All at once she remembered what had happened. The service station. The blond woman. The man thrusting his hand through the window and grabbing her hair.
And then—a terrible, crushing pain, as though an eighteen-wheeler had just slammed into her body.
She had been kidnapped.
The realization was shattering.
Why?
The blond woman had said something about Lewis being killed because of his boat. Something like that. She couldn’t quite straighten it out in her mind.
Was this something to do with Lewis?
Her hands were tied behind her back with her own silk scarf.
Ronnie felt the hard knots in the soft silk with her fingertips.
Something more resilient, with a slightly rougher texture, bound her feet. Which were, not incidentally, bare. Ronnie discovered this by wiggling her toes. Her shoes were gone, and her feet and legs were bare.
Her ankles were tied with her own pantyhose.
She was lying on her right side on something that was not completely flat, covered from head to toe with a heavy, faintly musty-smelling cloth. She must be in a vehicle, because it was moving. Lurching really, as though it were traveling over really rough ground.
Every instinct she possessed told her to keep still.
“Hey, it’s me.” The voice was so unexpected, and spoke so closely beside her, that Ronnie started. It was a man’s voice, a stranger’s voice, and she guessed almost at once that he was talking on the phone.
“I got her, but there was a little problem. I had to take the other one too. The Senator’s wife.”
A burst of sound came from the other end of the phone. Whoever was there was yelling. Ronnie couldn’t make out the words, but the tone and volume were clear.
“Well, what was I supposed to do? She was already talking to her—I heard her. She was telling her about the boat, about how everybody who went out on the boat that night or knows about it is dead. I mean, what could I do? I had to take her.”
More yelling from the other end.
“Look, I’ll take care of it. Don’t worry. Nobody’ll ever find them, I’ll make sure of that. I—”
He broke off. Whoever was on the other end must have been talking at normal volume now because Ronnie could hear nothing.
“Yeah, that’s a good idea. I can do that. No, I know, I’ll make sure there won’t be a mark on her. Yeah, I’ll take care of it. Don’t worry. These are the last two loose ends, and when they’re taken care of, there won’t be anything else that can tie you to it. Yeah, I know. Okay, I’ll call you later.”
The conversation ended without a good-bye. There was a faint click. Ronnie assumed that the man had been talking on one of those mobile phones that fold, and the click was him shutting it.
Ronnie tried to make sense of what she had just heard. She had been kidnapped because the blond woman had told her that Lewis had been murdered because of his boat. No, because of something that had happened on his boat. On a particular night. And everybody who knew about it was dead.
And now she knew.
The implication was chilling.
The vehicle stopped.
So did Ronnie’s heart. It froze, right there, as the man got out of the vehicle. She heard the door open, heard the rustle of his clothes as he moved, heard his first footsteps.
Then nothing.
Stopping was not good. What was he going to do now?
Frantically Ronnie tried to come up with some way to save herself if murder, as she believed, was what he had in mind. There wasn’t time. The door opened—she’d been lying right near it—and the blanket or whatever was whisked away from her face.
Ronnie kept her eyes shut and tried to make herself breathe normally. Not that he took time to notice. He grabbed the front of her jacket, and hauled her into a sitting position.
Playing limp under such conditions was one of the hardest things she had ever had to do in her life.
Then she was being slung over his shoulder, lifted, and carried out into the open air.
Opening her eyes, Ronnie saw the back of a khaki work shirt, a carpet of last year’s leaves and fallen branches and rocks, the trunks and leafy lower branches of big deciduous trees.
She was in a wooded area. It was shady, fairly cool, and the air smelled of moss.
The vehicle was Kenny’s car. She had been in the front passenger seat, which had been reclined to the max so that she was practically lying down. A gray mover’s pad—it now lay on the ground—had been thrown over her.
Without warning she was sliding off the man’s shoulder into his arms, and he was placing her, with about as much ceremony as if she’d been a roll of carpet, in the car’s trunk.
He had to bend her knees to make her fit. Then she heard him walk away.
Ronnie opened her eyes, staring up at the gray carpet covering the open trunk lid. He was gone—should she make a run for it?
Impossible—she was tied. Should she scream? But what would happen if there was no one nearby to hear?
Or at least no one who cared?
He was coming back. Ronnie shut her eyes. Someone else was being dumped into the trunk, treated with far less care than had been taken with her. Basically the newcomer was just dropped inside. Then the trunk lid slammed shut.
Ronnie opened her eyes. There was hair in them now, fanned out all across her face as a matter of fact. Long, blond hair that smelled faintly of some kind of floral shampoo.
Shaking her head, she managed to get free of the clinging strands. Her companion in disaster was of course the blond woman, who appeared to be genuinely unconscious. Like herself, she was bound hand and foot.
The car started moving, lurching in a wide circle before heading straight.
Ronnie and her companion, whose name she didn’t know, were locked together in the trunk.
Chapter
50
September 20th
12:40 P.M.
KENNY WAS WAITING at the service station, a Chevron, when Tom got there. It was a low white building with two open garage doors where mechanics worked and with sixteen gas pumps out front. Through the window, glass-fronted cold cases were visible inside the customer service area. A large silver ice cooler rested against one outside wall. Just beyond it, at the very edge of the parking lot, was a blue Dumpster.
