“Start your car.” The wind whipped my words away. I tried again. “Start your car,” I yelled. “We have to get it off the road.”
He nodded and twisted the key but all he got was a r-r-r-r. He leaned back and held his head between his hands again.
I hollered at him again and he twisted his head in my direction.
“Lottie? That you?” Before he recognized my voice, he had simply responded to loud orders.
“Yes. You need to get in my car where it’s warm. You’re bleeding. I need to tend to you.”
“Just a head wound. Bleeding like a stuck hog. Not that serious.”
“Maybe not. First, we need to get your car off the road so it won’t cause another wreck.”
“What?”
In despair I concentrated on the essentials. What he needed to hear. Bare minimum. “Yank your steering wheel to the right. Hard. Head into the ditch. Then put it in neutral.”
He followed my instructions then grabbed his head again and gave a soft moan.
“Good job! I’m tied to a rope. I’m going to walk you back to my car. Can you do that?”
He nodded then groaned again.
“Don’t fall. You need to hold onto me. Stay in back of me and put your hands on my shoulders. I can shield you from the wind.” A little. I hope, I thought grimly. “But do not fall. Just concentrate on staying on your feet. I’m not strong enough to pick you up from the ground. I could drag you to my vehicle but I can’t hold onto the rope at the same time. You’ve got to stay on your feet. Got that?”
I couldn’t see his reaction but he was a soldier. Used to taking and giving orders. Blunt orders. He had to, by God, stay on his feet.
His door was a goner from the moment we opened it. It slammed against the fender but the hinges held. He jolted at the sound but stayed upright. I coiled the rope, taking up all the slack and looped it over my shoulder again.
I started back, pulling with both hands as I eased along the rope still held tightly in the door of the Tahoe. I shuffled with little duck steps like a baby. Carefully placing one foot in front of the other.
Ferguson’s hands slipped off my shoulder and I stood paralyzed.
“You there?” I called. I twisted and slowly groped to the sides but stood in place. Then pulling against the rope I leaned back as far as I dared without losing my footing and bumped into him. Ferguson had stood totally motionless, no doubt as terrified as I was.
“Here,” he said weakly. “Right here. Slipped. Sorry.” He firmly gripped my shoulders again.
I tightened the rope and inched along until I reached the front fender. Gratefully, I laid across it for a moment before I felt my way along the right window. Then I located the handle of the back door.
When I had ordered my Tahoe, with napping grandchildren in mind, I had opted for a bench seat in back rather than captain chairs. Now the cushioned expanse was ideal for an injured psychologist.
Dorothy had managed to climb over the console into the back and gripped the door from the inside. I let go of the rope to steer the man past the opening and pulled at the handle. I braced the door and literally shoved Ferguson across the seat, and slammed the door shut. Then I opened the driver’s door and squeezed through the narrow opening while retrieving the rope. We might need it again.
Exhausted, my hands encircled the steering wheel, and I laid my head against them.
“You okay?” Dorothy asked from the passenger’s seat. “Here. Drink some water.”
Amused by her sensible gesture I raised my head and reached for the bottle. I was scared shitless and she was as controlled as though this happened every day.
I dug a shop rag out of the console and wetted it. I dabbed at my eyes and swiped at the coating of dirt on my face. Then I started my engine and eased into a steady shove against the back of the little Volkswagen. It immediately began rolling gently down the ditch.
Now to get me off the road. I lowered my window a crack and listened for equipment coming my way. All I could hear was the wind.
Carefully I put the Tahoe in reverse and began backing. When I thought I was far enough away from the Volkswagen that I wouldn’t land on top of it, I put the Tahoe in drive and slowly steered it into the ditch at a shallow angle where it was out of harm’s way.
I switched off the ignition. Giddy over my success, I turned to Dorothy. “Mission accomplished.” Relief flooded my body.
“Good job, Lottie. Seriously. Marvelous, in fact.”
I looked down at my filthy clothing. I was covered with a coating of mud. My seats were all leather and it would not be a problem to clean up the car but I looked like I was auditioning to be a mummy.
Ferguson eased into a sitting position. “Glad you girls came along.”
“We’re the ones who caused this mess, remember.”
Dorothy stiffened at the “girls.” She couldn’t stand the man. But part of my job was rescuing people. I couldn’t pick and choose. “How are you doing?”
“Been better. What the hell is going on?”
I explained ground blizzards then fished around for my iPhone and activated the light. I swiveled and climbed over the console into the backseat. “Look up,” I put him through an assortment of eye tests. “We’re in luck. I don’t see any signs of a concussion.” I gently removed the cloth from his head and examined his cut. “Good news on that front, too. It isn’t that deep.”
“Just bloody. Hell of a headache, though.”
“Dorothy, my medical kit is wedged beside the console on your side. Please get it for me.”
She handed it over and I sponged off his wound with hydrogen peroxide then examined it closely. I closed it with a butterfly bandage. “Everything considered, you’ve come out really well, Doctor. This will leave a little scar but I don’t really think you need stitches.”
