Sarah Woods Mystery Series (Volume 6)

by Jennifer L. Jennings

  He nodded. “Yep, I think so, too.”

  As it turned out, nobody was in the mood to eat lunch. So, the three of us finished our sodas, and Carter paid the bill.

  As we left the restaurant, I gave Susan Lenzer my card. If she ever wanted to talk, she was welcome to call me anytime, day or night. “If we find out anything more about your husband’s accident, we’ll let you know, okay?”

  She shook our hands and headed back to work.

  When Carter and I found ourselves in our motel room twenty minutes later, I wolfed down a slice of cold pizza from the night before. “We need to find out who went to see Dr. Linzer at his office before he drove home that night.”

  “Maybe it was Roger Shefke.”

  “Or Logan Taylor,” I said, “But whoever it was spiked his drink.”

  Carter didn’t seem convinced. “Spiking his drink with sleeping pills wouldn’t guarantee that he’d be killed in a car accident. Unless the person followed him home and made sure that Dr. Linzer drove himself into a ditch with a little help.”

  “There must be a way to check traffic cameras and toll booth cameras to confirm someone was following him.”

  “Sure, but that’s gonna take some time. I’ll make some calls.”

  Chapter 11

  Three hours later, Carter tossed his phone on the bed in agitation.

  “It might take 8-10 days or even several weeks,” Carter said, “to get our hands on any traffic cam footage from the night of Dr. Linzer’s accident.”

  “We can’t wait that long,” I said. “What should we do now?”

  “I’m gonna give it another shot with Michael tonight at the soup kitchen. I’m not sure why, but I think he knows something about his sister’s murder.”

  I may not have agreed with him, but it was worth another shot. I checked my watch. “Dinner will be served in half an hour. Let’s hope he shows up.”

  On the way to the soup kitchen, Carter stopped at a convenient store and purchased a pack of cigarettes and matches.

  “What’s that for? Don’t tell me you’re taking up smoking.”

  “Michael is a smoker. This is a way to lure him in.”

  “How do you know that Michael is a smoker? We never saw him smoking earlier today.”

  “When he was in the park, wandering around, he had approached a few people, probably asking for a smoke, before they shooed him away. I suspect he’s in need of a nicotine fix.”

  “Good observation,” I said.

  Sure enough, when we arrived at the soup kitchen, Michael was sitting at the same table, in the same spot, all by himself. He kept his focus on his tray of food, mumbling to himself.

  “Let’s stay outside in the park and wait for him to leave,” Carter said, unwrapping the pack of cigarettes and tapping one out. He lit the match and took a few puffs as he leaned against the light post.”

  “You must have smoked before,” I said. “You look so natural with a cigarette.”

  “Yeah, back in my twenties. I quit when my dad’s friend croaked from lung cancer.”

  Carter nodded and I turned to see Michael leaving the building.

  “Leave the talking to me,” he said.

  I didn't have a problem with letting him take the lead on this. I just prayed that his plan wouldn't backfire.

  Michael inspected a few trash receptacles on the sidewalk before crossing the intersection toward the park. Carter acted nonchalant as he stood there, puffing away on his cancer stick.

  I could see Michael eyeing Carter with a sort of longing. Maybe this plan would work after all.

  It only took three minutes for Michael to work up the nerve to approach Carter and, when he did, Carter casually offered him a smoke. Michael nodded. He even allowed Carter to light him a match.

  “I’m Carter, and this is Sarah. What’s your name, buddy?”

  Michael didn’t respond at first, but then he licked his dry, cracked lips and said, “I saw you before.”

  “Oh yeah? Well, me and Sarah just got to town a few days ago. We’ve been walking all over the place, getting lost. Do you live in town?”

  Michael nodded, and pointed across the street. I assumed he was referring to the dumpster in the alleyway. By the smell of him, anyway, it was a good guess.

  “Who sent you guys?” Michael asked, dead serious. “Was it the SVR, CIA or the NSA?”

  “Don't worry,” Carter said, calmly. “Nobody sent me. They don't even know I'm here.”

