by Mike Befeler
“You meet Daggett one-on-one, and there won’t be any more of you left.”
“I need to trap him. I have to figure out a way to do it without giving him a chance to try to kill me again.”
“You’re sounding as realistic as Shelby when he blundered in to confront Ken Idler. And you should go to a hospital to have your head wound looked at.”
“If I could survive the icy water, I can handle a knock on the head.”
“I still think you should have your head examined, in more ways than one.”
“Let’s head home. By the way, how did you find this place so fast?”
“My old Boy Scout skills. I have a forest-service map of the town of Nederland and Barker Reservoir. I navigated the roads using the map. I didn’t even need a GPS.”
Mark leaned his head back against the headrest. In spite of his fatigue and pain, an idea started to form. He would need someone to assist him.
“Ben, I may need your help with another matter.”
They passed through a traffic circle in Nederland. Ben raised his eyebrows. “Remember, I’m off the case. I’m willing to rescue your sorry ass when you end up stranded in the mountains, but I’m not involving myself directly with these characters. Besides, I’m flying to New York tomorrow afternoon.” Ben looked at his watch. “Actually, this afternoon.”
“I understand. I’ll see if Woody or Shelby will be around.”
“I wouldn’t try Woody right now. It’s been exactly two years since his son died in that car crash. He and Amelia are in a bad place with the memories of the event. Shelby’s your best bet.”
Mark rubbed his chin. Yes, Shelby should be able to help with what he had in mind. If Mark could count on him to show up on time.
When they arrived in front of Mark’s house, Ben did a double take. “That’s some garage. You’re lucky the fire didn’t spread to the whole house. Mark, you have to go to the police. Daggett is going to keep after you.”
“On the drive home I thought through how to end all of this.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“It’s a way to trap Daggett. I need to put the plans in place tomorrow. I’ll fill you in when you get back from your trip.”
“I only hope it doesn’t end you.”
“Thanks for the concern and for the ride. I’ll be careful.”
Mark let himself out of the car and staggered to the front door. He pulled the house key out of the soggy pants he carried over one arm.
Once inside he threw his wet clothes in the clothes hamper and headed into the bathroom for another shower. As he soaked in the hot water, he thought back to the flight off the rock into the icy water. Even in the soothing warmth of the shower, he involuntarily shivered. He would be safe for the night. Daggett wouldn’t suspect he had escaped, so after a good night’s sleep, he could put his plan in action tomorrow morning. For the first time in hours, he let his muscles relax.
After he toweled off and changed into pajamas, he noticed the light flashing on his answering machine. He played a message that asked him to stop by to see Dr. Gallagher at eleven in the morning. Mark’s muscles tensed again.
Mark slept until nine and awoke with a throbbing headache. Two aspirins hardly helped, but after a cup of coffee and a bagel, he called a taxi to take him back to his car, still in the lot by the library. Then he began his errands. He first stopped at Radio Shack. He surveyed the electronic recorders and tried several before selecting a compact model that recorded clearly and had an external microphone attachment. Now he had one other piece of equipment to obtain.
From his cell phone he called Shelby at his office at the university. Mark explained what he wanted Shelby to do.
Shelby reluctantly agreed.
“You’ll need to arrive at exactly five minutes after nine tonight,” Mark reiterated.
“Yeah, I understand.”
“Thanks, Shelby. I really need your assistance on this.”
Mark’s stomach tensed at the thought of whether Shelby could really arrive on time, but he really had no other choice.
Now for the difficult part. He checked his platform tennis list for Lee Daggett’s phone number. The first time he called, he immediately heard a recorded message.
Mark waited ten minutes and tried again.
“Yeah?” came the gruff answer—the same voice as last night at the reservoir.
Mark clenched the phone tighter. Using a gravelly voice, as unlike his own as he could make it, he said, “Daggett, you made a big mistake. You were observed committing a murder at Barker Reservoir last night. We have a deal to work out. Come alone to the playground at Scott Carpenter Park. Tonight at nine sharp.”
