by Owen Parr
With that, he made Marcy, with her neck still strapped to the shotgun, get into the car from the driver’s seat, and climb over into the passenger’s seat. Turning the ignition on, he drove out unto the dirt road.
The ground felt cold, like a tundra. Both Patrick and I got up.
“Mr. Pat,” I said, hurriedly, “go in the cabin, see if there’s a landline.”
Patrick started to run to the cabin’s steps, he asked, without looking back, “What are you going to do?”
Before he finished asking, I was already running up the road, barefoot and in my underwear. I picked up Patrick’s Colt; he had dropped by the steps. I could see the red taillights of Belford’s SUV, as they got smaller and smaller. He’s going to have to move our car, out of the road, I might catch up. I thought. I ran as I’ve never run before, my adrenaline was pumping. I could feel every rock, pebble, and branch as my bare feet tread on them. My legs were becoming heavy, but I continued to run with all my might. It was dark, I couldn’t see but three feet in front of me, but I ran. I ran for Marcy. I ran to save her life.
27
A dense fog was passing through. I lost the view of the taillights, as Belford veered left to make the turn, I was two hundred, or so yards behind. Then, bright red lights. He stopped! I said to myself. I tripped over a branch, without wasting a second, I rolled and picked myself up. I was limping. Fuck! I shouted. My legs were giving out; they began feeling rubbery, I had no strength left in them. Then, I heard a crash, then a second one, then another.
Finally arriving at the location where we had left Patrick’s SUV, I couldn’t see anything. I was momentarily confused. Did Marcy drive one vehicle out of here, with Belford the other? But how? Why? What the hell is going on? I asked myself. A cloud cover that had turned the already night into a perennial black hole gave way to a sliver of moonlight, and there it was. Now I knew what the sound of the crashes was. Belford had pushed Pat’s SUV off the road, into a narrow creek that ran the length of the path, on the right side.
Looking up the road, I no longer saw any red taillights. I saw nothing, and with that, my hopes of saving Marcy became a nightmare again. Sitting on a boulder, by Pat’s overturned SUV, I could feel my left ankle was swollen.
It felt like an hour had gone by, as I sat there disconsolate, and without a plan. But, it had only been a few minutes when Patrick arrived covered in a blanket.
Throwing another blanket over me, he asked, “What happened, Joey?”
“There,” I pointed to his SUV, which he had not seen, “the bastard pushed it into the creek. He’s gone Pat, and he’s got Marcy,” I said, grabbing the blanket, as I shivered uncontrollably.
“There was no land-line in the cabin,” Mr. Pat said, almost apologetically.
“Is your car equipped with GPS?”
“No, I’m afraid not. It’s a bit old for that,” Pat replied.
“Agnes knows where we are. She also had a fix on Belford’s SUV.”
Patrick pointed out the now obvious. “Yeah, but that animal is too smart. I’m sure he’ll disconnect the GPS on his rental.”
I looked around with hopes of seeing something; another cabin, anything. But, there was nothing for miles. “Help me up, let’s see if I can walk to the road where we came in.”
Patrick helped me up and found a sturdy branch; I could use as a walking stick. He asked, “Where do you think he’s headed?”
Walking slowly and carefully, watching where I stepped, I replied, “I don’t know if he slipped, or, he meant to confuse us. But, Belford said; we’ll ride off into the sunrise.”
Patrick had a hand on my shoulder, to help me, and said, “It is almost sunrise, so, he could have taken the saying; riding off into the sunset, and just changed it, no?”
“Yes, or, he could be driving east, towards the sunrise. Maybe, northeast, or, southeast. Fuck, I don’t know,” I said, frustrated at my inability to deduce.
Patrick asked, “What was it that Marcy tried to say? Something like; whistlerbree, before Belford stopped her.”
I looked at Pat, opening my eyes wide, “That’s it, she was trying to give us a clue. But, what did she mean?” I repeated, “Whistlerbree.” I kept repeating it, but nothing came to mind.