“Thank you. Good thing you came along,” he said again.
“Actually, I was the one who plowed into you,” I reminded him. “I caused all this.” The repetition worried me. Maybe I should put him through a couple of memory tests. When we got to a town I wanted an emergency room crew to check him out. I scrambled back into the front seat, started the ignition and switched on the radio. Nothing but static.
“You had better call Keith and let him know we are okay,” Dorothy instructed.
“Right.” But all I got out of my cell was “no service.” I had deactivated OnStar because the county had been paying for the service and we were looking for ways to reduce expenses since so much was now being financed through the regional center. Now I wished I had the service back because it was satellite-based and didn’t depend on cell towers. Our police car radios were nearly prehistoric. I tried my radio anyway but only got a loud whine and no reception.
“Ground blizzards usually only last about three or four hours,” I said after trying all of the systems again. “We won’t be here forever. I have some Tylenol in my kit. Or aspirin, since your bleeding doesn’t seem to be an issue. Take your pick.”
“Aspirin.”
He gulped down two and after we had sat for about five minutes in silence he dozed off. But it wasn’t the deep sleep of a seriously injured person and in about fifteen minutes he jerked awake.
“Feel better?”
“Yes. Between the aspirin and the nap, I’m good to go.”
“It won’t be that simple. I still want you to go to the emergency room.”
“Not necessary. Really. And anyway after Afghanistan I have a horror of emergency rooms.”
“What are you doing out here, anyway?”
“I might ask the same of you.”
“I’m….taking Dorothy to the airport.” He didn’t need to know I was going to see Dimon. He might decide it was some of his business. It wasn’t.
“I was coming back from a drug store. Needed to pick up a prescription bef
ore I left on a trip.”
“Afghanistan. Tell me about the people,” Dorothy urged. She peppered him with questions. Basking in the attention, obviously cheered to be in the limelight again, he entertained us with details and anecdotes. Most of them were funny but I suspected he was withholding stories of another kind. At any rate I was seeing another, more humane side of this man. Who knew?
We offered food to Ferguson from the stash of sandwiches and cookies we had brought along. “There’s coffee, too, in that thermos.”
“Don’t want to cut you ladies short.”
“We have plenty,” Dorothy insisted. “I don’t like the food on planes. I always pack enough to do me through a flight. What we don’t eat now I’ll cache in my backpack. There’s no problem getting through security as long as I don’t take liquids.”
He took a ham sandwich and an assortment of cookies. “So you have a flight ahead of you. Where are you headed?”
“Back to New York.”
“Southwest?”
“Always.” A discussion of airlines followed with United emerging as the clear loser. I smiled at our newfound camaraderie. Nothing like coming through danger together. It sure beat our previous mutual wariness that usually existed whenever Ferguson was around.
“Business?”
“Yes. A little row with my publisher. Shouldn’t take too long to get things straightened out and then I’ll be back.”
“Hope this delay didn’t mess up your flight plans.”
“No, in fact my plans are already messed up. I’ve never seen Josie’s apartment and hoped to go there first. But now we can’t. I hear it’s quite a place,” Dorothy said.
I tensed. I didn’t want Ferguson to flare up at any mention of Josie’s affluence.
“And you, Dr. Ferguson? Where were you headed? Before the grand interruption?”
“Back east. To give a talk to a group of psychologists about the long-term effect on PTSD on neurological health. Very dry. Not that many interested, but I will get a nice speaking fee. And you, Lottie? Are you just taking Dorothy to the airport or are you going to visit your sister on the way back?
“My itinerary is a little more complicated and I can’t spare the time to get in a decent visit with Josie, as much as I would love to.”
“She’s going straight back to Topeka after she drops me off. To take some evidence to Frank Dimon.”
I winced. No way to shut her up without piquing Ferguson’s curiosity.
“What kind of evidence?”
“It pertains to a local case. Not regional business,” I said quickly. “An old, old case. Some new evidence came to light.”
“Must be important if you are making a special trip to Topeka.”
“It is.” Dorothy twisted in her seat so he could look into her eyes. Proud. So proud of her role in this case. “About the most conclusive physical evidence we’ve come across in a long time.”
“And speaking of plans, do you plan to stay in Kansas after we solve the Baby Ghost murders?” I asked, hoping to change the subject.
“Are you that sure you’re going to close this case?” He laughed, scoffing as though I were a puffed-up little kid. “Seems like whoever is doing this is still holding all the cards.”
Dorothy took umbrage. “Miracles do happen. We’ve just now had one in Carlton County. Sam Abbott says they have been looking for two missing boys for nearly eight years, but everyone assumed they had been abducted. It will be all over the papers today. For those lucky enough to get papers today, that is. A cadaver dog found their bodies yesterday. Right there in Carlton County. Right there under our noses all along.”
“Wonderful. Good old Sam.”
I looked at her sharply, but she had missed his sarcasm and just plunged right ahead.
