The Gold Dragon Caper: A Damien Dickens Mystery (Damien Dickens Mysteries Book 4)

by Phyllis Entis

  Chapter Four

  Millie and I made a quick trip home to pack some warm clothes and to pick up Hershey. It was just a few minutes by car from our apartment to Atlantic City’s old municipal airport, Bader Field, now used by recreational pilots and private charter services. Susan was nowhere to be seen when we arrived. A silver-haired man wearing a navy-blue uniform jacket and holding a peaked officer’s cap was standing at the counter marked ‘Flight Plans’ when we entered the building. I walked over and introduced myself.

  “Manfred Warrenburg,” he replied, as we shook hands. “I’m expecting Ms. Sutherland momentarily. Where’s the rest of your group?”

  I waved Millie over, Hershey walking politely beside her. “You’re planning to bring that beast on my plane?” Warrenburg’s voice rose half an octave. “That isn’t happening.” He stood, his arms akimbo, his frown set in granite.

  “He’s a service dog,” Millie said, straight-faced. “Search-and-rescue.” I smiled inwardly. Hershey wasn’t certified for search-and-rescue or for any other service. Millie knew how to stretch the truth to fit the situation when necessary.

  Warrenburg relented with a grunt. “He messes up my plane, you clean it up.”

  “He won’t mess.” Millie flashed her most winning smile, earning a fleeting upward twitch of Warrenburg’s lips.

  Susan arrived while our pilot was completing his final weather check. As we followed Warrenburg single-file across the tarmac to a twin-engine Lear jet, my mind flashed back to August 1979. The first time I had flown from Bader Field to Stowe, I had been on the trail of Celine Sutherland’s killer. Celine was Artie’s birth mother and Susan’s older sister. Now, Celine’s son was missing. Trouble seemed to stalk the Sutherland family, and I wondered what we would find at our destination.

  I gazed at Millie’s profile as we taxied down the runway. Under ordinary circumstances, she wore a skirt and a tailored jacket for work. Today, she was dressed for a Vermont winter, wearing a turtleneck top under a heavy wool sweater she had knitted herself. Instead of a skirt, she had chosen to wear a pair of corduroy slacks, with cotton tights under the slacks to provide an extra layer of insulation. Her jewelry was simple: a wristwatch, her wedding ring, and a pair of gold earrings I had given her at Christmas. Her hair was pulled back from her face in some sort of knot. Except for a dash of lipstick, she wore no make-up. Even in her heavy winter clothing, Millie managed to look trim and elegant. I once asked her why she took such care with her appearance. She replied that she wanted to be treated with respect, and dressed accordingly.

  After we were airborne, Susan broke the silence. “I called ahead and spoke to Captain Laporte of the Stowe Police Department. A temporary search-and-rescue command post has been set up in the restaurant at Spruce Peak. Laporte will meet us at Morrisville-Stowe Airport and take us directly to Spruce.”

  I acknowledged the information with a nod and closed my eyes, letting my brain sort through what we might be facing. I figured there was a slim chance Artie’s disappearance was accidental. That he had taken a bad fall, or had missed a sign and gone off the trail into the woods. But Artie knew the Mansfield and Spruce Peak ski slopes almost as well as the Ski Patrol did. The knot forming in my stomach was telling me Artie either had run away or had been kidnapped. Or worse.

  Hershey and I would join the search for Artie on the mountain. While the dog had never been formally trained for search-and-rescue, he and Artie were good pals, spending time together whenever the boy stayed over at Susan’s for the weekend. I had watched them play hide-and-seek many times, and Hershey was never fooled for long. If he could find Artie under the Atlantic City Boardwalk, he could certainly track the boy’s scent on the mountain. I hoped the school group would still be in Stowe by the time we arrived. We needed to determine where and when Artie was last seen, and how the mix-up about where he was to spend the previous night had occurred. Millie was good with kids, and I wanted her to interview them. She would know how to coax information out of Artie’s schoolmates.

