Anyway, back to the problem at hand—that’s a pun, by the way. Calvin was kind of skinny, so the two of us might have overpowered him in a fight. But with that gun aimed at our chests, I wasn’t taking any chances.
“You just couldn’t stay away from the lake,” Calvin continued. “You had to go down again.”
To stall for time, I said, “Why’d you steal it in the first place?”
“Shut your face,” he hissed. “For almost thirty years it sat at the bottom of Smoke Lake. The town forgot about it, and the cops forgot about it. And now you kids think you can blackmail us with it?”
He threw back his rat-like head and laughed—a fingernails-on-chalkboard kind of laugh. His bloodshot eyes seemed far off—probably on another planet.
“One of you killed a man!” Rachel shouted. “A man who did nothing to you. You just killed him.”
Calvin’s eyes drifted to Rachel, like she was a boring distraction. “We didn’t mean to kill him—or even hurt him, to tell the truth. But after he died, what could we do?”
“You could have turned yourselves in, you . . . you coward.” Rachel’s anger seemed to give her courage, and she let go of my hand.
Calvin flinched at that accusation. “I’m not going to jail for an accident. And that’s all it was—an accident. He was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“When you bash someone on the head and kill them,” I said, getting mad too, “that’s not an accident. That’s murder.”
“Shut up!” Calvin screamed.
“But why?” Rachel asked. “Why’d you steal the statue in the first place?”
Calvin’s face turned purple with rage, and I thought he was going to shoot us dead right there.
“Why?” he said. “I’ll tell you why. Because a gang isn’t supposed to sneak around picking up garbage. A gang is supposed to scare people and make money, not sneak around cleaning windows at 3:00 AM—as a bloody joke!”
“The Filthy Few?” I said.
Calvin nodded. “Your old man told you about us, huh?”
“No,” I said. “We saw your picture in an old newspaper.”
He seemed to not hear me. “The two of us finally had enough,” he said. “After the others refused to swipe that bronze with us, we did it alone.”
“Mr. Lint didn’t help you steal it?” Rachel asked, finding my hand again and giving it a comforting squeeze.
“Are you kidding?” he said, sounding disgusted. “That chicken wouldn’t spit on a sidewalk.”
Even though I was facing a criminal with a gun, I sighed with relief. Dad wasn’t a murderer. The burden of that possibility had troubled me more than I’d known, but now, with my dad in the clear, I could focus on the last pieces of this puzzle.
So, who was the second bad guy? We always assumed and suspected it was Scolletti, but I wanted to hear it from Calvin. I was about to ask him who his partner was when he addressed us again.
“In a minute,” he said, looking down at his watch, “we’re all going for a ride.”
Uh-oh. I didn’t like the sound of that, and I knew I had to do something—anything!—fast.
Rachel let go of my hand for the second time. “We’re not going with you!”
“You might not be coming back with me,” he said, “but you’re definitely going somewhere with me.” He laughed like a hyena and looked down at his watch again.
That was my chance. I stepped up on the bronze and dove over the statue and onto Calvin. Catching him by surprise, my weight pushed him back and we crashed into the garden tools leaning against the wall. He crumpled under my weight, groaning in pain as he hit the ground. But that groan was the only good news.
The shock of my sneak attack quickly left him and he fought like a trapped animal. Twisting and writhing, he rolled me off. Furious at my feeble escape attempt, he lashed out at my head with his fist. But I wasn’t giving up, either. I turned my head, deflecting most of a blow that would have otherwise knocked me out.
I shook away the stars just in time to see Rachel kick the gun across the dirt. Way to go!
I wriggled like mad to free myself, but he had me pinned like a wrestler. I was down for the count. Game over, Cody.
Rachel took another step closer and bravely swung at Calvin’s head, but he must have seen her coming. He leaned back to avoid the blow and punched her shoulder with a vicious jab. She staggered and fell, giving Calvin time to focus on me again.
I watched in horror as he cocked his arm for another punch. Closing my eyes, I braced myself for the pain . . .
