The Trouble With Murder

by Catherine Nelson

  Headlights drew nearer in the remaining mirrors, and the rainfall was heavier, officially a downpour now. Even on high, the wipers were basically useless. And this only contributed to the fact that visibility was basically nil.

  Holding the wheel with my left hand, I waved the phone around, trying to pick up any cell signals. Finally, after a minute, the thing was back in roaming. I quickly redialed.

  “Dispatch. Do you have an emergency?” This was a different woman.

  “My name is Zoe Grey. I was just speaking with a dispatcher. I didn’t catch her name.”

  “Let me check. One moment.”

  My anxiety ratcheted up several notches as the silence stretched on. I worried the call would be dropped again. Finally, someone came back on the line.

  “Zoe? Is that you?”

  “Yes. Was I talking to you before?”

  “I can barely make you out. My name is Rita, in case that happens again. I’ve restarted the trace, but it still needs time.”

  “How much time?”

  “Two minutes, give or take.”

  “You hear back from Ellmann?”

  “Not yet. I’m still trying. Hang in there.”

  The Subaru had the same idea I did and was closing the distance between us at a frightening rate. I thought I knew his plan. I rolled my eyes.

  “I have to put the phone down,” I said quickly. “If I get disconnected, I’ll call back. Keep trying Ellmann; it’s urgent.”

  I didn’t hear her response. I dropped the phone into a cup holder in the center console and switched back to 4H, the motor crying out in response to the sudden change, but immediately slowing the SUV. It was a split second before the Subaru smashed into the rear bumper. The impact threw the Tahoe forward, and I jerked hard against the seat belt, wincing at the strain on my shoulder. But the car clung to the road. I saw the Subaru pulling back for another run, and I waited. Choosing the right time, I let off the gas and stomped on the break. The Subaru plowed into the Tahoe, the back end beginning to fishtail. I steered a little in the other direction, the battered bumper pushing the front of the Subaru in the wrong direction, exacerbating the fishtail. Then I hit the gas, putting some distance between us.

  I watched in the mirror as the driver tried in vain to regain control. Ultimately, the car spun off the road and down a small embankment where it stopped against a line of trees.

  Two down.

  I snatched up the phone.

  “Rita, still there?”

  No answer.

  I started to redial, until I saw something new bouncing on the passenger-side floorboard. I shot a look at the mirrors then chanced a longer look. It was a handheld microphone on a curly black cord—a radio mic. I wanted a better look but couldn’t look away from the road just then.

  I got back on the line with dispatch and, a moment later, with Rita.

  “Are you okay? I heard crunching.”

  “A quick game of bumper cars,” I said. “I won. Any luck with that trace?”

  “Some. We’ve got a general idea. We still need time. How are you doing?”

  I glanced down at my shoulder. Even in the dark, I thought I could see the bloodstain had spread to my neck and halfway down my arm; the area was shiny and wet-looking on the black cloth of the sweatshirt. I was feeling the damage more profoundly now.

  “I’ve been better.”

  The road straightened out, and I took a better look at the passenger-side floorboard. A small CB radio was mounted under the dash, the microphone having bounced off the hook during the impact with the Subaru.

  “Hey, I’ve got a CB radio here,” I said.

  “I still need the cell phone for the trace, but maybe that radio would help eliminate the interference in the line.”

  She gave me a channel to try.

  I hit the speakerphone button then dropped the phone into the cup holder again. The static on the line had been horrible, and I could only hope the call wasn’t dropped. Holding the wheel with my left hand, gritting my teeth against the pain, I leaned down and fiddled with the buttons on the radio. Without any light, and only a second here and there to look at it, it was difficult to find the right knobs. Finally, I got the damn thing on. The display on the right held two little red numbers indicating my channel. I found the knob I needed and rolled over to the one Rita suggested. Then I picked up the mic and tried calling out.

  “Oh, no,” Rita came back over the speakerphone. “That’s no good.”

  She gave me another channel, and I tried again.

