Bannerman's Ghosts

by John R. Maxim

  A man appeared. Then a second and a third. All three had stockings drawn over their faces. Two of the three had guns in their hands. One of them, the burliest, wore leather gloves. The one in the middle had a hand fully bandaged. That one said, “Put the phone down. We mean you no harm. Stay calm and you won’t get hurt.”

  She backed away from them. She said, “Glad to hear it.” She punched 911 with her thumb.

  The third one said, “Take her.”

  She said into the phone, “I have intruders. Men with guns,” before tossing it into the den. The bandaged one was on her in an instant. He swung his pistol at the side of her head. She ducked it and slashed with her carving knife. He hadn’t seen it coming. He was almost too late. He raised the bandaged hand to block it. The knife sliced through tape and gauze. The man gasped and cursed, but Jasmine got no other chance. The second man, the gloved one, was on her as well. He seized the wrist that held the knife and threw a punch at her ribs. A second punch followed to her face, and a third. She felt herself spinning. She crashed to the floor.

  She heard a distant voice shout, “Get the other two. Move.” The voice shouted something else about a van. The last words she heard were, “You like knives, you fucking cunt?” before she felt something cold against her throat.

  Lilly and Kuntz raced through the front door. They saw that Stride and the girl were still waiting by the car. Both were frozen momentarily at the sight of two masked men running at them down the entryway walk. Stride was the first to react. She shouted, “Aisha, run.” But the warning was barely out of her mouth before Lilly grabbed her hair and clubbed her to her knees, using the butt of his Glock . He said to Kuntz, “Get the kid; I’ll get the van.”

  They had parked the van off the street two houses up. Lilly knew that they had one minute at most before the police would be swarming. He reached the van, turned the key in the ignition, and was along side Stride’s car in five seconds. Kuntz had the girl in one arm. She was limp. Kuntz must have cold-cocked her; that was good. Toomey was coming, cradling his hand. It was dripping all over the walk.

  Lilly shouted, “In the back. Throw them both in the back.” He said, “Kuntz, get in with them. You stay down.”

  Twenty seconds had gone by. He heard sirens.

  Toomey climbed in beside him, his hand dripping blood, but Toomey was keeping his head. Toomey said, “Don’t drive fast. We go slow and easy. Cop cars come, pull over like we’re giving them room. Try to look like you’re saying, ‘Wow, what’s going on?’”

  Lilly turned off Marsh Drive onto Plantation Drive. He asked Toomey, “The

  black one. Can she talk?”

  “Not any more.”

  “Why, what did you do?”

  “I cut her damned throat is what I did. Stupid bitch.”

  Lilly cursed. “What for? She was down. She was out.”

  Toomey showed his bleeding hand. “Do you see this? She did this. I was no condition to haul her out here.”

  What’s done is done, thought Lilly. The thing now is to keep moving. The van had fallen in between two other cars. That was good. That could help. And they were both SUVs. The van would stand out a lot less.

  He said over his shoulder to Kuntz, “Keep them quiet.”

  Kuntz answered, “They’re quiet. They’re both hardly breathing. And the kid…I don’t know…I might have hit her too hard.”

  “Well, don’t let Stride die. Keep her quiet, but alive. You got that duct tape back there? Tape them up. Use that hood.”

  Kuntz was tearing strips of tape. “Which one gets the hood?”

  “I gotta tell you everything? Put it on Stride. Then throw that tarp over the two of them.”

  He asked, “What about the shot? Where’s it go? In the ass?”

  “You got enough for two?”

  “How should I know?”

  “Then save it. Give half to whoever wakes up first.”

  The first two police cars raced past them, blue lights flashing. The SUV ahead of them had pulled over to the side. Lilly held his breath and did the same. “We get out of here,” said Toomey, “it’ll be a fucking miracle. Even if we get through the gate before they seal it, they still might set up roadblocks on the bridge.”

  “Are you saying hole up? Break into a house?”

  “Eight minutes to the bridge. I’d rather chance it, I think. We can always turn back if traffic’s stopped on the bridge.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” said Chester Lilly.

