Jason walked over to Freddy and chucked him in the side of his head. “Why didn’t you duck, moron? Look at the mess you’re making. Damn it – I should have just killed you right away. You’re more trouble than you’re worth. Okay, Miss Martha. I’m gonna untie you so you can tend to this boy. But you try anything and I’ll kill him and your husband, too. You understand?”
Martha nodded her head. Jason unfastened her legs and arms from the chair and then untied her hands. He left the duct tape in place. Martha didn’t dare reach up and pull it away. She went to a drawer, pulled out a clean dishcloth and ran it under the faucet. At the table, she grabbed a paper napkin.
She folded the napkin in fourths, pressed it against the small cut and held it there with the butt of her left palm. Her right hand used the wet cloth to wipe away the trail of blood. While she worked, she stared into Freddy’s eyes. Her gaze calmed him, slowing both his breath and his pulse rate. She knew what she was doing mattered but it angered her that she could do no more for the frightened boy.
Waiting for the phone to ring again scraped Lucinda’s nerves raw. She tried to stop her mind from racing down nasty little rabbit warrens of ugly possibilities. But as soon as she stopped one negative train of thought, another took its place. She waited ten minutes for her annoyance with Victoria to shift back to pity before speaking to the woman.
“Ms. Whitehead, I understand why you did what you did, but I need you to be aware of the situation.”
“I don’t know what came over me. I hope he doesn’t hurt Frederick because of what I said.” Victoria hung her head and shook with sobs.
Lucinda waited for her to settle down before she continued. “When he calls back, I want you to apologize to him and promise you’ll do anything he says.”
Victoria nodded her head.
“You think you can do that?”
Victoria nodded again. “Yes, if he calls. But what if he never calls again?”
Lucinda stuffed down her own worries on that point and said, “Of course he will. We have what he really wants and he has to call us to get it.”
Lucinda returned to the front porch where Jake still paced. “I talked to her,” she said.
“You think she’ll handle the next call better?”
“She says she will, but I don’t know; desperate loved ones of victims are unpredictable.”
The audio tech stuck his head out the front door. “I only got the area code, the exchange and the first of the last four digits with that last call but I was able to narrow down the area. It’s still pretty big but I thought it might be better than nothing.”
Inside, Lucinda called Ted over. “Could you get hold of the Sheriff’s Departments in Amelia, Cumberland and Powhatan Counties? Run down what we’ve got and tell them you know it’s all vague but if the kidnapper doesn’t call back, they may be our only hope to find the boy.”
“We already have a statewide Amber Alert so I won’t be hitting them cold,” Ted said.
“Good. Thanks, Ted.”
“I want to head out there and drive around,” Jake said.
“C’mon, Jake, you know that would be futile.”
“Yeah, but at least it would be something to do. And, who knows, if I don’t find anything, he might spot me tooling around in that beauty and instigate dialogue again.”
“You do realize the odds against that, don’t you?” Lucinda asked.
Jake ran his fingers across the top of his head. “Yes, yes, of course I do. But, damn it, doing nothing is making me stir crazy.”
“I know. Me, too. Let’s go back outside.”
They tried to sit in the chairs and rock but couldn’t stay still more than a couple of minutes at a time. They took turns jumping up and pacing the porch floor. Lucinda and Jake attempted casual conversation but it always died after a couple of sentences when one or the other drifted off to darker thoughts.
An hour after they returned to the porch, the phone rang. They both jerked like marionettes and dashed inside the house. Donning headphones, Lucinda said, “Ms. Whitehead, are you ready? Remember to stay calm and apologetic, okay?”
Victoria nodded and picked up the receiver. “I’m sorry, Jason. I’m so sorry. I’ll do whatever you say.”
“That’s better.” He laughed. “Now, you want to talk to your grandson so I’m gonna let you.”
A ripping sound tore through the receiver, followed by a yelp.
“What have you done to him?” Victoria jumped up, shrieking.
“Calm down, Ms. Whitehead, calm down,” Lucinda hissed.
Victoria nodded and collapsed back down in her seat.
“Shut up. I just took the tape off his mouth so he could talk to you,” Jason snarled.
“Grandmother?” Freddy said.
“Frederick. Oh, Frederick. Are you all right?”
“I’m fine, Grandmother. I’m here at a farm with two nice people …”
“That’s enough. You heard him, now listen to me. You need to go west on Highway Sixty and then turn off on Route Thirteen. If you look in your dresser drawer, Victoria, you’ll see that a bunch of your silk scarves are missing. I took them and used them to mark all the turns from Thirteen to this farm – it’s a nice little spread of bottom land on the Appomattox River, not too far from Tobaccoville. Just look for the scarves flapping in the breeze and you’ll find the place, no problem.
“And tell those cops, no tricks. I saw the boat pull into the slip a little while ago. I’m keeping an eye on it; they try anything funny and I’ll kill the boy and these fine farm folk, too. I’ll know if they try to hide anyone or anything in that boat. Just pull my car up in front of the house and wait. No tricks there either. One of them messes with a car like that and it will be obvious. I see any alterations and they’ll regret what they force me to do. I’ll tell them what to do next after they get here.”