“Enough!” someone barked.
Everyone froze.
I looked past Calvin—and his extended fist—and saw Special Constable Brad Murphy and Eric standing in the doorway. Brad snatched Calvin’s gun off the ground.
We were rescued, thank goodness.
Brad scanned the room and his eyes stopped on the bronze. He shook his head slowly and said, “I never thought I’d see that thing again.”
Calvin dropped his arm and rolled off me roughly. “About time you showed up,” he said to Brad.
No!
Eric looked at Brad. “What’s he talking about—?”
Before Eric could finish that sentence, Brad shoved Eric toward Rachel and me. “Keep quiet,” Brad said.
Our situation had just gotten worse. Way, way worse. Jerkface was Calvin’s accomplice—the other member of the Filthy Few—not Scolletti.
Brad pointed the gun at us and ordered us into the corner. He seemed a lot calmer than Calvin, and for some reason, that made him seem scarier.
“My leg is messed up real bad, Brad,” Calvin whined. He hobbled to a lawn chair and sat down.
For the first time, I noticed blood all over Calvin’s calf. I followed the trail of red across the shed, realizing what must have happened. When we fell across the tools and they rattled to the ground, he had landed on the tines of a rake. And those rusty—but still sharp—spikes must have pierced his leg.
Brad kept the gun trained on us but snuck quick glances at the bronze. “Some things really are better left hidden . . . and forgotten,” he said softly. “Now you three troublemakers are going to have deal with the consequences of your meddling.”
Calvin tried again to get his partner’s attention. “I gotta go to a doctor, man. I need stitches . . . or antibiotics . . . or something.”
“If you go to a doctor now,” Brad said, “we’re both going to jail. And I don’t want to go to jail. So wrap up your leg, take an aspirin, and shut up.”
Calvin looked around the room, then said, “You got a first aid kit?”
“Yeah,” Eric said, “we do. Thanks for asking.”
It took Calvin a few seconds to realize that Eric was being a smarty-pants, but when he finally did figure it out, he looked furious. He stood up, grabbed a screwdriver from a toolbox and limped toward us. He held the screwdriver in his fist like he was going to stab someone. “Do you . . . or do you not . . . have a first aid kit?”
“There’s an old one,” Rachel said quickly. “On that shelf.” She pointed at a plastic container with a faded red cross on it.
Calvin snorted, turned around, and dragged himself over to the shelf.
Five minutes went by while we all waited for him to wrap his leg in yellowing gauze and grey-looking surgical dressing. With Brad aiming a gun at us, there was nothing we could do. After all, we’d planned on being rescued by him, not held at gunpoint.
“What do you guys want?” I finally said. “You can have the statue back. We won’t tell anyone about it.”
“Too late for that now,” Brad said.
“It’s not too late,” Rachel said. “Only the three of us know about the statue, and we won’t tell anyone. We promise.”
Brad looked at Rachel. “We have to put our bronze friend back in the lake.”
“That’s fine with us,” Eric said. “We don’t know what to do with him, anyway.”
“But before we put him back where he belongs,” Calv
in said, “we have to put you three where you belong.”
CHAPTER
12
“WHAT’S THAT SUPPOSED to mean?” Eric asked.
Calvin laughed.
“Now why did you have to go and say that, Calvin?” Brad said. “You’re going to upset them. Don’t listen to him. We’re just going to go for a ride until we can figure out a way to sort all this out.”
“But there’s nothing to sort out,” I said. “We’ll give you the statue right now. Take it.”
“We’ll even help you load it in your car,” Eric added. “And we’ll forget about the money. You can have it for free.”
Brad snorted, looking like he was about to smack Eric.
“Come on,” Eric added, “we’re family.”
“How? Because twenty years ago, I married your aunt? That was punishment enough. There’s no reason why I should spend the rest of my life in jail too.”
Calvin laughed as though that was the funniest thing he’d ever heard.
Brad ordered Calvin outside to make sure no one was around. A minute later, he limped back. “The coast is clear,” he said to Brad.