  They did get through the gate. They were waved through. Nice surprise. Two guards were moving traffic out of the way so more cop cars and an ambulance could get in.

  Seven minutes, thought Lilly. Don’t speed. Our luck is holding. His mind was already on the phone call he’d make once they were well clear of the bridge.

  Mr. Bourne? I got her. I got Stride plus a bonus. A little messy, but hey, it’s Elizabeth Stride. It’s not as if you sent us for some kid.

  Except speaking of kids, what’s Bourne going to say?

  Bring the girl, too?

  Kill her and dump her?

  If it’s “kill her,” he’s not going to say that straight out. He’ll say, “Do as you’ve been told. Only that. Am I clear?”

  Too bad, though, thought Lilly. She’s a nice-looking kid. But Kuntz says she might not make it anyway.

  TWENTY FOUR

  Elizabeth hadn’t gone to the boat right away. She hid her car behind an unoccupied house that was five lots away from her own. She dressed in the blacks that were in her blue duffel. She checked her weapons, slid her knife into her boot and stayed to watch her street for a while.

  She would like to have seen who was coming, if anyone. She would not have tried to deal with them. She’d as much as promised Molly. Nor would Molly be pleased that she’d lingered this near. If those coming were professionals, they would expect it. They’d have formed a perimeter and moved in very carefully. They would know her car and be watching for it near both of the gates leaving Sea Pines.

  It wasn’t smart to stay. But this was her home. The thought of some jackboot kicking in her front door…

  But nothing happened. No one came. Only one car, a neighbor. Molly’d better have a very good story.

  She drove down to the marina, her eyes watching every vehicle. She made a half dozen unneeded turns to make certain that she wasn’t being followed. She found that boat. It was no longer at the fuel dock. It had been moved, as she’d expected, to one of the slips where the larger sailboats were berthed.

  Molly had told her, “Let yourself in.” She used the hilt of her knife to twist the lock from its hasp. She settled in to wait. In the dark.

  Almost two hours passed. She heard two taps of a horn. The sound came from the parking lot some three hundred yards distant. She moved up into the cockpit, staying deeply in shadow. She drew up her knees and arranged her abaya. She had become part of the shadow.

  She saw a woman’s form approaching the ramp. The silhouette, the walk, were unmistakably Molly’s. Well behind her was a male shape. A large one. Very large. His head kept turning. He walked with arms folded. That could only be Billy McHugh.

  Elizabeth waited. Molly slowly drew near. Molly Farrell had raised both her hands above her shoulders. Her left hand was empty. Her right hand held a pistol. She was holding it aloft so that Elizabeth could see it, but also to be ready for any surprise if Elizabeth was not on the boat. Molly still had not seen her, but she saw the broken lock. She said softly, “Elizabeth?”

  Elizabeth answered, “I’m here.”

  Molly kept her hands raised. She turned her head slowly. She saw the dark shape. It could have been a pile of trash bags. She said, “Nice to see that you haven’t lost your touch.”

  “Nice to see that you haven’t either,” said Elizabeth. “Come aboard and tell me why I’m not home in bed. Were you unable to keep our little secret?”

  “Don’t get testy,” said Molly. “I’d rather be home, too. And we kept your secret better than
you know.”

  Molly finished relating what had happened to Clew. He might not survive it. They can only wait and see. She told her of the woman, as yet not identified, whom Clew’s driver, now dead, called “Elizabeth.”

  She said, “We still don’t know what to make of that part of it. Overall, though, we think that the people who did it were working for Artemus Bourne. He’s the man, you’ll recall, who had asked Clew to find you. We now think it’s likely that he knows where you are. And if he did that to Roger in trying to find you…”

  “He might intend to do the same thing to me?”

  “He might. It’s why I wanted you out of there,” said Molly.

  Elizabeth was confused. “Then why didn’t we wait for them? You’re here. Billy’s here. We could have taken them and asked them. A corkscrew in the ear…wasn’t that Billy’s specialty? A corkscrew in the ear, all questions answered.”

  Molly took a breath. “Will you take off that veil? I feel like I’m talking to my laundry.”