Kenny stood near the Dumpster, clearly agitated. When he saw Tom, he hurried toward him and started talking before Tom was even out of the car.
“Where’s Dan?” Tom asked, after he heard the story one more time and had visually confirmed the absence of both Ronnie and the car.
“He’s in his office. I’ve been talking to him on the phone, but he can’t come out. Says the media will be on him like a duck on a June bug as soon as he walks out of his building, wanting to know where Ronnie is. They’re expecting her to turn herself in at the police station at one o’clock, remember.”
Looking toward the camera crews and reporters that surrounded Dan’s office building down the street, Tom saw the lawyer’s difficulty.
“Here, you call him.” Kenny pointed to the pay phone at the edge of the paved area. There was a car parked not far from it, a brown Chevy Nova. Tom only noticed it because there was a little girl sitting in it, alone.
Knowing that mobile phones were out—the ease with which voices could be picked up made them useless for sensitive conversations—Tom borrowed a quarter from Kenny and headed for the pay phone.
“It took me forever to get him to answer the damned thing,” Kenny said, walking beside him. “He’s got voice mail or something. I finally just kept saying the same thing over and over—Dan, this is an emergency, Dan, this is an emergency—and he picked up. He’s waiting for you to call, though.”
Reaching the phone, Tom picked up the receiver and plunked his quarter down the slot. When the dial tone purred in his ear, he punched in the numbers. Dan answered on the first ring.
“Dammit, Tom, we’ve got to get her back,” Dan
said without preamble as soon as Tom identified himself. “This could turn into a tragedy for her if we don’t. Do you want to see another O.J.-freeway-case scenario with Mrs. Honneker in the starring role?”
“I don’t think she ran, Dan.” Having had forty minutes to think about it, Tom was more convinced of that than ever.
“Of course she ran. What else could have happened? She sent your partner inside the service station, slid over into the driver’s seat, and took off. I understand, she was scared of going to jail, and I don’t blame her. It’s a horrible thing. But running’s not going to help anything. She can’t run away from this, Tom. She’s got to stay and face it. We’ve got to get her back.”
“Dammit, Dan, are you listening? I don’t think she ran. She knew she had to face it. She was scared, but she wasn’t talking about running.”
“Well, if she didn’t run, then where is she?” Dan sounded testy.
Tom took a deep breath, looking around. It was a busy station, with cars pulling in and out. A black pickup was parked right now in front of the Dumpster, where Kenny said he had left Ronnie in his car while he went in to buy her water. Two cars and a minivan were getting gas. Besides the Nova, three cars were parked next to the grassy strip separating the station from the street.
“I don’t know,” Tom said. “But I think I’m starting to get scared.”
“What?” Impatient and incredulous, the single word crackled over the line.
“Maybe a nut grabbed her. Jumped in the car and just took off with her.”
“Oh, yeah, right. What are the odds of that?”
“Or maybe something else happened to her.”
“Like what?”
“Maybe somebody saw her here and recognized her. Somebody who really liked the Senator, or his family. Maybe whoever it was kidnapped her to exact some kind of revenge for what she has supposedly done.”
“You’re reaching, Tom.”
“There’s another possibility too: Senator Honneker was murdered, Dan. And Ronnie didn’t do it. That means somebody else did. Whoever killed the Senator is running around loose. What if he got Ronnie?”
“That’s absurd!”
“You only think it’s absurd because deep down inside somewhere you think Ronnie did it. I’m telling you, she didn’t. Now think about her being innocent for a minute, dammit. Imagine she had absolutely nothing to do with it. Now ask yourself, could whoever have killed the Senator want Ronnie dead too?”
There was a pause. “It doesn’t make any sense,” Dan protested.
“What does make sense in this? Nothing makes sense. But she’s gone and Kenny’s car’s gone, and I’m willing to bet my life she didn’t just drive away. I think we need to call the police.”
Dan groaned.
“I’m calling them, Dan.”
“Tom, wait. Listen. Why don’t we wait a little bit and see if she turns up? Damn, if she did run, I’d just as soon get her back without anybody knowing about it. It makes her look guilty as hell. And as soon as the DA knows, he’ll get a warrant issued for her arrest. They’ll put out an APB on her, and the car. If they see her, and she doesn’t stop, they might shoot her. Think O.J.”
Tom was silent for a moment. Everything Dan said made sense, But Tom couldn’t shake a gut feeling that something was horribly wrong.
“I’m calling the cops, Dan,” he said again. “I want them to put out an APB for her and that car. I don’t think she’s driving it.”
There was no reply. Tom could feel the lawyer thinking, turning over the various scenarios in his mind. After a minute Dan said, “I guess it’s your decision to make. But if you’re wrong, you’re doing her the biggest disservice imaginable.”
“I don’t think I’m wrong.”
“Hell, I hope not.” Dan sighed. “Sit tight. I’ll call the damned police myself, and I guess we’ll all be over there in a minute. May as well get the media circus going.”
Tom hung up the phone and turned to Kenny. “He’s calling the police.”
