I was awakened by a scream inside my head.
“No!”
Helpless to intervene, I watched as he raised his gun. He fired once, and Millie crumpled to the ground. Turpin turned to face me. “I warned you,” he said. “I promised you’d be sorry.”
My gorge rising, I sprang out of bed, almost tripping over Hershey, who had curled up on the floor near the nightstand. I stumbled to the bathroom, and emptied the contents of my stomach into the toilet bowl. My head was pounding, but the very thought of swallowing anything, even aspirin, was enough to turn my stomach all over again. Splashing cold water on my face helped a little. I staggered back to the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed, willing the room to stop spinning and the kettle drum inside my head to shut up. I checked the time. It was approaching 4am. There would be no more sleep for me that night.
Chapter Sixteen
February 23, 1983
Susan and I were seated in adjacent armchairs, our china coffee cups resting in their saucers on the edge of Headmaster Thorndyke’s desk. A wizened, gray-haired man seated in a high-backed, black leather chair frowned at us from across the oversized executive desk. His voice barely rose above a whisper. “This is most distressing and quite irregular. It is not our policy to allow anyone other than immediate family into our students’ rooms.”
“I suppose it’s not distressing or irregular for one of your students to disappear?” My head was pounding, and I was in no mood for platitudes. I made no effort to conceal my anger and frustration. “Or for one of his fellow-students to be complicit in that disappearance? Artie Hegarty was kidnapped for ransom. The FBI is now involved. You can cooperate with us or not. Your choice. You’ll still have to deal with them.” I slammed my fist on the surface of his desk hard enough to make the cups dance in their saucers.
Susan laid a hand on my arm, signaling me to back off. “Artie is my nephew. I am his legal guardian and his nearest blood relative. You have that information in his file.” She pointed at a manila file folder centered on Thorndyke’s desk blotter. “I insist upon inspecting his room.”
“I’ll need to consult our attorneys.”
“And, if you refuse us access, I shall most assuredly consult mine,” Susan replied in a calm voice that, nevertheless, brooked no opposition. “And all that will be achieved is delay. And adverse publicity for the Lawrenceville School, if you continue to obstruct us.” She took a delicate sip of coffee, and returned her cup and saucer to the corner of the desk. “I trust I have made my position clear, Headmaster?” She leaned back in her seat, her eyes never leaving Thorndyke’s, and rested her hands in her lap as though she had all the time in the world.
The silence built as Thorndyke’s expression changed from anger to confusion, then to resignation underlaid with an element of fear. Fear? I wondered.
He rose from his chair. “If you will excuse me for a moment?” He left the room, closing the door gently behind him.
I looked at Susan. “Well done.”
“It’s no different from a business negotiation. A firm message delivered in a soft voice usually is more effective than bluster, I’ve learned.”
“Sorry I blew my cool,” I muttered.
“Good cop, bad cop?” She smiled, taking the edge off her rebuke. “I wonder what he’s afraid of?”
“You caught that, too?” I let my eyes wander around the office. The furniture was mahogany, the chair cushions covered in black leather accented with brass upholstery nails. A matching mahogany credenza on the wall behind the desk was topped with a bookcase holding a selection of leather-bound volumes intermingled with framed photographs. A drapery-hung window overlooked the school’s playgrounds. I stood and walked over to the bookcase to examine the photos. Thorndyke was in every picture, shaking someone’s hand. The plaque affixed to each frame identified the individual in the photo, the year, and the nature of the donation the person had made to the school. I had just finished reading the last plaque when I heard the office door open.
“The school has some generous patrons,” I said to the headmaster as I returned to my chair.
Ignoring me, he resumed his seat and addressed himself to Susan. “I have spoken with the school’s legal counsel, and he has informed me that I cannot prevent you from visiting your nephew’s room, Ms. Sutherland. Or from being accompanied by this gentleman, if you so choose.” He cast a withering look in my direction. “However, the school is quite within its rights to decline a request to visit Master Hastings’s room without the express permission of either the student or his parents.”
