“Get in, Nora,” he instructed me.
“No, I can’t!” I replied, panicking. “Why can’t I just get into the back?”
“If I am stopped, they will inspect the vehicle,” he explained. “I do not want someone to discover you that way. You must trust me.”
“But what if something happens to you? I will be locked in there!”
“Then I must be doubly careful that nothing happens to me,” he told me, his lips brushing my cheek. “In you go!”
“In you go!” Three simple words printed on paper, but powerful ones capable of triggering my flashback. One moment I was sitting in the chair, reading a story of a woman on an exotic island a couple thousand miles away, and the next I was remembering the one thing I most wanted to forget. I saw those words and wanted to crawl out of my own skin. Suddenly back in that frigid water, in the submerged car in the pond in Windham, New York, I remembered. Even as I tried to push the memory away, it came at me, again and again, until I could no longer resist.
I had fled the scene when Tovar was shot down at the Gilded Nest. In that split second of sheer panic and utter confusion, when bullets flew in all directions, I bolted out the back of the building. Stumbling over the icy path in my haste to get into my truck and drive away, I put all my effort into escaping the madness inside the venue. It never occurred to me there would be someone waiting for me outside.
“Look what I found,” said a silken voice, as I tried to work the remote door lock. My eyes involuntarily looked in the direction of the sound, and there she was, a silhouette dressed in black, right down to the beret on her head and the spike-heeled boots. Tall, thin to the point of being gaunt, gun pointed at me, the hired hit woman approached. “Lucky me. Let’s go, Marigold. You and I have a very important appointment to keep.”
“We do?”
“Indeed. Give me your cell phone.”
“What?” I answered, feeling a sharp pang in my heart. She raised the gun higher, as if she was preparing to fire. Was this the spot where I would die, where my life would finally end?
“You heard me. Hand it over.”
I reached into my pocket and pulled out my Samsung Galaxy, my lifeline. Much to my dismay, I reluctantly handed it to her. The last year of my life was registered on that phone; every contact, every client, every event. I knew at that very moment that my life as Marigold Flowers was over. She had been a creation of the United States Marshals Service, dreamed up to give me some semblance of a normal life, and now she was dead. More importantly, the real me might soon follow.
“We’ll take my car,” said the woman. She herded me over to a late model Toyota Corolla some twenty feet from my Ford Transit, popped open the trunk lid, and gestured for me to climb inside. I stood there, hoping I had misunderstood, but she had said the same thing that Inspector Noiret said to poor Nora. “In you go.”
I could still recall my feeling of utter helplessness as I lifted my leg into the opening of my metal coffin and climbed inside. I even begged her not to shut me in, but she just gave me a crooked, toothy grin.
“Them’s the cookies, little birdie. Try not to let them crumble.”
The clicking of the latch as the trunk was locked was the loneliest sound in the world. It was so dark, darker than a starless night, in the narrow confines of little more than ten or twelve cubic feet, forcing me to fight a wave of unexpected claustrophobia. I was colder than I had ever been. Curling into a small ball, trying to conserve my body heat and stave off the terror I felt, I considered my likely fate and the horror welled up in me. What did the tall, thin woman with the gun and a crooked smile have planned for me? I didn’t want to freeze to death in the Adirondacks and end up as some horrible news story during the spring thaw. I could already see the headline. Tragic End for Lake Placid Woman Found Frozen in Abandoned Car! As she turned on the engine and left the parking lot of the Gilded Nest, so many thoughts went through my head. Where was she taking me? Why not just shoot me? What did she want from me?
Chapter Twenty Nine
In my coatless state, with my back to the passenger compartment, I soon realized something important. There was heat seeping through from the back seat, heat that I desperately needed to stay alive. Carefully pressing myself against the adjoining wall, I found enough warmth that I could bear the cold that rushed in from outside.