“Damn, Tom.”
“I just don’t think she’d run.” They were walking back toward the building now. The little girl in the Nova looked at him. Though he was distracted with fear for Ronnie, he couldn’t help but notice her.
She had been sitting there alone for an awfully long time. Maybe she was the daughter of one of the attendants and this was the best her parent could manage by way of arranging child care.
Leaving Kenny behind, Tom walked over to the Nova and, ducking, looked in the open driver’s-side window.
The little girl regarded him with wide-eyed apprehension. Of course he was a stranger. All kids were afraid of strangers. Tom smiled, to show how harmless he was.
“I wonder,” he said, “if you saw a real pretty lady with red hair since you’ve been sitting here? She came in a white car. I really need to find her.”
The little girl shook her head. “No.”
“Did you see this gentleman”—he pointed at Kenny, who was now behind him—“get out of a white car over there?”
She looked at Kenny and shook her head. “No.”
“I doubt she’s been here that long. You’re scaring her, Tom.” Kenny’s voice was low.
“You can’t find the lady?” the girl asked.
“Afraid not.” Tom looked back in the window at her.
“My mom’s missing too.”
“Your mom’s missing?”
The little girl nodded. Her lower lip quivered. “I went to use the rest room, and when I came back, my mom was gone. That’s been a long time ago.”
Tom stared at her. “Your mom was here, at this service station, and now she’s not?”
“That’s right.”
“How long has she been gone?” Tom’s voice was sharp. He tried another smile in an effort not to frighten the child.
“Maybe—an hour?”
Tom withdrew his head from the window. “Did you hear that?” he said in a low voice to Kenny. “What are the odds of two women disappearing from the same service station at the same time? It can’t be a coincidence.”
“What do you think happened? Her mother kidnapped Ronnie?” It sounded ridiculous, but at this point Tom was willing to discount nothing.
“Who the hell knows? All I know is Ronnie didn’t run.”
Just at that moment a police car nosed into the station and came toward them.
Looking down the street, Tom saw throngs of media types headed their way.
“Here comes the cavalry,” Kenny said.
Chapter
51
September 20th
2:00 to 2:15 P.M.
INSIDE THE TRUNK it was stiflingly hot. Ronnie was hunched on her side, her legs drawn up to her chest, her arms stretched behind her back. Sweat was rolling down her forehead; she was finding it hard to breathe. The carpet on which she lay was thin and scratchy and smelled faintly of oil. The metal floor beneath was hard.
“How are you coming?” Marla asked over her shoulder. She had regained consciousness a little earlier, and now both women were working feverishly on getting themselves untied, to the strains of Debby Boone’s “You Light Up My Life,” which was wailing from the car radio.
They lay back-to-back, fingers picking at the knots around each other’s wrists. Marla had been tied with pantyhose too. The knots were tiny and tight, and Ronnie was having trouble even keeping her fingers on them, much less working them loose. Marla didn’t seem to be having any better luck with the knots in the silk scarf.
Her hands were slippery with sweat. How much was caused by the heat and how much by sheer fear, Ronnie couldn’t be sure.
As long as the car was moving, they were safe. If it stopped …
Ronnie knew, and she knew Marla knew, that it could stop at any time.
They had to get themselves untied. But panicking would help nothing.
The first order of business was to stay calm. And work at those knots.
The radio switched to a man’s voic
e identifying the channel: “WHAZ, all gospel, all the time.”
“I’ve got an idea.” Ronnie rolled over so that she was facing Marla. “Can you scrunch up a little? I want to see if I can do this better with my teeth.”
Marla obediently moved up, her head and shoulders curling toward her middle. Ronnie scooted down and attacked the knots with her teeth.
She had thought it might be easier to work the knots loose if she could see them, but she found that she couldn’t see them this way either. They were too close to her face.
Still, she was able to get a better grip with her teeth than her fingernails.
One knot felt as if it were loosening. She kept working.
Amy Grant’s sweet soprano soared over the airwaves. Marla’s hands were trembling. Ronnie could feel the shaking of the other woman’s icy fingers against her cheek.
The car took a sharp left and slowed. The surface of the road beneath it changed. It was less smooth. Then they went over a little bump and the car stopped.
Ronnie tugged frantically at the knot. The engine died, and the radio went quiet.
The car door slammed. Ronnie quit chewing, scooting back into her original position as best she could in case the man meant to check on them. She didn’t want him to realize what they were trying to do.
“Help me, Mama,” Marla whimpered. Seconds later Ronnie heard the first whispered words of The Lord’s Prayer: “Our Father, who art in Heaven …”
A bang sounded on the trunk lid, as if the man had hit it with his fist. Marla was silenced.
“Hope you bitches can swim” came a cheerful voice from outside.
Ronnie and Marla looked at each other in panic. They didn’t know precisely what he meant, but the threat behind his words was terrifying.
The car started up again.
The radio blared more gospel. Then the car began accelerating. Then there was a bump, a rattle, and the sensation of the car sailing out into space.
“Oh, my God!” Ronnie realized that they were falling.
The two women screamed, and screamed again, as the car hurtled downward.
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