Silent victim s-2

by C. E. Lawrence

  "Okay," Lee said as they traveled north on Route 206. "Any minute now-there! Turn left on Struble Road."

  They did, following that to an intersection with a cemetery, where they turned left again. If Butts and Diesel thought the cemetery was a bad omen, they didn't say anything. The trailhead was just up the road on their left. Parked in the lot across the road was a black limousine with a New Jersey license plate.

  "Looks like we were right," Butts said as he swung the big Ford in next to it. He drew his revolver before cautiously opening his driver's side door, but there didn't appear to be anyone in the limo. They all got out of the car and tried looking in, but the windows, were heavily tinted, and they couldn't see anything.

  "I'm gonna call it in to the local cops," Butts said, taking out his cell phone. "Shit," he said, after stabbing at the buttons for a minute. "No damn signal."

  "Should we break in?" Diesel asked.

  "As an officer of the law, I wouldn't do something like that without a search warrant," Butts remarked, "but if a private citizen were to do that while I wasn't looking, I would have no way of stopping him."

  He proceeded to stare off toward the woods. Diesel whipped a long thin wire out of his pocket, inserted it into the passenger side keyhole, and within seconds, had the door open, leaving no scratch marks.

  "Jesus," Butts said with undisguised admiration. "How did you do that?"

  "Practice," Diesel said, peering into the front of the van.

  There was nothing especially remarkable about the car. Other than the gray tinted windows, which were rather sinister, it appeared to be an ordinary limousine, much like any other. The interior was clean and swept, devoid of clutter. There were two paper Oren's coffee cups in the holder up front, and a couple of granola bars on the passenger side seat. In the back, a khaki sleeping bag was laid out on the seat.

  "So that's probably where he kept her," Butts remarked, looking at it. He was very careful not to touch anything, maybe so he could deny having participated in the break-in if it ever came up in court. Cops had to be very careful about these things-without probable cause, a search like this could completely sabotage a case once it came to trial. Lee had seen it happen on more than one occasion, and figured Butts had seen it even more.

  Diesel wasn't so delicate-he climbed inside the limo and sniffed around a bit.

  "Don't touch anything," Butts instructed. "They might be dusting for prints later."

  Diesel nodded. He took a Kleenex from his pocket, and put it between his fingers before picking up the corner of the sleeping bag. He turned it over and looked underneath, revealing a roll of duct tape. He climbed out and dusted off his hands.

  "I don't see any blood-but he probably used the duct tape to help subdue her. Well," he said, "shall we go up the trail?"

  "Yeah," Butts said. "Let's go."

  They crossed the road to the trailhead, where a wooden sign stood at the entrance.

  Buttermilk Falls Trail

  2 MI. TO FALLS

  Lee looked at Butts. "It's very steep. You up to it?"

  The detective snorted. "Get on with it, for Christ's sake."

  With Lee leading the way, the three of them started up the trail as a brisk wind whipped the tree branches, and the sky began to darken. Within minutes they heard the patter of raindrops on the canopy of leaves above them. Soon the droplets began to thicken, piercing the cover of the forest and falling upon their faces and shoulders, quickly soaking through their clothing.

  "Great, just great," Butts muttered as he trudged behind Lee. "That's all we needed."

  CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE

  Charlotte was tired… so very tired. She just wanted it all to end. Trudging up the hill in front of her captor, she stumbled on the rocky trail, her head still fuzzy from the laudanum and whatever he had injected her with. Every time she lost her footing, he poked her with his hiking stick and commanded her to move along. She tried hard not to trip, but she was so tired, and it was so difficult walking with her hands bound in front of her. She didn't know where he was taking her and hardly cared. She just wanted to lie down among the leaves and bushes and go back to sleep.

  After falling into his arms in her room the previous night, she had slept a dreamless, drugged sleep, regaining consciousness in a moving vehicle. She was aware that it was now daytime. The light hurt her eyes, even though the windows were tinted, blocking out much of the brightness. After a few moments she realized she was in the back of a limo, lying on a sleeping bag. The glass partition separating her from the driver was closed, but she could see the back of his head from where she lay. When she tried to move, she realized her hands were bound in front of her with duct tape. But the cell phone Lee Campbell had given her was still in her pocket, and she managed to dig her hand in and get out the phone.

