Again, he started the engine and returned to the downtown area. This operation had not begun the way Zaim had planned. They were more than two hours off his schedule.
When they arrived, they found the party had slowed only a little. At least, Zaim supposed, they would be able to park among the many other cars and go unnoticed. He spotted a space near the back of the parking lot and pulled into it. From there they could see the captain’s apartment, yet they were far enough from where most of the straggling revelers were gathered. Directly behind him was Engine 9. He noticed that the window he imagined must have been David Craine’s was dimly lit from the inside, a sign he took to mean the occupant was home.
Sometime after 2:00 a.m., the crowd began to thin, and Zaim instructed the others to take their places.
“Jibril, it looks as though the street is empty. Walk across to your position near the corner of the building opposite Captain Craine’s apartment. Wait there until you see Afu and me enter his building. Then come across, and be ready when we come down the stairs with him.
“Imad, when you see Jibril cross the street, pull the SUV up beside the door.
“Murad, from your hiding place, come up from behind and open both back doors, then position yourself on the opposite side. Our Mr. Craine will probably put up some resistance when we shove him into the backseat. You reach across the seat and pull him in, Jibril and Murad will shove, and I think he will not be able to prevent his abduction.
“When we are all in the car, Imad, drive out of town, west past the airport. We’ll take care of the captain in the farthest pit up the Old Drummond Road and dump his body over one of the banks.”
While the four watched, Jibril walked with some deliberation to where Zaim would have him wait in the shadows. Zaim looked at his watch. It was nearly 2:30, and yet the party down the street was still going on, although with far fewer participants. He could hear the music blaring, could see dancers moving and sweating inside, and occasionally, he spotted a drunk staggering into the shadows to relieve himself. The warning siren on the docks began its standard beep-beeping, signaling that the conveyor was being moved. Otherwise all seemed calm.
Just as Jibril was about to reach the cover the shadows, he was startled when a man in about his mid-forties lurched out at him and threw his arms around him. Jibril was in the arms of a falling-down drunk, and for an instant he thought he was being attacked. When he realized the situation, he thought of shoving the man’s head up against the brick building. Then he realized the drunk was on the verge of caving in on his own accord.
Jibril steered the man around the corner and gave him a shove behind a dense stand of lilacs growing there. Almost in slow motion the man sprawled to the ground, and with a loud sigh as though he was crawling into a comfortable bed, he lay there, dead drunk as they say. Jibril sort of smiled, but his heart was still racing. He took his post, having no idea how long the others would have to wait for the street to become totally deserted.
About this time, the last patrons of Dunnigan’s wandered out onto the sidewalk. A few walked slowly to their parked cars behind the apartment building. One couple walked hand in hand up the street, paying no attention to anything but each other. In minutes they were gone.
Jibril looked at his watch. It was 2:40, and the wedding party at the club had slowed considerably. Inside the building, only six or eight diehards were left, and they showed little inclination of folding for the night. Standing on the corner across the street from Dunnigan’s, two men visited while they smoked cigarettes. Jibril watched as one dropped his to the sidewalk and ground it out with the heel of his shoe. They walked back to the bar.
Jabril slid down the wall to sit on the grass, thinking he might as well be comfortable while he waited.
Chapter Forty-Six
It had been a slow night, and Ben was having a difficult time staying awake. He had already drunk three cups of black coffee, and the caffeine was having little effect on his brain. He rolled down the squad vehicle’s window and decided to drive around for a while, thinking maybe the fresh air would revive him.
Ben stopped at the red light, the last traffic signal for anyone leaving the town heading east. It turned green and he decided to take a little used road angling off toward the lake. It was a rough road, not paved, and the washboard ripples on its surface mandated that drivers moved slowly.
As Ben maneuvered around the potholes, his attention was focused only on the road directly in front of him. In a few seconds he reached Burlington Road, a tarred surface paralleling the shore of Lake Superior. He came to a rolling stop at the intersection of the two roads and swung right. As the headlights of his vehicle swept across Burlington Road, he spotted a dark-colored SUV parked under the tree by the lake. In that instant, when his own headlights illuminated the interior of the SUV, Ben could see the backs of at least two heads inside the vehicle.
Acting as though he had seen nothing, Ben continued driving up the hill. The road led to South Avenue, and he turned right at the corner, and then drove toward the museum train engine.
His first impulse was to call in an alert, but the more he thought about what he might have seen, the less sure he was that he had spotted anything out of the ordinary.
He thought, “That’s a pretty common parking spot for people to sit and enjoy the cool breezes off the lake. Might be some people showing their friends the lake or perhaps a few kids stopping to have some alone time away from their parents. Or, and he smiles to himself, it might be the mayor and his girlfriend.”
Ben remembered the brouhaha when one of the newly hired city police officers had sneaked up on a similar car and shined his flashlight through its window. To say the least, the mayor had not found any humor in the situation.
