Mortal Crimes 1

by Various Authors

His eyes clouded.

  “What?”

  “What did your message say? Because, you know, I’m supposed to be reading your email and telling him if there’s anything noteworthy.”

  She tried to ignore the chill that tickled her spine at the casual way he talked about invading her privacy. “It was plain vanilla. I just said I’m too sick to come in and that I’ll try to check in later.”

  “Aren’t you supposed to be picking a jury tomorrow?”

  She nodded.

  “So shouldn’t you be dragging yourself into the office even if you’re sick as a dog?”

  “Yes. That’s the point. Everyone at work is probably having a fit right about now.” She sent up a silent apology to Rosie, who would bear the brunt of Sid’s outrage and would be scrambling to cover all the work herself, then she continued, “So you can tell the man that it looks like I’m cooperating. That sort of flaky behavior is consistent with someone who’s planning to throw a case, don’t you think?”

  She waited patiently until comprehension lit his face.

  “Oh, yeah, I guess it is. Great! Should I call him now?”

  “Yes. But first—is there any way you can track him—even just to within fifty miles or so of his location?”

  He shook his head and said in a mournful voice, “No. Believe me. I’ve tried. He’s using a cheapo cell phone that doesn’t hook into any of our systems. He’s untrackable.”

  Aroostine set her mouth in a firm line. “No one’s untrackable. Go ahead and make your call.”

  She turned back to the monitor and her fingers flew over the keyboard. She’d find the forest that had been home to the white oak trees used to make the cabin’s logs. Then she’d find the stream that the beaver kept showing her, although she had no intentions of sharing the existence of her animal spirit guide with the Franklin. And then she’d find the cabin.

  What then?

  She’d worry about that when the time came. And it was coming fast.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Franklin could hear his voice shaking. He paused and tried to steady it, so the man wouldn’t think he was lying or holding anything back.

  The man snapped, impatient and cold, “Are you there?”

  “Yes. Sorry … I’m just—” he decided to go with a partial truth “—well, I’m worried about my mother. And I haven’t been sleeping and…”

  “I do not care to hear your tale of woe,” the man said in disgust. “Get to the point about the woman.”

  “Y-yes, of course,” he stammered. “She sent an email to her office. She’s not going to work today.”

  “Did she say why?”

  “She said she’s too sick, but her calendar shows a full day of meetings to prepare for jury selection tomorrow and the case next week. It seems inconceivable that she wouldn’t go to work no matter how sick she might be.”

  He glanced nervously at Aroostine and was rewarded with a reassuring smile before she returned to whatever it was she was doing on his computer.

  “Hmmm.”

  “I think this means she’s going to do it. She’s going to throw the case.”

  “Perhaps. You have had no response to the messages?”

  Franklin exhaled and carefully recited the lines he and Aroostine had agreed on.

  “No. I can tell they’ve been viewed. But she seems to have reacted by cutting off all contact with her friends and coworkers. She hasn’t reached out to any of her coworkers, other than to send the message that she isn’t coming in, and she’s made no other calls. I think she’s in hiding.”

  The man was silent for so long that sweat beaded at Franklin’s hairline.

  At last the man said, “She may be. She is not staying at her apartment.”

  Franklin’s heart pounded and his chest constricted at the thought that the man might know.

  This is it. You’re going to die of cardiac arrest wearing plaid pajamas.

  He struggled for a moment and then managed a shallow breath.

  “She’s not?” he squeaked.

  Aroostine’s head swiveled in his direction at the panic in his voice.

  “No.”

  He braced himself against the counter with one hand and squeezed his eyes shut with terror. “Where is she?”

  “I do not know. I have paid some of the front lobby personnel at her condominium building to keep me informed of her movements because the building does not use key cards that you can monitor. But, unlike your system, human intelligence is flawed and unreliable. She may have returned home and gathered her things unbeknownst to me. All that I know is she is not home now. My informant rang her apartment and she did not answer. So he let himself in on the pretext of a potential leak coming from the unit above. Her unit is empty.”

  “Oh.” Franklin searched for something to say while he imagined how Aroostine would react to the news of this latest violation. “Uh, interesting.”

  “Interesting? If you say so. Keep monitoring and let me know if she contacts anyone.”

  “Wait! What about my mother and, um, her husband? If she’s going to do what you want, can’t you let them go?”

  The man snorted. “No.”

  Franklin waited, but the man didn’t elaborate.

  “But why not?”

  An irritated sigh filled his ears.

  Then the man huffed, “Because their presence will guarantee compliance. If she has set things in motion to cooperate, that is good. But they stay here until the judge declares, what’s the word, a mistrial. Then I will uphold my end of the arrangement. Do not ask again, Franklin. It is becoming tiresome.”

  The words held a warning.

  “Okay, I’m sorry. May I speak to my mother?”

  “No.”

  The man ended the call, and Franklin turned to Aroostine, whose concerned eyes were still pinned on him.

  “Um, he seems cautiously optimistic that you’re going to throw the case.”

  “That’s good. And—?”