  Elizabeth turned it to one side, baring most of her face. She asked again, “Why didn’t we deal with it here?”

  “Well, for one thing, we’ve already done enough to this island. But that’s not the main reason. Something else has arisen. We think we might know why Bourne’s so eager to find you. Or rather, Paul knows. He wants to tell you directly.”

  “Up in Westport?”

  “Tonight. He sent us to get you. We have a plane waiting at the airport.”

  Elizabeth frowned. “I’m not buying this, Molly. Why go to all this trouble just for me?”

  “It’s not just about you. There’s Roger. And there’s Bourne.” Molly paused. “And are you ready? There’s Martin.”

  Elizabeth, wearily, raised a gloved hand and brushed the cowl of her abaya back from her head. Molly saw that her hair and her eyes were both black. She would barely have recognized Elizabeth.

  Elizabeth asked, “Well, what now? Another Martin Kessler sighting? I thought we’d discussed this to death.”

  “He’s alive as of yesterday. Paul confirmed it himself. He made some calls from Westport, then he called me on the plane. There’s no question, Elizabeth. Martin Kessler is alive. It’s what Paul wants to talk to you about.”

  Elizabeth wet her lips. She had trouble forming words. When they came, their sound was throated. “It’s not possible, Molly.”

  Molly stepped closer. She put her hands on her shoulders. She said gently, “He’s alive. There’s no mistake.”

  “Yes, there is,” she said stubbornly. Now her voice sounded choked.

  “Elizabeth…listen.”

  “That man loved me, Molly. You can laugh, but he did.”

  Molly said, “No one’s laughing, Elizabeth.”

  “He would never have done this. Not a word? In two years?”

  “He must have thought he had a very good reason.”

  Elizabeth’s eyes began to moisten. She could only shake her head.

  Molly gave her a squeeze. She said, “I know that he loved you. And I know that you loved him in your way.”

  She swallowed a sob. She asked, “In my way?”

  “You…didn’t exactly wear your heart on your sleeve.”

  Elizabeth’s color had risen. “Just because I never said it? I didn’t have to. He knew it.”

  “If you say so.”

  “Unless he was stupid. And he was. He was stupid. You knew Martin. Not an ounce of sense in him.”

  “I remember Aisha saying, ‘You should honor him, Elizabeth.’ You were mad at him for dying. Now you’re mad because he didn’t?”

  “And damn it, now you’re making me cry over this. Are you happy? You’re making me cry.”

  Molly reached for her arm. “Why don’t we go?”

  She pulled away. She said, “No. Not again.” She got up. She paced the cockpit. She said, “Wait.” She waved a hand. She said, “Let me…think about this.”

  Molly’s cell phone vibrated. She took it out of her pocket. She looked at the calling number. It was Carla’s. She brought it to her ear. She said, “Yes?”

  She listened without speaking, occasionally nodding. She said, “Thank you. We should be there by sunrise.”

  “That was Carla,” she said, before Elizabeth could ask. “Susan’s gone into labor. Paul has taken her to the hospital. Carla’s staying with Cassie at his house.” She added, “Elizabeth, we can talk more on the plane.”

  “Will I see him?” asked Elizabeth. “I want to see him.”

  “You will. But he’ll be busy with Susan.”

  “Not Bannerman,” she said. “Martin. Will I see him? Is he there?”

  “Martin’s never been in Westport. He’s in Africa. Angola. You remember I told you we’d heard rumors about that.”

  “The diamond thing? Israelis?”

  “It turned out to be true. And it turns out that Paul knew about it all this time. I didn’t, but he did. I’m not happy about that. You have my permission to sock him when you see him.”

  Elizabeth heard the words, but she wasn’t listening. She asked, “When will I see him?”

  “Um…are we back to Paul?”

  “No, damn it. Martin. How soon can I see him?”

  “I don’t know. We can try to work something out. I don’t know how quickly we can do that.”

  “He won’t see me cry. I won’t let him see me cry.” As she said this, tears were running down both cheeks. Her hands were on her belly. She was feeling her scars. Her fingers traced over the hard fibrous lumps. She asked, very softly, “Did you know I can’t have babies?”

