“He’s hurt,” Virgil said. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. “Out at the old quarry. He was swimming out there. Hit his head in a dive.”
“Where is he? Where are you taking me? This isn’t the way to the hospital.”
“I’m taking you to the quarry. He didn’t come up from that dive. I left before they found him.”
“Dear God.” Please, God, not Andrew. Let it be a mistake. Somebody else. Some other mother’s son. She didn’t want to wish it on anyone else, but she couldn’t help it. “Are they sure it’s Andrew?”
Virgil nodded somberly. “He was swimming with a buddy who saw what happened and ran for help.”
“Why didn’t someone call me?”
“You were already gone when they tried. Lundquist wouldn’t leave the search. I told him I knew the route you took to work.” He took a corner too fast, and she grabbed hold of the handgrip above the door.
She tried to think, but her mind wasn’t working. Looking out the window, she thought she saw Zach Yoder driving by in the opposite direction. You’re a little late, Zach, she thought. And then, oh, God, don’t let us be too late. And oh, God, how could we not be?
“How far is it?” They were at the edge of town now. Virgil picked up speed again. He rounded a curve and flew down a hill. She hung on, physically and emotionally.
“Not far. Only a few miles.”
“I used to think the quarries were all south of here.”
“No, they’re scattered all around. This whole area is full of stone of one kind or another. I get all the gravel for my concrete business from a gravel quarry north of town. There’s lots of good limestone right under Oliver. Makes construction expensive. We’re always having to blast out basements. We drill samples so we’ll know what we’re getting into, but the stone is unpredictable. Just when you think you’re not going to have a problem, you run into a shelf of limestone right next to where you drilled.”
If he was trying to distract her, it wasn’t working. Who cares about basements? she wanted to yell at him. My son … if I still have a son … Tears filled her eyes. Her throat ached. How far did his friend have to run for help? He must have been under water a long time. Even if he lives, he’ll be brain damaged. Unless maybe the water is cold enough. Quarries are so deep, it might be. But in this weather? Oh, Andrew, how could you? I told you never to swim in a quarry. You knew it was dangerous.
Stop it, Joan. This is doing you no good. She sat up straight. Virgil was still talking. She wanted to throttle him, but she needed him.
“Indiana limestone’s wonderful building material, though,” Virgil said. “Most folks think it’s too expensive. In the long run, they’d save, but they don’t think of the long run.” He meant well, she knew.
“I saw limestone angels and tree stumps in the cemetery.” She was squeezing the handgrip so hard her fingers were starting to go numb.
“Yeah. Old-time carvers trained the younger ones.”
“Was your father one of them?” Dear God, now I’m asking polite questions. Virgil, never mind me. Just drive!
They careened around another curve.
“No, he always kept a store. So did his father. Grandpa had an old-fashioned general store, down in the Amish country. They’d act as if they were the only people who ever did a lick of work. Some of those old guys drove a hard bargain, but he never let them get the best of him.”
No wonder Virgil felt that way about the Amish, if he heard that kind of thing from his grandfather.
“Look, we’re almost there.” He pointed to enormous chunks of dark gray limestone tilted at crazy angles along the side of the road. “This is the old part of the quarry. After a woman drowned in her car a few years back, they hauled those damaged quarry blocks over here so no one else would slide into the pit. In winter this road’s really bad. There’ve been lots of accidents along here.”
Joan could believe it, especially if people drove the way Virgil did. She held her breath more than once, but the last thing she wanted was for him to slow down. Her heart beat faster when he did exactly that and turned through wrought-iron gates into the quarry. They jounced and jolted along a deeply rutted, tree-lined gravel road. Straining to peer through the trees and underbrush, Joan kept expecting the flashing lights of police cruisers and an ambulance around every bend in the road.
At last she could see through the trees to sun reflecting off water. The place was deserted.
“They’re gone!”