  I opened my eyes and stared out the window. I could see an airport to the east, almost directly below us. We were over Springfield, Massachusetts, and would be on the ground in Stowe in about thirty minutes. I slid out of my seat and knelt in the aisle beside Millie. Keeping my voice low, I told her what I thought we might be facing, and filled her in on my tentative plans. She nodded her agreement, and gestured toward Susan with a raised eyebrow. “No,” I replied with a shake of my head. “Let’s wait until we have a better idea of what we’re facing.”

  The plane banked to the right, and Warrenburg’s laconic voice scratched its way through the intercom. “Please fasten your seat belts. We are starting our descent, and should be on the ground in ten minutes.” I went back to my seat and clipped the belt buckle over my hips, pulling on the strap to tighten it. Millie checked Hershey’s harness, then tightened her seat belt and leaned back against the headrest, closing her eyes. Her face was tense. I could see small lines around her mouth, as though she was clenching her jaws, and I knew she was thinking ahead to our task.

  The drone of the engine changed in pitch as the pilot adjusted his approach speed, and I could feel the added vibration through my seat. A few minutes later, a gentle bump as the landing gear met the tarmac announced our return to terra firma. Warrenburg guided the Lear toward the terminal and braked to a smooth stop on the parking apron. After the engines had whined to a halt, he emerged from the cockpit and unlatched the cabin door. I watched with interest as a set of steps unfolded automatically, landing with a soft thump on the hard surface. Susan led the way down, Millie, Hershey, and me following behind her, and the pilot bringing up the rear. I suppressed a chuckle at the look of disgust on Warrenburg’s face when Hershey lift a leg to spray the bottom step. Blushing, Millie apologized for the dog’s behavior.

  We walked through the small, spare terminal, leaving the pilot at the Flight Services desk to close out his flight plan. A large, black-and-white SUV emblazoned with the Stowe Police Department logo was waiting at the curb. I spotted Captain Laurent Laporte standing beside the vehicle, and I walked over to greet him. We shook hands as I took him to one side. “What’s the situation?” I asked.

  “We have search parties out, but nothing yet. The Hegartys are waiting at the Spruce Peak command post. Mr. Hegarty is itching to join the search, but doesn’t want to leave his wife alone. She’s taking it pretty hard.”

  “What’s your assessment?”

  He drew a deep breath as he glanced in Susan’s direction. “I’m beginning to suspect foul play,” he said. “My nephew Claude knows Artie, and tells me the lad is an experienced skier. It’s possible he took a tumble, but we should have found him by now in that case. He would know better than to drag himself off the hill and out of sight if he’s hurt. He would stay where we could spot him.” He took a step back and searched my face for a reaction. “What do you think, Mr. Dickens?”

  “The possibility of a kidnapping already occurred to me, Captain. I’ve discussed it with Millie, but I haven’t said anything to Susan yet. I figured I’d wait until I had a more complete picture of the situation.”

  Laporte looked in Millie’s direction when I mentioned her name, and did a double-take at the sight of the dog. “Is that a Hegarty Labradoodle?”

  “Hershey is from their very first litter, and a special friend of Artie’s. Millie and I figured he might prove useful on the search. He and Artie play hide-and-seek on a regular basis, and he always manages to find the boy.”

  “Might be helpful at that,” Laporte said. “If you’ll load the dog into the back of the vehicle, I have room for everyone up front.”

  We set off down Route 100, siren blaring and lights flashing, traffic pulling to the side of the road to let us pass. We barely slowed down as we entered the heart of Stowe, and took the right turn onto the Mountain Road with a squeal of protesting rubber. Ten minutes later, we turned into the Spruce Peak Resort parking lot, and came to a stop in front of the rest
aurant.

  Zeb walked out to the curb to meet us. “I’m glad you’re here at last, Damien,” he said, reaching out to shake my hand as I alit from the SUV. “I haven’t wanted to leave Mary; she’s that upset. She keeps saying this is all her fault. I can’t make her see reason.”

  “Let’s go inside,” I said. “We brought Hershey along to help with the search. First, though, I want to hear exactly what happened.”

