Murder Made Legal: A Casey Alton Mystery

by Richard Wren

  Casey was astonished. The room was dead silent. He cleared his throat. The Abbess continued in a calm but determined voice.

  “So you see my dilemma. Are you who you say you are, or are you hired killers?”

  Casey finally found his voice and started to object.

  “We can prove who we are, check my ID in…”

  She cut him off again. “Mr. Alton,” She said glancing at his identification papers, “if that’s really your name, we may seem isolated and out of the mainstream to you, but I assure you, we are kept up to date about the real world. For example, I know that a few of our guests have arrived here with cleverly altered or completely spurious identification. There is just no way that I can accept this paper,” she pointed at his and Les’s identification papers spread out on the table before her, “without doing some research on our own.” She hesitated. “Particularly when the consequences might be so dire. In the meantime, you will be kept here as our guests.”

  Casey grabbed Les’s arm before he could jump up and object. He tried to calmly rationalize her position. In reality, she was doing just what he might do in the same situation. She really had no way to accept the two of them at their word, particularly considering the contents of the letter. Would a few hours held captive while they verified their identification be that terrible? Maybe it was the price to pay to achieve their goal. At least they knew now that the lady in question was here and still alive.

  He stood up as straight as he could with his elbows bound tightly behind him and said, “We accept your hospitality,” hoping that was what it would be.

  The abbess stared at him for a moment thoughtfully, then shrugged. “You know where to take them,” she directed two of the guards. Thinking they would untie them, Casey looked at the two and wiggled his bound arms suggestively. The taller of the two sneered at him and yanked on the rope around his neck. Casey looked to the Abbess for help, but she had turned her attention elsewhere. The other of the two was quite short and rotund. Both were obviously Mexican.

  Still with a noose around their necks and elbows tied tightly behind them, they were marched out of the room and down some stairs to a well-lit basement where the lead guy stopped in front of a heavy wooden door festooned with iron bars and fished out a set of keys.

  The guy said, “Not here” in English and pointed knowingly to another set of downward leading stairs.

  “C’mon. You know she meant this one. Besides, it’s spooky down there.”

  Angrily, the second one spoke up, and he forcefully shoved Casey and Les toward the other staircase. “She’ll never know. She never comes down here, and I’ll be damned if I’m gonna coddle these two. You heard what the Abbess said; they’re a couple’a murderers.”

  Casey had been expected some sort of a waiting room, perhaps still in restraints, but not this. This guy had jumped to the conclusion that they were actually murderers. No telling how he might treat them.

  Still hoping to reason with them, he said, “Hold on. We’re not murderers. We came down to tell you that the lady is safe now. She won’t have to hide anymore,” He said as he struggled to keep his balance on the stairs. Les had fallen on the last step and was trying to get up with his arms still bound behind his back.

  “A cooked up story if I ever heard one,” was the guy’s answer as he gave Casey a shove down the stairs. Somehow or another Casey avoided falling and landed on his feet beside the still struggling Les. The rope around his neck had tautened and loosened during his descent. He felt like he was strangling.

  “Get ‘em up,” the second guy commanded, “and over here.” They were led to a set of double doors held shut with a large timber placed in cast iron holders across the front of them.

  “No way they get outa here,” the short guy said as he lifted the timber off the door, then accompanied by loud creaking, opened the door and reaching inside to switch on a light. There was nothing inside but a bare floor and some stacked up furniture.

  “Empty their pockets.” The tall one said. In a moment all their belongings including their cell phones were out of their pockets and in their captor’s.

  The tall one pulled them to the room with the rope. With an exaggerated grin, he said “Welcome,” and pushed them through the door, while at the same time reached out with his foot and tripped each of them.

  Neither could reach out to break their fall with their arms and both fell heavily face forward onto the cement floor.

  Les, slightly behind, landed heavily on top of Casey and then rolled onto his side, twisting his left arm painfully. As he lay there, he was looking at the back of Casey’s head. A pool of blood was slowly spreading on the floor. .