CHAPTER 36
Mark closed the cell phone. He let out a breath as a wave of tension flowed out of his body.
That should catch Lee Daggett’s attention. Daggett wouldn’t know exactly what to expect, but he liked doing deals. He should be curious and concerned enough to show up.
At ten forty-five, as Mark drove toward Dr. Gallagher’s office, his mind filled with a conflicting set of images. What if he didn’t receive a clean bill of health? What if the cancer had completely disappeared? He had butterflies in his stomach as he sat at a stoplight and watched an elderly couple cross the street, the man leaning on a cane and his female companion holding his arm.
Would he ever live to be that old?
As he pulled into the medical-center parking lot, he swallowed dryly. What would he tell Sophie if the cancer had returned?
Walking into the building, he jangled the change in his left pocket. He made his co-payment and signed the form and credit-card slip as he shifted and re-shifted his feet. Finally, he shuffled up the narrow stairs, handed over the yellow and pink forms at the nurse’s station, and plopped into a chair.
He looked around the room at the handful of people waiting to have their various ailments treated. Would he be back here on a regular basis again, or could he escape for six months? Picking up a three-year-old National Geographic, he leafed through the pages, pausing briefly to skim an article describing Costa Rica. He had never visited the rain forests of Central or South America. Would he have a chance to do that?
“Mr. Yeager?” the nurse called.
Mark dropped the magazine on the end table and jumped up. Sweat, not caused by the overheated room, trickled down his ribs from his armpits.
The nurse in her light-green smock and her hair pulled back in a tight bun asked him to step on the scale. “One hundred eighty-one pounds,” she said looking over her glasses at the scale. “Within two pounds of your last visit.”
Mark decided to take that as a good sign. Stable body weight. No cancer eating away? Or did he merely hold a false hope? He had been exercising, primarily with his three platform tennis games a week.
The nurse directed him to a small room, and he sat on the one chair next to the examination table. If he never saw another one of these rooms, it would be fine with him.
After taking his blood pressure, the nurse left and closed the door.
Mark surveyed the chart on the wall. It showed a male form from the front and back, skin stripped away to reveal the muscles of the body. Mark fidgeted in the seat and drummed his fingers on his knees.
Outside, something fell on the floor. An indecipherable high-pitched voice spoke and a deeper voice responded, but Mark couldn’t hear what they said. The door knob moved, and Dr. Gallagher stepped in, a laptop computer in hand.
“So, Mark, how do you feel?”
“I hope a lot better after I hear the lab results.”
Dr. Gallagher regarded Mark quizzically and then broke out into a smile. “I see. You’re one of the few business people or, in your case, retired business executives I know who has never been treated for tension-related disorders. You’re now as nervous as I’ve ever seen you.”
Mark tried to smile, but only twitched his lips. “I can’t stand it any longer. Tell me how the lab results turned out.”
&nbs
p; “Give me a moment.” The doctor set his laptop on the counter and tapped away.
Mark felt sweat dripping down his ribs again.
Dr. Gallagher tapped a few more keys and stared at the screen. “The bottom line is that the blood test shows no indications of any reoccurrence of the cancer. I’m giving you a clean bill of health, at least for the time being. When you pass the reception desk, set an appointment to come back in six months. I won’t need to see you until then.”
I made a copayment of thirty-five dollars for this ten-second speech, Mark thought. Then he felt a genuine smile spread across his face and his muscles relaxed.
Later, Mark prepared for his encounter with Lee Daggett. He put the recorder in the pocket of his pants, where he could easily turn it on, and ran the microphone cord up to his collar. He clipped it on. Then he put on his jacket to hide the cord and pulled a ski cap onto his head.
Driving to Scott Carpenter Park, Mark reviewed how timing would be critical. He needed to confront Daggett, confuse him and trick him into admitting what he’d done. Mark would have the recorder running. Then he needed Shelby to arrive to distract Daggett.