  I turned to Susan, who had emerged from the vehicle while Zeb and I were talking. “It would be helpful if you would stay with Mary while Zeb and I join the search parties,” I said, holding up my hand when she started to protest. “I know you want to help look for Artie, but Mary shouldn’t be left alone.”

  Chapter Five

  We followed Laporte to the back of the restaurant, where the Stowe police had set up their command post. A uniformed officer wearing a fresh set of sergeant’s stripes on his sleeve was taking notes with one hand as he held a walkie-talkie to his ear with the other. He looked up at our approach. “Mr. Dickens, isn’t it?” he said. “Bob Tobias. We met a few years ago. That Sutherland business?”

  “Last time we met, you tried to arrest me,” I reminded him with a wry grin. “I see you made Sergeant. Congratulations.”

  Tobias blushed as Laporte broke in. “What’s the latest, Bob?”

  “I’ve been collecting reports from the Ski Patrol members in the search parties, Cap’n. Cory Gerson has been marking with red pins the areas that have been searched.” He jerked his thumb toward a young man whose black, one-piece ski racer’s suit accentuated his well-muscled legs and toned upper body. A red ski jacket hung over the back of a chair next to a terrain map that took up most of the wall, SKI PATROL embossed in upper case letters above a white cross. Gerson’s name beneath the logo was clearly visible from where I stood.

  I walked up to the map and watched over Gerson’s shoulder as he double-checked his notes before placing each pin. “What do all the different colored pins signify?” I asked.

  Startled, Gerson spun around at the sound of my voice and I took an involuntary step back. I wouldn’t want to get into a scrap with this guy. He had about two inches on me in height, and something told me his punch would pack a wallop. I introduced myself, and repeated the question.

  “The yellow pins are places where other skiers thought they may have seen the missing kid,” Gerson replied. “Green pins denote open ski runs, and black pins indicate runs closed because of inadequate snow cover, or due to maintenance. I’m using red pins to mark the areas that already have been searched by Ski Patrol search parties. We’ve been concentrating on the runs where we’ve had the largest number of possible sightings first.”

  I examined the map, familiarizing myself with the general layout of the groomed ski runs, as well as the areas adjacent to and beyond them. There was a black pin at the top of the westernmost ski trail, to the left of the gondola hut. “Does this mean the entire Upper Main Street ski run is off-limits?” I asked, pointing at the pin.

  “Not the entire run. The top section had to be closed yesterday for grooming. There were too many icy patches.” Gerson indicated a scattering of green pins partway down the slope. “The lower branches of the run are open, though.”

  “What’s this building?” I pointed to a small structure at the top edge of the clearing a few hundred yards to the left of the gondola.

  “It’s a storage shed.”

  Zeb walked over to join us, Tobias following in his wake. “Upper Main was always Artie’s favorite run. He would ride the gondola all the way to the top, and take his time coming down. See these?” Zeb traced each of the four lower branches with his finger, his gesture a caress. “He would choose a different route down the hill each time, depending on the time of day, the weather, his mood…” His voice trailed away as his finger slipped off the bottom of the map.

  I asked Gerson what time Upper Main had been shut down. He reached for a clipboard and flipped through a few sheets of paper. “Ski Patrol members report on conditions at the end of every run. According to yesterday’s log sheets, Upper Main was reported ‘in need of grooming’ around 1:30pm. The information would have been relayed to the operator at the upper gondola hut. Our standard practice is to post the notice immediately. Liability insurance requirements.”

  “When was Artie last seen?” I asked.

  Tobias thumbed through his notebook. “He joined his school group for lunch yesterday. They met at noon, and sat together for an hour, during which time the boys were briefed on the details of their planned departure. The last of them cleared out of the restaurant by 1:15 or so, and headed back to the ski slopes.”

  “And you’re sure Artie was with the group at lunch?”

  “Yes, Mr. Dickens, I’m certain of it. Both of the chaperones reported having spoken with him, and he sat with a couple of the other kids. He was there.”

  “When did the kids meet up at the bus yesterday to return to their hotel?”

  Tobias referred to his notes again. “They were told to be there by 5:00, but some of them started trickling in as early as 4:30. Sun sets around 5:30 this time of year, and there are only a couple of runs fixed up for night skiing. The gondolas and most of the lifts shut down at 5:00.”

