“Jurgen.”
“Not me. He doesn’t scare me. He’s a fucking lunatic. Why’s he got to be the one to kill them? He takes too bloody long.”
Metzger, his scarred face distorted in the light from the open doorway, only shrugged. “Like my shrink used to say back at the Vet Hospital — maybe he needs closure.” Any reply was lost as they disappeared into the building.
The wind howled through the trees, the leaves rustling, sounding like a flock of birds lifting off.
“Evan?” Blair whispered, into the young detective’s ear. “We need to get to the woods.”
Evan stared hopelessly at the hundred yards that separated them and the shelter of the trees. “I can’t do it. You can’t do it.” He looked back the way they had come. “Maybe the house? All the lights are out. I bet no one is in it.”
“What if it’s locked? We’d be stuck there.” Shivering, Blair looked back at the black indication in the shadows of where the ditch was. Five bodies. Metzger was losing count. “I have an idea.”
“What?” Evan groaned as he pushed himself upright.
“If we can’t hide in the woods, we’ve got to get to the ditch. It’s not very far.”
“What? Why?”
“Don’t ask. Just stay with me.”
Don’t stop and think about it.
Blair made himself move quickly, shaking wildly as he crawled the fifty feet to the edge of the ditch. If it had been lighter out, he would have seen dark spots before his eyes. As it was, he just felt faint, thinking that at any moment he would pitch forward in a dead faint. He could hear Evan behind him, trying to keep up. His hands and legs alternated, moving him forward. His foot hurt from his broken ankle bumping against the ground. His hands and knees were scraped raw from the rocky surface. He didn’t want the men to exit the warehouse and see him crawling naked across the field. The thought launched him forward, and with a sigh and a shudder, he rolled himself over the edge of the ditch, down into the tangle of dead bodies.
“Blair?” Evan gasped, as he reached the edge. “What are you doing?”
“Get down here!”
Evan looked over his shoulder at the warehouse, then slid down into the ditch.
“We have to get under them.” He didn’t think about what he was doing; he couldn’t. He just did it. Not looking at the twisted faces, Blair grabbed at one torn throat, his hand catching the blood that still oozed from the body long after the heart had stopped pumping it. Then he wormed his way under the last naked body they had put there, the blood smeared over his own throat. Beneath him, he felt Turnalo’s rapidly cooling body, and Blair pushed him aside, crawling into the hollow he had left, Evan beside him. They tugged Turnalo’s body back until it lay sprawled over them, the blood from his bullet-torn face dripping onto Blair’s throat. Don’t look. Don’t look. Oh, man. Oh, man.
Evan shifted beside him, reciting prayers or something in Latin, and Blair turned to look at him. Evan’s face was bloodied like one of the Chopec warriors, streaks of mud and blood covering his chest. His eyes were closed, his lips moving soundlessly. He had two earrings in his left ear.
My earrings are gone.
They had removed them when he was in the hospital, after the fountain. When he was back in the loft, Jim had given them back to him, along with his wallet and pocket watch, but the earrings were in a little plastic bag and there was blood on them. He had left them on the dresser in a bowl. Then he was in Mexico for two weeks and when they returned, the earrings felt strange in his hands, so he had put them back in the bowl. But he had cleaned them first. One day, maybe he would wear them again.
Evan’s earrings had blood on them.
He turned his head. Turnalo was lying on Blair’s other side, his lifeless limbs half covering him, the intimate embrace copying his actions of an hour before. Had it only been an hour? Half an hour? What happened? Everything was going smoothly, Pete had shown up and taken him back to the property, Evan had been brought there — his plan was working perfectly. Then it all started falling apart. I tried, Jim. I really did. I thought I could do it.
He was so cold. He wanted to go to sleep, but there was a dead, naked body above him, and the sightless eyes stared down at him. He knew it was Jack Kelly, but he didn’t want to think about it. And beneath him somewhere was Pat Hollis. Why? Why are they dead and not me? So far, Jurgen and the other bastards had claimed the lives of seven of the ten men they had kidnaped. Why did I bother coming back here? I didn’t do any good. They’re still dead. I didn’t help at all.