“Okay,” Brad said. “This is what’s going to happen. First, you’re going to help put the statue in the back of Calvin’s truck. Then you three are going to climb into the trunk of the Crown Vic—my police car.”
“And then what?” I asked.
Brad ignored me.
“And then what?” Rachel repeated.
Brad ignored Rachel.
Calvin went out again and backed his rusty truck up to the shed. We disrespectfully dragged the bronze into the cargo box. The gun in Brad’s hand tracked our every move, so there was no chance for an escape or another attack.
After Calvin slammed the tailgate shut, Brad said, “Drive ahead to your place and make sure the boathouse is secure. I’ll be right behind you. We’ll lock them up by the river until . . . until we think of something. I’ll have to go to work again, but I’ll come back as soon as I can.”
Calvin nodded, shuffled back into the cab, and drove off.
Brad made Rachel fasten plastic handcuffs on Eric and me. Then he did the same to Rachel. He popped the trunk on his cruiser and ordered us into the cavernous rear. I wasn’t a fan of confined spaces, but I knew there was no point in arguing with him. When we were all in the trunk, he slammed the lid. Next, we heard him close the shed door, then felt the car sink as he got in behind the wheel. The engine started, and we began to move.
“This is bad,” I heard Eric whisper in the dark. “Real bad.”
I wriggled and adjusted my body on the rough carpet that lined the trunk. I was the last one shoved in, and I was now closest to the back bumper. Some light spilled in around the tail light enclosures, but it wasn’t enough to see anything.
“I still can’t believe Brad is part of this,” Rachel said. She was next to me.
“Another member of the Filthy Few,” I said.
“We were right about him all along,” Eric said. “He’s a certified grade-A jerkface.”
“The phone calls,” I said. “They were from Creepy Calvin and Brad Murphy.”
“But how could they know. . . ?” Eric’s voice trailed off.
“They must have seen the golf balls in the wagon,” I said. “And then when they heard about the tracks in the grass—from our second dive—they knew we’d gone back.”
“That means,” Eric said, “when Scolletti told us we couldn’t dive in Smoke Lake, he was really just doing his job. He didn’t want us in the lake because it was trespassing, or because it was unsafe, or whatever.”
Brad hit the pothole at the end of the street, and we all took a hard bounce.
Eric grunted when his head bashed into something metal.
“You okay?” Rachel asked.
“Yeah, there’s some stuff here . . .” Eric shuffled around deep in the trunk. “There’s one of those spiny spike belts for stopping cars. And there’s a toolbox or . . . or something next to my head.”
“A toolbox?” I said. “See if you can open it and—”
Eric cut me off. “I’m already on it. It’s tricky with these stupid straps on my wrist . . . But I think I can . . .”
I heard one clasp snap open, then another.
“Got it?” Rachel asked.
“Yup,” he said. “Eric to the rescue again.”
“Just like when you brought home another bad guy,” I said, “and he locked us up in this trunk.”
Eric laughed. “Well, okay, except for that time.”
Rachel and I listened as Eric poked around inside the box.
“It just feels like police stuff,” he said. “Some sort of tape . . . file folders, paper stuff. Plastic bags and marker pens.”
“An evidence kit,” I said, guessing at the box’s purpose.
“Can you feel anything sharp?” Rachel asked. “A pocket knife? A utility knife? A saw?”
“I wish,” Eric said. “But there’s nothing like that.”
“Let’s feel around in the rest of the trunk,” I said. “Maybe there’s a real toolbox in here somewhere.”
We groped around near our heads, but no one announced a discovery.
“You guys stay where you are,” Rachel said. “I’m going to see if I can spin around. If I can, I’ll search the other end—by our feet.”
Rachel seemed to be pretty flexible, because she didn’t have too much trouble turning around in the trunk. I couldn’t tell what she was doing, because the noise from the rear wheels suddenly got a lot louder.
“I think he’s on a gravel road now,” Eric yelled.
“I’m pretty sure Calvin’s house is on the Kilmeny River,” I said. “About ten minutes south of town. Brad must be on the river road.”
