A Memory Worth Dying For

by Bruce, Joanie

  She forgot about the seat belt.

  Before she could reach to click it open, Shane pushed the gun into her face. His voice fried the air. “Don’t do that again. Next time I’ll shoot. Close the door and drive.”

  Marti’s hands were shaking so hard she could hardly hold the steering wheel. The car crept up to ten miles an hour then twenty. “Wh-where are we going?”

  “You’ll find out soon enough.”

  When the paved road ended at the grass, Shane leaned over and turned off the engine. With a quick movement, he jerked the gear into park and pulled the keys from the ignition. He pointed the gun at Marti. “Get out.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “I said get out.”

  Shane’s words were slow and raspy. His voice boiled over with anger.

  It took four attempts at unfastening her seatbelt before the lock clicked and went slack. Should she run as soon as she got out of the car? Or, should she wait until he wasn’t looking and then try to escape? She opened her door and peeled herself out of the seat. Before she even stood straight, Shane was standing outside her door—the gun pointed at her head.

  It was too late. Running was not an option.

  SEVENTY-ONE

  WHEN AMBER PIKE AND BRENT Simmons entered the room, Daniel indicated two chairs opposite the couch, but he remained standing. Amber and Brent sat down on the chairs and looked at each other. Brent nodded at Amber, who leaned forward. Her face was serious and full of worry wrinkles. She pulled out a single sheet of paper from her case and laid it on her lap.

  Gerald shifted in his seat and spoke—a touch of impatience in his voice. “Do you have more news of the investigation?”

  “We do have news, sir.” Amber took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly. “The suppositions I mentioned to you a week ago were correct. Martha Rushing was definitely not driving the night of the accident.” Amber continued. “All the evidence proves that Vinny Welsh was driving the car. His wife, your daughter Angela Welsh, was riding in the passenger seat, and Martha Rushing was riding in the back, behind the driver. We also know Martha was not drinking. The blood tests run later the next day showed no signs of alcohol in her system.”

  “Wait a minute.” Daniel interrupted. “They said at the trial it was too late to conduct blood tests for the alcohol levels.”

  Amber nodded. “Yes, that’s what we were told, but blood tests can be conducted for some time after an accident. Her blood was tested at the hospital and turned over to the investigating officer. Unfortunately, the results were filed in the wrong office. One of the lab technicians remembered running the tests but couldn’t find the results when we asked for them. He found them stuffed in the back of the cabinet behind the set of drawers.”

  Daniel rubbed his forehead with his hands.

  Amber cleared her throat and continued. “We also confirmed that the baby brought to the hospital that night and passed off as Martha’s baby was, in fact, not hers at all.”

  Daniel stiffened and walked closer to the couch. “What?”

  “Sit down, Daniel, and let them explain,” his father said as he indicated the seat beside him on the couch. Daniel slowly sat down.

  Brent leaned forward and took over the explanation. “Daniel, we asked your father not to mention it to you until we had proof, but now we do. The baby Mary brought to the hospital that night as Marti’s baby was born to a young woman named Tommi Robbins. She died immediately after the birth—preeclampsia, I believe. The baby was born alive the morning of the accident, but died later that afternoon. It seems that Mary switched the babies at the clinic across the road from the accident and took the dead baby to the hospital. She told the nurses it was Marti’s baby.”

  Daniel was shocked. “But why? And how can that happen? What about blood types and DNA tests?”

  “The babies had the same blood type, and because of the accident, there was no question about it not being Marti’s baby, Daniel. We all just assumed . . . since Mary delivered the little boy and brought him in . . .”

  Daniel’s face turned white. He stood up and paced the floor. Suddenly, he came to a dead stop. “If that baby wasn’t Marti’s baby, then what happened to Marti’s son?” His voice was hoarse and cracked.

  Brent cleared his throat. “You know him, Daniel. I’m afraid he’s being raised by Shane and Veronica Duke.”

  “Chris? Chris is Marti’s baby?” Daniel voice broke. “Her baby didn’t die?” Daniel sank into the chair in front of him—the paralysis of unbelief frozen on his face. “Are you sure?”

