The Hiding Place

by Paula Munier

  “Stay,” she told Elvis, who was standing at attention, solid as a tank in the snow, leaning toward the house, desperate to breach the perimeter. Susie Bear sat at Troy’s side, practically shimmying with excitement. Just waiting for the word.

  Before they went to the house, Mercy and Troy searched the ground for areas of disturbance. The recent snowfall and steady winds had obscured any footprints that might have been left by people tramping back and forth to the house. There was an uneven and messy quality to the blanket of snow that indicated foot traffic, but again it was hard to say how long it had been since that foot traffic had occurred. The same was true of the ruts in the road. There were also long indentations in the snow that led from the house to the barn.

  “Snowmobiles tracks,” she said.

  “Yep,” said Troy. “Let’s start with the house.”

  Mercy released Elvis with a wave of her hand, and he sprang toward the door of the Cape. Susie Bear jogged in place at Troy’s hip, eager to follow her canine pal.

  “Search,” he told the Newfie, and off she romped after the shepherd.

  Mercy and Troy marched after the dogs. By the time they got there, Elvis and Susie Bear were sniffing at the bottom of the door, tails wagging.

  A good sign.

  The ancient door was solid oak. Troy tried it, but it was locked. He looked at Mercy, and she shrugged.

  “Who’s going to care.” She stood to the side and patted her thigh. Both dogs came to sit by her. Troy backed up a few feet, and kicked, driving the heel of his left boot into the door next to the lock. It splintered, and he kicked again.

  This time the door gave way. Just as the first bullet struck the door jamb.

  “Go,” shouted Troy as he pushed her into the house and down onto the floor on her knees.

  The dogs tumbled over them. She scrambled for her gun as Troy slammed the door shut. One, two, three more shots fired. Hits that shattered what was left of the door.

  She found herself at the bottom of a steep staircase leading to the second floor. She crawled over to the right into the parlor. No furniture here for cover, just a filthy empty space long stripped of anything valuable. Many of the floorboards were torn up and the built-in hutches that framed the fireplace were in disarray, doors ripped off and drawers pulled out.

  At least the narrow windows were set high in the walls, and Mercy was grateful for it.

  “Are you all right?” yelled Troy from across the hall. He’d taken a left to her right and was hunched down in what Mercy believed was the dining room.

  “Fine.”

  “I think the shooters are in the barn.”

  “Right.” Mercy agreed that was where the bullets were coming from.

  “Cover me.”

  “No way. You’re not going out there alone.”

  “What do you propose we do?”

  The roar of an engine answered the question for them. They clambered to their feet and ran for the door. A dark-gray Subaru charged down the dirt road. They both shot at the retreating vehicle as it swung wildly along before disappearing around a curve.

  They were too late. The shooters were gone.

  “Did you get the plates?”

  “Covered in mud.”

  “Must be our guys then.”

  “Let’s go after them.” They whistled for the dogs but they didn’t come.

  “Where are they?”

  They ran back into the house.

  “Elvis!”

  The shepherd barked and Mercy followed his howl, passing through the parlor and into the keeping room, the long room that ran the length of the back of the house. Troy was right behind her.

  There they found Elvis and Susie Bear standing guard over Becker and Goodlove.

  The two officers were bound and tied at their ankles and their wrists, their mouths gagged and taped.

  “Go on after them,” she said to Troy. “I’ll handle things here.”

  He yelled for Susie Bear and they tore off for the front of the house.

  Mercy untied Officer Alma Goodlove first. She was the junior officer, a pretty young woman with a moon-shaped face framed by dark curly hair, and blue eyes that gazed upon Mercy now with a mix of gratitude and shame. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine. But Josh is hurt.” Goodlove had tears in her eyes.

  “Shot?”

  She shook her head. “They hit him from behind. With a club of some kind.”

  Mercy and Goodlove crawled over to Becker. The young deputy was pale and clammy to the touch. His eyes were closed.

  “You undo his feet and hands, I’ll undo his mouth,” she told Goodlove.