“We don’t have much time,” Eric said.
Rachel shouted excitedly, “I found something else. Maybe a road flare.”
“Describe it,” Eric ordered.
“Like a stick of dynamite,” Rachel said, “or fireworks.”
“That does sound like a safety flare,” I said. “Anything else?”
“I think . . . I think there’s something else shoved in the corner.” Rachel’s legs twisted and twitched next to my head as she strained to reach the item. “Got it!”
Eric and I waited for her report.
“It’s just an old package of cigarettes . . . Feels empty,” she said. “But there’s . . .”
The car slowed down and took a turn.
“Quick, Rachel!” I said. “Turn around again.” When Brad had shoved us into the trunk, all our heads were on the right side. I didn’t want him to think we were up to something when he popped the trunk.
Rachel settled in beside me. “There was a lighter . . .” she panted in my ear. “There was a cigarette lighter in the package. I’m not sure if it’ll still work, but I took it.”
The car rolled to a stop and we felt Brad get out. The heat in the trunk had become unbearable, and I was anxious for fresh air. But nothing happened.
“God, it’s hot in here,” Eric whispered.
“What’s he waiting for?” I mumbled.
“Maybe this was his plan all along,” Rachel said. “To have us suffocate in the trunk and then dump our bodies in a lake.”
Another minute passed.
“We gotta get outta here,” Eric said. “I’m about to black out.”
“Hey,” Rachel wheezed. “I thought . . . car trunks were supposed to have safety buttons. To escape if . . .”
“You’re right.” I immediately twisted and felt the area around the back end of the car. I was hoping for a glow-in-the-dark button, but of course there was nothing like that. But I did feel a length of cable near where the latch was. I yanked on it in frustration and heard the satisfying click of the lock mechanism releasing.
The hood slowly opened a few centimetres, and then the power of the springs quickly forced it all the way up.
We could breathe again.
I lift
ed my head, looking for an escape route. But instead of an easy getaway, I saw Calvin and Brad. They were three metres from the car. And they were both staring at me.
Brad walked over to the open hatch. “Since 2002,” he said, “all trunks have been required to have an emergency trunk release. In case of . . . situations like this, I suppose.”
We squinted at our captors, trying to get used to the sunlight again.
Brad continued, “I was just saying to Calvin that if you three were too dumb to escape from the trunk, maybe you deserved to cook in there. In fact, I thought you were already toast.”
“Wishful thinking,” Calvin mumbled, looking down at his bandaged leg.
“Now, now,” Brad said, pretending to scold Calvin. “They were under a lot of stress in there. But in the end, they did get out.”
Calvin tucked his pistol in his pants and waved us out of the trunk with a rifle.
We were all soaked with sweat, and the fresh air felt pretty good.
“Lock them up,” Brad said. “We’ll figure out the rest when my shift is done.”
Brad slammed the trunk, slid behind the wheel, and sped off down the gravel driveway. Now it was just us and Creepy Calvin.
I looked around. We were where I expected to be—on land adjacent to the Kilmeny River. But unlike all the small residential lots closer to town, this was a large rural property, far from any other homes or summer cabins. The house behind Calvin reminded me of him—decrepit and ugly.
“Welcome to my humble abode,” Calvin said.
Eric looked at the surrounding forest and the yard choking with weeds. “If you want,” Eric said, “I’ll cut the grass for you. Looks like it hasn’t been trimmed in three or four years.”
“You got a smart mouth, kid,” Calvin sneered. “We’ll see how feisty you are after dark.”
“Look, Calvin,” Rachel said, trying to sound calm and logical. “Brad’s gone now. If you let us go, we’ll tell the cops you helped us.”
I nodded. “Yeah. We’ll say Brad made you kidnap us, and you’ll be a hero for letting us go again.”
“And don’t you want to get your leg checked out?” Eric pointed at Calvin’s calf. “If you ignore that kind of wound, you could get tetanus, or trench foot, or scurvy.”
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