Night's Landing

by Carla Neggers

  Where were they?

  Nate came out onto the front porch. He’d taken a call on the living room phone. Sarah knew he was doing his own checking, with sources he had within the Marshals Service. That was where he got his sketchy information on Ethan. But he’d just finished with another call, and from his obvious impatience, she suspected the news wasn’t good.

  “Your pal Conroy needs to answer some questions. Looks like he might not be who he says he is. There’s a real Memphis reporter named Conroy Fontaine, but he’s sixty-four and just retired to Phoenix.”

  “Maybe the Conroy we know is his son? Why don’t we just go over there and ask him?”

  Nate leaned across the table and filled two glasses with ice, poured the tea, making his own attempt at normalcy, Sarah thought. She could see the butt of his gun under his open jacket. “I’m not leaving you here alone,” he said, “and I’m not taking you with me. Juliet’s flight got in almost two hours ago. She’ll be here soon.”

  Having another armed deputy here would give him more room to maneuver. He handed Sarah a glass of tea, but she just stared at it. “I hope this all turns out to have nothing to do with what happened to you and Rob. It smells like politics and journalistic shenanigans to me. My mother—”

  “Don’t jump ahead. We have no idea what your mother knew or didn’t know about Janssen, why he approached her at the museum—”

  “Do you think he had anything to do with the murder of Ethan’s wife?”

  “I’m not doing the thinking on this one, Sarah.”

  Maybe not officially, she thought. She tried the tea. “I looked up Nicholas Janssen on the Internet. I’m sure you all have a thick file on him, but—” She’d known nothing about her mother’s former classmate. “His mother died over the winter while he was on the lam. It was unexpected—he couldn’t go home for her funeral. That had to be hard. I wonder if it’s part of the reason he sought out my mother. Maybe he was just lonely.”

  “People don’t think things through when they take off.”

  “I suppose if he’d been in prison serving his sentence—well, it can’t be easy to lose a parent under any circumstances.” She immediately regretted her words, remembering his own childhood loss of both parents. “Not that I’d know.”

  But his attention wasn’t on her—she wasn’t even sure he’d heard her. He set his glass of tea back on the table and started for the steps, drawing his weapon. “Brooker! What’s going on?”

  Sarah dropped her glass on the floor as she jumped up, tea splashing on her feet, ice cubes skittering under the chairs and tables. Nate charged down the porch steps.

  Ethan was staggering past his cottage, soaking wet, half-drowned and in obvious pain.

  He collapsed onto his knees in the grass.

  Nate got to him first, Sarah just behind him.

  Ethan was shivering from the chilly water and the cool breeze on his soaked clothes. Blood dripped from a swollen gash on the side of his head. “Fontaine’s got Longstreet. The only reason I’m alive is because she distracted him.” He was breathing hard, a thin stream of blood winding down his left temple and along his jaw. “She fell into me, pretended to faint. I went into the river. He dragged her off. I couldn’t—” He tried to get up. “I hit my head on my way over the bluff. There was nothing I could do.”

  Nate helped him to his feet. “Did you see which way they went?”

  “Into the woods between here and the Poe house.”

  That left hundreds of acres in which to hide. Sarah pushed back a stab of fear, dread. “It was Conroy? You’re sure?”

  Ethan brushed angrily at blood that had trickled into his mouth. “The fucker thinks he’s the president’s brother or something. He killed two of Janssen’s men.”

  Nate swore under his breath. “Where?”

  “Poe house. Maybe an hour ago. Longstreet and I spotted the bodies—she was on her way back here to make sure you two were okay when Fontaine ambushed us.” His dark eyes settled on Nate. “She said they were the men who attacked her this morning.”

  Sarah slipped in the grass, heading for the back door to the cottage. “I’ll get ice and the phone, call the police.”

  “Wait,” Nate said.

  But she was already inside and grabbed the portable phone, ran for the freezer. Her mind was racing. Janssen’s men? What did that mean? She pulled out an ice tray, hit the 9 for 911.

  A hand came down hard over her mouth, a gun to her right temple. “Not a sound or I’ll kill you here on the spot. Understood?”