Nevertheless, Ben was suspicious that what he saw just might be of importance. He decided to wait and see if anything more conclusive happened and decided to park his vehicle in the shadows behind old Number 9. He quietly climbed the steel stairs that led to the catwalk running the length of the engine’s huge boiler. He sat near the front of the engine where he could see both the road leading to the docks and the back of David Craine’s apartment building. He looked at his watch. It was almost 2:00 a.m.
He adjusted his posture to a more comfortable position, still well concealed in his nook high above the ground. Just as he settled back, a black SUV slowly pulled into the lot and parked between two cars under where he was sitting. Ben wished he could see inside the vehicle, but from his vantage point all that was visible was the top of the van. He thought it strange that no one stepped out, and at first he thought of going down to check. His directive had been to keep a low profile, and so Ben stayed hidden a while longer.
He was about to give up his post. Ben checked the time again, 2:25, and he thought he could be wasting his time. He assumed that the occupants of the SUV were drunk and were sleeping it off.
Quietly, a door to the van opened and a man stepped out. He looked both ways as if wary of being seen, and then walked with an exaggerated amble kitty-corner across the street toward the brick building on the other side.
Ben saw the outline of a person lurch out of the bushes and appear to attack him, but then it seemed that they were old friends greeting each other. The two disappeared behind the bushes, leaving Ben confused as to what he had just witnessed.
Before he could decide what to do, the car door on the other side opened even more cautiously, and another man stepped into the parking lot. Ben watched the figure slink from one shadow to the next and head for the back of David Craine’s apartment.
He had seen enough, and Ben knew it is time to act. As quietly as possible he moved so that the front of the train engine blocked any view of him from the lot, and he quietly climbed down the opposite side of the steel hulk. From there, he had easy access to his squad, all the while being hidden from those on the other side. He slid into the driver’s seat and began his call.
A sleep-muffled voice answered the other end of the l
ine. “Lo,” Deidre mumbled.
“Deidre, this is Ben. Something’s about to happen down here at David’s apartment.”
As the meaning of Ben’s words sank in, Deidre became instantly alert, and her heart began to pound against her rib cage.
“What’s going on, Ben? Do you need backup?”
“I’m behind Engine 9 down at the waterfront. Here’s what’s happening. I think that black SUV from Brimson is parked here. One of the men has stationed himself in the shadow of the brick apartment house across Waterfront Drive from David’s. Another is waiting behind David’s place next to the alley. I assume the others are still in their vehicle. What do you want me to do, chief?”
Deidre doesn’t hesitate. “I’m calling in some help for you, but, Ben, they won’t be coming with sirens blaring. In fact, you may not know when they arrive. Can you get up on the engine again without being seen?
“Shouldn’t be a problem, Deidre. Anything else?”
“Just stay quiet up there, but be ready to call for help. If I were you, I’d take your shotgun with you this time. You may need it before this is over. And, Ben, be careful.”
Deidre jumped out of bed and began dressing. At the same time she had her cell phone in her hand, hitting the speed dial as she called. The phone rang five times before she got an answer.
“Hello, this is John Erickson,” he mumbled through the fog of sleepiness.
“John, I don’t have time to explain. Get over to my place as soon as you can, sooner if possible. I’m leaving in less than five minutes, and if you’re not here when I pull out, you’ll miss the excitement. Gotta go,” and with those words she hung up.
Deidre raced to contact the other deputies on duty, but she was afraid to let the city police in on what was happening. She realized that John had never said anything to her about their involvement in the case, and she didn’t have time for explanations. Then she put out an emergency call to the deputies not on duty.
As she was running out the door, she glimpsed a figure racing up her walkway. John was still trying to button his shirt, but he had made it. As they turned to go, the upstairs curtains of Mrs. Olson’s house parted, and they could see her looking down on them.
“Doesn’t she ever sleep?” John asked.
“Never.”
The two piled into Deidre’s white Lake County Sheriff’s SUV and headed for the Law Enforcement Center. Along the way, she filled John in on what Ben had said.
“This is definitely a change in the situation,” he understated. “We have to get over there for David’s sake as soon as we can. Did Ben say if anything had happened to him?”
“No. It appears that the two men who left the SUV are lookouts. I would bet the others will be more involved. One will be the driver and the others the main actors. I think it will be best to take a few minutes to organize the other deputies before we go over. Ben will call if it appears something urgent is happening.”
When they arrived at the Center, there were several deputies present. They gathered around Deidre.
“Jeff, you park around the corner to the right on First Street. Don’t show yourself until you hear my call. Dale, position yourself at the end of the alley on Fifth Street. Don’t allow anyone in the black SUV to drive out that way. John and I will block the opposite alley. Let’s go.”
Deidre noticed that the clock on the dash read 3:50, and she was aware that it wouldn’t be too long before the eastern sky would begin to show signs of the sun tucked below the horizon of the lake. Surely something would happen before then, she whispered to John.
Chapter Forty-Seven
David fluffed his pillow and folded it in two so it had more depth. The pillow was old, and the feather stuffing was worn out from too much use. He flopped his head down on it but found no comfort. He flipped over, trying to find a position conducive to sleep, but all he gained was more restlessness.