  “Better,” she came back over the radio. “How is it for you?”

  “Loud and clear.”

  “Good. Oh, Zoe, hang on. I’ll be right back.”

  With the Subaru gone, the next car in line raced up and closed the gap. The road ahead began to slope upward. I’d passed several crossroads, but none had seemed right. I didn’t pretend to know where I was going, but I was operating on intuition, which almost never steered me wrong. I’d had no strong feelings about changing direction. That is, until I got to the top of the next hill.

  The crossroad stretched out on a fairly flat plane for as far as I could see. The car behind me raced ahead. I did some mental math, and when the timing was right, I switched back to 4H and pulled the wheel to the right. Again, without much hesitation, the wheels gripped and held the road as they pulled the SUV around the corner, propelling it forward. I flipped back to two-wheel drive for a bit of distance. The car behind me had been racing ahead, intending to follow me on a straight path. My sudden detour came as a surprise, and the driver was unable to compensate. As he reached the top of the hill, he pulled right, trying to make the corner, but the car spun off the other side of the hill and out of sight.

  Had none of these idiots driven before?

  “Zoe? Come in, Zoe.”

  Rita’s voice crackled over the CB radio.

  I picked up the mic from my lap and pressed the button.

  “Yeah, I’m here.”

  “The trace is complete. I’ve got you. I’m tracking you through GPS now, in real time.”

  “Excellent. How about some directions?”

  “No problem.”

  A round of gunfire rang out. I dropped the mic and ducked down as several bullets whizzed over my head, putting a few new holes in the windshield. Immediately, water poured in, running down the glass into the recesses of the dash. Fortunately, it wasn’t my car. Otherwise, I’d have been pissed.

  “Zoe! Are you there? That sounded like more gunfire.”

  I couldn’t answer her and keep the Tahoe on the road.

  I flipped back to 4H and felt the tires grip the road with more surety. When the gunfire had stopped, I chanced raising my head, ready to duck again. No more shots rang out. I could see the cars were close, on my tail, but the drivers had stopped shooting. For the moment.

  “Zoe! Come in, Zoe!”

  “I’m still here,” I said.

  “Good grief, you scared me half to death. There will be a crossroad coming up in about four hundred yards. You’ll want to make a left.”

  “Copy that. Where am I?”

  “Up near Walden. Three hundred yards now, Zoe.”

  I strained to see through the wall of water. It was useless; I couldn’t see enough to differentiate a crossroad ahead.

  “A hundred and fifty yards, Zoe. And good news.”

  “I could use some.”

  “I’ve got Ellmann on the line.”

  26

  “How close am I? I don’t see a road.”

  The dark landscape stretched out in front of me in waves of hills, the entire area covered in evergreens, but I could distinguish no road. The rain was too heavy now to make out anything but large, looming shapes.

  “Fifty yards,” Rita answered, her voice steady and even.

  “Count it down, please.”

  “Forty, thirty-five, thirty . . .”

  I knew I should be slowing down, but the best I could do was let off the gas. I could
see no differentiation between the road Rita was directing me to and the rest of the dark, wet surroundings.

  “Fifteen, ten, nine,” she recited.

  My heart hammered. I decided to turn even if I couldn’t see the road. Seemed like I had less to lose that way. And the Tahoe was an SUV, with an off-road package; that’s what it was for.

  “Five, four, three . . .”

  I reached for the four-wheel drive controls, and the wipers swiped past. I caught the briefest glance before the water was a wall against the glass again. And I saw it. There! The dark outline of a road.

  “Two, one, now.”

  I flipped the control to 4H and pulled the wheel to the left. As it had each time before, the SUV gripped the road and shot forward, though I could tell the rain was taking its toll on the dirt road. Behind me, others slid, but none lost control. I grabbed up the mic.

  “Okay, now where?”

  “It’ll be a couple miles on this road.”

  “What’s Ellmann have to say?”

  I thought there was the slightest hesitation.