  “Jesus Christ, you bastards, look what you’ve done,” he snarled.

  The short guy swaggered into the room and using the toe of his boot, rolled Casey halfway over onto his side.

  “He’ll live,” he snorted and turned to leave. “Ain’t no way you pricks’re gonna hurt Sister Agnes,” was his parting shot as he slammed the door shut. The wooden bar outside made a loud thud as it was put in place.

  Casey’s nose was pushed to one side and the blood was pouring freely from it. His first thought was that he’d landed directly on his face breaking his nose and his second thought was that he might drown in his own blood. He was still out cold. Les struggled on his knees around to Casey’s back side and shoving with his shoulders, managed to get Casey pushed further onto his side so that the blood was running down his cheeks rather than back into his nostrils. It was all he could do until he could get the damn ropes off of his arms.

  He struggled to his knees and looked around the room. Mostly, it was bare except for a pile of folded wooden chairs in one corner and a closed cabinet in another corner. Nothing sharp to use to cut the rope. Could he chafe it off on the metal chair hinges? It didn’t look too workable, but might be all he had. He hobbled on his knees to the cabinet and by sheer muscular strength, was able to pull one leg under him and using it alone, get to his feet. He thought to himself that he’d never appreciated the physical handicap that having no usable arms imposed on someone.

  The next problem was that the cabinet doors were closed with a hasp designed to open simply with a twist of the fingers. There was no way he could reach it, except with his teeth. Grasping the little ring was easy, but twisting with his head to back it out of the slot, proved to be almost impossible. Eventually, with bruised lips and possibly a cracked tooth, he succeeded. Once the hasp released the doors swung open by themselves, revealing several dust and cobweb covered bottles of wine sitting at the rear of a shelf out of his reach.

  He looked at them despairingly. Broken glass could cut his bindings, but the bottles were out of reach.

  “Son of a bitch,” he cursed. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He looked over at Casey. He hadn’t moved. He looked like he was barely breathing. As if he was choking to death on his own blood.

  In frustration, Les kicked the cabinet as hard as he could. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the wine bottles jiggled a little. He kicked the cabinet again, and once more the bottles jiggled. He had a glimmer of hope and started kicking again and again, but the bottles did nothing more than jiggle. “God damn it, I need an earthquake,” he murmured. Then he answered himself, “Well you’re not gonna get one, you idiot, so slow down and think.”

  He looked around the room again, this time more slowly. Still empty except for the chairs and the cabinet. The room was large, roomy enough for a small banquet. What could he do? How could he use what was there? Gradually an idea formed. Large room, earthquake? A two-hundred-and-twenty-pound earthquake?

  CHAPTER 29

  To himself, he said, “think positive. Totally commit yourself. Go all out. I can do it.” He straightened up, backed away from the cabinet, and walked to the farthest corner of the room. Standing there, getting his balance, he glared at the cabinet, working up a hatred for it. The same hatred he had worked up years before for opposing linemen, allowing him to bulldoze
his way through them. He crouched, one foot before the other in a sideways position, ready to gather as much speed and momentum as humanly possible in the short distance between him and his mortal enemy, the cabinet.

  His mind knew and accepted that crashing into the cabinet at full speed could damage the hell out of him, but his heart ignored his mind. He had no choice. He ran, building up as much speed as the short space would allow, and at the last moment hunched his body and launched him-self at a spot high enough on the cabinet he had calculated would do the most damage.

  In midair, he contorted his body so that his left shoulder slammed first into the cabinet causing him to yell in pain. As he fell to the ground he heard glass breaking and then shortly thereafter, while still lying semi-dazed, he smelled wine.

  “Hot damn, I did it,” he murmured exultingly. The cabinet was still standing but the top part turned out to have been just sitting on the base and had twisted significantly enough so that two bottles had tipped over and rolled off the shelf.

