Shadow Spy (A Bryson Wilde Thriller / Read in Any Order)
Page 11
It seemed disoriented.
Crazy.
Unsure of where it was or what it was doing.
It was four steps away.
Now three.
Fallon grabbed a rock the size of a baseball, waited until the snake was a step away and then threw it directly at the head.
Bones crashed.
The head flattened.
The back end of the snake wiggled furiously for second after second after second, then all movement stopped.
JUNDEE STARED IN DISBELIEF then focused on the pain in his back.
“I can’t climb,” he said.
“I’ll help you.”
“I’m not talking about getting out of here, I’m talking about getting up to that ledge and getting the briefcase.”
“Are you nuts?”
“You’re going to have to do it,” he said. “My back’s hurt too bad.”
“No.”
“Yes. This is our only chance. We need to do it and we need to do it right now.”
Fallon looked at the ledge.
It was high.
Sixty feet minimum.
The wall was almost straight up.
There were a thousand ways to fall off it and die, even if her body wasn’t full of poison.
44
Day Four
June 12, 1952
Thursday Afternoon
HALF A MILE UP THE ROAD Shade spotted a crude wooden house up ahead. No vehicles were parked by it. No signs of life came from it—the doors were shut, the windows were shut, the blinds were shut, the whole damn thing was shut as tight as a cage.
Visible Moon was in there.
Shade could feel it, even from a distance.
She quickened the pace, slowing only to pick up a rock the size of a grapefruit, more than adequate to smash a skull to oblivion.
Her blood was on fire.
It pumped through her veins with a force she hadn’t felt for a long, long time.
This was it.
Everything had come down to this moment.
Be in there.
Be alive.
That’s all I’m asking.
She watched the blinds for signs of movement as she approached. They hung as still and lifeless as death itself.
That was good.
Very good.
Up close, the structure was even cruder than she thought, as if built without any knowledge or regard for codes. The front door was shut tight. She quietly put her hand on the knob and turned it ever so gently.
It was locked.
She walked around the circumference.
All the windows were shut.
The blinds were closed tight.
She walked around again, this time testing the windows to see if any were unlocked.
Negative.
They were all latched from the inside.
Now what?
Break a window and go in?
SHE WALKED to the front door and wondered one last time if what she was about to do was the best course of action. Then she took a deep breath and knocked.
A second passed.
Then another.
Then another.
No one came.
No vibrations came from inside.
Everything remained coffin-quiet.
She knocked again, louder, and shouted, “Anyone home?”
Nothing happened.
“Visible Moon. Are you in there!”
More nothing.
Nothing but nothing.
She could be passed out from drugs. She could be hogtied and gagged.
Shade had to go in.
There was no getting around it.
She headed around to the back and punched a window with the base of her palm. The glass shattered into sharp dangerous pieces. Most fell inside but some landed at her feet. Jagged edges still hung in the frame. She carefully reached through and felt around for a latch.
She couldn’t find it.
It wasn’t on the top.
It wasn’t on the bottom.
It wasn’t on the side.
Damn it.
It must be a fixed window.
She’d have to slither in.
She stuck her head close to the opening and shouted, “Visible Moon, are you in there?” She heard nothing. “If you can hear me, kick or something. Make a noise.”
No noises came.
She found a good-sized rock and began to knock the jagged pieces of glass off the bottom. Suddenly a noise appeared, barely audible but audible nonetheless. It didn’t come from inside the house.
It came from the road.
She concentrated on it.
It was a car.
Someone was coming.
45
Day Four
June 12, 1952
Thursday Afternoon
ALABAMA WASN’T A FAN of Wilde’s theory that the pinup killer was actually Senn-Rae’s own client, even given the fact that the guy had somehow managed to never meet Senn-Rae face to face. “If someone was a killer, why would they hire someone to find out who they are? It doesn’t make sense.”
“Yes it does.”
“How?”
“Simple.”
He let it hang.
“Simple how? Tell me.”
“Simple as in easy.”
She punched his arm.
“Stop being you for a minute and tell me.”
He smiled.
“Simple because it’s a game he plays with his upcoming victims. He gets close to them. Every interaction is another kiss on the lips. He knows what’s going to happen in the end. She doesn’t. He lays in bed at night and jacks off to it.”
Alabama rolled her eyes.
“Thanks for the visual,” she said.
Wilde smiled.
“You’re welcome.”
“Speaking of that,” she said, “there were a lot of noises coming from your room last night.”
Hesitation.
“Yeah, well—”
“It sounded like you were wrestling an alligator.”
Wilde searched for a witty reply and got none.
“Let’s just go with that,” he said.
