Reluctant Witness

by Barton, Sara M.

  “How long have you been a state trooper?”

  “Seventeen years. I joined fresh out of college, and did three years on the highway, cruising with my trusty radar gun. That ended the day I had to stop a guy doing 120 MPH in a BMW in heavy traffic on a holiday weekend. It was hellacious. I was sure he was going to cause a fatal traffic accident with his crazy driving.”

  “How did you convince him to stop?”

  “I didn’t. What I did was radio for backup. My colleagues set up a very visible road block three exits up, made it obvious they were ready and willing, with lots of flashing lights, so this idiot took the only exit available to him. That’s what we wanted him to do, since we were also set up on the nice, quiet country road, lying in wait. We had him boxed in after we popped his tires with a spike strip. He turned out to be a kid on meth, half out of his mind.”

  “That is scary,” I agreed. I watched a man in a gray parka settle into a chair ten feet away. He pulled out a newspaper and started reading.

  “My bosses like the fact that I didn’t get anyone killed, so they promoted me. I did a couple of years investigating drug and cigarette smuggling up at the border. That’s where I met Phil. She’s one hell of a cop. I chalk that up to the fact that she comes from a big family...a big, loud family, and nothing really intimidates her. After we got married, we decided we wanted to move back to Windham and raise a family. Phil got an assignment as assistant to the boss at the barracks and I decided to take up K-9 duty. I figured I could do some good during manhunts and, frankly, I like a partner who doesn’t argue all the time. My last human was a guy going through a divorce and all he ever did was whine about the woman who done him wrong.”

  “I’m sure that can be annoying,” I smiled.

  “You got that right. Any idea what it’s like to be on a stakeout with a guy who just won’t shut up? You’re a captive audience,” he groaned, letting out an exaggerated sigh. “By the time he was done complaining, his soon-to-be ex-wife had my sympathy. You want more coffee...or another muffin before we hit the road?”

  “No thanks. I’m good. I’d like to use the ladies room, though.”

  Jack didn’t answer right away. Instead, he looked towards the man in the gray parka at the nearby table. As their eyes met, the man in the gray parka seemed to nod in Jack’s direction. It was almost imperceptible, that tiny gesture, but with it came the state trooper’s response to me.

  “Sure. Holler if you need me.”

  “Excuse me?” I was taken aback until I realized he wasn’t talking about handing me a roll of toilet paper over the stall wall or helping me to flush a malfunctioning toilet. I hadn’t realized that Jack had backup at the coffee shop, just in case someone tried to get me again. “Oh, right. Sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry, Marigold. Be smart.”

  Those words stayed with me as the hours wore on, while we continued to log the miles on the road. At seven o’clock, we pulled off Route 23 A and into the parking lot of a small diner, where I had a turkey club and a cup of coffee. Jack ordered a Reuben, fries, and a chocolate shake, finished those, and added a slice of apple pie a la mode to his order. When he finished the last bite, he pulled out his Smartphone.

  “Time to find out if Mrs. Twarkins should return her library books tonight,” he informed me, as he tapped on his touch screen. I watched as he chicken-pecked a message to his wife. A moment later, his eyebrows rose and fell. “Nuts.”

  Chapter Five

  “Not good?” I asked.

  “Hold on. I’ve got to call Phil.” A moment later, he had a very cryptic conversation with his wife. It consisted of about five words. When he hung up, he frowned, put his phone down, and took another swig of coffee.

  “They couldn’t find the old WitSec boss?” I inquired, feeling concerned.

  “Unfortunately, they did find him, just a little too late.”

  “Too late? What’s wrong with Shaun?”

  “He’s in a coma. His prognosis is iffy at the moment.”

  “Someone attacked him?’

  “It looks that way,” he acknowledged, pulling out cash to pay the bill. “Don’t look so miserable, Marigold. It’s not like you caused it to happen.”

  “How can you say that? First Tovar and now Shaun....” Shaun! Suddenly the name came back into my consciousness. Shaun Duggan.

  “Why is that your fault? You made it happen?”

  “The shooter was after me.”