  Even though her brother didn't like modern technology, she found it fascinating and had often watched her friends at the hospital send text messages. She was afraid to speak lest her abductor would hear her, so she typed out a hurried text message and pretended to be unconscious again. Her heart was thumping wildly in her chest, and her head was pounding. She could feel the blood coursing through her temples. But she was aware that this experience was something Martin would have disapproved of, and, in spite of her fear, was filled with a thrilling sense of adventure.

  The limo was barreling along a winding road, and as there was a fair amount of road noise, he didn't hear her moving around in the back. After a while she struggled to sit up, clutching the back of the passenger seat to pull herself erect. She could make out the back of his head, and it looked familiar somehow…

  Now, struggling up the trail to God only knew where, she tried to figure out why this young man had abducted her, and why her brother hadn't come to rescue her. It didn't make sense-but then, nothing lately made much sense. Above them, the sky darkened, threatening rain. The worse the weather was, she thought, the fewer the chances that they would meet other hikers on the trail, reducing the likelihood of her being rescued. And now, of course, she knew her captor's identity.

  His voice came from behind her, cutting the stillness of the summer air.

  "It's time for a break. You can sit and rest here."

  She stopped walking and lowered herself down on a clump of moss in front of a thick old oak tree. She could hear the rustling of woodland creatures in the bushes, and noticed the air smelled of mint. There was probably some growing wild nearby. She leaned against the oak tree, its jagged bark digging into her back. Still, it was a friendly feeling-she had always liked trees, and found them comforting. A pair of squirrels chattered and scolded them from the branches above. How nice it must be to be a squirrel, she thought, able to climb trees so nimbly and easily. She looked up at them-they jerked their bushy gray tails irritably, their restless little bodies twitching, ever watchful.

  She looked up at her captor. He remained on his feet, standing over her, vigilant, peering down the trail behind them, as if afraid they were being followed. His hand holding the walking stick twitched, and he was sweating.

  "Where are you taking me?" she asked.

  His answer was brusque and businesslike. "To the sacred waters." His voice gave nothing away, but she thought she saw a flicker of vulnerability pass over his face. She decided to take advantage of it-it might be her only chance.

  "Why, Eric?" she said softly. "Why are you taking me all the way up here?"

  He avoided looking at her. "Because it's my sacred place. This must be done in my most sacred place. We must go to our fate together-then our transformation will be complete."

  "What transformation, Eric? What are you talking about?"

  He still refused to look at her. "My name is Caleb." "Is that what Martin told you?"

  His face reddened, and he tightened his grip on the hiking stick. "I don't care what he told me-he lied to me."

  "About what, Eri-Caleb? What did he lie about?" He kicked at a pebble, sending it sliding and bouncing down the trail. "Everythi
ng."

  "Like what?"

  "He told me my mother would come back-that her spirit would be reborn in another person."

  She tried to figure out what this meant. Her brother never spoke with her about his patients. She made their appointments, and let them into the waiting room, and occasionally brought them tea, but that was all. She knew little or nothing about their lives, their hopes, their disappointments-or why they were in therapy.

  And Eric was a relatively new patient-he had been seeing Martin less than a year. She had seen him in the waiting room, spoken with him once or twice on the phone, but that was all. She knew next to nothing about him. She decided to take a stab in the dark.

  "You miss her very much, don't you?" she said.

  His face began to soften, and then it was as though a dark filter passed across his features, hardening his countenance into something stony and heartless and cruel.

  "She was-a whore," he rasped, spitting out the words as if they burned his tongue.

  "But-you loved her, didn't you?" she cried desperately. The air itself seemed to turn colder, as a chill wind blew up out of nowhere, scattering dry leaves in little gusts. They seemed to scurry from it in terror, as if they shared her sense of alarm. A few drops of rain spattered against the leaves, flattening them, cutting off their escape. A hollow, panicked feeling gnawed at the pit of her stomach.