Mark parked his car at the far end of the lot, checked his watch to verify the time of eight-fifty and walked to the playground to wait. He reached into his pocket and turned on the recorder.
At exactly nine a car pulled up, and someone climbed out.
Mark’s heart pounded as the dark shape moved toward him. His senses set off alarm bells. The figure appeared shorter and skinnier than Lee Daggett.
Mark considered shrinking into the shadows, but the figure now confronted him.
Cheryl Idler pulled out a gun and pointed it at him.
“Where’s Lee?” Mark said.
“He’s sleeping. I gave him a drink with an extra ingredient. I didn’t want him blowing it again, so I came to make sure you wouldn’t cause us any more trouble.”
“So, you know all about Lee’s attempt to kill me last night.”
“Yeah. The dumb ox pushed you in the lake, but obviously he didn’t do the job right.”
“How’d you know it would be me here?”
“Simple. When you called Lee, his caller I.D. showed your name.”
Damn, Mark cursed under his breath. How could he have forgotten that? The element of surprise wouldn’t have worked if Daggett had shown up. Now Mark had been thrown off balance. He needed to obtain as much information as possible as quickly as possible.
“I suppose you know that Lee killed Manny and Old Mel.”
“Lee and I planned the first murder. The second one needed to be done to cover up his first mistake.”
“First mistake?”
“I don’t know why I got involved with such an incompetent jerk. He was supposed to kill Ken, but in the dark he hit the wrong person and killed Manny.”
Cheryl leaned her head back as the light from a passing car shone briefly in her face.
Mark noticed a mole on the left side of her neck.
It all suddenly made sense to him. “You planned to cash in on Ken’s estate after his death and had set it up to put the blame on Manny. Then you and Lee hired Clyde to kill me because I started getting too close.”
“That’s right. You’re smarter than Lee. He screwed it all up, and then we had to scramble to make it look like Ken committed the murder. The vagrant confused the issue. So Lee took care of him. But then you interfered. I gave Clyde a description that Lee had written down. I told Clyde which platform tennis player to attack, but he went after the wrong person. Another incompetent. Howard Roscoe had raved about his skills, but Clyde couldn’t handle it and Lee couldn’t, either. Now I’m here to take care of you myself.”
“Why didn’t you let Lee come to kill me? He may be a ‘dumb ox,’ but he had the element of surprise on his side. I didn’t think about caller I.D.”
“Two reasons. One, I didn’t trust him to do it right. And, two, I’ve had enough of him.” She ran her hand through her long, blond hair. “I have his gun here with his fingerprints on it, and I’m wearing gloves. I’ll testify that Lee received your phone call and came here to kill you. I want him out of the way now so I can live on Ken’s money by myself while Ken’s in prison for Manny’s murder and Lee is in prison for your murder. Maybe they can even be cellmates. Now, we’re going to walk over toward Boulder Creek.”
Mark pushed the stem of his watch to see a time of nine fifteen. What had happened to Shelby? He needed the distraction of Shelby’s arrival before he and Cheryl left the playground.
“One last question,” Mark said, trying to stall. “What if Ken isn’t convicted of Manny’s murder?”
Cheryl pursed her lips. “I’d probably have to kill him. I can’t stand him anymore.”
Mark shook his head. He couldn’t understand this callous attitude toward murder. He had dealt with some pretty tough people in the business world, but nothing like Lee Daggett and Cheryl Idler.
“Okay. Let’s move toward the creek,” Cheryl said, waving the gun at Mark.
He looked at the long attachment on the end of the gun. Hadn’t he seen one of those at the gun show?
“That’s quite a contraption.”
“Howard Roscoe has been very helpful for supplying his friends with weapons.” Cheryl tapped the muzzle of the gun. “This baby has a state-of-the-art silencer. No one will hear what I’m going to do to you.”