  Michael blinked again, but something in his wary eyes changed. “How did you get away?” he said.

  Carter tapped his temple with an index finger. “Mind games. Works every time.”

  I had no idea what Carter was talking about, but Michael seemed to get it. This must be something from a spy novel that Carter had read.

  Michael searched the park with narrowed eyes. “They have people everywhere. Are you sure you weren’t followed?”

  “No, but the bastards can't be trusted,” Carter said, keeping his voice low. “We might not be safe out in the open like this.”

  “Do you know where the nearest safe house is?”

  “Yeah. Just a few blocks from here. We can take you there. You’ll be safe.”

  Michael squashed the cigarette out on the ground. “I shouldn't be talking to you. You probably have a cell phone in your pocket. They can listen to every word we say.”

  “I know that.” Carter pulled his cell phone out of his back pocket and held it up. “I removed the SIM pack. We're safe.”

  Michael pulled back the sleeve of his coat to reveal a fresh looking wound about the size of a silver dollar. The flesh appeared bumpy and swollen like someone had stabbed it with a fork dozens of times. “They implanted a chip, but I got it out. Then I threw it in the river.”

  I reached into my purse for the first aid kit I always keep in case of emergency. “Please let me dress that wound before it gets infected,” I said to Michael.

  “No.” He retreated back into the sleeve of his jacket. “It doesn't hurt, anyway.”

  I was about to insist when Carter said something that rendered me speechless.

  “You know,” he said to Michael. “If they implanted a chip inside your arm, maybe there's others you don't know about.” Carter lifted his pant leg to show Michael a scar on his ankle.

  Michael gazed at it with genuine fascination. “You got it out?”

  “Sarah dug it out for me. She's not exactly qualified to perform surgery but who can trust the real doctors? They all work for big brother, right?”

  Michael nodded and asked for another cigarette.

  Carter tossed him the whole pack along with the matches. “Just do me a favor and don't set yourself on fire, okay?”

  Michael cracked a smile for the first time in response to Carter's jab. I noticed he had a set of perfect teeth; his parents had probably spent thousands on braces when he was a teenager. How long would it take for them all to fall out? I couldn't imagine he owned a toothbrush.

  “So,” Carter continued. “You wanna see the safe house or not?”

  I couldn’t believe that Carter managed to get Michael up to our hotel room. While I tended to the wound on his arm with antiseptic and Band-Aids, Carter made arrangements and booked the empty room across the hall from ours.

  “My very own safe room?” Michael said when we walked him across the hall and opened the door.

  “Yes,” Carter said. “It’s available for a few nights. You can take a shower and sleep in the bed. Looks pretty nice, right?”

  Michael stood very still. “I don’t know. Have you swept the room for bugs?” He slowly walked over to the phone on the nightstand then checked the underside. Finally he sat on the bed, seemingly satisfied.

  “We need to discuss something important now,” Carter said. “It has to do with your sister.”

  “Rachel?” His eyes grew wide. “Where is she?”

  “We were hoping you could tell us what happened to her.”

  Michael bli
nked a few times, clearly confused. “She said she had to go away for a while. She promised she’d come back. I just have to wait and not say anything.”

  Carter looked at me with a raised eyebrow, and I knew what he was thinking. We’d half-expected this to happen. Michael couldn’t cope with the reality of his sister’s death, so his brain concocted a story to keep her alive.

  “Where is she staying?” Carter prodded gently. “Who is she staying with?”

  “I don’t know.” Michael leaned over, hands on head as if his brain were going to explode. “I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know.”

  “It’s okay, Michael. We believe you.” I couldn’t stand seeing him so confused and tortured so I put my arm across his back in an effort to calm him down. “Why don’t you lie down, put up your feet.”

  He didn’t seem to want to do that. He got up and began pacing the room, mumbling to himself again.

  I gave Carter a pleading look that said, what should we do?

  “Sarah, run down to the nearest Salvation Army and grab some new clothes. Then find a place to get a shaving kit, shampoo, soap, toothbrush and toothpaste - and mouthwash - lots of mouthwash.” He handed me a fifty dollar bill.