  "Miss her?" he said, his voice flat and mocking. "I hate her. I hate you."

  A thin cruel smile turned up the corners of his mouth, and she knew she was lost.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY

  "Good God," Detective Butts said, wiping sweat and rain from his forehead. "I thought there weren't any goddamn mountains in Jersey."

  They had been hiking for close to an hour. The rain had let up for the time being, but there were sinister rumbles of thunder in the distance. Lee's side was aching, and he felt as if he could feel each of the seventeen stitches in his arm.

  "We must be near the top," Diesel commented. "I'm pretty sure we've gone nearly two miles."

  "I think you're right," Lee agreed. "Shouldn't be too much longer."

  "We'd better be there soon, or someone's gonna have hell to pay," Butts muttered. "Oh, Jesus!" he gasped suddenly, doubling over and clutching his side.

  "What's wrong?" said Lee, dropping down beside him.

  "Nothin'-got a-stitch in-my side," Butts groaned, holding the right side of his abdomen.

  "Can you stand?" Lee asked.

  "I'll-try," Butts answered, straightening up, but he immediately bent over again. "Sorry-no use-you go on without me. I'll catch up."

  Lee looked at Diesel, who raised an eyebrow. "We need to get there as soon as possible," he said.

  "Okay," Lee agreed. "We'll go on without you. You sure you'll be okay?"

  "Yeah," Butts said, lowering himself next to a boulder on the side of the trail. "Too-many-goddamn doughnuts."

  In a lighter moment, this would have been funny, but now all Lee felt was a pressing need to get up the trail. They left Butts leaning against the boulder and continued their climb. Lee didn't mention the fact that his own side had been throbbing for the last mile and a half.

  When they had been going for a good fifteen minutes, well out of earshot, Diesel said, "Maybe now he'll back off on the sugar and fat and hit the gym more often."

  "I wouldn't bet on it," Lee panted.

  As he said the words, he heard the sound of running water.

  "Hear that?" he asked.

  "Yeah," Diesel said. "We're not far now."

  They clambered on in silence for a while, and then they saw it through the trees-the water tumbling and gurgling gracefully over the rocks, as if it didn't have a care in the world. High above the falls was a wooden viewing platform. Standing on the platform were two people. It was hard to make out their features at this distance, but there could be no doubt that the people on the platform were Eric McNamara and Charlotte Perkins.

  Diesel clutched at Lee's arm. "What'll we do?"

  "He hasn't seen us yet," Lee said. "We need to get closer without being spotted."

  "Perhaps one of us could serve as a decoy or distraction while the other one sneaks up on him?"

  "Good idea," Lee said. "Do you want to be the decoy?"

  "All right," Diesel agreed, "since you know the trail."

  Lee didn't want to point out that it had been many years since he hiked these woods, but he didn't want to put Diesel in danger, and he thought it was riskier to approach someone like Eric from behind than to stand talking with him at a distance.

  "Okay," he said. "Don't get too close-he might have a gun. Keep yourself covered at all times."

  "Right."

  He looked back down the trail for any sign of Butts, but saw nothing. He left the trail and bushwhacked through the woods, veering to the south, so that he would come up on the platform from the back. The foliage was dense once he left the path, and he scrambled up the hill, pushing branches and leaves out of his way.

  The roaring of the falls made it hard to hear anything else, but he hoped Diesel was occupying Eric's attention. He pushed onward. Sweat was trickling into his eyes, and he paid no heed to the branches and twigs whipping him across the face. Twice he stumbled on the rocky ground and was brought to his knees by vines wrapping themselves around his ankles. Still, he pressed on, until he could see through the trees that he was above the viewing platform.

  He clambered back to the trail, scurrying down the hill toward the place in the falls where they had seen the viewing platform. He cleared the underbrush only yards away from the platform, just in time to see the figure standing on it extend his arm. He saw the glint of metal, and the unmistakable flash of a firearm. Far on the trail below, he watched horrified as Diesel fell to the ground, clutching his side.