  “I know. You told me. Chamonix.”

  “All my tubes were shot out. There’s nothing there,” said Elizabeth.

  She looked off toward the ocean where she’d thought that Martin died. She said, “Martin didn’t mind. At least he said that he didn’t.” She removed one black glove. She brushed a droplet from her chin. “He really didn’t seem to mind. He still thought I was a woman. I mean, I know that I wasn’t so great in…some other ways…but he said that I was all any man could ever want. He didn’t mind that I couldn’t have babies.”

  “I know that.”

  “No, you don’t. How could you know that?” asked Elizabeth.

  “Chamonix,” she repeated. “Martin and I had some long talks as well. At your worst, Martin Kessler still could not believe his luck that you had come into his life.”

  The tears came again. Her chin quivered. She sat. “That was then,” she said. “People change.”

  “They don’t really.”

  “And maybe that’s why he went. To find a life. I mean, a real one. To find another woman who still had all her parts.”

  Molly said, “Okay, enough. You’re the one who’s being stupid.”

  “I wish…I just wish…”

  “Do you have any other clothes? If you don’t, I’ll fix you up when we get to my place. Size ten? I have everything you’ll need.”

  Elizabeth was dithering. She gestured toward the cabin. She said, “I have my duffel. It’s below.”

  “Go get it. Wash you face. I’ll go up and wait with Billy. You don’t want to let him see your eyes all red either.”

  “I’m not ashamed of having feelings.”

  “That wasn’t my point. If he sees you, he’s liable to start blubbering himself. As you’ve seen, Billy’s full of contradictions these days.”

  “I will kill him, Molly.”

  “Who this time?”

  “Still Martin.”

  “Let’s go. You can practice on Bannerman.”

  TWENTY FIVE

  It was Saturday morning. The sun had barely risen. Molly had brought Elizabeth from the airport to her home, the Victorian that she shared with Anton Zivic. She had shown Elizabeth to a spare downstairs bedroom and urged her to get a few hours sleep until Bannerman could get back from the hospital.

  Elizabeth refused. She did not want to sleep. She asked, “Where is this hospital?”

  “I
n Norwalk. Next town over. Norwalk Hospital.”

  She turned away from the bedroom. “I’ll go see him there.”

  “No, you won’t,” said Molly firmly. “He’s been up all night with Susan. You can wait a while longer. Go sit down.”

  Elizabeth chewed her lip. She said, “I know. That was thoughtless.”

  “I’m eager to hear this story myself, but he’s promised that you’ll be the first.”

  “I’ll sit,” said Elizabeth. “I’ll shut up and wait.”

  Elizabeth took a chair, a rocker, in the parlor. She kept her blue duffel at her side. She stayed there, rocking slowly, staring at nothing, sometimes with an angry, vengeful look in her eyes, sometimes with deep sadness and regret.

  Molly was busy. She was often on her cell phone. She had spoken to Anton Zivic several times. He’d said that all of their people were eager to assist in finding who did that to Clew. Those who were traveling were told to converge on the Washington area and then wait. He said that all were accounted for except for John Waldo. He was unable to locate John Waldo.

  “Wasn’t John at the briefing last night?” she asked Zivic.

  “He was. He listened. That’s the last that I saw of him.”

  “He’s…the ghost of all ghosts. He’s doing something. He’s somewhere.”

  “Yes, one would conclude that,” said Zivic with an edge. “Coordination, however, is desirable in these cases. And so, by the way, is heightened alertness. Have you noticed any strangers in the complex? Last few days?”

  “I haven’t. Has someone else?”

  “I am informed that two strangers have been to Town Hall and were poring over property records. They showed a special interest in Greens Farms Estates. There is no property for sale there that I know of.”

  “Me neither,” said Molly. “Maybe someone’s refinancing. Might they have been bankers or lawyers? A title search?”

  “Possible,” said Zivic. “Their description could fit either. And you are correct; their intent could be innocent. But one of them asked an unusual question. He asked how often the grass there is cut.”