  “And Artie never showed up at the bus?”

  “No sir, he never showed.”

  “Neither of the chaperones questioned his absence?”

  “No sir. One of the boys gave Mr. Blomqvist a message from Artie, saying he would spend the night with Mr. and Mrs. Hegarty, and would join the group in the morning.”

  “Mr. Blomqvist is the man responsible for the group?”

  “That’s correct,” Tobias confirmed with a vigorous nod. “He’s the gym teacher at the Lawrenceville School.”

  “Was it a written message? Did the boy give Blomqvist a note from Artie?”

  “No sir. The message was verbal.”

  “And the teacher took the word of this kid without double-checking?”

  “The boy who gave him the message is a prefect at the school and is completely reliable, according to Blomqvist.” Tobias’s frown conveyed his disapproval.

  “Where is the school group now?”

  “Blomqvist asked permission to head back to New Jersey, as they have a long drive ahead of them,” Laporte replied. He saw my grimace, and a defensive note crept into his voice. “We interviewed everyone, took down all their names and addresses. There was nothing more to learn from them.”

  “Have they already left town?”

  “They returned to the hotel while I was waiting for you at the airport. I don’t know whether or not they’re still in town.”

  I caught Millie’s eye, raised my eyebrow, and received her answering nod. “Find out, please,” I said to Laporte. “Kids aren’t always comfortable speaking with cops. With any authority figure,” I added in response to his frown. “Millie is a licensed PI and a skilled interviewer. I’d like her to ride back on the bus to Lawrenceville with the school group and talk to the boys during the trip. She’s good at putting kids at ease and getting them to open up to her. Please, Captain,” I said, “we need every bit of help we can get if we’re to have any chance of finding Artie.”

  Laporte was silent for a long moment. I thought he was going to refuse, but he surprised me. “They might already have left, but it’s worth a try, I guess,” he said, reaching for the telephone. He held up his hand for silence as he spoke into the receiver. After a short conversation, he flashed a thumbs-up signal. “Thank you,” he said to the party at the other end of the line. “She’ll be right over.”

  He replaced the receiver and addressed a constable who was standing nearby. “Take Mrs. Dickens to Two Dog Lodge, Pearson. Quick as you can. They’re holding the bus for her.”

  I walked Millie to the squad car. “You know what we need. Call me as soon as you find anything out.”

  She nodded, and brushed my lips with hers. “I’ll phone you once we reach Lawrenceville, even if
I have nothing to report.”

  When I returned to the command post, Susan was standing by a window near the wall map, holding a satellite phone to her ear. Although her back was to me, I could read the tension in her posture as she spoke into the phone. “Yes, I heard you. Forty-eight hours? I’ll need more…” She stopped in mid-sentence, shaking her head, staring in disbelief at the device in her hand. “He hung up.”

  “What’s going on?” I asked.

  Susan turned at the sound of my voice. The color had drained from her face, and a stray tear was tracing a crooked path down her cheek. She sank into the nearest chair and cradled her face in her hands, muffling her words. “That was a ransom call. The kidnappers are asking for $10 million. I’m to have it ready in 48 hours.” Despair etched into her face, she raised her head to look at me. “I can’t get that kind of money together in 48 hours. Virtually all of the company’s cash is tied up in our expansion. Most of my personal assets are, too.”

  I pulled up a chair and sat facing her. “Tell me exactly what happened.”

  She took a deep breath, exhaling slowly before she spoke. “I always take the satellite phone with me when I travel. He must have called my office and wheedled the phone number out of my secretary.” Her voice drifted off, and I waited for her to collect her thoughts. “The phone rang, and I answered it. The person on the other end said that if I wanted to see my nephew alive again, I had to pay them $10 million. He’ll call back in 48 hours with details on how and where to deliver the ransom.”

  “What can you tell me about the person you spoke to? Did you recognize the voice?”

  She shook her head. “He was using some kind of device to disguise his voice.”

  “I don’t suppose there’s some way to trace a call coming into a satellite phone?” I asked Laporte.