After a few minutes, we reached the main road, looking around we saw nothing, just the mailbox with the eagle on top. I said, “Do me a favor Pat. See if there’s any mail in the mailbox, would you?”
Patrick looked at me a little funny, but, did as I asked. He walked over to the lone mailbox on the road and pulled out the content. “There’s a letter address to Peter Gruntel. It’s an advertisement from a cable television company.”
“What’s the address on it?”
“Fourteen Laurel Road, New Jersey.”
“Alright, at least we know where we are. Look around, is there another home, or cabin nearby?”
We both looked around. Nestled in the woods, I could see the silhouette of a what seemed to be a home, south of us, and about one hundred yards away. “There Patrick, is that a home?” I said, pointing in the direction of what I had seen, as I held on to my walking stick.
“Seems to be, but, all these homes are closed for the winter.”
“Better yet. No one is going to let us in dressed in blankets. Maybe they have a phone and some clothes for us. Let’s go over there.”
“Stay here. I’ll go.”
“No, I need to get out of the cold. Help me up,” I said, as Mr. Pat and I, made our way, slowly, to the home.
We knocked on the door to cover the basics, but, we could tell the home was vacant. Within a few minutes, Mr. Pat was inside the house, having climbed through a window by the side of the home. Opening the front door for me, I could feel the temperature inside the home was cold, but not the frigid cold of the outside.
“Patrick, see if you can find some clothes for us. I’ll look for a phone.”
I tried a couple of light switches, but, there was no electric in the home. Patrick went in search of clothing, as I looked around for a land-line, bumping into a few pieces of furniture as I did. There was a musty odor in the home that coincided with the house probably being vacant since the closing of the Park in October.
Minutes later Mr. Pat showed up in the living room, sporting a New York Jets tee shirt, and a pair of jeans that were a little tight on him. “Here Joey, these will probably fit you better,” he said, handing me another pair of jeans, and a tee shirt with the Princeton Tiger’s big P in the front. “I take it the phone is dead,” he said, glancing at the phone on the table next to where I was sitting.
“Deader than dead, my man. Did you find any shoes?”
“Not my size, but here, try this pair on,” he replied, as he gave me a pair of old worn loafers.”
“Cuddly plush pink slippers?’ I asked, glancing at his feet.
“Cute, right? Nothing else fits these size thirteen feet of mine.”
I was sitting in a very old recliner in the darkness of the home, with just a slight shimmer of light from the moonlight outside that projected through the window.
“How’s the ankle?” Mr. Pat asked.
“Swollen, I wish we had some ice, so, I could put it on the ankle. Listen, I’ve been thinking about what Marcy shouted out.”
“Whistlerbree,” he said.
“Exactly. What is she meant to say two different words? Like; whistler, and bree?
“Whistler” he paused, “bree.” Again, he repeated, “whistler, bree.”
I listened to his words and kept repeating them to myself. All of a sudden, it hit me, and I said out loud, “Whistler, Bri-tish Columbia!”
Pat said, excitedly, “That’s it, Whistler, British Columbia. You think that’s where Belford planned to go?”
“I bet you there’s a place there under Gruntel’s name. Likely a rental of some kind. Unless the Professor has another place there.”
“Agnes could find out quickly, except, we have no way of calling anyone. You think Belford changed hi
s mind after what Marcy was able to get out?”
“He might, except he doesn’t have too many options. He’s on the run. It’s not like he can call a travel agent and change plans.”
“You think he’s going to drive, what, three, or four days, cross country, with Marcy, an unwilling passenger?”
“I don’t,” I stopped, “Look, what are those lights outside?” I said as I started to get up.
“Stay put. Let me take a look,” Patrick replied, as he got up, and swiftly walked to open the front door. “Police, Joey,’ he said, excitedly, “a bunch of them.”
“Help me up,” I exclaimed.
“Let me give you a hand, but, I’m running out after them. They’re headed to the cabin probably.”
Patrick helped me up, then ran to the street in his slippers, undersized tee shirt, and tight jeans. As I got to the front door, I could see a stream of New Jersey State Police cars, with their lights on, but, no sirens.