I tried not to think about poor Tovar, or the horrified look on his face as the bullets cut him down. That was the moment I decided I had no choice but to flee. I knew the hit man was bleeding and that made him unlikely to follow me. Should I have stayed to help Tovar? That seemed rather foolish given that I had no gun. Would that have prevented this kidnapping? Probably not. That wretched woman would have just come into the Gilded Nest to abduct me. Still, I felt guilty.
Time seemed endless as I lay curled up in the trunk of that Corolla. Every time my mind replayed those last ten minutes of action inside the Gilded Nest, I found myself still baffled by the turn of events. Why had Tovar showed up like that? Why hadn’t he called to tell me he was on his way? It was a five-hour drive from Rhode Island. How did he even know I would be there in that place, at that time?
Thank heaven for my Citizen Chronograph watch, a gift from Jared. I pushed the button on its illuminated dial in those moments I felt panic taking control of me. As long as I had that tiny glow to penetrate the darkness, I could bear this isolation. I tried to conserve power, not knowing how long I would be stuck in my moving hell on wheels.
We had traveled three bone-rattling hours when I sensed something was very wrong. The hit woman suddenly pushed the gas pedal to the limit and demanded instant speed from the car. With a high-pitched whine of protest, the Toyota responded as quickly as it could, which was not quick enough for the driver; it shuddered painfully under the unexpected acceleration while the gears of the automatic transmission hurried to catch up. The car swerved wildly, from side to side and tipped up onto the left set of tires. Where we about to become airborne? The Corolla rode for several hundred feet on two wheels before it thumped back down onto the pavement; the shock absorbers were no match for the jostling we took. I lurched across the trunk floor like a sack of potatoes. But I had barely enough time to recover my equilibrium before all hell broke loose.
It came unexpectedly as I lay there, a tremendously violent jolt from out of nowhere. The Toyota Corolla screeched to a halt. I was slammed so hard against the trunk wall that I saw stars; big splotches of light danced through my head briefly before they disappeared and I was in darkness once more.
Stunned by the violent turn of events, I was afraid to move. I gingerly ran my tongue over my now-split lip and tasted blood. The furious hit woman cursed aloud in the front seat just seconds before I heard glass shatter. That must have been when she was shot, I decided. The car started moving again, this time slower. It took me a moment to realize we were going downhill. The Toyota continued to gain momentum right up to the second that the tires rolled over a small bump of sorts, and then it crawled to a halt on level ground. I waited breathlessly as the seconds ticked on, wondering what had happened.
The only sound I heard from the front of the car was a gasp of muffled agony as the final bit of life flowed out of my kidnapper. And then there was silence -- a long, uninterrupted, eerie silence. Alone and blinded by the blackness of my confinement, I understood my worst fear had come true. I was trapped in the trunk of this car with no chance of rescue.
That’s when panic shook me like a well-intentioned friend, jerking me out of my victimized state. I quickly realized my only hope of survival was to exit the car, but how? I forced myself to think. Rifling through my memory bank, I was willing to try just about anything to get out of there. Using my illuminated watch dial as a tiny flashlight, I sought the trunk latch I had heard about on one of those emergency rescue shows. I yanked it as hard as I could and up popped the trunk lid. Relief flooded over me as I gazed up at the starlit sky.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you, God!” I e
xclaimed to the heavens, feeling immense gratitude for my unexpected fortune, eager to climb out of my forced confinement. On my knees, with my hands on the lip of the trunk, I took stock of my surroundings in the pale glow of the full moon. That’s when the reality hit me hard and my heart sank. The Toyota was now parked, not on a road, but on top of a frozen pond, the shore some twenty feet away. “Crap! Now what am I going to do?”
My attention was drawn to a flicker of light in the distance. Was it a house or a street, I wondered, thinking that it was a sign of civilization; but then the light moved and I realized it was attached to a vehicle. Could I flag the driver down?
A dreadful thought occurred to me. Just before we bumped down that incline, just before the car rolled to a stop, there had been loud, bone-bruising impact. Had we been struck by another car? What if that maniacal driver was now on his way back to finish the job? I needed to get help. I had to call the police.