  Brent nodded. “Yes. The DNA test proved it. There’s no question.”

  Daniel slumped farther down in the chair. His face was cold, as if the blood had all rushed to his heart to keep it pumping.

  Gerald leaned forward. “When can we have him back?”

  Daniel heard the control and roughness in his father’s voice. His father was accepting this much better than he was. If these things were true, his father had a grandson. Chris was stolen from them. His heart couldn’t wrap around that fact.

  Brent stood up, and the firmness of his expression spoke of determination. “We’ve already talked to the judge about a court order, Gerald. As soon as that’s done, probably in a couple of hours, we’ll pick up Chris. But until that happens, don’t mention this to anyone. We don’t want the Dukes to get word of the judge’s order and run with the child. We have men watching the house, but a police chase could injure Chris if Shane or Veronica panics.”

  “Veronica? Veronica knew?” Daniel’s voice was raspy.

  “We don’t know for sure, but we’re taking every precaution.” Brent paused a moment before getting to his feet. “Tell me you’ll wait on the department and not take matters into your own hands, or I’ll have to leave one of my men here.”

  Gerald grabbed his crutches and made an effort to stand. He hobbled to stand directly in front of Brent and looked him in the eye. “We’ll wait, Brent, but not for long and only because I can’t get around very well right now. But I’m telling you, we won’t wait long—guard or no guard.”

  Daniel stood beside his father in complete agreement.

  “Understood.”

  Amber stood, and they both shook hands with Gerald. When they turned to Daniel, he reached out his hand, but his fingers felt numb—as if he were in an alternate universe watching his life unfold through a window. He still couldn’t take it all in.

  Brent and Amber walked to the door. “We’ll be bringing the boy by as soon as we have the court order, Daniel. In the meantime . . .”

  Brent was interrupted by the beeper hanging on his belt. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed a number. “Simmons. What? When? Seal all the exits and search the hospital. Have Tom block the exit to the parking lot, and get Ronnie to start reviewing the last hour of security tapes. I’ll be there in ten.”

  While he was talking, Daniel’s heart dropped into his stomach. Something was wrong at the hospital. Was Marti okay? Did this involve her?

  Brent turned toward them. “Marti’s gone from her room at the hospital. She left her gown and walked out. There’s no sign of a struggle, but no one saw her leave either. She must have gone down the stairs to the basement. The receptionist downstairs says she didn’t see her leave through the lobby. ”

  “What about the bodyguard?”

  “The nurse said he told them someone from the station called and said they had the suspect in custody and his job was over. So, he left.”

  Daniel felt a cold wave travel through his limbs. “Let’s go.” He stepped toward the door.

  Brent grabbed his arm. “Daniel, wait. Did she have friends who might have picked her up?”

  Daniel shook his head. “She’s been talking to Cynthia Morrison and Skyler Rountree, but she wouldn’t leave without checking out or telling the nurses. She has no place to go, except here.”

  “We’ll give them a call and find out. Stay here, Daniel, and let me know if you hear from her.”

&nbs
p; Daniel shook Brent’s hand from his arm. “Brent, I have to look for her.”

  “We’ll find her, Daniel. Stay here, and if she comes back, call the station. Amber, we’re out of here.”

  SEVENTY-TWO

  “WHEN BRENT AND AMBER LEFT, Daniel moved to the windows to stare at the mountains, seeking some kind of peace. Calmness eluded him like his memory had for so many months.

  “Chris is Marti’s son. I can’t believe it. Do you think Veronica knew?” Fury blazed in his eyes. “You were right, Dad. I don’t know her very well. All those things she told me about how close we were—she lied. I should have believed you when you told me so. I thought you were exaggerating because you didn’t like her. Do you think she knew Chris was Marti’s baby?”

  Gerald wore a pained expression. “Daniel, why do you keep calling him ‘Marti’s baby,’ instead of ‘our’ baby?”

  “Because, Dad, that day at the hospital, Mary told me the baby . . . wasn’t mine. She said Marti had been seeing a man in the next county.” Daniel’s back stiffened, and he felt nauseated.