  They untangled the unconscious Becker from his bindings. Mercy gently removed the gag from his mouth. She roused him gently, and he opened his eyes.

  “Becker,” she said.

  “Mercy.” He tried to sit up. “Where’s Alma?”

  “I’m right here.”

  Mercy moved away to let Goodlove take her place. She smoothed Becker’s dark auburn hair from his forehead.

  “What happened?”

  “We were surveilling Patience O’Sullivan.” Goodlove frowned at her. “I know she’s your grandmother and all, but she was terrible. Really uncooperative.”

  “Alma,” warned Becker.

  “It’s the truth, Josh, and you know it.”

  “Go on with your story.”

  “Right. Sorry.” Goodlove paused. “Patience was on her way to see you at your cabin. She stopped by the animal clinic. She was just going to run in for a minute, she said.”

  “You should have gone in with her,” said Mercy.

  “I know,” she said.

  “This Subaru pulled into the parking lot,” said Becker. “Just as Patience was coming out of the clinic.”

  “The driver rolled down his window and waved at her,” said Goodlove, “and she went over to talk to him.”

  “The next thing we knew, the passenger up front got out, helped Patience into the front seat, slipped into the back seat with the third guy, and they took off.” He gave Mercy a stricken look. “It all happened so fast.”

  “You didn’t try to stop them? You didn’t call for backup?”

  “We thought she knew him,” said Becker, his voice hoarse.

  “She appeared to go voluntarily,” added Goodlove. “There was no reason to think otherwise.”

  “You didn’t think it was strange that she would go off like that after all that had happened to her.” Mercy knew she wasn’t making it easy on them.

  “Like I said, she was not being cooperative,” said Goodlove huffily. “We thought this was just more of the same.”

  “So you followed them.”

  “Here.” Becker nodded, wincing. “The Subaru was parked down by the barn. There was a light on inside. We figured your grandmother was treating an animal there.”

  “We figured we’d just go check it out,” said Goodlove. “We went down to the barn, identified ourselves, and knocked on the barn door.”

  “The passenger in the front seat opened the door, all friendly like, and invited us in.” Becker was red with embarrassment now. “To see the calving, he said.”

  “That’s when the other one came out of nowhere, and the short one bashed Josh over the head.”

  “They killed the lights and Josh went down and I went for my weapon, but not fast enough. The first guy slammed me to the floor and stomped on my gun hand. That’s all I remember until I woke up in here with Josh.”

  “What about the third guy?”

  Becker looked at Goodlove. “I never saw him. You?”

  “No.”

  “Can you identify the two you did see?”

  Goodlove shook her head. “The driver wore a baseball cap pulled down over his face.”

  “The guy in the front seat wore dark ski clothes and a hoodie. I don’t know about the other one.”

  “Me either.”

  “But they were all men,” said Goodlove.

  S
usie Bear burst into the room, and Troy followed her. “I lost them. But I got far enough out that I could call it in.”

  “They’ll dump the Subaru,” said Mercy.

  “If they’re smart,” said Becker.

  “They’ve been pretty smart so far,” said Goodlove.

  “We need to get Becker to the hospital,” said Troy.

  “What about Patience?”

  “We don’t know. We never saw her. We assume they took her with them.”

  “I thought they were gone for good,” said Goodlove. “That they were never coming back and we would just die here.”

  “How did you know how to find us?”

  “That’s a long story,” said Mercy.

  “She figured it out, didn’t she?” Becker asked Troy.

  “She did. Where’s your vehicle?”

  “It’s not out front?”

  “No.”

  Becker groaned.

  Mercy didn’t blame him. She felt like groaning herself. These young cops did their best, but they’d let the bad guys snatch her grandmother and strike Becker in the head and steal their police car.

  Not good. She wouldn’t want to be the one to tell Harrington about that. She almost felt sorry for them. But until Patience was home safe and sound, Mercy would save her sympathy for her grandmother.