  He plunged ahead, “And he has his clutches in someone who works at your building. They’re watching for you. You can’t go home.”

  She raised a brow and set her chin in a determined way but said nothing.

  “Can I ask you a question?” he said.

  “Go ahead.”

  “What’s the effect of a mistrial? I mean, can’t you just try these guys again?” he frowned in confusion.

  “Yep.”

  “Then why—?”

  “I have no idea what difference he thinks it’ll make. I mean, he can’t know this, but we probably won’t refile the charges. These guys are small potatoes, and it’d be a waste of resources now that the case against the company is settled. But that’s a political decision, not a legal issue.”

  “Unless he does know.”

  They stared at each other for a moment. He thought he saw her shiver.

  “I don’t even want to think about the possibility. Did he say anything else?”

  “He’s not going to release Joe and my mom until the trial is canceled or whatever.”

  “Of course he’s not. They’re his leverage.”

  She shook her head at his naivety and her black hair whirled around her face like a curtain.

  He stood there for a moment feeling stupid and useless then asked, “Well, now what?”

  She tore a piece of paper from a legal pad and started scribbling a list with her chewed-up pencil. She handed it to him and said, “Can you read my handwriting?”

  He scanned it:

  Kitchen matches

  Compass

  Plastic poncho

  Hand warmers

  Small flashlight

  Swiss army knife

  Nuts

  Thermos

  “What is this?”

  “It’s a list.”

  “I know it’s a list. So, I’m your errand boy, now? And you’re going camping?”

  She fixed him with a look.

  “Do you really think I’m going camping?”

>   “No?” he ventured, not sure if he really wanted her to fill him in.

  She seemed to sense his ambivalence.

  “Listen, you want to see your mom again, right?”

  He nodded.

  “Then, don’t ask any questions. Just do me a favor and get me this stuff. Pay cash.”

  “I know not to leave a trail.” He tried but failed to keep the petulance out of his tone.

  “Of course you do. Sorry. Listen, I know you probably don’t think this is an important thing to do, but I really need this stuff and I can’t risk being seen. Will you please go to the store and pick it up?”

  He had the distinct feeling that he was being handled, but he didn’t know what to do about it. So he simply agreed to the request.

  “Okay.”

  “Thank you.” She flashed a brilliant smile. “And while you’re gone, I’m going to take a shower and borrow some more appropriate clothes, okay?”

  She gestured toward the rumpled business suit she was wearing and the high heels that she’d kicked off beside his couch.

  “Uh, sure. Make yourself at home.” He gave her a once-over. “You’re at least eight inches taller than my mom, though. So, I’ll have to give you something of mine. Sweats?”

  “Sweats, a base layer, anything you’d wear skiing would be perfect. Black is preferable. And I’m going to need some thick socks and waterproof boots.”

  He bit his tongue to keep from asking if she was planning to do anything illegal because he decided he really didn’t want to know. Then he headed into his bedroom to find her some clothes.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Joe and Mrs. Chang heard the man end his call and hurriedly abandoned their posts at the door to position themselves by the stove as he returned from the back bedroom. Their effort to eavesdrop had been futile, but it wasn’t like they had a better way to pass the time.

  The man banged into the room with a satisfied air. As always, he led with his shotgun. He noticed them huddling near the stove.

  “Are you cold? Do not worry, soon you will be quite warm, quite warm indeed.” He chuckled at some private joke and then nodded toward Joe.

  “I am going out. Make yourselves lunch in my absence.”

  As he shrugged into his coat, Mrs. Chang cleared her throat.

  “There’s only two cans of soup left. Can you bring some more back?” she asked politely.

  Joe had to admire how she’d maintained her dignity so far.

  “Or maybe you could get a jar of peanut butter and a loaf of bread—you know for a change of pace?” he suggested.

  The man pierced him with an aggrieved look. “I do not take orders, Mr. Jackman. You will eat what I provide or you will not eat.” He smiled charmlessly at the old woman. “Don’t worry, Mrs. Chang. If everything goes according to plan, tonight’s dinner will be your last meal here. Now, get back there.”

  He waved them toward the bedroom with the shotgun.

  Mrs. Chang crossed the room slowly, and Joe followed.

  “Faster.”

  They increased their pace as ordered and closed the bedroom door behind them.

  Joe waited until he heard the padlock bang against the outside door and the engine of the man’s car rev to life.

  Then he looked at his companion. Judging by her drawn expression and gray pallor, she’d had the same visceral reaction to man’s statements as had he.

  But he shook off the feeling of imminent danger and said, “Sounds like we might be getting out of here soon.”

  She rewarded him with a withering look. “You’re not an idiot, Joe. You know as well as I do, we’ll never leave here alive.”

  Her words hung on the still air until he acknowledged them with a small nod of his head.

  “We’ve seen his face. Heard his voice. We may not know what the heck is going on, but we know too much about him.” He heard himself say the words in a flat, toneless voice.

  “A-yup,” she agreed.

  They sat in silence for a moment.

  Then, not knowing what else to do, he opened the door and walked back into the kitchen area.