“They were here when I left,” Virgil said. “Parked over there.” He swung down out of the truck and pointed toward the edge of the pit in front of them, where stones jutting out over the water made an almost irresistible diving platform. “You can see the tire tracks where they left the road.”
She got out and looked where he was pointing, but all she saw were trees and weeds and rocks and water. Then a truck roared up behind them, and she whirled to see Zach’s pickup spew dried mud and gravel in their direction as it spun to a stop. What was Zach doing here? And why was he running toward her?
“Zach?”
“Joan! I’ve got to talk to you.”
“Get back!” Virgil called to him. In Joan’s ear he said softly, “I didn’t want to tell you.”
“Tell me what?”
“Your boy didn’t dive in. He was pushed.”
“Pushed! But who …?” Who would push Andrew into the pit, and why?
“You’re looking at him, right there.” Then louder, “Don’t come any closer.” This to Zach, who was already backing off. “That’s right, leave her alone.” For the first time Joan saw the shotgun he was aiming at Zach. “Nice and easy. You just keep going.”
Zach climbed into his pickup.
“You’re letting him go?” How could he?
“He won’t get far. The police are watching for him.” Virgil kept pointing the gun while Zach drove off and lowered it only after the curving road took the pickup out of sight.
Joan’s head was whirling, but one thing was clear. She had to find Andrew.
“Virgil, take me back to town!” she said. “Take me to the hospital!”
30
Though but fifty-five, I am an old campaigner in the battle-fields of Love; and, believe me, it is better to be as you are, heart-free and happy, than as I am—eternally racked with doubting agonies!
—PHANTIS, Utopia, Limited
When Fred woke up on Friday morning he could hardly drag himself in to work. He stopped at Dan’s Donuts on his way, putting it off a few minutes more. Dan pumped him for information, but only half-heartedly, as if he no longer expected Fred to know anything.
Just as well, Fred thought, since I don’t. He sat at one of Dan’s tables to munch a sour-cream doughnut and drink coffee.
“So, Lieutenant,” Dan said, as he filled Fred’s cup for the third time, “I hear you went out to visit my old buddy Chris Eads.”
“Where’d you hear that?”
“Oh, word gets around. You know how it is. A little bird told me.”
“We’re talking to everyone.” Why am I even bothering to answer?
“Just routine, is that it?”
“That’s it.” You’re not going to get my goat. See me smile?
“Can I interest you in another doughnut?”
“Nope. I’d better go. Unless your little bird has told you something you think I ought to know.”
“Not a chirp.”
“That’s the trouble with those birds. See you, Dan.” He licked the last bit of glaze off his lips and walked glumly over to the station.
Today he didn’t feel like running up the worn limestone steps. When the police dispatcher greeted him cheerfully, he almost bit her head off.
“Morning, Lieutenant. Your lady friend find you?”
“You want to translate that?” He glowered down at her.
“I didn’t mean anything by it. We logged a couple of calls for you from a woman who didn’t want to leave a message. One before I left yest
erday evening, and one just a few minutes ago. I figured it was personal.”
He headed down the hall without answering. He was in no mood to have civilians twit him about his personal life. As for the calls, he’d find out soon enough. Right now he was so down on himself, he didn’t want to have to deal with any woman, not even Joan. Her very cheerfulness would be more than he could bear.
He was walking into his office when the phone rang. He sat down and took a deep breath before reaching for it.
“Lundquist,” he growled. But it was a young man.
“Mr. Lundquist, this is Andrew Spencer.”
“Hello, Andrew.” He relaxed. “What can I do for you?”
“It’s not me, it’s my mom.” Andrew’s voice croaked, making him sound much younger than he was.
“What about her?”
“Zach Yoder just called and woke me up—I went back to bed after breakfast—and said he thinks she’s been kidnapped or something.”
“She’s what?” Fred leaned into the phone.
“Zach saw her in Virgil Shoals’s truck. Virgil was speeding, he said, and Mom looked really scared.”
Fred leaned back. Probably a false alarm.
“You sure he wasn’t just giving her a ride to work? Maybe she was worried she’d be late.”