Can you explain it to me, Jim? Huh? Where are you, anyway? The weight on his chest was making it hard to breathe. Evan’s leg was against his, and he could feel the fever heat radiating from him. His own ankle seemed to have settled into a nightmare throbbing, shafts of pain piercing his leg every time he shifted. He felt himself drifting the moment he lay still, and he remembered he had a concussion. He glanced at Evan. Dark, bleary eyes were fastened on him, and their hands touched, clasping, hidden beneath Turnalo’s body. Evan squeezed his hand, and Blair returned the pressure. Evan was alive, even if everyone else was dead.
“Stay awake,” Evan whispered.
I found you, Evan, but I haven’t helped any, have I?
The damp earth stank around them. Everything stank in a grave. He was in a grave. They were going to bury him here, but maybe they would be safe then.
Jim? I think I’m going to start screaming any time now.
*
Beyond the trees, the car coasted down the gravel road, its tires grumbling in the darkness as it crawled alone, the motor and headlights off. Finally it came to a halt, and five men poured from the open doors, blending in with the shadows. Dressed alike in black jackets, faces darkened to hide from the light which still bled from the moon, even through the darkening layer of clouds, they followed Ellison to the edge of the property, moving over the old wooden fence, then dropping to the ground, watching him.
He listened, eyes closed first, casting his net upon the water and pulling in the sound, just as his guide had taught him. Throw, bring it in, filter. Throw, bring it in, filter. Throw, bring it in, filter. And it worked. A heartbeat.
Sandburg’s heartbeat.
Fast. Terrified. But it was Sandburg’s heartbeat.
“Got it.” He moved forward, gun drawn, ready, his eyes already adjusted for the cloud-dark night. The ground was uneven, muddy from the rain late that afternoon, trees and brush and a thicket of blackberry bushes gone wild. He paused long enough to untangle a branch from his jacket, unsurprised to see Frank Black at his heels, helping him. To his left and back, Simon, and beyond him, Nash and Harvey. Simon said something to him, but he shook his head that he couldn’t hear him; his hearing was anchored somewhere beyond the warehouse that was within their sight now.
He moved forward another thirty feet, then angled to his right and paused again behind the farm house. There were no curtains on the windows, no blinds. He shifted his hearing then, cast another net over the structure, but there was no sound. No heartbeats, anyway. A house with no one in it. He shook his head at Simon, then looked around the corner of the house toward the warehouse, leaving Simon to explain to the others what he meant, but probably not what he was feeling.
A black Bronco 4x4 sat in the middle of the dirt road, its doors wide open, the interior light on. Ellison traced the direction it was headed in and tracked its path through the mud, noting it had come from behind the warehouse, not from the gravel lane leading to the public roads that they had driven in on. He moved sideways, sliding to the far edge of the house, following the muddy tire gouges with his sight until they disappeared into the woods. He forced his sight beyond that until the trees halted his progress. He threw his hearing further, pushing it eastward until it reached the water. Voices. The creak of a boat on the dock.
He crouched down as the door to the warehouse opened. A man, from his appearance probably the Hispanic man that had been reported at the scene of the abductions, exit
ed with a box of papers, placing it the back of the already packed 4x4, then went back inside.
Ellison stayed with him, listening to the footsteps, letting them carry his hearing inside the building. It paid off instantly.
I’m done. Take this, Raul. That’s the last of the videos. Grab the cameras, at least the Panavision one. I don’t want to replace it.
That’s about all I can take if Metzger’s coming with me.
Put the camera in the passenger seat. Metzger can take Turnalo’s car.
We need to go. We don’t know how soon before they storm the property.
I’m not ready yet. I haven’t finished with them.
Who’s left? I thought there was only one.
One of the workers.
Let Metz and Karl take care of him.
I want to do it.
They might have beaten you to it. They’re in a hurry.
I told them to leave one for me.
Whatever. I’ll meet you at the boat. I’ll grab the camera and head out. I’m not waiting.