“And there was another little boy who had never been reported missing. Terrible disabilities. Tragic, just tragic. But we can nail the killer now. We have a handkerchief containing some blood and semen.”
Ferguson said nothing.
“Pervert. Totally sick. He deserves to be locked up for life. With prisoners who know how to punish rapists.”
Ferguson said nothing.
“Dorothy, Sam wouldn’t like for you to discuss an open case with anyone.”
Wounded, she resumed looking at the front windshield. Ferguson had pushed her buttons by implying we didn’t have a chance of finding the Ghost Baby Killer, but I had to shut her up because it was the truth. Sam would hate having this man know any of the details. He could barely stand working with Ferguson on the regional team.
I changed the subject. “Need more food, Dr. Ferguson? Coffee? More aspirin?”
“I’m doing okay. Everything considered.”
Chapter Twenty-six
There was a sudden violent burst of static from the radio when I started the car to run the heater for a little while. I switched it off and stared morosely at the windshield. I didn’t want to risk running down the battery.
Ferguson took several sips from the bottle of water he had used to chase down the aspirin.
“Still feeling all right?”
“A-okay.” But storytime was over. Talking about killing little boys stifled Dorothy’s talkative spell and apparently had a dampening effect on Ferguson too.
We all sat in silence for another half hour and then it began to lighten up outside. I risked cracking the front window again to peek out. The wind had lessened and the lifted swirling snow and dust was starting to settle back down on the ground where it belonged. I tried to get Keith again but something was still down somewhere.
In another fifteen minutes it was brighter inside the car and I opened the door to get a better look. A light coating of blasted-on dirt and snow pocked the highway. Deep in some places. Bare spots in others. But it was safe to drive now.
I glanced back at Ferguson who was staring at the opaque window at his side. He reached for the button and lowered it halfway but still did not speak.
I got out and went around to the hatch in back and got out a big roll of paper towels and the bottle of window cleaner I kept on hand to use when I went through the carwash. There was also a short squeegee. I went around the Tahoe squeegeeing first and wiping the blade on paper towels before I made the trip around again, this time using the spray bottle and cleaning in earnest. Nothing exactly sparkled, but we had good visibility. I would run through a commercial washer when we got to Junction City.
When I had finished I got back in the car and tried Keith again. This time the call went through.
“Honey? Just wanted you to know that we are safe and sound.”
“Thank God. I’ve been worried sick.”
“I was afraid you would be. There was a shallow ditch next to me. I took it to get off the road. But cell service has been blocked so I couldn’t tell you how I was doing. And you’ll never guess who I ran into.”
Dorothy snorted.
“I hope to hell you don’t mean that literally,” Keith said.
“Actually, I do. Dr. Ferguson. I managed to total his Volkswagen. But he’s okay.” I gave him more details but sort of glossed over the rope rescue. Keith would know all too well how easy it would have been to end up facedown on the highway, exposed to the danger of some fool steering by a compass.
“The important thing is that you are all safe. Tell Ferguson that there is an excellent mechanic in Junction City. Body Peace. Why don’t you drop him off there? They will send someone right out for his car and give him a loaner. Oh, and Josie has been trying to get ahold of you.”
“Did she say what she wanted?”
“No, except that she had figured out what her dream meant. Said you would understand and it was the one where she was in the grocery store and she ‘wasn’t buying it.’ She said it was important. But I doubt it.”
“Keith,” I chided, “honestly!”
But he has no use for our “twin games” as he calls them. “I’ll call you again from the motel and let you know where we are staying. Probably at Junction City. I’ve decided to wait and take this stuff to Dimon in the morning because I want to be rested when I talk to him. Needless to say I’m filthy, and more than anything, I need to clean up.” I didn’t mention that I was also a bundle of nerves.
“Love you, honey. Take care. And be careful the rest of the way.”
“Love you, too.” I hung up and plugged my cell back into the lighter then asked Ferguson to hand me the thermos of coffee.
“I’ve been thinking,” he said. “I can’t leave my VW here while we go on. It’s classified as an antique car and someone is sure to come along and strip it for parts. I need to get it to someplace safe until I can make arrangements.”
“Our chances of getting a tow truck out here soon are slim to none,” I said. “They’ll be swamped with cars that are a danger to general traffic because they couldn’t pull over. Hard telling how many collisions they will have to work today.”
“I figured that. But I have another idea. Up the road a couple of miles there’s a county road, then a dirt road that leads to an old farmhouse. I know the people who live there. Charlie and Louise Harrison. He’s an old friend of mine and has plenty of equipment. Tractors and so on. I’m sure that he would be glad to come after my Volkswagen and store it in one of his outbuildings until I can arrange to get it repaired. That way I won’t hold you up.”
I glanced at my watch. The last thing I wanted was a detour. I wanted to find a carwash and then a motel. Fast. Hard telling how many other people had the same idea and were tying up facilities. But it was the least I could do for Ferguson considering I got him into this mess to begin with.
“Okay. Then after you make arrangements with your friends, shall we take you on to Junction City?”
Fractured Families Page 25