  Mercy and Troy helped the officers to their feet and guided them outside to the Ford F-150. She whistled for Elvis but he sprinted for the barn instead of coming to the truck as instructed. Susie Bear lumbered after him, Troy on her heels.

  “Elvis!” She ran after him and found the shepherd seated in his usual Sphinx pose at the bottom of the barn’s wide double doors.

  “We’d better go in,” she told Troy. Together they unlatched the doors and opened them. There, inside of the broad old building, was Becker’s police car. All its tires had been slashed.

  “I guess we’re all riding back together in the truck.”

  “I guess so.” She pulled out some peanut butter doggie biscuits from her cargo pants pockets. “Good job, dogs. I thank you for your patience.”

  They all trudged back to the Ford F-150. Troy told Becker and Goodlove about the state of their vehicle.

  “Great,” said Becker.

  “We are so suspended,” said Goodlove.

  “Maybe not.” Mercy whistled for the dogs. “Search.”

  Elvis and Susie Bear circled the house and the barn a couple of times while Mercy and the others waited in the truck. The temperature was dropping and the wind was picking up. It was cold and growing colder.

  “They aren’t getting anywhere,” said Troy.

  “And we’ve got to get Josh to a hospital,” said Goodlove.

  “You should get checked out, too,” said Mercy. “That hand doesn’t look so good.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “We’ve got everyone looking out for that Subaru. Meanwhile, we may as well get you two to the hospital.”

  Every other car in Vermont was a Subaru. Still, Mercy knew Troy was right. “If there were anything else to find out here, the dogs would have found it by now.”

  “Forensics will be out here tomorrow,” said Troy. “Maybe they’ll find something.”

  Mercy sat in the back with Goodlove and the dogs, leaving the passenger seat to the injured Becker over his vehement objections.

  “Just shut up,” said Troy.

  They dropped Becker and Goodlove off at the nearest hospital on the way home to Northshire. “Any chance Harrington will go easy on them?” From the front seat, she watched the two rookie cops limp into the emergency entrance. Elvis and Susie Bear were napping in the back cab.

  “Not if his past reactions are any predictor,” said Troy.

  “Poor kids.”

  “Yeah. They just weren’t ready for these guys, whoever they are.”

  “Let’s hope my grandmother is better equipped to deal with them.”

  “There’s one more house on the list. But the only way to get there is by snowmobile. So we’ll have to go by the motor pool to pick up a trailer and a couple of sleds.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  They parked the truck just inside the turnoff to Old Mountain Road, which, like 80 percent of the roads in Vermont, was unpaved. They were in the wilds of Rutland County now, a rough and isolated part of the state, a slice of devil’s land between upstate New York and Vermont. According to Mary Lou’s directions, the Emil Woznicki house was tucked away at the end of a very long gravel driveway about a mile down Old Mountain Road. With the constant freezing and thawing and freezing and thawing that characterized March in Vermont, the road was a landmine of ice and melt, mud and snow. Even on snowmobiles, it was a rough ride.

  The house, a low-slung mid-century ranch with a slanted roofline and lots of rectangular-shaped windows, sat in the curve of a crescent at the end of the gravel drive. The classic home wore a forlorn look after years of neglect.

  “I’m thinking that if they are here, they’ve got her in the bunker,” said Mercy.

  “We should check the house first.” He handed her a flashlight.

  “If we do that and they’re not there, and if they’re in the bunker, then we could give ourselves away.” She was set on hitting the bunker.

  “If they’re in the bunker, they won’t know, will they?”

  Troy had a point. Still she resisted. “It depends on how well equipped they are. There must be a way for them to see outside. Even back in the day, some of these places had hidden scopes and telephone lines. By now they could have security cameras and God knows what else. We need to split up.”

  “I don’t like it,” he said.

  The man could be stubborn sometimes. “We’re both armed.”

  “I still don’t like it.”

  “If Patience is here, Elvis will find her.” She was eager to get on with it and confident that Elvis would lead them right to the bunker.

  “Good point.”