  “Son, Mary lied about everything else. What makes you believe she was telling the truth about that?”

  Daniel sat down in the chair and rubbed his forehead. “Because, Dad, I saw her with him—in town the other day. She was laughing and talking—right outside the café. They hugged each other and went into the café together. She lied about meeting him. She told me she was meeting her friends for lunch. That’s one accusation Mary made that I think . . . might be true.”

  “I don’t believe it. There must be an explanation, Daniel. Marti would never—”

  “Enough, Dad. Maybe you’re right, but right now I’m concerned about Marti.”

  “But Daniel, she never acted like she was unhappy being with you. Don’t you think you might be jumping to conclusions like we did with everything else?”

  “I don’t know, Dad. I just know I saw them together the other day. That’s all.”

  “What did she say when you confronted her with it three years ago?”

  Daniel hung his head. “I didn’t ask her about it.”

  “You pursued divorce without asking for her side of the story?”

  Daniel nodded miserably. “My pride was hurt. I just wanted to hurt her back.”

  Gerald moaned and rubbed his eye. “I can’t throw the first stone. You weren’t the only one who sent her away. I had plenty to say on the subject as well.” His face twisted with emotion. “Son, what have we done?”

  Daniel sank back down on the couch, a look of utter agony on his face. When he looked at his father, tears filled his eyes. “Poor Marti. What she went through. I have to find her, Dad. I have to say I’m sorry . . . ask her to forgive me. I said horrible things to her . . . all because of my pride. She’ll probably never forgive me, but I have to say I’m sorry. I can’t stay around here and wait. I have to go find her.”

  “Go, son. I’ll stay here. If she comes back, I’ll call you.”

  The doorbell in the hall chimed, and the sound vibrated through Daniel’s heart.

  “Marti!”

  He ran to the front door and jerked the door open. On the porch stood a man instead of Marti.

  Daniel’s heart slowed to a crawl. “Yes?”

  “My name is Ralph Dell. I’m Shane Duke’s cousin. I was told to stop by here to get my check.”

  “Check? For what?”

  “For guarding Marti at the hospital. Detective Smith from the police department called and said they caught the stalker and to stop by here for my check.”

  Daniel ran a hand through his hair. He had forgotten. The stalker must have made the call. He turned to his dad, whose face was as white as a sheet.

  Gerald said only one thing. “Go.”

  Daniel pushed past the guard and ran toward his truck. He turned his truck toward town with dread filling the cab like a fog. “Lord, please let Marti be okay. Protect her from whomever this is, Lord. Please.”

  He was reaching for the phone to call Brent when his phone rang.

  “This is Daniel.”

  “Daniel, I didn’t know who else to call. I need help.”

  “Veronica?”

  “I’m worried about Daddy. He was talking out of his head. He was furious and raving about some nurse and Marti, and he never came home.” She broke off in a sob. “I’m scared, Daniel.”

  “Wait a minute, Nikki. You’re not making sense. Start over.”

  “When I left Daddy at the hospital, he was ranting and raving about some phone call he received. He said it was Marti’s fault. Daniel, he was so angry. I tried to stop him, but he left. At first I thought he was going home, but he jumped in his pickup and took off in the wrong direction. He rushed out of the parking lot so fast, he left skid marks all over the driveway. He was saying crazy things like ‘he was going to make Marti pay’ and ‘Marti should keep Mama company.’ Now I’m scared, Daniel, because he hasn’t come home yet. He was furious, and I don’t know what he might do—to himself or someone else.”

  When the meaning of what Veronica was trying to tell him penetrated his understanding, sweat broke out on his forehead. Shane? Shane was the one after Marti?

  “I need to tell Brent what you told me, Veronica. We’ll find your dad.”

  He ended the call and rushed into the station. Brent was just inside the door.

  “Any word?”

  Brent shook his head. “No. they found her phone and purse still at the hospital. They’re in the process of checking the security tapes.”

  “Veronica called and said her dad was acting crazy. Ranting and raving about Marti. She said he left the hospital in a rush and hasn’t returned home.”