  She nodded, but the hand and the gun stayed in place. There was nothing charming about Conroy Fontaine now.

  He kept the gun on her and dropped his hand from her mouth, but she didn’t scream, believed he’d kill her if she did. He wrapped his free arm around her middle and pushed her out the front door, moving fast, half dragging, half carrying her into the woods below the cottage, out of sight of Nate and Ethan.

  “I warned you. I told you not to tell anyone.” Vines and brush slapped at her face and legs as he concealed them within the thick undergrowth. “I told you to wait. I told you if I could get to your brother, I could get to you. Did you think I was joking?”

  “I—”

  “Don’t talk! Now people will die because of you.”

  Her parents. Rob. Juliet. Sarah didn’t breathe. It was as if she were in the treetops, watching what was taking place below her.

  “You have one last chance to cooperate.” His voice was low, his face close to hers. “Do exactly as I say and your parents might yet live.”

  Oh, God.

  She landed hard back into reality.

  Conroy Fontaine—whoever he was—had her parents.

  “Juliet?”

  “They have a chance. If you cooperate.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  He didn’t answer, dragging her deeper into the woods, away from the river. He was obviously familiar with the woods, unintimidated by any thought of snakes, unworried about getting lost, stumbling into a sinkhole. He didn’t seem to care if Nate or Ethan followed him. But Sarah knew she had to buy them time to contact the authorities, figure out their options—for them to come after her. They had to know by now that Conroy had her.

  He drew her down a rocky slope, then into a shallow cave within the hillside. He let her go, keeping the gun on her, and she pulled up her knees and leaned against the cool rock. The cave was head-high but only a few feet deep, damp, smelling of the earth, its limestone sides crumbling in places. Sarah had played here with Rob as kids.

  And Conroy—whoever he was—had lived here.

  She knew now who he was.

  “You want me to help prove who you are,” she said.

  “Money. I want money. The rest will come out. The truth.”

  Sarah stared up at him. “You’re the boy Leola and Violet Poe talked about. Their Huck Finn.”

  “They wouldn’t believe me when I told them that my mother was their boy’s mother. That we’re brothers.” He was sweating, panting. “They called her a liar.”

  Sarah doubted they’d have been so blunt, not to what they’d obviously perceived as a troubled boy. “Times were different then. Leola and Violet did what they could to help you. I can, too, but my parents—”

  “My man in Amsterdam has them.”

  “What—”

  “He won’t hurt them. He’s waiting for word from me.”

  Sarah forced herself not to leap ahead. “And Juliet, where is she? Do you have her hidden in another cave?”

  “That bitch.”

  He touched his neck, coughing, and Sarah noticed a swollen, bloody wound, halfway between his jaw and collarbone. “You’ve been bitten, haven’t you? A cottonmouth got you. Conroy—”

  “John Wesley.”

  It was what the Poe sisters had always called Wes. “John Wesley, I can see the fang marks. You’re bleeding. The bite’s on your neck, above your heart. That’s not good if the snake released enough venom to
harm you.”

  “I’ve been bitten before, lots of times. There’s never been a problem.”

  “There is this time.” The snake had definitely released its venom, obviously enough to harm him. Sarah knew the signs. The area around the wound was swelling, his mouth and eyes were twitching visibly, and he was perspiring heavily. “Do your face and scalp tingle, feel numb? Your toes? You’re dizzy, aren’t you? I’m guessing it’s been over an hour since you were bit.”

  He screwed up his face as if he couldn’t think, couldn’t control what his body was doing to him. “Don’t try to distract me.”

  “I’m not lying to you. I don’t want you to die before you tell me where my parents are, where you stashed Juliet. John Wesley, listen to me. You need to stay still to keep the venom from spreading, and you need to get medical attention.”

  “I’ll find some ice—”

  “No. Ice isn’t good. Did you cut yourself near the incision?” She squinted up at him and suspected he had. “That’s a myth—it only helps the venom spread. I have an antivenom kit at the house. It can suck out the venom.”

  “No, we’re not going back there!”