When the connection clicked closed, every law enforcement official shifted into motion. Lucinda turned to the audio tech. “You stay here with the equipment. If he should ring again, call my cell.”
Then she was out the door and in her car. Jake piled into the red Camaro and pulled away from the curb with Lucinda right behind him. Four marked cars – three from the city and one state trooper vehicle – followed in their wake with lights flashing.
In each vehicle, someone picked up a phone and called in updates and requests for reinforcements. Every few miles, another vehicle joined their caravan as it raced toward the three hostages, hope in their hearts, fear in their throats and intensity jangling in their eyes.
Forty-One
Jake slammed down on the brakes, squealing tires as he hooked a left at the first scarf. Turning off Route 13, the patrol cars killed their lights to make their approach less obvious from a distance. Until they reached the farm, they wouldn’t know how far the abductor could and could not see.
All eyes were focused on barns, curves, dips in the road, seeking a spot of concealment where vehicles could hide and a roadblock would be effective. With cellphone and radio, they exchanged observations and made their plans. After several turns in the countryside, they reached the end of the road where the final scarf flapped from a mailbox beside a dirt drive. Jake stopped and the caravan halted behind him. They all knew what to do.
Several cars backed up to a turning point and travelled to a spot a mile away where the roadway passed between two high banks, making it easy to block off the road. Other vehicles positioned behind barns and clusters of trees to wait. Lucinda parked her car in the dirt in front of a gate with a cattle guard. She piled into the back seat of a patrol car and ducked down.
Jake pulled the red Camaro into the drive first, followed by four police vehicles, including the one carrying Lucinda. As they reached the curve in the road near the barn, they all slowed down to a near-stop. Lucinda rolled out of the back door and darted behind the outbuilding.
She checked the back of her waistband to make sure she hadn’t lost her handgun in the maneuver. If all went
well, she wouldn’t need it; the high-powered rifle clutched in her right hand would do the job. The state guys hadn’t been too happy with her role in the operation – they had no faith in her shooting ability – but the local folks defended her proficiency. One even called her “Dead Eye Pierce”, then blanched and apologized. Lucinda waved him off, assuring everyone that she hadn’t taken offense. She grinned at the memory. No one had called her “Dead Eye” since she lost one eye. It almost made her feel whole again.
She dashed to the other end of the barn. From there, she could see the driveway peter out in front of the farmhouse where Jake had parked the car. Not a sound came from inside the house. The quiet made her nervous. Jake stayed in the car, an easy target for the man inside the house. She wanted to scream at him to take cover, but she knew that was not an option.
The creak of the opening screen door sent shivers through her body. She drew a bead on the emerging body. The slam of the door’s closing sent a small spasm through her legs. But the person on the porch was a woman – in all likelihood, one of the three hostages. Lucinda lowered her rifle.
The woman’s hands were tied tight behind her back. She spoke but her voice was too low to carry past the porch. A trooper put one foot out of his car and stood with a hand to his ear. The woman began again, shouting, “My name is Martha Drummond. This farm belongs to me and my husband Frank. I have instructions for you. You need to follow them or that boy or my husband will die.” She choked as a sob shredded a hole in the idyllic setting.
Martha sucked in a gulp of air. “You all must get out of your cars, take two sideways steps away from your vehicles and place your hands on top of your heads – and that includes the man in the red car.”
As the car doors opened, Lucinda thought this might be the moment of diversion she sought. She scampered to the back of the house and flattened against the wall beside the back door, clutching the rifle to her chest with both hands.
Jake did not like standing there beside the car with his hands on top of his head – it made him feel vulnerable and powerless. It was made even worse knowing that everyone in the back-up cars stood in the same position. He could only hope that Lucinda found the right moment to get into position.
Martha told them she had to inspect their vehicles and she travelled to them one by one, looking in the back seats and in the trunks. She returned to the porch, turned and faced them. “Thank you. I’m sorry.”
A shout from the house drew her eyes to the front door. She cringed and scampered inside, the wooden screen door slamming shut behind her. Again, they waited.
Lucinda eased open the back door just enough to listen. She heard voices coming from the front of the house. One, a female voice tinged with fear, must be Martha. The other, a male voice, snarled out orders. Without seeing what was happening, the terse words made little sense to her.
Praying the door wouldn’t make a noise and betray her presence, Lucinda opened it a little bit further to slide inside. She stood in a kitchen that brought waves of nostalgia rushing through her thoughts, transporting her for a moment back to Hank and Connie’s farmhouse. She shook her head and snapped back to the here and now.
Indentations on the vinyl floor indicated where the dining table once sat – it was now shoved against the wall. One window sported a jagged hole and small slivers of glass gleamed in the sunlight. Three chairs, side by side, occupied the middle of the room. From each one, rope hung from the backs and puddled on the floor by the front legs. Debris cluttered the floor – an egg beater here, a grater there – and everywhere shattered glass and porcelain. Lucinda didn’t want to think about the terror this destruction had caused.
She didn’t see a spot where she could look into the front room without revealing her presence. She considered bursting in with her rifle up and ready to fire but knew she couldn’t risk it without knowing the position of the hostages. She strained to think of alternatives.