  Troy may not trust her instincts, she thought, but he did trust those of these dogs. If there was anyone in the house or out in the bunker, the dogs would find them.

  They both unclipped their dogs. Elvis stood next to her, ears perked and curlicue tail up, ready to work at her command. Susie Bear jigged up and down in front of Troy, in anticipation of her favorite word. Both dogs wore their red-lighted beacons on their collars.

  “Search,” he said to Susie Bear, and she scampered away toward the house, muzzle in the air, snuffling and snorting.

  “Search,” she said to Elvis. The handsome shepherd sniffed the air elegantly, and then raced past the house and around the back.

  “So much for a consensus.”

  “Weird,” he said.

  It was weird, because usually the dogs were in sync. But Mercy knew they didn’t have time to figure out why this was the exception. Patience could be here somewhere, fighting for her life.

  “I’ll follow my dog,” she said. “You follow yours.”

  “Okay. But be careful.” He gave her a stern look. “No heroics. Whistle if you need me. Or just fire your gun.”

  “Yes, sir.” Mercy charged after Elvis at a fast jog. The snow was slushy and she slipped and slid and slued, catching herself more than once as she half ran, half tumbled down what was undoubtedly a wide expanse of lawn in the summertime. She could see Elvis, red light bobbing at his neck, at the bottom of the yard. Not too far from where the gathering of trees marked the edge of the forest.

  She stumbled down to the shepherd, who sank down into his Sphinx pose at the foot of a thick rectangle of galvanized steel, recently swept free of snow. The entrance to the bunker, thought Mercy.

  “Good boy.” She leaned down and tugged hard at the handle, pulling the hatch open and revealing a steep flight of stairs. Pulling out her flashlight, she shined the light down the staircase.

  But she didn’t see anything. She wondered if she should go down or wait for Troy. Susie Bear had gone straight for the house, and there was no guarantee she�
��d lead Troy down here any time soon.

  Mercy didn’t want to get stuck down there in the bunker. As far as she knew there was only one way in and one way out. Always a dicey proposition.

  Of course she knew her way around bunkers, but those were military bunkers, and they were bad enough. She couldn’t imagine what these old Cold War bunkers built by crazy civilians would be like. But if there was any chance that Patience was down there, she had to go. She’d have to count on Elvis to stay up here above ground so Troy and Susie Bear could find the hatch if need be.

  “Stay,” she told Elvis.

  But she was too late. The dog pushed past her and descended the steep steps too quickly for comfort. She had no choice but to follow him.

  She made her way down the precipitous staircase, her flashlight pointed down to light her way. She tripped on one of the treads and reached for the walls with her palms to catch herself up and keep from plunging down the stairs. She dropped the flashlight, which skipped down the steel steps with a terrible clang. Elvis was out of sight, and she hoped that wherever he’d disappeared to, he was safe.

  At the bottom of the stairs, she found herself in a long and narrow tunnel-shaped chamber that reminded her of a Quonset hut, only its curved walls and ceiling and floors were all made of concrete. The place was hemmed in shadow; a dim light shone at the far end of the room.

  She retrieved her flashlight and swept the light around the perimeter. There was a picnic table in front of one wall; on the opposite wall stood a dismantled camp stove and an old refrigerator with its door propped open by a cement block. Farther down a series of twin-size bunkbeds ran alongside the right side. The mattresses had been shredded and their feathers littered the floor. Metal shelving lined the left side of the bunker; cans of food and plastic plates and bowls and utensils scattered haphazardly along the shelves. Someone had disturbed this frozen time capsule relatively recently, if the variations in dust were any indication.

  Mercy did not see Elvis. She whistled for him, and he came bounding out of the gloom. He slid to a dead stop at her feet, cocked his head at her, and then ran off again. She followed him past the beds and the bookshelves to the very end of the bunker.

  Elvis sat on his haunches before a metal door that was part of a three-foot by three-foot glorified locker, which she suspected housed the toilet. The door was secured with a standard padlock. She knocked on the door. “Anyone in there?”