  He inched over to Casey and determined that he was breathing okay, but still unconscious. Good God, a concussion? he thought. I gotta move.

  Glass was scattered all over the floor and the wine was running freely. He had to slither through the wine to get to the piece of glass that he thought would work best. It was a bottle bottom that had broken with jagged pieces pointing up and Les pictured it wedged in a corner so that he could back up to it and saw the rope around his elbows. It would be awkward and probably result in cutting himself in the process, but it might work. He had to try.

  It was harder than he had even imagined. He had virtually no feeling left in his arms from being tied up so long. He couldn’t see behind him to wedge the glass in place, and he couldn’t see to get the rope on the glass, and he had very little wiggle room with his elbows.

  After what seemed like hours, there was a little looseness in the bindings, but could also a pool of blood was forming between his legs. He redoubled his efforts.

  With the rope parted a little, it was easier to keep the glass sawing in the same spot. He leaned forward and back, forward and back and could feel the strands parting one by one. It was a race between getting the rope cut and passing out from loss of blood. He was well aware that if he accidently cut an artery, he could bleed to death quickly.

  Suddenly his elbows fell apart. He fell to one side and couldn’t move. Both arms felt dead. He could only see the lower portion of his left arm. It was swollen, black and blue and, covered in blood. It began to tingle, painfully. He struggled to sit up and get both arms in front of him. He had to use his shoulders to move his arms. They flopped in front of him, totally useless. He hoped it was temporary as the painful tingling grew.

  He was afraid to look at his arms next to his elbows even though he could feel no pain, he knew he’d cut the hell out of them. First, he had to drag himself over to Casey. When he focused on him he was surprised. Casey’s eyes were open and staring.

  “Casey, you okay?” There was no answer and no change in the staring eyes. Les crawled over to Casey, his arms gradually responding to the exercise, still tingling painfully.

  “For Christ’s sake, Case, keep breathing,” he mumbled as he slowly crawled. In a moment, he was close enough to hear Casey breathe shallowly. He grabbed Casey’s jaw to straighten it and then slapped his cheeks twice, hard and fast.

  “Wake up. C’mon Case, wake up.” He slapped him again.

  Suddenly Casey twitched and his eyes came in focus. He recoiled from the slaps. “What the hell’re you doing? Why the hell’re you crawling around covered in blood?”

  Les suddenly realized that Casey had been watching him crawl over to him even though he had looked to be almost catatonic.

  “Roll over, buddy, I gotta get you untied,” he responded.

  With his own hands freed, it was an easy task to untie Casey. He rubbed Casey’s arms to help restore circulation, even though his own arms were still weak.

  “What happened?” Casey asked.

  “Do you remember the tall guy tripping you?”

  Casey looked blank.

  Les quickly brought him up to date and ended with a question. “You sure you’re okay? Any headache or anything?”

  “My nose. It hurts like hell, and I’m having trouble breathing. I think I smashed it or something.”

  “More like you broke it.” He made a short laugh. “Hell, Case, It’s spread all over the right side of your face.”

  “Who the hell are these guys?” Casey asked.

  Les had given that some thought. “I think they’re a couple’a devout Catholic farmers that’re completely screwed up.”

  Disbelievingly, Casey asked, “Really? You think it’s just a case of religious fanaticism?”

  “While you were out one of them said they were doing this to protect a Sister Agnes. I think she must be the gal we’re, after and it sounds like she might be a nun.”

  Casey thought that over for a few minutes while they took turns rubbing each other’s arms.

  “You were raised Catholic. What do you think will happen next?” he questioned Les.

  “I’ve thought about that,” Les replied. “I think that if the Abbess finds out that we’re on the square pretty soon, we’ll be okay, but I don’t think I’d count on that. There’s no reason for her to hurry. Sister Agnes’s been here for years and years, what’s the rush? Except for us and you can bet she has no idea of what those jerks did to us. I’m thinking we should plan for more trouble from them before we hear from her.”