  One moment I was in New York, talking to Jack, in a diner, and the next, my mind flashed back to Rhode Island, to a time long ago. I still could see it in my mind, that shocking sight. It looked like a room of wall-to-wall uniforms as police crowded into my Newport condo. Blood splatters decorated the walls of the foyer. Evidence markers were scattered here and there. A corpse lay on the floor, with its arm still in a cast. He had broken it in three places just a short time before that fateful day. Even if he had tried to defend himself, what good would it have done?

  “It should have been me lying there on the floor, not him. I was the one the killer was seeking. I was the reason Jared was murdered.”

  “Who’s Jared?” the state trooper asked me.

  “He was my fiancé and someone shot him in the face, all because I crossed a line.”

  “What kind of line?”

  “I should have listened to the man when he warned me. It never occurred to me he would kill Jared.” I felt the heat of my shame burning my cheeks as I shared my guilty sin with the state trooper. Was I hoping for absolution from someone, anyone? How many times had I asked myself what might have happened if I had just kept him out of it? If only....

  “Sounds like you should let yourself off the hook, kid.”

  “I don’t think so,” I responded, shaking my head as the sadness welled up in me. Obviously Jack didn’t understand the situation. “I should have been more careful. And now more people have been hurt as a result of my stupidity. I should have never let them get close to me. You’re risking your life to save me. What happens if you’re killed? Philomena will curse me forever.”

  “I’m not going to die, at least not today. And as for Phil, she understands this job, Marigold. She’s seen this kind of thing before. That’s why the New York State Police didn’t just drive you to the nearest Marshals office and drop you off. We all know there’s more to this story than meets the eye. We know the bad guys want you alive for some reason, Marigold. They didn’t kill you when they had the chance. You have something they need, something valuable, probably information. But that’s not why Tovar was shot.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Were you expecting to see him?” Jack wanted to know. “Was it a planned meeting?”

  “Good heavens, no!” I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand, thought better of it, and grabbed a fistful of napkins from the chrome dispenser on the table. “I was surprised to see him there.”

  “Why was he there?”

  “I...I don’t know. He was probably coming to move me.”

  “Not if he came alone, without backup. How did he know where you were? Was he tracking you? Or was someone else tracking you? Maybe he was following some guy who followed you.”

  “You mean the guy who grabbed me?” The moment I said that, I was instantly back in the main reception room of the Gilded Nest. Tovar was by the door, holding his gun, screaming at me to hit the floor. There were several flashes of gunfire back and forth. A moment later, I was enveloped in acrid smoke, watching in horror as the marshal collapsed. It seemed to happen in a world of silent, slow-motion action. Tovar drop to his knees like a sack of potatoes before he pitched forward onto his face. I felt hot metal on my back as the shooter shoved his weapon against my silk blouse and led me past Tovar’s crumpled body. And even as I stepped gingerly past the man who had protected me, the shock ravaged me like the after tremors of an earthquake, leaving me stunned, weak-kneed, helpless. It couldn’t be real. I must be dreaming, I decided. But even then, I knew the truth.
/>   Jack’s eyes reflected his concern as he listened to me tell my story. A moment later, he held up his hand and instructed me to stop.

  “Marigold, hold that thought. Don’t say another word,” He punching at his Smartphone with a determined finger. A moment later, he spoke. “Derek, you up for some night fishing, buddy? Great. Bring a big rod.”

  Five more phone conversations happened in rapid succession, and each time the message was the same. On the sixth, it changed. “Yeah, Johnson, you mind picking me up? I’ve got trouble with the car here in Tannersville and Triple A says they can’t send a tow truck for another couple of hours. I’ve got the dog and a newbie with me. Thanks, man. I’ll buy you a cup of coffee at the usual place. Say what? Oh, yeah. Sure, in that case, I’ll make it a beer.”

  The next thing I knew, Jack was hustling me out of the diner and over to the car. Brutus was napping in the back seat when the K-9 trooper opened the door.

  “Come on, boy. Hop out.” Brutus followed the command, stretching his long, lean body. Jack popped the trunk of the Ford sedan and extracted a long-barreled weapon, a couple of small boxes, which he stuffed in the side pouches that lined his pants, and a small metal box. He carefully put everything on the roof of the car before going back for more.