An odd noise came from the room, a shuffling sound that reminded her of a line of shackled prisoners entering a courtroom but without the jangle of the leg restraints and chains. She risked a peek around the corner and froze at the sight of a pair of eyes looking in her direction. In a split second, she realized she had nothing to fear. The duct tape across his mouth made it obvious – it was the male hostage. He gave her a tiny, tight nod and fixed her with a pleading stare. He was tied to the kidnapper’s back, making it impossible for Lucinda to see Jason King/John Kidd’s head.
Damn. He thinks of everything. Lucinda refused to entertain that thought a moment longer. He will make a mistake. A big mistake. And when he does, I will be ready.
The front door opened, the screen door creaked and the tight group shuffled out on to the porch. As soon as it slammed behind them, Lucinda crept into the room and stopped. She waited for the four pairs of feet to make it down the porch steps, before getting into position and aiming her rifle at the most likely location of the killer’s hidden head.
An ache burned in Jake’s shoulders. The stress of the situation made it doubly difficult to keep his arms raised over his head. A sign of movement at the front door gave him hope that this part of the ordeal would soon be over. He hoped Lucinda was in place ready to take the shot that would bring it all to a quick end.
He groaned when he saw how they emerged from the house, the abductor’s left arm wrapped around Freddy’s throat. His right hand held a gun to the side of the boy’s head. On his right side, Martha had her left arm tethered backwards. Jake couldn’t tell from his position where it was attached. It could be to her captor – it could be to her husband. Frank was tied back to back with Jason King/John Kidd, making it impossible for Lucinda to get a clear sight of the kidnapper’s head. This pretty much sucks. Damn it.
Kidd turned to Martha and whispered in her ear. She shouted out, “You – next to the red car – step away from the vehicle but keep your hands on your head.”
Jake took two steps away. Kidd whispered again. Martha said, “He says that’s not far enough, go over by the barn.”
Jake brought his hands down without thinking. Kidd dug the muzzle into Freddy’s head making the boy cry out. “Hands on your head!” he screamed.
“But you wanted a driver. I’m your driver.”
“I changed my mind. Move!”
Jake backed away, fever burning in his eyes. He cast a glance toward the house but could see nothing in the gloom of the unlit rooms. He prayed the perfect opportunity would come for Lucinda who was ready and waiting to take the shot.
Lucinda knew that as long as Frank was attached to Kidd’s back, there was no chance she could pick off Kidd without killing Frank, too. She waited, breathing deeply and purposefully – preparing for the moment when that might change.
Kidd stopped his bound entourage by the side of the Camaro and, grinning, looked down the line of officers standing in that humiliating pose. “Ms. Martha, untie your wrist from the rope attached to my waist and then go behind me and untie your husband. Frank, don’t you move until I tell you to do so.”
Anger threatened to disrupt the peace and calm Lucinda knew she needed in order to do what had to be done. She forced herself to concentrate on her breathing to focus her mind and level her emotions.
Martha muttered and Kidd said, “Good. Now, I want Frank to ease to one side and Martha, you get in his place but do it facing me and place one hand on each of my shoulders.” Once they’d exchanged places, Kidd said, “Frank, back up a few steps. A few more.”
Lucinda beaded her gun sight on the top of Kidd’s head but knew there was too little room for error – Martha was shorter but not by much. Kidd pulled open the driver’s door and turned around. As he did, he hoisted Freddy up with a firm grip around his waist. The boy’s new position blocked Kidd’s head. Lucinda cursed him for being too smooth.
“Take your hands off my shoulders, Martha and slide behind the wheel. Start the car and shut the door. And don’t forget, I still have a gun to the little boy’s head.” With his
back to the vehicle, he walked around it with Freddy held high. He shouted to Martha to open the passenger door. Over his shoulder, he said, “Frank, your job is to make sure none of these fine officers move until I reach the end of the driveway. You got it?”
Frank nodded.
“Can’t hear you, Frank.”
Frank mumbled through the duct tape. His words were not clear but Kidd accepted it as affirmation. Kidd crouched down, hiding behind Freddy as he set him on the ground. “Now, little man, I’m going to remove my arm for a moment but the gun’s still at your head, so don’t try anything smart.” Kidd lifted up the lever on the side of the front seat, leaning it forward. He grabbed the boy by the waist again, using him for cover as he slid into the back seat.
“I’m going to let go of you, little man. You try to run for it and this lady is dead. I just want you to get into the front seat and shut the door.”
Freddy did as he was told. He reached for his seat belt and felt a finger brush his hand. He looked at Ms. Martha and she gave her head a little shake.
“Move it, old lady,” Kidd shouted from the back seat.
Martha eased the car down the driveway, tires crunching over gravel. As soon as the Camaro curved around the barn and out of sight, Lucinda sprinted out the front door. Frank turned toward her, shaking his head. A patrolman slipped up behind him and cut the restraints on his arms. “It’s okay, sir. He can’t see us from down there.”
Lucinda laid a hand on his arms and said, “Frank, you go in the house and wait. We’ll be back as soon as we can.”
Mistaken Identity (A Lucinda Pierce Mystery) Page 21