“There’s no need for alligators,” Alabama said. “I’m right there in the next room.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“You can wrestle me. I’ll even let you win.” A beat, then, “So is it your theory that the guy got close to the boxcar girl too, before he killed her?”
Wilde nodded.
“That’s my theory,” he said. “Same thing with Natalie Levine. We need to dig into her past, meaning the week or two prior to when she disappeared, and find out who was in her life.”
Alabama picked up Tail and paced by the windows.
“LET’S SUPPOSE YOU’RE RIGHT,” she said. “Let’s suppose I’m right too about the numbers on the matches being dates. When you put the two together, than means that the guy is going to kill Senn-Rae on the 16th which is Monday.”
“Either kill her or abduct her on that date,” Wilde said. “We don’t know which one the date refers to.”
“True. Either way, she’s safe until then.”
Wilde considered it.
“Probably.”
“So all we have to do is wait until Monday, guard her like a hawk on that day and catch him in the act.”
Wilde chewed on it.
Then frowned.
“The more I think about it, suppose the date refers to the kill date,” he said. “He might do the actual abduction days before that.”
“So she’s in danger right now, even as we speak.”
“Potentially,” Wilde said.
He walked to the rack, pulled his wallet out of his suit jacket and counted what was inside—$120.
He gave half to Alabama.
“There’s a sporting goods store on 16th near California,” he said. “Go down there and buy two Colt 45s and two boxes of bullets.”
“What for?”
“One’s fo
r Senn-Rae,” he said. “The other’s for Shade.”
“What about me?”
“What about you?”
“I should have one too.”
“A gun?”
Right.
A gun.
“You have Tail,” he said.
“We have Tail,” she said. “Remember, he’s half yours.”
ALABAMA STUFFED THE MONEY in her bra and headed for the door.
“Keep an open mind,” she said.
“About what? Tail?”
“No, Tail’s already a done deal,” she said. “I’m talking about your theory that Senn-Rae’s client is the killer. You might be totally wrong. It might be someone else altogether.” She smiled and added, “No wrestling with Tail while I’m gone.”
Wilde smiled.
“Talk to Jimmy at the store,” he said. “Tell him the guns are for me. He’ll give you a deal.”
“A deal up or a deal down?”
“Not funny.”
“A little funny,” Alabama said.
“Okay, a little.”
46
Day Four
June 12, 1952
Thursday Evening
FALLON CAST A NERVOUS GLANCE at the rattlesnake to be sure it wasn’t creeping at her with a last breath of hateful life. It wasn’t. It was lying right where it should be. Its head was still smashed beyond belief and tilted the exact same way as before, except now three or four flies were crawling on it.
Flies were good.
Flies meant death.
Then she noticed something she didn’t expect, not at the fangs end but at the other one.
The rattle wasn’t there.
She bent down for a closer look. Sure enough, the end of the reptile slimmed to a point. The end was brown, like a rattle, but it wasn’t a rattle. The rattlesnake wasn’t a rattlesnake.
“It’s a bull snake,” she shouted to Jundee.
“Is that good or bad?”
“Good,” she said. “Beyond good, way beyond good. Bull snakes look exactly like rattlers but they’re not. That’s their defense mechanism. The important thing is that they’re not poisonous.”
“They’re not?”
“No.”
“So you’re okay?”
“I’m beyond okay.”
“Good,” he said. “You can climb up to the ledge.”
“No.”
“But—”
“It’s too steep plus we’re losing light. We need to get the hell out of here.”
THE PLACE they came down turned out to be too steep for Jundee to negotiate with his back the way it was, but they found a calmer incline a quarter mile farther down the valley that worked.
When they got back to the car, there was a sliver of light left, a window of ten or fifteen minutes where they’d be able to see a short distance.
Jundee grabbed Fallon’s arm and squeezed.
“I have a plan.”
He pulled the car over to where it was just above the ledge, killed the engine, left the gearshift in first and set the emergency brake.
Then he got a length of rope from the trunk, tied it around the back bumper and tossed the loose end over the side of the cliff.
The plan was for Fallon to walk down the side of the cliff until she was able to see over the outcropping and down onto the ledge. Then they could find out once and for all if the briefcase was there.
Fallon wasn’t afraid.
That wasn’t the issue.
Her concern is that the rope wasn’t long enough.
“Just try and see how far you get,” Jundee said.
She hesitated.
“We’re almost out of light,” Jundee added. “Five minutes, then we’re history.”
Fallon took a deep breath, tugged on the rope to be sure it was snug, then headed down.
She got to the very end.
Bad news.
“I need five more feet.”
“We don’t have five more feet.”
“I’m coming up then.”
“Hold it.”
She stayed where she was.
“What?”