Ellison’s hearing jumped from Raul to the other man, Jurgen, centering on him as he moved through the warehouse. Ellison turned his head, looked at Simon, and said quietly, “One man is preparing to leave in the Bronco. He’s got all the videos and paperwork.”
Simon nodded and indicated that he would take care of it.
Ellison looked back toward their car, then pointed to Frank Black, talking quickly and almost silently. “Call Woodward. Tell him there are two heartbeats in the back field to the south of the warehouse. One of them is Sandburg’s. Currently inside the building, a man by the name of Raul and one other who I assume is Jurgen, plus four other distinct beats. Tell Woodward there is a private road leading to the east side of the island. Somewhere there is a dock with a boat at it. He needs to secure that as well. Got that?”
Black nodded, stepping back into the darkness and disappearing.
Ellison looked over to Nash and Harvey, then with a nod of his head, they followed him across the courtyard to flatten themselves along the side of the warehouse. He listened within, counting again, but there was a heartbeat missing already.
*
I have some grave decisions to make ���
Blair felt the tear run down his face. He couldn’t even laugh at his own puns. At least the wind didn’t bother him here. He could hear it up above, whistling as it traveled through the trees. The bodies around him were still warm, too — even Evan’s body was fever hot — but he was cold.
He couldn’t keep his eyes open, but he knew he had to. Staying awake was very important at this point, despite his great desire to sleep. He had to stay alert, especially because Evan was sick. But Evan kept squeezing his hand every time his eyes closed, so maybe Evan was thinking the same thing.
They heard voices approaching — Metzger’s calm voice and then Karl’s angry one. “I say we leave now. Let’s just dump him and go.”
“We have our flashlights; we can check around. Realistically, how far could they have gotten?”
“Who gives a shit—”
“Shut up,” Metzger said. “He’s coming. Don’t rile him now.”
Blair braced himself as the new body rolled in on top of them. Evan’s grip tightened on his hand. The blood dripped from the man’s neck to run across Evan’s bare shoulder. Evan made a soft, strangled sound.
Jurgen’s voice floated over to them, the harsh consonants of his accent distinct as his frustration topped. “I said I would take him here.”
“He’s just one of the workers, not one of your stars. We left him for you.”
“Go find Evan. We aren’t leaving until I find him, Metzger.”
“Just going to get the flashlights from the tool box,” Scar Man said. “We can’t see anything.”
Karl cleared his throat. “Why don’t we just go, Jurgen? This is fucking ridiculous. We can get another one like him on any street corner.”
“NO! It has to be that man.”
“Why?”
Jurgen’s shadow fell on them. Blair could feel the tremors coursing through Evan. He squeezed his hand, willing him to not move as the man came to stand at the edge of the pit. Don’t look down here. Don’t look. Don’t look.
He held his breath and closed his eyes.
*
“What have you done??”
Ellison heard the scream of rage from the back of the warehouse and moved quickly along the side of the building, Nash and Harvey still with him. They stopped and looked around the corner as an automatic fired twice in succession. Jurgen had his gun out, shooting one of his workers point blank. The man toppled back out of sight into a ditch. The other man had his hands up talking quietly, moving away from the edge of the hole. Ellison found Sandburg’s heartbeat again, but it seemed to come directly from where Jurgen was standing.
“Fuck! Listen to me, Jurgen. I didn’t kill them. Neither did Karl; he was with me the whole time.”
“Then who did?”
“Who’s left? Raul’s the only one who is left.”
The sound of the Bronco’s engine turning over snapped both heads to the warehouse, but the 4x4 was on the far side of the building.
“Jurgen, Raul’s leaving now. Did you say he could? Huh?”
“Why would he do this to me?”
“I don’t know. But I didn’t do it. We’ve got to get out of here now!”
Metzger turned his back on the enraged man and started running toward the warehouse, pulling a Luger from the holster beneath his jacket. Jurgen aimed his automatic at him, but didn’t fire, his hand shaking as he continued to fume. Another shot rang out, but it was behind the detectives, near the Bronco. Jurgen’s head turned, and Ellison could see the question on his face. If Raul was the only one left, besides Jurgen and Metzger, who fired the shot or who was Raul shooting at?
