. We would have to cross an open stretch of lawn to get to the road. It would be hard to get across it without him seeing us. All the outdoor lights had been turned on, and the sky would begin getting lighter any minute now. Even if we got to the road, the only cars likely to pass would be Korby, et al, returning.
I crept quietly back to the barn, pondering our dilemma.
“There’s a guard in the driveway with a good shot at seeing us if we cut across the lawn,” I reported.
“Why don’t we hide in the hayloft?” Thoreau brilliantly suggested. “Under some of the bundles.”
“Do you know how they find people hiding in a hayloft, Thoreau, old buddy?” I inquired.
“No.”
“When they have guns, as these thugs most assuredly do, they fire into the hay until they hit something that bleeds.”
“You got any better ideas?” he retorted.
Several impolite suggestions came to mind, but I refrained from making them. We couldn’t afford to waste time arguing.
“Do you have any kerosene, gasoline, anything like that stored around here?” I asked Cordelia.
“I think so. Probably in the gardener’s shed,” she replied after thinking for a moment.
“But the guard will see you if you try to go there,” Thoreau interjected.
“Maybe,” Cordelia said. “What are you going to do?”
“Create enough of a diversion to get us to a car and out of here,” I answered. “On foot, we don’t stand much of a chance, even if we get by that guard.”
“You’re right. I’ll go get the gasoline,” she agreed.
“No,” Thoreau protested. “It’s too dangerous.”
“So is staying here,” I said.
“Then you go get the gasoline,” he countered.
“Fine.” I shrugged. “Where is it?”
“On one of the middle shelves in the back part of the shed,” he answered.
“I know where it is. I’ll get it,” Cordelia said.
“Cordelia.” Thoreau stopped her. “Send the detective. She’s the one they’re really after, anyway.”
Cordelia turned and stared at him for a beat, a tight hard look in her eyes. Then she slipped out the barn door and was gone.
“If anything happens to—” he started.
“You’ll kick yourself for not going in her place,” I cut him off. “Find rags, cloth, anything for a fuse.”
I didn’t wait for a reply, but started climbing up the ladder into the hayloft to get the rags I had seen the night of the ball.
Sometimes it takes only a moment, the briefest of seconds for the irrevocable to happen. To knock a vase off the shelf and watch it fall and shatter, never to be put back together again. The second for two cars to impact, with the lives lost or broken. Sometimes, all it takes is a word, too harsh a truth, too brittle a lie. I had just witnessed one of those seconds. I hoped the look that I had seen flicker over Cordelia’s face in that instant was never turned on me. Even more, I hoped I would never do anything that would deserve such a look.
I gathered all the rags I could and several handfuls of hay. I wondered why there were so many bales of hay still here with all the horses either sold or stabled elsewhere. On a hunch, I stuck my hand into one of the bales and probed around. My hand ran into plastic wrapping. I didn’t even need to look to know what was hidden in the bales. No wonder Korby wanted this land. No one would question his putting hay in his own barn. I went back down the ladder.
“This is all I could find,” Thoreau said, throwing an old horse blanket at me. It was too thick and large for me to use.
Cordelia came back carrying a gas can.
“Thank God you’re back,” Thoreau said, making a move to embrace her. She ducked around him and came over to me.
“Here’s the gas. Now what?” She handed me a heavy red metal can.
I thought for a minute. I would have to take Thoreau with me, as much as I disliked the idea. But I didn’t trust him by himself.
“I left the keys to Karen’s car under the driver’s seat on the right side,” I explained. She nodded. This might be the last time I ever saw her; the thought hit and silenced me. I swallowed hard and coughed to cover. I continued, “We’re going to create a diversion. When the guard is far enough away from the car, get in and drive.”
“What about you?”
“We’ll meet you at the road.”
“Good.”
“But if we’re not there, don’t wait. Get to a phone and call every number you can think of, including Dial-a-Prayer.”
She nodded.