“Let me see if I can back the car up a little,” Jundee said.
“Okay but hurry,” she said. “My hands are getting tired.”
Jundee got behind the wheel, fired up the engine and put the clutch in neutral. With his foot on the brake, he released the emergency brake. Then he lifted his foot slightly off the pedal to see if Fallon’s weight was enough to pull the car back.
It wasn’t.
He shifted into reverse and let the clutch out as easily as he could.
The car moved backward.
The speed was perfect.
He was moving but barely.
It was hard to tell how far he was going.
Just a little more, then he’d stop.
He went a foot, maybe two, then put his foot on the brake and rolled down the window.
“How’s that?” he shouted.
“One more foot.”
He exhaled.
He eased the clutch up.
The car moved backwards ever so slowly.
Perfect.
“Six more inches,” he told himself.
Six more inches.
The car rolled back ever so slightly, five or six inches, maximum. Jundee was just about to put the full weight of his leg into the brake when the car suddenly jerked backwards and tumbled off the edge.
47
Day Four
June 12, 1952
Thursday Afternoon
THE CAR COMING towards the house was a problem, a big problem, potentially fatal. Shade had busted a window. That would lead to a search, an immediate search. She needed to get out of there.
The topography was wrong.
It was mostly flat and treeless. The best cover would be behind a clumping of rabbit bush.
She ran into the prairie, keeping the house between her and the car. Fifty yards, that’s how far she got before the sound of the vehicle got to the house and quit.
She took another twenty steps.
The driver would be at the front door now.
Five more steps.
He’d be inside.
Ten more steps.
He’d see the broken window and look out.
She dove behind a three-foot-high rabbit bush and laid flat.
It was barely big enough.
Her heart pounded.
She’d be okay unless the guy walked out into the field.
Stay calm.
Stay calm.
Stay calm.
SHE REMAINED PERFECTLY STILL. Her head was too close to the ground to see if anyone was coming. That was dangerous but so was the opposite.
A minute passed.
If the person was going to come into the field, it would be happening by now.
She pictured a man.
A big man.
A big man with a gun.
What was that?
A vibration?
Was it feet walking on the ground?
It disappeared.
She felt nothing.
She heard nothing.
She detected nothing.
Had it just been her imagination or had someone merely stopped en route to scout around?
No.
It wasn’t her imagination.
There it was again, a distinct vibration.
Someone was out there.
A voice shouted, “Come out now and there won’t be a problem.” It was twenty or thirty steps away, a man’s voice.
Shade’s heart raced.
She started to get up when the voice came again, “If you make me hunt you down you’re going to regret it. I swear on your grave you’ll regret it.”
She flattened.
“Okay, have it your way.”
A gunshot exploded.
48
Day Four
June 12, 1952
Thursday Afternoon
LATE THURSDAY AFTERNOON,
Wilde arranged a meeting with Senn-Rae at his office, then hid in the alley behind her building and watched as she left. He sprinted up the stairs two at a time, worked the lock carefully so as to leave no marks, and slipped inside.
His blood raced.
This was wrong.
He had no choice but still it was wrong.
Back at his office, Alabama would tell Senn-Rae that Wilde just called in to say he was running a little late.
She’d keep the woman there.
That didn’t give him much time.
The goal was simple, namely find out who Senn-Rae’s mystery client was.
Get his name.
The desk was cluttered with papers. He shuffled through them, looking for something that indicated it belonged to the case he was looking for. Senn-Rae’s handwriting was Greek, barely readable.
Come on.
Come on.
Come on.
He found something of interest on the corner, a yellow legal-sized notepad with the top ten or twenty sheets that didn’t lie flat, as if they had been used for notes. Halfway through was a page of interest.
6/12
TELEPHONE FROM MR. SMITH.
DEMAND IS $10K, DUE MONDAY.
9
There was no phone number.
No first name.
Wilde flipped to the following pages, which were also dated 6/12 at the top but related to other cases. Was Smith the client’s real name or was she keeping the file in code at his request?
What did the 9 stand for?
Did it mean 9 p.m.?
Was something going to happen tonight at nine, a meeting perhaps?
Or did the 9 mean the guy had $9,000 to give but that was it?
He put the pad exactly where he found it.
If Senn-Rae took notes regarding that conversation, she must have done the same with the earlier ones.
Where were they?
ON THE CORNER of the desk was a stack of yellow notepads that looked totally spent. Wilde flipped through, going by the dates in the upper left corners.
When did Senn-Rae first talk to Mr. Smith?
Think.
Think.
Think.
Okay, she came to see Wilde yesterday, Wednesday, and said she’d been retained the day before. That would be Tuesday, June 10th.