Mark had a decision to make. Still no Shelby. He reached into his jacket pocket and put his hand around a pepper-spray can. He took a deep breath, hesitated a moment, and then spotted a car racing into the parking lot with its high beams flashing and its horn honking.
“What the—” Cheryl turned her head.
Mark pulled the pepper spray out of his pocket. He said, “Cheryl” in a loud voice, and, when she turned back toward him, he sprayed it at her face.
She screamed, dropped the gun and fell to her knees, clutching her eyes.
Mark picked up the gun as Shelby dashed toward them, waving his hands.
“Am I glad to see you,” Mark said to Shelby.
“How’d you like that distraction?” Shelby said, puffing out his chest.
“Very good. But it could have been a little sooner.”
“You’re never going to believe this, but I had to stop to put gas in my car.”
“I believe it. Keep an eye on Cheryl while I call Detective Peters.”
Mark pulled out his cell phone and punched in the numbers.
Peters arrived within ten minutes. Cheryl sat on the ground, still rubbing her eyes.
“Manny’s death was a mistake,” Mark told Peters. “Cheryl Idler and Lee Daggett planned to kill Cheryl’s husband, Ken, and Lee Daggett killed Manny Grimes and Old Mel. Both of them also tried to kill me.” Mark reached into his pants pocket and pulled out the recorder. “Here’s a recording with Cheryl describing the whole plan. You’ll find Daggett drugged and asleep at his house.”
“What’s he doing here?” Peters asked, pointing at Shelby.
“He’s my assistant,” Mark said.
While Peters read Cheryl her rights, Shelby pulled Mark aside. “There’s something wrong with my car.”
“Oh?”
“It got thirty-five miles to the gallon at first, then twenty-five, but on this last tank only fourteen miles to the gallon,” Shelby said with a quivering lip.
Mark slapped him on the back. “Shelby, you can cheer up. You only have one problem. Leaving your car unlocked so someone can release the gas cap door.”
Shelby narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?”
“You’ve been the victim of a little prank. I won’t mention any names, but someone added gas to your tank at first so you’d seem to get extra good mileage. Then he left it alone for one tank full. Recently, he siphoned gas out of your tank.”
“So, it really gets close to twenty-five miles to the gallon?”
“I’m sure it does.”
Shelby’s smile returned. He strutted around an
d punched his right fist into his left hand. “Boy, we sure solved this case, didn’t we, Mark?”
“Yes, Shelby. We did.”
CHAPTER 37
Mark entered his house, ready to collapse from exhaustion. He stumbled up to the bedroom and dropped onto the bed.
The phone rang.
He almost let it cut over to voice mail, but after three rings he picked it up.
“Mr. Yeager,” Detective Peters’s tense voice said, “you may be in danger.”
Mark’s mind became immediately alert, and he sat up straight. “From what or whom?”
“After I left you at Scott Carpenter Park, I went to arrest Lee Daggett. I expected to find him drugged at his home, but he’d disappeared.”
Mark’s heart beat faster.
“He may be on his way to your house. I’ve dispatched two cars, but they won’t get to your place for ten minutes. Don’t let anyone in until the officers arrive.”
As Mark hung up the phone, he heard a crashing sound from downstairs. Someone had broken a window. Daggett!
Mark needed to buy time. He quickly unscrewed the light bulbs from the two bedside lamps and climbed up on the low, horizontal dresser to remove the bulb from the one overhead light. He dropped the bulbs into a drawer and closed the bedroom door. Too bad it had no lock.
He heard footsteps on the stairs. He turned around. Where could he hide? The closet?
He groped his way along the wall to the closet and stepped inside. He pressed himself back against his shirts.
The bedroom doorknob turned and a faint shaft of light from the hallway shown into the bedroom, barely visible from the closet. Footsteps entered the room and then stopped.
Mark controlled his breathing to stay as quiet as possible.
“I know you’re in here, Yeager. I’ll find you and finish what I should have completed at the reservoir.”