  “It probably wouldn’t do you any good, anyway, not at this point. You need medical treatment, a doctor. Your condition is going to get worse with time, not better.” She started to get to her feet, but he gave her a menacing look and waved his gun at her. “Please. Let me help you. It’s not too late.”

  “I want you to call the president. My brother. Ask him for a pardon for Nicholas Janssen, his old classmate. He’ll do it.” Conroy’s eyes seem to bore through her. “He’ll do it for you.”

  “A pardon? My God, is that what this is all about?”

  “It’s about five million dollars.”

  And recognition, Sarah thought. He wanted people to know he was the president’s brother. “Nicholas Janssen is going to pay you five million dollars for a pardon?” Sarah was stunned at the insanity of what he wanted. “Conroy—John Wesley—Wes would never agree to pardon anyone under these conditions.”

  “Then your parents die. Juliet dies. Your brother. I can get to him, too. I’ll ruin his reputation, blame his negligence for the shooting.”

  “Central Park—that was your doing?” She tried to keep him talking, agitated. But not so much that he shot her.

  “Your brother had put a call into the Memphis paper where the real Conroy Fontaine used to work. I needed more time before he figured out I wasn’t who I said I was.” He smiled raggedly. “And I know you, Sarah. I’ve studied you. You wouldn’t talk to the president just because I asked nicely. I had to pressure you, scare you badly enough that you’d cooperate.”

  “The letter. The snake in the kitchen—”

  “I’m glad you saved it. I saw you.”

  His words hit her hard. Rob was suffering in part because this man wanted to pressure her—wanted her to use her influence with the president. She wrapped her arms around her knees, trying to keep herself from shivering. “You wanted Rob out of commission and me scared and off balance. Well, you’ve succeeded. What about Nate? Hector Sanchez?”

  “I told Hector all he had to do was sit in Central Park with a gun and then disappear. It was so easy. I knew he’d be spotted, there’d be witnesses.”

  “What did you do, hide nearby and do the shooting yourself?”

  “I was a yard away from Hector. He never even saw me. No one did. And I didn’t leave a trace for the feds. I’m that good.” He tried to catch his breath, but the snake venom was making him pant. He glanced around the small cave. “It’s because I grew up here. I know how to hide. People never believed Leola and Violet when they said they saw me out here because I never left a trail. It was like I didn’t exist. I’ve used that to my advantage.”

  Sarah’s teeth were chattering now. Nerves, fear. It was damp in the cave, but she wasn’t cold. “Did you give Hector the drug overdose?”

  “That was the easiest part of all. He was an addict.”

  “And Nate—”

  “I meant to kill him. My aim was off. It would have been an easier shot if they’d stayed on the street. Your brother—” He shrugged, wiping his palm over his swollen, bloody snakebite. “I didn’t care one way or the other if he lived or died, so long as he wasn’t asking questions for a while. Dead or alive, I knew I could use him to motivate you to help me.”

  “Did Nicholas Janssen send you?”

  He scoffed. “No, he thinks he can get a pardon on his own by manipulating your mother. Fool. He wants to come home to northern Virginia and visit his mother’s grave. He’s pathetic.”

  “His men—why did you kill them? Aren’t they on your side?” Sarah dropped her hands to her sides, leaning back against the cave wall, slowly edging to her feet. “Oh, I get it. Janssen didn’t know what you were up to. When he found out, he didn’t like it. Five million’s a lot of money if he thinks he can get a pardon free from my mother. You’re both crazy.”

  “Janssen wants a pardon more than anything, but he put the hounds on me.”

  “And when his hounds found out you were shooting federal officers in Central Park—” Sarah shook her head. “Your guy Janssen wouldn’t want that pinned on him. It’s a much worse crime than federal tax evasion.”

  “His men would have killed you, too. Don’t think Nicholas Janssen is just your garden variety tax evader. He’ll pay me. I’ll blame your gardener for his men’s deaths—Janssen’ll have Ethan killed before the week’s out. He should have done it weeks ago.” Conroy was still panting, sweating from the snake venom coursing through his bloodstream. “The big dope wants to find his wife’s murderer.”