“Where are you going?” Thoreau interrupted.
“Get all the rags together and as much hay as you can carry,” I ordered. He hesitated until Cordelia nodded at him to do it.
I stood beside her, next to the door, not wanting to let her go. I started to give her directions.
“I know,” she answered. “I own the place.”
“Right.” I tried to think of one more thing to mention to keep her one more second. “Cordelia. Be careful.” It wasn’t what I wanted to say.
“You too, Micky. Please don’t get hurt any more than you already are.”
“Cordelia,” I said, for perhaps the last time. “I love you.”
“I know,” was all she replied. For an instant her hands held my face and she touched her lips to mine.
Then she was gone, disappearing into the darkness, leaving me with only the lingering fragrance of her warmth. But the chill of the night rapidly overtook it and I knew we had to keep moving.
“Come on. Let’s go,” I said.
“Where? Where’s Cordelia?” he asked.
“Follow me. In position,” I answered both his questions. “And be quiet.”
Their cars were parked behind the barn. That was why I hadn’t seen them when I drove up. There were four cars still here. None of them costing less than fifty grand, including a vintage Rolls, probably Korby’s. No keys in any of the cars, not that I thought there would be. Cordelia will be all right and there are keys in Karen’s car, I told myself.
Unfortunately for the Rolls, its gas cap was easy to open. The cap on the Mercedes was also easy to pry loose. I told Thoreau to stand watch. I dumped the rags and the hay on the ground and poured gasoline over them, saturating the pile as much as I could. By tying some of the rags together, I made two separate lengths each about five feet long. I stuffed the end of one into the open gas tank of the Rolls. The same for the Mercedes. By overlapping the rest of the rags, and when I ran out of rags, hay, I managed to make a thirty-foot fuse. It was Y-shaped with the rags from the two cars meeting, then continuing in one line to where I was standing.
Dawn was coming. My hands and the light Mercedes seemed to be glowing faintly, but they were only reflecting the fir
st dim light from the horizon.
“Go on over to the trees, near the front of the barn,” I told Thoreau. “When this thing blows, run for the road as fast as you can. Wait, rub some dirt on that red shirt.” Bright red, the perfect color for morning light.
“This is one of my favorite shirts,” he argued.
“Do it!” I hissed at him. He rubbed some dry grass on his chest. I didn’t have time to argue. I hoped there would be no one looking in his direction. “Get going,” I said. He didn’t need to be told twice.
I took a lighter out of my jacket pocket. Every good girl detective carries razors and lighters. And tampons, but I hoped not to have to use one of those.
I flicked my Bic and the hay caught fire. I turned and ran away as fast as I could. I wasn’t interested in seeing my handiwork. I was about halfway back along the side of the barn when there was a tremendous roar and the sky flashed and crackled with an orange glow. When I reached the front of the barn, I spotted Thoreau huddling behind a tree a few yards in front of me.
The guard should be heading this way now, I mentally calculated. If luck ran our way, Milo and second goon boy would use the back door and we could all avoid any unpleasant meetings. I ran on, trying to keep as many bushes and trees between me and the house as I could. I motioned Thoreau to keep running. I hoped Cordelia was okay.
I was really beginning to hate rich people and their fetish for endless yards. There had to be two hundred oaks on the estate and it looked like I would get to run by every one of them before I got to the road. Thoreau continued loping in front of me, his shirt seeming to get redder and redder with each passing tree. The sun was coming up, though I knew it couldn’t be coming up as quickly as it felt.
We got to the long open section of the lawn. Thoreau was bright red in the middle of it when I left the trees. I risked a quick glance back to the driveway. I didn’t see Karen’s car. She had made it, I cheered silently.
“The car’s gone,” Thoreau yelled back at me.
Idiot. Shut up. Hopefully Milo and boys were too busy behind the barn to hear anything except the sound of that Rolls-Royce going up in smoke.
Death by the Riverside Page 30