  There was a roaring in Lee's ears as his body filled with fury. All of the rage of the past months gathered within him, propelling him forward, just as a tremendous clap of thunder sounded overhead.

  He heaved himself up the few steps at the rear of the platform before his quarry had time to turn around-the combined sound of the roaring falls and the thunder made anyone standing on the platform effectively deaf. He saw the combination of alarm and relief in Charlotte Perkins's eyes as he threw himself at Eric McNamara, aiming at his knees in a rugby tackle. The young man turned around just as Lee lunged, bringing him down hard on the cedar planks of the floor. The gun went clattering across the platform, coming to rest against a cedar support timber in the far corner. Charlotte lay sprawled in the opposite corner, stunned and dazed.

  To his surprise, McNamara was strong, and he was quick. In a flash, he had thrown Lee off and was diving for the gun, scrambling on his hands and knees across the wooden boards as fast as he could. Lee grabbed his ankle and pulled with all his might, flames of pain shooting through his injured hand. McNamara responded by twisting his body around and kicking him in the face. Lee felt his nose thicken with blood as he lunged at his foe, reaching him just as his fingers closed on the handle of the gun. Lee grabbed him by the wrist, surprised once again by the wiry strength in that body, as his enemy writhed and twisted like a serpent beneath him.

  McNamara wrenched his hand free, and Lee felt a swift, hard blow on the back of his head, delivered by the barrel of a gun, followed by a hard kick to his ribs. He heard a cracking sound, felt something give inside him, and sank to the floor with a groan. He looked up, his vision blurry, just as a streak of lightning ripped through the sky. McNamara stood over him, the gun aimed at his head. Meanwhile, Charlotte Perkins had risen shakily to her feet. McNamara was unaware of her, smiling down at Lee as he took aim. Charlotte had a thick cudgel in her hand-it looked like a hiking stick. Backlit by the stark white streak of lightning, her damp hair streaming in the wind behind her, she raised the cudgel over her head, her usually mild features distorted by fury.

  She struck, and McNamara went down, crumpling to his knees as another clap of thunder shook the heavens. Lee stru
ggled to get up, but pain seared his torso, and he collapsed again with a groan. Charlotte Perkins tore the gun from McNamara's limp hand. Incredibly, he was still conscious, and struggled unsteadily to his feet as Charlotte aimed the gun at his chest.

  He leaned against the platform railing for support. "Give-me-the gun, Charlotte," he commanded groggily.

  Her face rigid with rage, she aimed the revolver at McNamara's chest. "You killed my brother," she said in a flat voice, all the more terrible because of its utter lack of emotion.

  "He-lied-to me," McNamara said, gazing with dazed eyes at the barrel of the gun. "He promised me-"

  "I don't care what he promised!" she hissed. "You killed him, and now you're going to pay!"

  "No!" Lee gasped, but it was too late. The gun barrel blazed, a brief yellow flash against the darkening sky. He didn't know if it was thunder or the sound of the gunshot ringing in his ears. McNamara looked at Charlotte with shock and surprise as a bright red flower of blood blossomed on his chest. Then, teetering on unsteady feet, he let go of the platform and plunged through the opening in the railing, onto the rushing waterfalls below. Lee watched in horror as his body hit the rocks. Tossed by the torrential flood of water, it was quickly washed downstream, bobbing and twisting, caught in the pulsating current, as another resounding clap of thunder sounded, shaking the skies with its fury.

  Lee remained conscious long enough to see a jagged streak of lightning slash across the sky, and then everything went black.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE

  Forty-eight hours later Lee sat at a table in the front window of McSorley's, waiting for Detective Leonard Butts to show up. In front of him was a pair of cold mugs of beer-one for him and one for the detective. You couldn't order just one mug of beer at McSorley's. They were always served two at a time, and you had two choices: light or dark. Lee had ordered one of each. The room was quiet, and sunlight streamed in through the big picture window, falling on the businessmen and women who had slipped in for a late lunch.