Outside his window, the green shamrock sign continued to flash on and off, creating an emerald glow inside his room for three or four seconds and then casting the room into a relative darkness. The noise of the crowd below came through the wooden flooring, at times making his bed vibrate when the bass guitar amped up its voice.
David had tried to open a window and set up a fan to draw in the relatively cooler nighttime air, but the noise on the street made sleeping impossible. He had to shut the window, and the air in his apartment was stale and humid.
He sat up and folded down the thin blanket he had spread over himself at the beginning of the night. Now he straightened the wrinkled, soggy sheet and partially covered himself. One bare leg hung out from beneath the thin cloth. David couldn’t decide if the sweat on his neck and face was from the over-heated room or if it was caused by the stress which was beginning to wrack his mind. Whatever, he couldn’t turn off his thoughts and drift off to sleep.
He had all but given up on sleep, so he got up and relieved himself, filled a paper cup with water from the tap in the bathroom, took a drink, and wandered over to the window facing the side street. He pulled back the curtain just a bit and looked at the nearly deserted street, and he saw two men standing on the corner opposite Dunnigan’s. Their cigarettes glowed red when they inhaled, drawing in oxygen to stoke the hot tobacco embers. One dropped his cigarette to the sidewalk and ground it out with his shoe. They wandered back to the bar.
He spotted a figure cross the street, walking straighter than most, but in the dim light he didn’t recognize the man as a local. Probably a tourist looking for a little excitement, he thought.
A drunk staggered out of the bushes and threw his arms around the person who had just crossed the street. It appeared to David that the two knew each other, because they seemed to embrace, and then the more sober appearing of the two steered the beleaguered one back into the shadows, and the two disappeared from view.
On the way back to bed, David glanced at the digital clock on his bed stand. Too soon to get up. He smoothed the sheet, fluffed the pillow for the umpteenth time, and lay down. If he couldn’t sleep, he figured he would at least rest as best he could. It would start to get light soon, not totally daylight, but it was that time of the morning when gray shapes would begin to form and the eastern sky would begin to brighten just a bit.
David lay still for a good half hour, and then could not be still any longer. Even though the noise downstairs and on the street had totally subsided by this time, he found his mind racing through a maze of thoughts. His stomach was knotted, and perspiration oozed from every pore. His sheets were damp with it.
He swung his legs over the edge of his bed and let his feet contact the floor. For at least five minutes he sat there, elbows on his knees, his head resting in his hands.
David got up and groped his way over to the medicine cabinet above his bathroom sink. He turned on the light, and in the mirror’s reflection he hardly recognized the face looking back at him. The image was of a man older than what he thought he was. Discolored bags hung under his blood-shot eyes. His hair was mussed, and he had deeper creases in his face than he remembered.
He opened the cabinet door and took out a bottle of pain killer, flipped the lid off with his thumb, and allowed two tablets to spill out into his hand. He tossed them to the back of his throat, and gulped water from the same paper cup he had used before. His head throbbed from the tension he felt, and he rubbed the back of his neck, seeking some relief before the painkillers kicked in.
There was no use going back to bed. He knew sleep was beyond his reach, so he stripped off his sweaty underwear and washed up. He smeared on some antiperspirant, brushed his teeth, and took another drink of water.
He dressed in the near darkness, the only light coming from the dimly lit lamp he had left on all night.
David decided to leave for the Silver Bay Marina. By the time he got there it would be light enough to leave the harbor and begin his jaunt across Lake Superior to Cornucopia. He figured he would be able to find some peace in the quaint fishing village on the
other side of the lake.
He slipped into his favorite boots. They had served him well in many different circumstances: hiking, boating, even climbing the trailhead to the Superior Hiking Trail at Castle Danger. He put on his battered baseball cap, and scanned the room for anything he might have overlooked. The digital clock on his bed stand read 3:55 a.m.
The pistol he had taken out of its hiding place the night before was still on the table. He looked at it and decided he was more apt to shoot himself than use it for protection. David slid the clip out of the gun’s magazine and returned both of them to the closet. He was sure he would not have the will to aim it at another person, much less pull the trigger.
He looked around the apartment one last time, walked to the door, and opened it. Then he noticed that the lamp was still on. He walked across the room once more, turned it off, and left the apartment, being sure to lock the door behind him.
Chapter Forty-Eight
In the SUV, Zaim glanced at his watch. It was 3:55. He turned to Afu. “The street is quiet. It is time that we make our move.”
Both car doors opened at the same time, and Imad quietly eased his shut behind him. He felt the latch catch and heard a faint click, then walked around to the driver’s side and slid in where Zaim had been sitting. Imad watched Zaim and Afu slowly slink across the parking lot, keeping to the shadows as much as they could.
Ben, perched up on the museum engine, watched the entire scenario. As quietly as he could, he activated the radio fastened near his collar.
“Deidre, this is Ben,” he said in as subdued a voice as he could and yet be heard. “The three men who were sitting in the SUV have moved. The one who had been driving and a smaller man are crossing the parking lot right now. The third is now the driver. Be ready for them to get to the apartment house in about thirty seconds.”
Convergence at Two Harbors Page 19