“No, Zach was calling from a place out on Quarry Road. He told me to call the police.”
“Why didn’t he call himself?” He was afraid he knew the answer already.
“He took out after them.” Oh, great. “But he gave me a description of the truck.” Fred grabbed a pencil and paper.
“Shoot.”
“It’s a blue Ford panel truck with Shoals Construction in white letters on both sides. He didn’t get the license number. Please, can’t we go make sure she’s all right?”
“You sit tight, son. I’ll see what I can find out and call you back.”
“Okay.” Andrew’s voice sounded very small.
First check the obvious. Fred found the Oliver Senior Citizens’ Center in the phone book.
“Mrs. Spencer, please.”
“She hasn’t come in yet this morning,” said a pleasant older woman’s voice. “Can someone else help you?”
“This is Lieutenant Lundquist, Oliver Police Department. When do you expect her?”
“Lieutenant, we don’t know.” Now the voice sounded concerned. “This isn’t like her. She’s never this late. We were about to call her house, in case she’s sick.”
“Don’t bother. I’ll call her.”
“Thank you. Thank you very much. We don’t want anything to happen to our Joanie.” Aha. This was the woman with the topknot and the knitting who liked to tease Joan.
“No, ma’am. Are you all right over there?”
“Oh, yes. The day-care people opened the building, and the rest of us can take care of things for one day. You tell her we’ll be just fine.”
“I’ll do that.”
Now he was worried. Annie—that was her name—was right. It wasn’t like Joan. Did that mean Yoder had it right? He tried to remember the odd thing Joan had said about Yoder and Virgil Shoals. Putnam had bad-mouthed Yoder to Shoals, that was it. She knew them both, and as far as Fred knew, she had no reason not to trust Shoals. He wouldn’t have to carry her off at gunpoint—just convince her she was urgently needed somewhere, or maybe threaten harm to Andrew if she didn’t do what he said. That would get her. But why would he abduct her? It didn’t make sense. Both men were on the spot when Putnam was killed, but that hardly suggested a reason to carry Joan off. Or make up a story like that.
He called her number.
“Hello.” Andrew’s voice was steadier.
“Fred Lundquist, Andrew. You mom didn’t show up for work, so I’m going after her. If she comes home, you call the station again and ask someone to page me right away.”
“Okay. But there’s one more thing. I just remembered something she said last night.”
“Yes?”
“Rebecca called, and Mom told her she saw something yesterday that made her think she knew who killed David Putnam. She was going to call you.”
Damn! Fred thought.
“She tried. What else did she say?”
“We couldn’t get it out of her. She wouldn’t talk about it until she could tell you.” So, maybe this abduction that looked more and more like the real thing tied in with the Putnam case.
“Thanks, son. Try not to worry.”
Automatically, he filled Ketcham and Terry in.
“This could be the break we need,” Ketcham said. But looking at Fred’s face, he subsided into silence and moved fast. They took a squad car for speed and turned on the lights and siren. Terry followed in another unit with Jill Root.
Flying out Quarry Road with Ketcham at the wheel, Fred had all too much time to imagine Joan in the hands of a killer. She’d be terrified at best, injured or dead at worst.
If I hadn’t dawdled at the doughnut shop this morning, she would have reached me. Then she could have told this creep the police already knew whatever he was afraid she would tell us.
Fred scanned both sides of the road without success for the blue panel truck, but the closer they came to the quarry, the surer he was that it would be there. The abandoned quarry hole, filled with water that hid enormous, unusable quarry blocks, wrecked automobiles, refrigerators, and other large items that rural residents didn’t want to pay a landfill fee to dump, was such a logical place to dispose of a body that he’d been half-expecting something like this ever since he first saw it. The junk and stones on the bottom would make dragging to find a corpse useless. And there were natural injuries every year or so. People insisted on diving into what looked like a beautiful rural pond, no matter how often you warned them they’d probably break their necks—or heads—on the invisible hazards below the water. A body that floated to the surface on its own would be ruled accidental death if it didn’t have an obvious bullet hole or two in it, unless something made the coroner suspicious enough to order an autopsy and the autopsy proved that death occurred before it hit the water.