  “He was upset to hear about the gunshots and bumper cars.”

  “That’s a nice way of saying he’s pissed.”

  “Yes. Turns out they were headed your way all along.”

  “Where are they now?”

  “On the other side of Walden. I’m hoping you meet in the middle.”

  Another round of gunshots rang out, just to remind me how dire my situation was. I was extremely fortunate none of the bullets so far had put a tire out or hit the gas tank and barbequed me. I wasn’t sure how long that would last. I kept my head down until the shots let up.

  “I’m not sure I have that long,” I said.

  “I’ve notified all units in the surrounding area. No one is very close, and the rain isn’t helping, but I’ve got everyone and their brother headed your way. Hang in there.”

  I roared ahead, almost blind from the downpour, along an unfamiliar, indistinguishable road in the middle of nowhere, and I tried to keep my spirits up. I was sure things could be worse, but I didn’t know how. Of course, I’d learned my lessons about wishing, so I didn’t spend any time wondering just how much worse they could get. I didn’t want to find out.

  More shots rang out, and I ducked. I couldn’t help the tears in my eyes. It was probably the fatigue. Or the exhaustion. I mean, I can handle stress. And I had survived worse than this. But I was just so tired. I was sure that was it.

  When the shots stopped, I grabbed the mic.

  “Is there any way to put me in touch with Ellmann directly?” I asked Rita.

  “Zoe, is everything okay? You don’t sound so good.”

  “I’ll be fine. What about my question?”

  There was a beat of silence. “Give me a minute.”

  It was a long minute. There were two more episodes of shooting, two skids, one near loss of control, and one more bumper-kiss from the guy right behind me. The driver’s side mirror erupted, the glass shattering and falling away, although the unit itself remained affixed to the car. The rear quarter-panel window on the driver’s side was also shattered. Several more holes adorned the windshield. Rain poured in from all sides. And the heater, even at full blast, could no longer adequately combat the cold wind blowing through the drafty car. Too much more of this shooting crap and the windshield would be toast. When that happened, I’d have a hard time continuing on; it would be damn near impossible to see through a river pouring into the front seat.

  “Rita!” I cried into the mic. “Rita! How far to the next turn?”

  A few more bullets whizzed by, and I groaned in frustration, smacking my hand on the steering wheel.

  “Aaahhh! Stop shooting!” I snatched at the mic. “Rita! Damnit, come in!”

  “Zoe! I’m here. I’m sorry, I’m here.”

  I blinked away the tears, and they streaked down my cheeks like little ice cubes.

  “Where am I going?”

  “It’s a little over a mile before you reach the next road. I’ve been talking to Ellmann. He’s going to switch to the civilian frequency we’re using. I’m trying to work it out on this end, because he and Koepke will be out of touch with dispatch once they do that.”

  “They’ll still have you, right?”

  “Yes, but that eliminates a lot of the fail-safes we use. It requires a bit of adjusting.”

  I sighed. “I just need to talk to him. I’m sorry.”

  “Please, as if I could stop him.”

  I couldn’t help but chuckle.

  I hit the button for the mic as another round of bullets peppered the car. I dropped the mic in my lap and ducked down, trying to keep the car steady.

  “Zoe, let me hear from you.”

  It was Ellmann. His voice was tight with worry. I knew he’d heard the gunshots.

  I had to wait until the gunfire ceased. With each second that ticked by in radio silence, I knew Ellmann’s anxiety was ratcheting up a notch. Mine wasn’t anxiety anymore. It was despair. I was feeling the effects of the blood loss and fighting off constant nausea and dizziness now. I wasn’t sure how much longer it would be until I passed out.

  When the shooting stopped, I picked up the mic.

  “I’m here,” I said. I didn’t have to add, “for now.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yes. I’m sure I need to explain some things.”

  “Right now, I’m not interested in that. You don’t sound okay.”

  “And you sound scared.”

  “That’s because I am.”

  “Me too,” I confessed.