  “What’ll it be? Minestrone?” He tossed the question over his shoulder with feigned cheerfulness but kept his eyes fixed on the mostly empty cabinet so she wouldn’t see the despair that was eating at him.

  “Oh, screw lunch. Get the whiskey.”

  The previous night, they’d found a dusty bottle of cheap whiskey lodged behind the pipe under the sink and had rationed themselves a shot each.

  He considered protesting, but if they were right—and he knew in his bones they were—what was the point of pretense? He bent to retrieve the booze from its hiding place and plucked two mugs from the stack of clean dishes draining in the sink.

  He poured them each a drink with a generous hand.

  “Bottom’s up,” he said, passing her the first drink.

  “Here’s to a life well-lived,” she replied and clinked her stained porcelain mug against his.

  He took a long swallow and waited for the burn to travel down his throat to his stomach. His eyes watered from the alcohol, or at least that’s what he told himself.

  “I’m glad to have met you, Mrs. Chang.”

  “Eunice. I think we can dispense with formality at this point.”

  “Eunice.”

  She tossed back a swallow and grimaced.

  He cocked his head and watched as the weak winter sun streamed through the window and highlighted her face. A face that had seen horror and hope, feast and famine, and everything in between during her long life.

  He blurted, “What’s your biggest regret?”

  Her eyes registered surprise, and he started to apologize, but she cut him off with a wave of her hand.

  “Please. We might as well have a real conversation in the time we have left.”

  She considered the question silently and then said, “Overprotecting Franklin. I love him so much, maybe too much. I tried to shield him from pain, from want, from difficulty. I don’t think that’s served him very well. And, for that, I’m sorry.”

  Sadness hooded her eyes.

  His instinct was to reassure her that her son would be fine but he resisted the urge. She was right. There was no point in either of them pulling their punches now. So he simply nodded in understanding.

  She cleared her throat. “And yours?”

  He didn’t have to think about his answer, but saying the words pained him—it felt like a knife being plunged into his gut. “Aroostine.”

  “Your wife?”

  “Yeah. I don’t know how to love her the way she needs to be loved.”

  Her eyes crinkled. “Go on.”

  “She has these dreams and ambitions that I know she wants me to support. But I just want to be with her. I don’t want to live in a big city where she can have an important job with a fancy title. I just want her. Our dog. Our house. And I let that blind me to what she wants, I guess. I don’t know. All I know is I made a mess of things. And then I asked her for a divorce in the most cowardly way possible. And I’ll die in this cabin knowing I lost my wife because I wasn’t brave enough to be honest with her.”

  She pretended not to notice the tears that fell from his eyes to the dusty floor.

  They sat there in silence for several long moments, then she cleared her throat. “Well, I think another drink is in order. Don’t you?”

  He nodded numbly and poured the whiskey. He wished he had a piece of paper and a pen so he could at least write a note for Aroostine to try to explain what he’d done. The fact that he wouldn’t have the chance to tell her himself was becoming increasingly real to him.

  He raised his glass to Mrs. Chang and swallowed the drink in one gulp.

  “We should come up with a plan to get out of here,” he mumbled halfheartedly.

  She didn’t seem to hear him. She was staring at the inside of her mug. He supposed it didn’t matter. His only real plan now was to dull the pain that threatened to tear him in half.r />
  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Aroostine stood under Franklin’s shower for a long time, letting the hot water stream over her body, and reviewed what she knew.

  The cabin was somewhere in western Maryland, probably just outside Hagerstown, uphill from a stream. The woods would be remote, not a spot popular with hunters or fishing enthusiasts, and unlikely to be part of either the state or national forest system.

  She’d pulled up a map of the area and referenced the woods against the locations of all the white oak structures listed on the state’s inventory of historic properties. She doubted anyone would be stupid enough to hold prisoners in a building that could be easily identified through public means, but she also knew from Joe that craftsman, and their materials, were decidedly local. That was particularly true more than two hundred years ago when travel was expensive and inconvenient.

  So once she found a cluster of white oak structures near Hagerstown—in an unincorporated town called Long’s Gap—she chose that as her starting point.

  Then she’d gone through a list of nearby state parks and crossed those woods off on her map. That left three possible locations, two of which showed waterways cutting through them.

  At that point, it was a coin toss. She chose the wooded area that was farther from town because that’s where she’d hide captives, if she were the captive-hiding type. She’d start there, and if she didn’t find the cabin, she’d hike to the other woods.

  The lawyer part of her thought this was an abysmally deficient plan. The tracker part of her liked it just fine.

  With great reluctance, she turned off the water, giving Franklin’s hot water tank high marks for supplying steady hot water for the duration of her shower.

  She wrapped one towel around her hair and used a second to dry herself. She held the towel tight around her body and crossed the short hall between the bathroom and Franklin’s bedroom.

  He’d left the clothes in a neat pile on the end of his bed. She pulled on the warm black pants and zip-necked sweater, surprised to see that they almost fit. The only other man’s clothes she’d ever worn had belonged to Joe, and he was tall and broad-shouldered. As a result his button-downs had hung almost to her knees and she’d swum in his sweatshirts.