Carefully easing my body out of the trunk and onto the frozen surface of the pond, I planted my feet on the ice and remembered. I was in the middle of nowhere. What if I couldn’t find a phone?
My kidnapper might have one on her, I decided. Retrieving it meant I would have to view the body up close, possibly even touch her corpse, but I convinced myself I could handle that. It was better than perishing here from hypothermia. It was better than being shot by some unknown assailant.
As I shut the trunk lid with a firm hand, I steeled myself for the task ahead. Hands trembling, knees knocking, I slid along the ice towards the front of the Corolla, inching my way along the driver’s side in the silver glow of moonlight. I could see a huge door-to-door dent ripped into the metal carcass, like an angry goring by a belligerent bull. The bloodied head of the dead hit woman rested on the ledge of the side window; I could see her face through a gaping hole punched through the now-fractured safety glass. There was a bloody smear on the windshield, probably where she struck her head. On the dashboard, a plastic mount held an iPhone, just beyond my reach. I just had to figure out a way to get my hands on it.
All of the doors were locked. I had no choice but to snake my arm through the shattered window, careful to avoid touching that bony arm clutching the steering wheel, and pop the lock. With a shudder, I averted my eyes and got it done. Now I just had to open the other door.
Feeling the still-warm metal of the car hood under my fingertips, I carefully inched my way around the vehicle; I was all too aware of the precious seconds slipping away as I tentatively circumnavigated the ice. A moment later, my fingers gripped the handle on the passenger door and lifted the latch; it yield to my touch, and a moment later, the door swung open to admit me. Reaching in, I tried to remove the iPhone from the dashboard holder, but my frigid fingers couldn’t quite grasp it from this standing position. My only option was to climb into the passenger seat beside my dead tormentor. Shaking from the cold, I did just that, and a few seconds later, I managed to knock the cell phone out of its holder and catch it before it tumbled to the floor. I clutched it to my chest with relief, believing the worst was over, and that’s when the unthinkable happened.
Reflecting on the event from the safety of my hotel room in Kansas City, with plenty of time and distance to separate me from that awful moment, I realized I must have tipped the precarious balance of heavy car on fragile ice when I climbed into that passenger seat and reached for the phone. There was a long, low groan as the ice began to buckle under the weight of the Toyota; it turned into a great rumble as the frozen pond began to break apart, ready to swallow the car in its icy grip.
“No!” I cried out, scrambling to escape as chunks of ice jammed against the car door, pinning me inside. The Toyota began its descent into that winter tomb, ready to take me along with it. Water was quickly seeping in through the cracks. I panicked, knowing I had only another minute or two before what air remaining inside the compartment of the sedan would be replaced by water.
My gaze came to rest on a tiny hole at the top of the passenger window; a spider’s web of concentric circles radiated out from a missing circle of glass. Rolling over on my back and lifting up my feet, I steadied myself by gripping the steering wheel with my left hand and then I used my feet to kick at the damaged glass. The window shattered into hundreds of pieces, leaving a gaping hole through which I might exit. I tucked the phone into my skirt pocket, pulled myself out through the opening, and climbed onto the top of the Corolla. From my vantage point, I calculated the distance between the car and what appeared to be solid ice; my best bet was to climb down onto the rear fender. With a deep breath, I eased myself onto the trunk of the car and carefully made a risky leap to safety. Seconds later, the Toyota took a nose dive and disappeared for a few moments. The roof of the car popped up once or twice, and then slowly sunk, disappearing from sight as the water rushed into the open windows. All that remained was the hole, now crowded with chunks of ice that bobbed up and down in moonlight.
Creeping across the fragile ice like a furtive thief in the night, I fished the phone out of my pocket and frantically pushed the little green call icon on the illuminated screen. I punched in those three important digits with fingers that trembled as much from my terror as from January’s chill. It rang three times.
“Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?” a disembodied voice asked me.
“I...I need help. There’s been a terrible accident.”
“Where are you?”
“I don’t know,” I sobbed. “I don’t know where I am or what happened to me!”
“Are you in a safe location?”
“No! I’m on a pond and the ice broke...and the car went into the water! I’m so cold and wet!” Hot tears splashed down my cheeks and vaporized as the frigid air met them.
“Do you know where this pond is located? Can you describe it...or see any kind of road sign?”
“Um....” I looked up at the hill the Toyota had traveled down. What could I see? As I struggled to find the words, the dark figure of a man unexpectedly appeared at the top of the rise. “Oh, dear God!”
“What’s going on? I need you to stay calm and talk to me,” the dispatcher insisted, but it was too late for that. I sprinted several yards and threw myself across the pond, sliding the last few yards on my belly, and then scurried out of sight behind an evergreen. I couldn’t let the overly bright screen of the iPhone give me away, so I held it upside down, near to the ground.
The man carefully sidestepped his way down the slippery slope all the way to the shore and strode across the ice with the confidence of an experienced hockey player. He stopped about six feet from the hole in the thick ice, gazing down for a few moments, and then carefully retraced his steps, all the way back up the hill. In the distance, I heard the first of many sirens, as emergency responders rushed to the scene. He heard it, too. I watched him scurry out of sight before they arrived. That didn’t strike me as something an honest man would do. Maybe that’s why, when that man later grabbed me, claiming to be a cop, I didn’t believe him. My instincts told me he was lying.
“Marigold?” I heard my name called. A hand on my arm brought me back to reality. “Are you okay?”
It was Nancy, still in her pajamas, hair disheveled, kneeling at my side. I blinked a few times and focused on her face. She seemed concerned about me.
“Are you okay?” she asked again.
“Sorry,” I shook myself, trying to recover my emotional equilibrium. “I was remembering.”
“Well, in my experience, one of the best things you can do is to tell someone what happened to you. If you try to keep it in, it just comes back to bite you in the ass.”
“It’s just so complicated.”
“So, go slowly. Don’t rush it. Let it come out naturally.”
There was something about Nancy that made me want to tell her everything. Somehow I knew she would take me seriously and try to understand why I did what I did.
The words poured out of me as I recalled event after event. Nancy let me tell my story, occ
asionally interrupting with a question or two. She told me fleeing the scene after Tovar was shot probably kept me alive. “The hit man would have killed you, to clean up loose ends, even if he was dying. It’s like a code of honor with a lot of those guys.”
That simple acknowledgment of my no-win situation was enough to bring tears to my eyes. I thought about my anguish over Tovar’s shooting and the guilt that haunted me because I left him behind. “I didn’t know what else I could do under the circumstances.”
“If you ask me, there really wasn’t much you could do. It was a case of damned if you did, damned if you didn’t. You can’t beat yourself up for what happened to that marshal, Marigold. He was the one with the gun and the training. It was his job to protect you, not the other way around.”
She rose from her perch on the corner of her bed, patted me on the knee, and smiled. “You’ve really been through some tough times, haven’t you? The important thing is you lived to tell about it. I’d love to know who that guy was.”
“Me too,” I admitted. “But most of all, I’d like to know why he and the hit woman wanted to kidnap me. Why didn’t they just kill me?”
“Maybe that wasn’t their assignment. If they were supposed to take you to see someone, they’d probably only kill you if it looked like they couldn’t complete the task.”
“But two different people tried to kidnap me, not one.”
“Three, if you count the guy who shot the marshal,” she pointed out. “And yes, that is very unusual. Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“Is there something about that book you’re reading that’s making you remember all this, or is it just that when you read, it helps you think about things that happened to you?”
I considered the question before answering. “No, it’s definitely the book. Some of the things that happened to Nora were similar to things that happened to me.”
Reluctant Witness Page 24