  While he was talking, Brent’s phone rang. “Simmons. He did? I’ll put out an APB. Finish searching the hospital, question all the staff, and I’ll let you know where to go from there.”

  Brent looked at Daniel.

  “What?”

  “Shane was on the security tape. He left with Marti in a black SUV.”

  Daniel’s pulse raced. “Shane has Marti.”

  “Daniel, get Veronica on the phone. I’d like to ask her questions about what Shane said exactly. It might give us a clue where he took her.”

  Daniel punched in the speed dial number for Veronica with shaky hands and handed the phone to Brent.

  Daniel stumbled over to chairs lined up against the wall and fell into the seat. He held his head with his hands and prayed. “Lord, please help us find her. Please let her be okay.” What was it Veronica said she heard Shane say? Make Marti pay. Marti would keep Mary company.

  Suddenly, he stood up. “Brent,” he yelled. “I know where he took her—the cemetery. Let’s go, and I’ll explain on the way.”

  Brent and Daniel got into the patrol car and sped down the road.

  “I hope this isn’t a wild goose chase, but yesterday, Shane said he goes to Mary’s grave every day to keep her company. He thought Mary might be lonely out under those trees all by herself so far from town. He said Mary never liked being by herself, and he wished he could find someone to visit her every day. And tonight, Veronica said Shane thought Marti would keep Mary company.” He glanced at Brent.

  “You think he took her to the cemetery?”

  Daniel shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine . . . but yes.”

  Brent got on the radio and ordered every available unit to the cemetery. “Be on the alert for a black SUV. Go in from different directions, and let’s make it a silent run, boys. No lights, no sirens.”

  Brent hung up the radio. “All we can do now is pray.”

  SEVENTY-THREE

  SHANE HAD A ROPE IN one hand and the gun in the other.

  “Lay down on the ground,” he told Marti.

  Marti’s stomach clenched. “Please—”

  “Lay down!” Shane gave her a shove. “I don’t want to hurt you, Marti, so just do as I say.”

  Marti lay down on the ground. Shane pulled her hands behind her and tied
them with the rope. Then he tied her feet together as well. She bit her lips when the ropes cut into the skin around her bandage, but she didn’t want to make him mad by whimpering.

  Shane stepped to the SUV and opened the back door. He pulled out a long piece of thick plastic and set it on the ground. When Marti saw him pull out a shovel, her pulse pounded in her ears. Was he going to shoot her and bury her? Through dim vision, she saw him pull out a large battery-operated spotlight and a bouquet of flowers. He positioned the spotlight so it would shine toward a tall gravestone.

  Marti turned her head to the side and read the inscription.

  Mary Duke—Beloved Wife and Mother.

  Shane walked to the gravestone and propped the flowers against the grave.

  “Hello, Mary. I’m sorry I haven’t been to see you lately, but I brought you some flowers and some company. Maybe Marti can keep you from being lonely.”

  Marti was scared to make a noise, but a scream grew inside her head. Shane was going to bury her in the grave with Mary. He was mad.

  Shane picked up the shovel and started clearing off the grass on top of the grave. After a minute or two, Marti heard the shovel hit dirt. He worked quietly and piled the dirt on one side of the grave.

  Marti felt faint, like her brain was wrapped in cotton. Mentally, she shook herself. If she didn’t think of something, she was going to die. She needed to think—to plan.

  Lord, please help me think of something.

  She’d heard that by talking to their abductors, other kidnapped victims were able to talk their captors into letting them go. Would it work with Shane?

  “Mr. Duke?” Her voice was too shaky. He couldn’t hear her. She took a deep breath and tried once again. “Mr. Duke?”

  He looked at her but kept shoveling.

  “Why have you brought me here?”

  Shane stopped then and held the shovel just above the hole. “I brought you here to keep Mary company.”

  “But, Mary’s dead, Mr. Duke. She doesn’t need company.”

  “Yeah, she’s dead, but she still gets lonely, and it’s your fault she died.” When Shane started back digging, she felt the ground shake with the force he was using.