Something like cops looking for a body before it’s even dead, he thought bitterly. And then hoped he was right about the before part. What was going on out there? Were they already too late?
Traffic was light. About a mile from the quarry, Fred spotted a pickup parked at a schoolbus turnaround across the road and a man standing beside it, waving both hands at them. He recognized Zach Yoder.
“There’s Yoder!”
Ketcham pulled over, and their backup followed suit. When they jumped out, Yoder ran across the road. Terry and Root ran up to join them.
“I got your message,” Fred said. “Where is she?”
“At the quarry.” Yoder pointed a shaky finger down the road. “I followed them there. Virgil’s got a shotgun. I saw her, but he wouldn’t let me talk to her.”
“Was she all right?”
“I think so. She looked scared.”
“Was he threatening her?”
“I don’t know. He wasn’t touching her. I couldn’t hear what he was saying to her. He was aiming at me, so I did what he said.” He shrugged.
“How long ago was that?”
“Not long—I just got here.”
“Did he say he was holding her hostage? Or what he wanted?”
“All he said was to get out.”
“You think he’s drunk or on drugs?” Terry asked.
“Not that I could tell.”
“You have any idea why he’s got her out there?” Ketcham asked.
Yoder just shook his head. “Virgil’s got a temper, but I’ve never seen him do anything like this. He’s come by while I was working at her house, but nothing ever happened. It doesn’t make sense.”
Not unless Joan would have told me she suspected him, if I hadn’t been pigging out on doughnuts.
“You want me to go back with you?” Yoder was asking.
“No,” four cops said at once.
/>
“Call it in,” Fred told Terry and Root. “And don’t let anyone spook him. Thank you, Mr. Yoder. We’ll handle it from here.” They left Yoder standing in their dust.
He heard Root’s voice on the radio: “We have an abduction with a weapon involved at the old Beasley Quarry, on Quarry Road north of Oliver. Lieutenant Lundquist and Sergeant Ketcham enroute with Detective Terry and Officer Root. Request a signal one hundred. The lieutenant’s handling this code two.”
The dispatcher relayed it. The signal killed all chatter and routine inquiries on the police radio frequency until the emergency was over, while alerting every police agency in the area to it, and the code warned them to use red lights only. No sirens.
If he kills her, I’ll tear him limb from limb, Fred thought. No, if he kills her, I’ll never forgive myself. I don’t belong here. I know that. But nobody better stop me. He looked over at Ketcham’s calm face, the sunshine glinting off his glasses as the road curved to the east again. You wouldn’t even think of getting in my way, would you, Johnny?
31
Life is one closely complicated tangle:
Death is the only true unraveller!
—DON ALHAMBRA, The Gondoliers
The sound of Zach’s pickup had faded into the distance. Virgil stood on the lichen-covered stone jutting out over the green water and peered down as if he expected to see Andrew’s footprints under the trees reflected in it. Sunshine played on the water, which splashed musically over a narrow dam between the large quarry hole and a smaller hole that looked just as deep.
“I guess they got him out, all right,” Virgil said. “I’ll bet he got caught under one of those old quarry blocks down there. A quarry’s a dangerous place to swim. And dive. You have to be crazy to dive here, or young, or both. I used to do it back home, when I still thought I had to prove myself to my buddies.”
I can’t believe this. What do I care what you thought?
“I want to go to Andrew now!” Joan hated the quiver in her voice.
Virgil made no move to leave, but kept staring down at the water. She was suddenly frantic. Andrew could be dying! Why was Virgil dragging his feet like this? She wished she’d asked him to take her home the moment she heard Andrew was in trouble, so she could have driven herself here instead of jumping into his truck and putting herself in the position of having to beg.
Murder & Sullivan Page 20