  “Can I speak to you out in the hall for a second?”

  “I’ll be right back,” he said to Michael as we slipped out the door.

  “I'm not sure it's a great idea to indulge his warped imagination,” I said to him in private. “He’s a sick man. We may be doing more harm than good.”

  “Let me worry about it, okay? I believe Michael will inadvertently provide us with some important clues.”

  “Okay. I’m trusting you but, just for the record, I’m not comfortable with this.”

  “Understood.”

  * * *

  Salvation Army was located five blocks from our hotel. I had a hunch that Michael wouldn't care much about the latest trends in men's fashion, so I chose some basic garments like jeans and long sleeve t-shirts. I found a jacket and a pair of size ten sneakers that appeared unworn. I purchased a brand new package of socks and underwear at the drug store, along with the toiletries that Carter had suggested.

  It was fully dark out as I headed back to the hotel, and I had the same sense that I was being followed.

  With two more blocks to go, I decided to make a detour at the Starbucks on the corner. I wasn't really in the mood for coffee, but I was curious if Logan Taylor would approach me. Assuming it was him.

  The air was sharp with the aroma of fresh coffee. As I watched the blonde man entering Starbucks, I tried not to look as though I was watching him, but he headed right to me. He wasn’t wearing the blue windbreaker. Just a t-shirt, jeans, and sneakers.

  “Sarah Woods?”

  I nearly dropped the bags in my hand, but I somehow regained composure. “Why are you following me?”

  “We need to talk. Do you know who I am?”

  I figured he wouldn’t try to harm me with all these people around, most of their faces buried in their laptops. Or listening to music on their headphones.

  “Logan Taylor,” I said. “The guy who tried to wage a war against Big Pharma. Turned out to be a Big Mistake.”

  He cracked a smile. “Cute. So, tell me, why have you kidnapped Michael Manning? I know he’s with Carter right now at the Lincoln Motel.”

  “Kidnapped?” I choked out a laugh, not liking the fact that he knew our names. “I don’t think so. We invited him, and he came of his own free will.”

  “Michael is in no position to help you. He can't even help himself. You're wasting your time.”

  I observed Logan’s features and decided, despite his clipped tone and attitude, he was a handsome guy. I’m not sure why, but I didn’t feel the slightest bit afraid of him. “Why do you care about Michael?”

  I could see his jaw grinding in frustration. “Trust me. You don’t want to get mixed up in this.”

  “Well, I’m sorry, but I already am. So why don’t you tell me what’s going on.”

  “Enough people have been killed,” he said. “I’d hate to see that happen to you, too.”

  Was that a threat or genuine concern for my well-being? “Do you know who killed Rachel?”

  He turned away. “Just take my advice and go back to New Hampshire.”

  And then, just like that, he turned heel and walked out. I tried to see where he was headed, but he just vanished into the night.

  When I got back to the room, Michael was in the shower. I set the bags of clothes and toiletries on the floor next to the bathroom.

  “Logan Taylor approached me.”

  Carter’s eyes grew wide with concern. “What happened?”

  “He knows who we are and why we’re here. He wants us to stay out of ...whatever the hell is going on.”

  “Did you ask him about Rachel?”

  “Of course I did. He wouldn’t give me anything. Just said that enough people had been killed, and we should go home to New Hampshire.”

  “The guy is resourceful,” he said. “Must’ve been a damned good journalist.”

  A heap of dirty clothes lay next to the bed. I didn't want to touch them. “What shall we do with these?”

  With a tight expression, Carter began stuffing the clothes into one of the empty plastic bags. “These are going in the trash.”

  The water was still running, and we could hear Michael mumbling to himself in the bathroom. It had been over five minutes, and I had to believe the hot water would run out pretty soon.

  Carter took one of the burner phones and placed it inside one of the inner pockets of the new/used jacket I’d just purchased from Salvation Army. “There’s a GPS tracker installed on the phone,” he said. “If Michael leaves during the middle of the night, we can still locate him.”