  “Here,” he said, shoving gear at me. I caught the heavy flashlight he thrust at me in one hand and the small duffle bag in the other. “Quick, grab your stuff.”

  I opened the front passenger door and reached in for my own tote bag, the medications and toiletries inside, while he yanked the hood release. I could see him moving around on the other side of the raised metal panel. He slammed it down, even as he shoved something into his pocket.

  “It’s got to look like legitimate car trouble when they show up to tow it. Come on,” he urged me, hurrying me over towards the back of the restaurant. We huddled by the Dumpster, in the dark shadows of the trees, out of sight. The night was quiet, with only the occasional sound of tires rolling over pavement and the infrequent flash of headlights that blazed as cars passed by. Jack was apprehensive. I could tell my story of the Gilded Nest had gotten to him in the silence of the night while we waited for help to arrive. He didn’t speak. Jack was on high alert beside me, listening. Listening for what? For sounds of an approach. For signs of more trouble.

  Thunk! An unexpected noise caught us by surprise. The back door of the restaurant swung open and a young man in a white tee shirt and pants, apron tied around his middle, stepped out, dragging three plastic trash bags. I clung to the cover of darkness in this unlit corner, watching the busboy lift the plastic lid of the giant metal box and toss them in, one at a time.

  How I longed to rewind the events of the last forty eight hours, to erase that moment of sheer terror in the Gilded Nest. I wished it were a distant memory, something long ago and far away. I wanted to believe it was all in my past. And yet, that man had shot my kidnapper and sent her into the frozen pond here in Windham only a day ago. Maybe Jack was worried that the man had hung around to finish the contract on me.

  Five minutes or so later, a vehicle pulled into the diner and its sweeping headlights came dangerously close to our position. A silver Dodge van with a rooftop extension came to a stop a good fifty feet away and a tall, lean silhouette of a man got out. As he passed the glow of a lantern along the walkway, I could see him more clearly. He wore a bright orange cap on the top of his head, a dark ski parka, light-colored pants, and heavy boots. We could hear him as he noisily trudged over to the steps of the diner, the soles of his boots scuffing along the pavement, and up to the door. Once he was inside, Jack nudged me.

  “It’s time to move out.”

  We made our way around the woodsy tree line that surrounded the parking lot, and when we got to the area by the van, we stopped and tucked ourselves into the black shadows to wait once more. I felt my hand brushed against Brutus’s soft, furry neck as he sat on my foot. Good dog.

  “Okay,” Jack whispered by my ear. “Here’s what we’re going to do. We’re climbing into the camper, Marigold and we’re going to lay low while we wait for Johnson to come back. I want you to lie on the seat with Brutus. Don’t get up until I give you the all clear. Understood?”

  “Understood.”

  Scurrying over to the side door, Jack carefully opened it. The click of metal on metal as the latch released seemed overly loud. A part of me wanted to stop him, to warn him that we were just too exposed if there was really anyone out there waiting for us, watching for us. I expected the overhead light to come on and expose us, but the interior of the camper remained dark.

  “You’ll have to feel your way around, Marigold. Johnson turned off the van lights. Just settle in. I’ll be moving about, so keep the aisle clear for me, just in case we have an emergency.”

  About ten minutes later, Johnson returned to the camper van with a big paper bag that smelled of burgers and fries. He climbed behind the wheel and tossed the bag on the passenger seat.

  “Ready to roll, chief?”

  “Ready.” I turned to look over my shoulder. Jack was tucked into a ball, scrunched up at the back of the van, scanning the parking lot through the small window.

  “Where to now?”

  “We’re going fishing.”

  We were on the road for about a quarter of an hour when Jack nudged me. “You can go sit in the passenger seat. Hand me the food. I’ll put it in the cooler. We might need it later.”

  I stood up and retrieved it, passing him the still-warm paper bag, and as I climbed past the console and buckled myself into the seat, I stole a glance at Johnson. Without his orange cap on, he was a good-looking guy, on the short side of thirty-five, with a nice profile and a winning smile, which he flashed at me briefly as he looked my way.