Ellison was asking the same question. It hadn’t been Simon’s automatic, but a double-action revolver. Was Raul shooting at Simon then or had someone else entered the picture? There were too many things for sentinel ears to listen for. And only one thing he wanted to listen to.
But if they stepped out now, they risked being shot from behind. Two weapons against two weapons. And he hadn’t found Sandburg’s exact location yet. He’d lost the heartbeat.
“Jim? Is anyone alive inside?” Bridges asked, leaning against the side of the warehouse and watching back the way they had come.
Ellison tilted his head, straining to listen, to go through the motions of throwing that damned net out, catching the sounds, and filtering them for what he wanted to hear. It worked, or at least he thought it had. The warehouse was empty, but for one heartbeat — not his guide’s. Someone was in the warehouse trying to free themselves from a pair of handcuffs. A man — he could hear the frantic curses and prayers, and he could hear chains rattling as the man moved, and remembered what Sandburg had told them about the metal cuffs at their ankles. Noises ���Metzger was inside now, Jurgen close at his heels.
Ellison turned to the two men beside him, snapping out orders. “Harvey, go check on Simon. He might need help. Be careful though. I can’t tell if there are others back there. Bridges, you’re with me.” His words all ran together, he spoke so fast.
Harvey’s eyes met Nash’s, silently checking, then he moved out at Bridges’ quick nod.
“You’re in charge,” Bridges said to the Cascade detective. “Call the shots.”
Later he would thank him for cooperating, but now was not the time. Ellison took a quick look around the corner to the back entrance of the warehouse. “Stay with me. I’m going in the warehouse after them. There’s a man in there that won’t be alive long.”
Bridges grabbed his arm as he started to move. “First — are they out there? Blair and Evan?” he asked, looking to the field where the one man had been gunned down before their eyes.
Ellison turned his hearing back out to the field. Sandburg’s heartbeat was still there, still strong and far too fast. Another
heartbeat with his. They were breathing, not speaking. Not moving. “Sandburg is there. Someone is with him. And someone else is inside. I don’t know if one of them is Evan, but the one inside is in trouble, and he’s got company.”
“Then let’s go.”
Ellison turned away from where his partner lay hidden in the field. He rounded the corner and entered the warehouse, Bridges on his heels as they ran through the maze of corridors. I’m coming, Chief. Just give me a few minutes and I’ll be there.
*
“We’ve got to get out of here.” Evan’s sudden whisper made Blair jump.
“Why? It worked.”
“But what if they bury us here? The tractor is sitting there ready. We’re trapped under these bodies.” It was getting to him, Evan knew. Lying naked in a grave of dead bodies would probably get to anyone, but it certainly had pushed him past his ability to cope. He knew he was sick, too. His head throbbed. His eyes wouldn’t focus right. His body hurt in places he didn’t want to consider, didn’t want to remember. His fevered skin crawled with the sensations of dirt and mud and cold and dried blood and wet blood and the stench of the pit he was in.
He tried to push Karl’s body off him, his struggles growing more frantic as the heavy body refused to move. He was suddenly suffocating, feeling like the dirt was already coming down on him, trapping him, surrounding him. He turned his head, shoving the weight to one side, but an arm fell back and hit him on the face as the body moved.
Blair moved the arm before Evan could scream, but he lay with his hands over his face trying to catch his breath.
Come on, Cortez. They’re dead. They aren’t the ones you need to be concerned about. Concentrate now. Concentrate.
He had to get out of the pit.
The body was still over his legs, sideways. He sat up partway and tried pushing it off. Blair was trying to help but was too tired and in too much pain to do much. The young man had gotten them this far, but Evan knew he wouldn’t last much longer. With a last shove, Evan finally succeeded in freeing them, the body rolling to one side, Karl’s head back and mouth still open in a silent death scream.
No Center Line Page 29