  “How did you get mixed up with Janssen?”

  “You,” he said simply. “I looked you up in Scotland to find a way to get the recognition I deserve. Then I went to Amsterdam. Your parents were there—I saw your mother meet with Nicholas Janssen. I saw her meet with Charlene Brooker. I put it all together.”

  Sarah’s stomach twisted. “But—”

  “Your mother’s old friend from college had Captain Brooker murdered because she was getting too close to uncovering his real crimes.”

  Sarah couldn’t speak. She watched Fontaine unraveling before her, sweating, slurring his words. If he’d just keep talking long enough, he’d weaken, and she could do something—get his gun, tie him up. Or Nate could find her. They could get him medical attention and keep him alive so he could tell them where he had her parents stashed in Amsterdam.

  “Talk to the president,” Conroy said weakly, passionately. “He’ll do anything for you. You know he will. No one can undo a presidential pardon. He has the sole right. It’s in the Constitution. He knows.”

  “There’s a procedure.”

  “He doesn’t have to follow it. Presidents pardon hundreds of people.”

  “Conroy—John Wesley, there’s no way he’d pardon Nicholas Janssen just because I ask him.”

  “Yes. He will. I know he will. So do you.”

  She stood upright, the top of her head grazing the dirt and limestone ceiling of the cave. She couldn’t breathe. “You were there that day. With the snake. You saw.”

  “Everything. You saved him, Sarah. You saved his life. He didn’t save you.”

  “It’s not that simple.”

  “It is that simple. What happened that day isn’t what people believe happened.” Some of the friendly charm had returned to his voice, but he toppled back slightly, dizzy, undoubtedly, from the snakebite. He managed to keep his gun pointed at her. “Tell him about me. Tell him he has a brother. Once news of the pardon gets out, the press will be all over it. They’ll find out about me. I’ll be long gone, living in luxury, but the world will know who I am.”

  Sarah forced herself not to let her thoughts leap ahead. “I’ll do as you ask. Just don’t harm Juliet or my parents.”

  He seemed relieved. “All right, then. Go. Call the president. You have one hour.”

  “What? Conroy—John Wesley, I
don’t even know if I’ll be able to reach him in an hour!”

  “An hour. If my man in Amsterdam doesn’t hear from me, he kills your parents and disappears.”

  “You’re asking the impossible!”

  “I’ll contact you. I’ll know when it’s done.” He smiled at her, as if she were a student he believed in who was having a crisis of confidence. “Trust me. President Poe will grant the pardon if you ask him. Don’t delay. Deputy Longstreet won’t last more than an hour where she is.”

  Without warning, he bolted, disappearing around the far edge of the cave. He was agile, fit, and he knew the land.

  Sarah crept gingerly out of the cave. She couldn’t hear him moving through the woods. A squirrel chattered at her from the branch of a cedar tree.

  She had to find Nate, Ethan, get the police here, sort out what of Conroy’s story and demands was real, what was bluff—what was pure fantasy. She made her way through the woods toward the river and the path that led between her family home and the Poe house. Conroy—John Wesley—hadn’t shot her. He hadn’t beaten her up. Physically, she was fine.

  You can do this.

  She didn’t dare call out and risk Conroy hearing her, deciding she wasn’t cooperating. How could he have her parents? He was a loner—that was what had so worried Leola and Violet, the idea of a teenage boy out here living on his own, alone. Who could he have working for him in Amsterdam? Was he bluffing about having her parents?

  Sarah stumbled on an exposed tree root but managed to keep her footing.

  The snakebite would kill Conroy. She wasn’t sure if he had an hour. He had to get medical attention.

  She pushed back the thoughts and kept moving toward the river, finally reaching the main path. She felt a burst of relief and started to run.

  But she heard something and stopped, listening.

  A mockingbird. More squirrels.

  And something else. A muffled cry—or her imagination, turning the normal sounds of the woods into a human cry.

  She was at the junction of the main trail that ran along the top of the bluff and a steep, narrow path, barely a foot wide, that curved down to a cave worn into the limestone above the river.