I raised my eyebrow at that. We hadn’t asked to examine Hastings’s room. I kept my voice mild, emulating Susan’s example. “We understand your position, Headmaster. We would at least like to interview the boy. According to Mr. Blomqvist, Greg Hastings was one of the last members of the ski group to speak with Artie.”
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible.” Thorndyke shook his head, the frosty smile on his lips matching the ice in his eyes. “Master Hastings is absent from school for a while.”
Susan and I exchanged glances. “Was he taken ill?” Susan asked.
“No, he was given leave to attend a family function. His uncle sent word yesterday morning, and a car arrived for him in the afternoon.”
“His uncle?”
“Yes, that is correct. Mr. and Mrs. Hastings travel extensively. They have authorized Master Hastings’s uncle to act in loco parentis whilst they are away.” The headmaster allowed his satisfaction to show. “He has been quite generous to the school, and it behooves us to accommodate his wishes whenever it is within our power. You were examining his photograph just now, Mr. Dickens.”
I kept my voice neutral, projecting only mild curiosity. “Is Mr. Turpin a long-standing benefactor of the Lawrenceville School?”
“In fact, his interest is quite recent. He wished to express his gratitude to us for our oversight of his nephew’s education, and for our recommendation of young Hastings for admission to Princeton.”
Susan stirred in her chair. It was time to move this along. “Ms. Sutherland has an appointment in Atlantic City this afternoon,” I said. “Could we pay that visit to Artie’s room now?”
Thorndyke replied with a curt nod. “The prefect waiting in the outer office has been instructed to escort you to Master Hegarty’s room. If there is nothing more you require from me, I shall bid you good morning.”
Susan was quiet as we left Artie’s residence and walked across the school quad to the rental car. I held off asking what was troubling her until we had taken the I-95 on-ramp in the direction of the airport.
“I never knew how unhappy he was at Lawrenceville.” Her voice was barely loud enough to be heard over the sound of the engine. “I found some notes Artie had saved. Anonymous notes.” She reached into her handbag without taking her eyes from the road, and handed a few folded sheets of paper to me. “Read these.”
I scanned the crudely printed notes, which ‘informed’ Artie that he was a bastard and his mother was a whore. That his mother had abandoned him. That she had never loved him. I shook my head in disgust. “Kids can be cruel. Do you think he told anyone about these? Mary and Zeb, perhaps? Or a school counselor?”
Susan shook her head. “I doubt it. Had he said anything to Mary or to Zeb, they would have told me about it, and we would have taken action. None of us would have stood for Artie being bullied.”
“These notes corroborate something the prefect told me while you were in Artie’s room. He said Artie kept pretty much to himself. Of course, he’s younger than the other kids in his Form.” Lawrenceville was a prep school for 9th to 12th grade, which it referred to as Second to Fifth Form, in the British manner. However, it also ran a ‘First Form’ primary school. Thanks to Mary’s expert home-schooling, Artie had been more advanced than the other students his age when he entered the First Form. As a result, he had graduated to Second Form two years ahead of his age group. “I gathered from the prefect that some of the
senior boys took pleasure in riding him. The bully-in-chief was Greg Hastings.”
“Derek Turpin’s nephew?”
“The same.”
“Do you think he was acting under Turpin’s instructions?”
I shook my head. “It’s hard to say. He might just be a natural-born bully, like his uncle. I’d say it’s highly unlikely Artie would have even spoken to Hastings on the ski trip, much less asked him to convey a message to Blomqvist on his behalf. That makes Hastings part of the conspiracy, although I don’t know whether he was in on the overall plan. As far as he was concerned, it might have been just a prank designed to strand Artie overnight at Spruce Peak, and cause him to miss his ride back to school.”
Susan wrinkled her brow in thought as she navigated the off-ramp from the Interstate into the parking lot for Trenton-Mercer Airport. She accompanied me inside the General Aviation section of the terminal building, where Manfred Warrenburg was waiting for us at the Pilot Services desk, Hershey sitting alertly at his side.