  Casey took his time assessing what was in the room. “And we’re stuck in an empty room with a few chairs, a cabinet and some broken bottles of wine.”

  “And rope.” Les added as he removed both nooses from around their necks.

  If anything, life as a solo sailor sailing the dangerous waters of the Pacific coast had prepared Casey to handle unexpected and potentially life threatening surprises. Many times, he’d had to assess and react to a situation in a split second or perhaps perish. Now he slipped into that mode.

  “Get us a couple of those chairs. We’re going to need all our strength to get out of here.”

  Les also studied the room. “I don’t see how. I thought maybe we could hide behind the door and surprise them whenever they come, but the door opens out so that won’t work. There’s no place to hide and no weapons; I think we’re stuck.”

  Seated in one of the chairs and rubbing the circulation back into his arms, Casey asked, “How many wine bottles are left?”

  “Unbroken? Several. Only two broke, why?”

  “Get ‘em. They’re our ticket out of here, but we’re gonna need our arms and legs. Ready for some jumping jacks?”

  “Jumping jacks? You mean like exercise?”

  “That’s it. It’ll be painful, but it’s the fastest way to get circulation back in our arms and legs. We just have to do it, so up and at ‘em!” he commanded.

  On quivery legs and shaky arms, they started, slowly. Casey’s nose promptly started bleeding again. He wiped it with the back of his hand. shirt. Les was astounded at Casey’s upper body when he took his shirt off. At a little over six feet, Casey was built long and lean. Several years of solo sail boat captaining had whipped him into superb physical shape and it showed.

  Casey was worried about the numerous glass cuts on Les’s arms and elbows.

  “You okay?” Casey asked, nodding his head in the direction of Les’s arms.

  Gritting his teeth, Les answered. “They look worse than they are because of the blood. I’ll make it.”

  “Okay then. Here’s the plan if they don’t get back here too soon. First we move these chairs right in front of the doors. Then we bring the rest of those bottles over and sit them beside the chairs. Then we keep on exercising, but stand near the chairs.”

  Unexpectedly, Les let out a short chuckle. “We’re gonna sit and drink until they get back? That’s your plan?”

  Casey didn’t laugh. “Get the chairs a
nd the wine; they might come back any time.”

  In a few moments Les had the chairs and wine bottles arranged to Casey’s satisfaction.

  “Now what?” Les asked.

  “Pick up one of the bottles by the neck and hold it up high.”

  Les did so.

  “Feel like a weapon? Maybe a club? Think you could do some damage with that before it broke?”

  “Sure, but from a chair?”

  “Nope. Here’s the rest of the plan. We sit here next to the door so we can hear them removing the bar on the outside and have time to get ready for them.”

  “But the doors open out; they’ll swing the doors open and there we’ll be sitting. What do we do, throw the bottles at them?”

  “Listen. The next part’s important. As soon as we hear the bar being taken off, we move the chairs out of the way and stand just inside the door waiting for them to start opening it. The moment the door starts to open, we push the doors as hard and fast as we can, right into their faces. Before they know it, we’ll be on them and club them with the wine bottles. Don’t forget, they’ll be expecting to find us still tied up and helpless. We’ll have all the elements of surprise on our side.”

  Totally surprised at the audacity and completeness of Casey’s plan, Les could only agree.

  “Jesus, I think it’ll work, then what?”

  “I haven’t the slightest!” Casey replied.

  CHAPTER 30

  Motivated by the plan, Les redoubled his warm ups, and Casey did the same. Les was concerned about Casey’s state.

  “Did you know you were out for more than an hour?”

  Casey stopped exercising for a second, “An hour? Seemed like just a couple of minutes to me.”

  “Damn near an hour, and you scared the shit outa me. For a long time, you just laid there with your eyes wide open like a corpse or something. Were you watching me?”