  It had been a very long time since I’d been truly scared, had felt the type of fear that grows out of the deepest part of your being and spreads its icy-cold substance through your body like a cancer. Before I got mixed up in this case, it had been thirteen years, six months, two weeks, and two days. I remembered it well. And that was what I felt now, oozing through me. It had reached the base of my spine, wrapped itself around, and slithered upward. It made my hair stand on end.

  _______________

  “Zoe?” Rita still sounded calm and collected. I was very grateful it had been her who had taken my call. “You’re turn is coming up. Make a right in about five hundred yards. Want me to count it down?”

  “I’ll let you know. If you don’t hear from me, assume the answer is yes.”

  I didn’t have to see Ellmann’s face to know the look it held at my words. I was glad he didn’t say anything. I was already having enough trouble.

  When a person is faced with the very real chance of death, they suddenly see all the things they should have done, should have said, should have appreciated, should have celebrated. I saw all those now, and then some. I could think of every situation in which I should have been nicer, more patient, more understanding, more loving. I could hear all the words I should have said to my family, my friends, my coworkers, complete strangers. All the things I’d taken for granted, all the times I’d pushed too far, come too close, given up too soon. All of it. I saw all of it.

  Blinking away tears, I keyed up the mic.

  “Rita, I just want to say, I’m really glad you answered my call.”

  There was a beat of silence.

  “Oh, honey,” she said. “I’m glad, too. Unless you’re giving up. That would seriously piss me off.”

  I chuckled, then sniffed back tears.

  “Ellmann,” I said. I could no longer keep the tears from my voice.

  “Zoe, don’t,” he said sharply, before I could continue. “Don’t even think about it.”

  “But if there isn’t another chance—”

  I stopped and released the mic key, unable to even form the words.

  “No,” he insisted. There was something in his voice I’d never heard before, something I didn’t like, didn’t want to name. He was trying to hide it, but wasn’t quite pulling it off. “No way. You have something to say to me, you say it in person.”

  It sounded good, and the id
ea appealed to me, but I felt the fight seeping out of me. Probably in direct proportion to the blood running out of my shoulder.

  Keeping one eye on the last remaining mirror, I searched for the road I was supposed to take up ahead. Mostly all I saw was rain and darkness. I hadn’t seen any homes, any cars that weren’t chasing me, or any street signs. I was about to ask Rita to count it down when there was more gunfire.

  As if reading my mind, her voice came over the radio.

  “Three hundred yards.”

  It was impossible now for me to steer with my left arm, the damage to my shoulder finally taking its toll. I scrunched down in the seat, keeping my head out of the line of fire as best I could while still being able to reach the wheel with my right hand. I drove with little more guidance than a glance here and a glance there.

  “Two hundred yards.”

  I swerved to avoid at least some of the bullets. I could hear them hitting the exterior.

  “One hundred yards.”

  They had to be running low on ammo by now. How long until they exhausted their supply?

  “Fifty yards.”

  I bobbed my head up after a long pause in the gunfire and looked over the road. In the rain, visibility was twenty feet at best. If I’d had more energy or more sense, I would have been more worried about my situation and the potential outcome. Instead, I was focused on nothing more than the next task: get to the turn.

  “Forty yards, thirty-five . . .”

  I put my effort into keeping the car on the road and not much else. Straining to see through the wet onslaught did nothing but suck energy I didn’t have to spare. And I felt my brain struggling to keep up now. Planning ahead was becoming difficult. It was much easier to simply follow the directions at hand.

  “Fifteen, ten, nine, eight . . .”

  More gunshots rang out, and I slipped down in the seat. Two bullet holes appeared in the windshield directly in my line of sight, having zinged over my head, so close I’d felt them pass.

  “Five, four, three . . .”

  I’d reached the turn.

  I touched the brake while switching to 4L, then, on Rita’s count, I pulled the wheel to the right. Cutting the corner a little short, I felt the tires on the passenger side roll off the pavement briefly then bounce back onto it. I switched to 4H and hit the gas.