He handed Hershey’s leash to me. “All set?” I asked.
Warrenburg gave a quick nod. “Flight plan’s filed, your stuff is on board, and we’re fueled and ready to roll.”
I thanked him and turned to Susan. “Take care of yourself, especially when you meet with Turpin.”
She nodded, her expression determined. “You don’t need to worry about me. I’ve already spoken with Bruno. He’ll watch my back.” Her face softened and her eyes filled with tears as she reached out to touch my arm. “Please, Damien. Find Artie. Bring him back to us.” She swallowed hard. “I want to make things right for him. My sister is dead. I don’t want to lose her son, too.”
Part Two
Slip the surly bonds
Chapter Seventeen
February 21, 1983
Millie shifted in the narrow, ill-padded airline seat. Leaning her forehead against the cool Plexiglass window, she tried to shut out the periodic shouts of ‘party hearty’ and ‘Viva Las Vegas’ emanating from the crowd of excited merrymakers who filled the back half of the 737 jet.
The seven-hour bus ride from Stowe to Lawrenceville, during which she had done her best to engage the students in conversation about Artie, had drained her. Millie had planned to call Dick from Lawrenceville, to fill him in on what she had learned from the missing boy’s schoolmates. Instead, even though it would delay her report, she had welcomed the bus driver’s offer to give her a ride home to Atlantic City. She had promised herself a hot bath and a good night’s rest as soon as she finished briefing Dick on the little she had gleaned.
The message light was flashing on the answering machine when Millie opened the door to their Atlantic City apartment. She walked over to the table and pressed the Play button.
“Hello? I’m looking for Millie?” A young, hesitant voice issued from the speaker. “This is Sonya? Sonya Cortez? I’m trying to reach Colin. Please call me. My number is 702-555-3654.”
The second message was similar. As were the third, fourth, and fifth. Each time, the young woman sounded more frantic, her voice rising at the end of every sentence. While Millie was listening to the sixth message, the phone rang. “Millie?” Sonya’s voice came through clearly, over the sound of a baby crying in the background. “Is that Millie?”
“Yes,” Millie had replied. “Who is this?”
“This is Sonya? Colin’s wife. Is he with you?” Sonya’s voice was tinged with panic. “The baby is crying, we’re running low on food, and I don’t know what to do.”
Wife? Baby? Taken aback, Millie hesitated. Sonya sounded young and immature. Too young to be a mother. “Colin isn’t here, Sonya. When did you last see him?”
“He…” Sonya swallowed a sob, “he left home to go to work as usual about ten or eleven days ago. He kissed me and the baby, just like always, when he left, and said he’d see us later. I haven’t heard from him since. And this morning…” her voice trailed off.
“What happened this morning, Sonya?”
“The police came to our apartment. They’re looking for him. They think he robbed the casino where he works. But…but,” Sonya’s voice cracked, “but, Millie, I just know something bad has happened? I’m afraid to go out and leave Sarita alone. There’s almost no food left in the house, and I’m running out of stuff for the baby, and I…”
Millie broke into the litany. “Is there anyone you can call? Your parents? Or a friend?”
“No, nobody. I just moved here a year ago, and I don’t have any real friends. No one who I can ask for help. What do I do?”
“How old are you, Sonya?” Millie asked.
“N..nineteen? I’ll turn 20 in a few months.”
Millie looked at her wristwatch. It was approaching 9pm. If she hurried… “Stay put,” she told Sonya. “I’ll catch the first available flight. A red-eye, if possible. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
Cutting short Sonya’s voluble expression of gratitude, Millie hung up the phone. When she had last visited her brother, in the fall of 1981, People Express offered no-frills direct flights from Philadelphia to Las Vegas. She reached for the telephone book, flipping pages rapidly until she found the airline’s listing. Yes, she was told, there was an 11:55pm flight from Philadelphia to Las Vegas. Did she wish to make a reservation? As rapidly as she could, Millie completed the transaction, jotting down a confirmation number that would allow her to claim and pay for her ticket at the airport. Taking her overnight bag into the bedroom, she dumped its contents on the bed, hurriedly refilled it with fresh clothes, and snapped the latches shut. Five minutes later, she was backing her car out of its parking space.