  “Howdy. I’m Steve Crockett.”

  “Crockett, not Johnson?” I asked, taken aback at the unexpected change.

  “Johnson’s my nickname at work, because I’m such a fine-looking ladies man and the other guys are all jealous.” He tossed me a wide grin and I caught the glimmer of his perfect teeth in the glow from the dashboard.

  “Ah,” I nodded, laughing for the first time in a long while. “Of course, Crockett, Johnson, as in Don Johnson.”

  “And sometimes Nash or Bridges. What can I say? These guys are lacking in many ways, and their petty emotions sometimes get the better of them....”

  “Single guys always have a line, Marigold. You’d be wise to remember that with Pretty Boy here,” Jack told me from the back of the van. “Tell her how many times you’ve been married, Don Juan-son.”

  I turned in the direction of the driver, expectant. A shrug signaled defeat.

  “Twice. I just haven’t met the right girl yet, one who understands my need, my desire to serve and protect.”

  “Oh, brother!” the state trooper behind me groaned. “Can somebody hand me a shovel?”

  Steve turned off I-87 down near Kingston, and drove several miles on Route 28. “What do you want me to do, chief?”

  “Let’s shoot past Route 214 and find a blind, to see if we’ve got company.”

  Just past the Phoenician Lodge, he backed the van over the fresh snow into the deserted driveway belonging to a dark, ramshackle cottage and shut off the lights. Jack joined us at the front of the camper, waiting and watching in the dark. We passed the time in easy banter. When Brutus climbed off the bench seat in the back, restless, Jack took him out the side door for a quick pit stop. They were back a few minutes later.

  “You think we’re good?” Steve asked as his colleague resumed his kneeling position beside us.

  “Probably. Let’s do it.”

  Steve started the engine and cautiously rolled the van forward on the dirt driveway, towards the road. When he got there, he waited about twenty seconds before he turned the headlights on, and another twenty before he turned right on Route 28.

  The van began to pick up speed as the man beside me gave the engine some gas. Looking out the window, I recognized s
ome of the buildings we had already passed. A short time later, our trusty driver made a left turn and started up the road to Chitchester, heading north. Steve carefully steered the Dodge along a narrow, winding road, mindful of the patches of black ice. We passed the entrance for the Devil’s Tombstone campground, closed at this time of year. A short time later, we came to the intersection of County Road 23A and went left. A quick look at the dashboard clock told me it was just after midnight. By the time we got to Hunter, I realized all the driving had taken us on a circuitous loop, landing us west of Tannersville.

  Near the top of a hill sat a classic New York ski chalet. It was the only house with lights on inside. Steve turned onto the gravel driveway and the Dodge suddenly began to shimmy and shake as the tires ran over the rough surface, a bone-rattling experience that had my teeth knocking together. He dropped us off at the top, by the door. Grabbing the gear, Jack and I made our way to the chalet while Steve turned the camper around and drove half-way down, parking beside the small wooden shed we had passed on our way up.

  “Why not just park it here by the house?” I asked my companion.

  “It’s supposed to snow tonight. Less mess to clear if the camper’s down there.

  “Ah,” I nodded. “That makes sense.”

  “Especially if you’re the guy with the shovel,” he replied seriously. His hand was on my elbow, urging me forward.

  “Why did we drive all around for so long if we were just coming here?” I asked Jack.

  “So my guys would have a chance to get into place and keep watch. That way, we know we won’t get ambushed.”

  Chapter Six

  Ambushed. The word was daunting. It wasn’t one I really wanted to hear, and yet it reminded me that I really wasn’t safe yet. When would I be? It seemed so long ago that I lived my life as a normal person doing normal things. But the moment that I found myself surrounded by emergency responders at that Windham pond, a little part of me had started to hope that this long nightmare was finally ending. Meeting Philomena Papadopoulos and Inspector Vidal started the ball rolling, but Jack Cornwall’s handshake sealed the deal. The strength of his grasp had instantly conveyed the muscle behind his strength and training. He was determined to get the job done and he was leaving no room for error even now as he protected me.