  “Do you think his life is in danger?”

  Carter neglected to answer my question. Instead, he grabbed the clean clothes and toiletries and placed them in the bathroom.

  It was after 9:00 by the time Michael emerged from the bathroom. I barely recognized him. Clean shaven, wet hair slicked back; I could finally see his features.

  “Well, hello,” I said with a big smile. “How do you feel?”

  He immediately grabbed his cigarettes and lit one up. He sat on the edge of the bed, puffing away, as if oblivious to Carter or me. Lost in his own world.

  Carter said, “Well, buddy. Hope you sleep well tonight. We’ll see you in the morning for breakfast, okay?”

  Michael nodded, finished his cigarette in less than a minute, and stubbed it out in the palm of his hand. He lay back on the bed, hands clasped over his abdomen like a corpse, and closed his eyes.

  Back in our own room, I kicked off my shoes and flipped through the take-out menus. I hadn’t eaten a thing since breakfast. “Do you think Michael will stay in his room till morning?”

  “I don't know. He probably hasn't slept on a bed for months, so maybe he'll want to stay.”

  “What are we gonna do with him tomorrow?”

  Carter’s eyelids were getting heavy, and I could see how exhausted he was. He stripped off his clothes and climbed under the blankets. “I need to sleep on it. I’ll figure out a plan.”

  Chapter 12

  The next morning, I woke up at the sound of Carter’s voice. He was getting dressed. “I’m heading next door to check on Michael. Be right back.”

  I sat up in bed and checked the time. 7:15am.

  “Hold up a minute. I’m going with you.” I stepped into jeans, threw on my sweater, and worked my feet into my shoes. I didn’t bother to check my face in the mirror, just covered my head with a baseball cap.

  Entering the hallway, we knocked on Michael's door and waited for a reply.

  “Maybe he's in the bathroom,” I said.

  Since Carter had the key, he opened the door an inch and peered inside. “He's not in bed, and his clothes are gone.”

  We stepped into the room, and I called out toward the bathroom, “Michael? You in there?” />
  No reply came and, upon checking the bathroom, Carter let out a groan. “Shit. He's gone.”

  “Maybe he got hungry and went to the soup kitchen for breakfast.”

  Carter shook his head in exasperation. “Let me check the GPS on his phone. He must be wearing the jacket because it’s not here in the room.”

  He let out a sigh of relief after he confirmed Michael’s whereabouts. “Looks like he's still in the building. He's probably downstairs in the lobby looking for coffee or food. Let's head down there.”

  Down in the lobby, we couldn't find Michael anywhere, so we approached the employee at the front desk. “Did you see a guy with a green jacket leave? He was here just a few seconds ago.”

  The man nodded. “Yeah, he just walked outside. I saw him get into a blue car.”

  “What kind of car?”

  “I don't know, exactly. I just saw the back passenger door open, and he got inside.”

  “Was he forced into the car?” Carter asked.

  “I don't think so. He got in all by himself. If I thought there was trouble, I would've called the police.”

  “Which way were they headed?”

  The man jabbed a thumb to the right. “Heading east.”

  “Thanks.” Carter turned to me. “Let's go. With the stop lights, we might be able to catch up to them.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “There's only one reason I can think of where Michael would willingly get into a vehicle.”

  “With somebody he trusts implicitly,” I said.

  “Exactly.”

  Running out of the motel entrance, we scanned the line of cars stopped at the red light. Carter motioned for me to keep up as he took off at a fast jog. “Do you see the blue sedan with tinted windows? Second car in line from the intersection.”

  I craned my neck to get a better view. “Yeah. I see it.”

  “Get the license plate number if you can. I'm going after it.”

  Carter continued to run toward the vehicle. Once he got there, he grabbed the door handle and yanked on it, but it must've been locked. He started banging on the window just as the light turned green. Before the car could take off, Carter quickly got himself in front of the vehicle, palms on the hood, staring into the windshield. I couldn't hear what he was shouting over the horns of the impatient drivers behind them.