She turned onto Atlantic Avenue and headed for the Expressway. Traffic was light at that hour, and she made good time, reaching the junction with the I-95 in 40 minutes. Millie glanced at the dashboard clock. Almost 10:45. She was cutting it close. It took another fifteen minutes for her to reach the airport off-ramp and park her car. Towing her wheeled overnight case behind her, she ran into the terminal and located the People Express check-in desk. Panting, she claimed and paid for her ticket, received her boarding pass, and was directed to Gate 15F. Boarding would commence within a few minutes, the ticket agent told her.
Millie raced down a corridor marked with an oversized, white, uppercase ‘F’ on a blue background. Gate 15 was at the far end, and she was perspiring freely by the time she reached it. The counter agent was announcing the start of pre-boarding. There was barely enough time for her to make a phone call. She found a bank of pay telephones against the wall opposite the gate, and placed a collect call to Susan Sutherland in Stowe. Static on the line, and the background noises echoing through the airport terminal, made it almost impossible to carry on a conversation. She didn’t know how much Susan was able to glean from her report, but there was no mistaking the younger woman’s displeasure as she ended the call.
Had she made the right decision? Millie asked herself the question over and over again, staring with blank eyes at the star-filled sky. She hadn’t known about Colin’s marriage, much less about the baby. Nevertheless, her instinct demanded she respond to Sonya’s urgent appeal.
She leaned back in her seat and unfolded the previous day’s edition of the Las Vegas Review-Journal, which she had found in her seat pocket. “Police Name Person-of-Interest in Casino Heist,” the headline blared. She scanned the report, her pulse quickening when she read the third paragraph. “Police are seeking information on the whereabouts of Las Vegas resident Colin Hewitt, who they have named as a ‘person-of-interest’ in their investigation. He was last seen on February 11th, a few hours before the iconic nugget disappeared from its display case in the lobby of the Gold Dragon Casino. Anyone with information on Hewitt’s movements since February 11th is urged to contact the LVMPD’s anonymous TIP line.”
Millie put the paper down with a sigh. Colin had done some stupid things over the years: juvenile mischief, defacing public property, shoplifting. She’d had to bail him out of trouble more than once,
both before and after he had moved out west. But she couldn’t imagine him as the perpetrator of a major crime. Maybe Dick was right. Maybe she should have forced her kid brother to take responsibility for his poor choices. She shuddered. Dick! She knew he resented the bond between Colin and herself. He would be furious when he learned what she had done. She wasn’t looking forward to the phone call she would have to make in a few hours, when she arrived at her destination. With a final sigh, she closed her eyes and let exhaustion overtake her.
Chapter Eighteen
February 22, 1983
The pilot’s announcement of their imminent landing at McCarran International Airport penetrated her sleep. Groggily, she rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands, and returned her seat to its upright position. She looked at her watch, which she had adjusted to Pacific time shortly after take-off. Two-fifteen in the morning. Not a civilized hour to be arriving on someone’s doorstep. She would arrange for a rental car, then call Sonya, to give her a heads-up. Millie ran her hands through her sleep-tousled hair, tightened her seat-belt, and watched through the window as the lights of the famous Las Vegas Strip came into view.
Millie selected the least expensive vehicle she could find. The Dodge Colt hatchback’s interior was spartan, the upholstery lumpy and torn. She had test-driven a Colt once, and knew the vehicle would be underpowered, with sloppy, unresponsive steering. But the car would get her where she was going, and that’s what counted. Colin no longer lived near the Strip, Millie learned when she reached Sonya from a pay phone near the baggage-claim carousels. The apartment he shared with Sonya and the baby was on East Bonanza Road, some 17 miles from the airport.
The Gold Dragon Caper: A Damien Dickens Mystery (Damien Dickens Mysteries Book 4) Page 9