He flagged one of the last cars that were going by, and within seconds, he was surrounded by officers, as he put his hands up. I wondered what the police thought at the sight of this immense red-headed, and red-bearded man, with an expose belly-button, the tight jeans, and his cuddly plush pink slippers. I smiled, with a renewed sense of hope rushed through me.
Still using my walking-stick, I began making my way outside, and towards the street. Never mind that it was in the thirties, and I was freezing, I had to meet them. Patrick had his hands down and was pointing at me, then, in the direction of the cabin.
Before I made it to the police cars, other cars had gathered where Patrick was, and where I was headed. The red and blue flashing lights from all the vehicles, was an eerie sight, on such a night.
“Are you Joey Mancuso?” one of the officers asked.
“Yes, officer I am,” I replied, as I approached the police car.
Noticing my hobbling around, Officer Cardenas, as his name tag read, said, “Have a seat in the car. We have an EMS vehicle coming behind us. I’m sure they can assist you.”
“Thank you, but, I’m alright, Officer Cardenas,” I said.
Patrick chimed in, “No, he’s not. He may have a broken ankle.”
“Cardenas, we need to put an APB out for a white Jeep SUV. He left here about,” I stopped to look at my stopwatch counter, it read thirty-seven hours, “about one hour ago. So, he’s not more than sixty miles away.”
Cardenas asked, “Did you happen to get a license number?”
I could see Patrick frown, and I replied, “New Jersey plates, CBL-EL, I missed the last digit. But, if you call Enterprise Rent a Car, in Paramus, New Jersey, they’ll be able to give you the whole plate number.” I glanced at Patrick and saw a wide grin on his face.
I went on to explain other details. Captain Johnson and Detective Lucy, had already given the State Police, all other specifics of the abduction.
Cardenas asked, “Is this Belford, armed?”
Mr. Pat replied, “Very much so, yes.”
The EMS vehicle arrived, and Patrick grabbed my arm and walked me towards it. “Check his left ankle, it may be broken,” he told the paramedic, who had stepped out of the truck.
I sat on the back of the truck, as my ankle was being inspected by the paramedics, Cardenas came over to me, he asked, “I have to ask this, was Ms. Martinez, cooperating in any way with the suspect?”
I held back from saying something stupid. Cardenas read my face, and said, “Sorry, Mr. Mancuso, I have to ask.”
I calmed down, and replied, “Call me Joey, and I understand. Belford had a shotgun strapped to Ms. Martinez’s neck when they left here. So, yes, she was cooperating, but, under duress.”
“I see, thank you,” Cardenas said.
“Cardenas, we need to get some helicopters in the air. This guy is too smart to keep the same car. If we don’t catch him quick, we’ll lose him.”
“Joey, I’m aware of your relationship with Special Agent Martinez, trust me, as soon as there’s daylight, we’ll have them up there. Any clue where they were headed?”
I looked up at Cardenas from my sitting position, the paramedics had strapped a tight bandage around my ankle, “We think, Whistler, British Columbia. But, that may have changed.”
“That’s over three thousand miles. You think that’s where they’re headed?” Cardenas asked.
“I don’t know man. That’s what we think. I need to make a call; can I borrow a phone?” I said, as I got up from the back of the EMS truck, and thanked the lady who worked on my ankle.
“Here,” Cardenas said, “use my cell.”
Thanking him, I called Agnes. After a quick update, I asked her to check and see if Peter Gruntel owned, or had rented any property in Whistler.
“Joey, everyone is here. Your brother, Father Dominic, wants to talk to you. Do you have a minute?”
“Put the Padre on.”
“Thank God she’s alive. I’ve been praying non-stop,” Dom said, “are you alright?”
“I’m fine brother. I think a sprained ankle, no problem.”
“Agnes was following the GPS on Belford’s car, but, we lost the signal. Does he know how we located him?”
“He must have figured it out, and disconnected the GPS, or, switched cars. Where was the last location Agnes saw his SUV?”
“Hang on a second,” Dom replied, as I heard him ask Agnes. “He was on Canistear Road.”
“Headed north of Wawayanda State Park?” I asked, glancing at officer Cardenas.
“No, Agnes says he was headed south on Canistear. Does that help?”
“Immensely. There were helicopters ready to go up, and we were going to look north of us. So, he’s headed south, huh. Where is he going?” I asked.
“You are asking me?” Dom inquired.
“No, brother, I was talking to myself. Listen, have Agnes continue to search for Gruntel. Anything she can find on him, let me know.”
“Is this guy involved?” asked Dominic.
“No, but, I think Belford is, or was, using his identity. I’ll call you guys, as soon as I have a phone.”
“We’ve called both of you a bunch of times, what happened to your phones?”
“Long story, brother. I’ll call you. Oh, and Father, keep talking to the Man.”
“You got it, Joey. Wouldn’t hurt if you connected with Him yourself, right?”
“I hear you, bye now.”
Hanging up with brother Dom, I called Marcy’s parents. It was very early in the morning. The sun was just beginning to rise, but, they needed to know I had seen Marcy, and while I didn’t want to share we were not able to rescue her, at least I had to tell them, she was alive.
Her stepfather answered the call, after a quick good morning, he said, “Joey, tell me you have Marcy.”
“Alberto, I’m sorry, I don’t, but, I did see her, and she’s still feisty as ever. We’ll find her again.”
He repeated what I said to Rosa, Marcy’s mom. I could hear in the background; Hay, Dios mío, which I knew translated to; Oh, my God.
Alberto said, “Joey, we’ve canceled our annual trip to our condo in Miami Beach. We’re staying here until Marcy is safe.”
“Hopefully, you’ll be able to head down there real soon, Alberto. I forgot you guys have a place there.”
Ignoring my comment, he asked, “Was she alright?” Not allowing me to answer, he followed immediately with,” So, what’s your next step?”
I made sure that they both knew she looked fine. Of course, I didn’t mention the attachment she had on her neck. I went on to explain what we were doing and that we had the New Jersey State Police, and soon the FBI, on the trail of Belford.
28
Three helicopters were landing, as Mr. Patrick was approaching me. He was now dressed in bright orange overalls, which evidently the EMS crew had given him. “Mr. Pat, you look like ‘Otto, the orange,’ I said.
A few of the officers and EMS crew members got the picture and laughed.
“I
’m afraid I don’t know who Otto is?” Patrick said.
“Otto, the orange, the mascot, for Syracuse University. You don’t follow college football?”
“I’m afraid not. But, here, I’ve got one of these overalls for you also,” he said, handing me a pair of the brightly colored orange uniforms.
I walked over to Cardenas, handing him his phone back, I asked, “Who’s in charge of coordinating the search?”
Cardenas took his phone back, and replied, “Lieutenant Phillips, with our State Police. He’s over there with the pilots. They’re looking at a map.”
“Thanks, Cardenas,” I said. I gingerly put on my overalls, keeping my tee shirt as an extra layer, and delicately walked over to Phillips.
“Lieutenant Phillips, I’m Joey Mancuso,” I said, extending a handshake.
“Mancuso, how’s your ankle? he asked, looking at our uniforms.
“It’s sprained, but, I’ll survive. I have new information on the possible location of Belford, and Special Agent Martinez.”
“We were just looking at the map,” he replied.
I nodded in the direction of the three pilots. “My office followed his GPS until it no longer transmitted a signal. He either disconnected it or switched cars.”
“You said before; he might be headed north and west?” Phillips asked.
“Yes, but, when we lost the signal, he was on Canistear Road, headed south.”
Phillips exchanged glances with the pilots. “How long ago was that?” he asked.
“That must have been one hour ago, now.”
“So, he’s been gone almost two hours, and one hour ago he was on Canistear?” he asked, unfolding the map on top of the hood of a car.
“Say he’s traveling at sixty miles per hour, the most, he can’t be more than one hundred-twenty miles from us,” I said.
“Shit,” Phillips said, “I already had the State police north of us ready to go. Now, I have to contact the States south of us. Are you sure, Mancuso?”