My mind reeled with the implications—connections in the NTSB offices (still today), connections in the FBI (back then, and possibly still today), a U.S. Congressman at the heart of it, able to pull any strings he wanted to. Who would I turn the disk over to? Who could be trusted?
Chapter 34
A wave of nausea washed over me. My head felt light and my stomach rolled. Too much caffeine, too many emotions, and too little food. I sat gingerly in Sally's chair and reached for the untouched danish roll. It tasted like cardboard but I made myself eat it. My stomach settled almost immediately. I shook my hands to make them calm down.
I wanted to wake Drake and talk this over. We needed to make a plan. Paranoia rolled in, reminding me of my childhood nightmare where a steam roller is after me and I'm running and running but can't outdistance it. I took a deep swig of the hot coffee and stood up.
Okay. There's safety in numbers, I thought. How could I get this information out to the greatest number of people as quickly as possible. Once I was no longer the keeper of the secret, at least there'd be no benefit in coming after me, my friends, or my family. If I could just make the contents of the disk public, then Cudahy and his cohorts would have to answer for it.
I sat down at Sally's computer and began typing. I told it all, from the suspicious nature of the plane crash to Jim Williams's death and the disappearance of his files, to the arson at my home. At the end of my own letter, I appended my father's file, creating one document of twenty-five pages.
Now, what to do with it? I thought about calling the news departments of the two Albuquerque papers, but discarded the idea. The names involved were too locally prominent. Local news people would either not believe me and dump my story in the trash, or they'd call the people involved to verify it, which would have the combined effect of having the whole thing emphatically denied and putting a death warrant out on me. I wasn't happy with either of those scenarios.
At one time, Ron had taken a case for a public relations firm, doing a background check on one of their clients. One of the publicists there was a woman who'd single-handedly made the career of a local author when she planted the story of the author's exposé book on one of the hottest fad diets in the country. The publicist, Stephanie Claridge, and I had hit it off instantly, probably because I'd gushed over her perception in getting the timing of this particular story just right.
Would she remember me now? Would she have the right contacts in the right places to get this story out? Could I trust her?
It was still only seven o'clock. No, she wouldn't be in the office this early. Think, Charlie.
I called her office number and got a machine. Looked in the phone book, but didn't find her listed. Somehow, I seemed to remember that she was married and her husband's last name was different. Damn!
I called the office again and spoke to the machine.
"Stephanie, this is Charlie Parker from RJP Investigations. I hope you remember me." How much information should I give over the phone? The paranoia crept closer. "Listen, Stephanie, I've got a very important story that needs to get out nationally. I mean, really important. I know you can do this. I'm going to e-mail it to you. It's a fairly long document and I hope it'll come through okay. Please don't tell anyone about this until you're able to get it out nationally. Don't just take it to the local papers. Uh, maybe you should just call me when you get this message and I can explain better. But if you can't reach me, break the story anyway. Something may have happened to me."
My voice rose shakily at the end and I hung up wondering if I'd just made a big mistake. She didn't know me that well and I probably just came across sounding like a nut case. I took a deep breath.
Now if I could just remember how to attach a document to an e-mail message. I logged onto Sally's e-mail program and composed a short note to let Stephanie know that this was the document I'd referred to in my phone message. I repeated the need to get it out urgently, just in case someone in her office was in on the plot and erased her voice mail messages. Oh, God, I really was becoming a nut case.
The modem whirred and squawked and I clicked a series of commands. At last, fairly confident that the message was in the competent hands of cyberspace, I shut down Sally's computer and locked the disks back in Ron's safe.
Still no sound from Drake, but I felt antsy. I needed to get out of here for awhile. The sun had not quite cleared Sandia Peak yet, but the sky was pearly gray. I looked around and spotted my running shoes where I'd kicked them off the night before, under the kitchen table. A quick walk around the block would help clear my head and then I'd see what I could rustle up for a real breakfast after Drake woke up.
Rusty watched as I tied my shoe laces, not missing a clue in the preparations for the walk.
"Yeah, you get to go," I assured him. I jammed my keyring down into the pocket of my sweats and locked the kitchen door behind me. Rusty raced ahead down the steps into the back yard. I'd just reached the bottom step when two men stepped out in front of me.
Chapter 35
They wore dark suits and ties and wraparound sunglasses, even though the sun wasn't out yet. Proverbial bad guys. I froze.
"Good morning, Charlie." A third man stepped around the corner of the building. Jack Cudahy.
Even paranoids have enemies. For some reason, the stupid phrase was the first thing that popped into my head.
"I hear you've been a very busy lady," Cudahy crooned in his oily voice.
Rusty stood at my side, the hair on the back of his neck bristling.
One of the clichés in black spoke first. "Hey, boy," he addressed the dog. "Wanna go for a ride?" His voice was upbeat and friendly. "Yeah, hey, let's go."
Magic words to a dog. He waved his tail back and forth.
"No—" I started. But he kept up the friendly chatter, drowning out my voice. I reached for Rusty's collar but the other man displayed a gun, aimed at my midsection. I stepped back.
"Come on boy, let's go for a ride," the man wheedled. He headed toward my Jeep, his step light and bouncy. "Okay, here we go," he called as he opened the car door.
Rusty followed gladly and hopped into the back seat. The man slammed the door, leaving the dog wondering when the ride would happen.
"Okay, Charlie, now we're going for a ride," Cudahy said conversationally.
The man who'd trapped Rusty in the Jeep grabbed my right arm roughly. Rusty began to bark, muffled through the vehicle's closed windows.
"Drake!" I screamed.
Everything went black.
My head had never hurt so bad. I floated up through layers of consciousness and back down again.
Pounding, pounding.
Rocking, rocking.
My stomach lurched and I heaved but couldn't throw up. I couldn't get my mouth open. My eyelids felt stuck together but I couldn't seem to coordinate my arms well enough to reach up to rub them.
Air—I needed air. My mouth was sealed shut and my nose felt crusted over. I snorted, trying to clear it. Finally drew a trickle of oxygen. My eyes worked again at opening. It didn't help. All I could see was darkness with an eerie red glow that dimmed and brightened. My head felt like someone was repeatedly smacking it with something hard and metal. I gave in and drifted back to sleep.
When I opened my eyes again, the rocking had stopped. It occurred to me that I was in the trunk of a car. We'd been moving but now we weren't.
Three men. Two of them had grabbed me. The other was someone too important to do the rough work. My brain hurt too much to figure it out.
The world wavered, up, down, still.
"So, you're awake!" A loud male voice hit me at the same time a blinding light filled the world. My eyes slammed shut.
"Poke her! See if she's still alive," a second voice commanded. It was the oily voice, but it wasn't bothering to be polite-sounding now.
"She's alive," the other man snarled. "Too bad."
"What are you gonna do now?" a third voice whined.
The blinding light
left my face and I dared a peek through my lashes. The trunk of the car stood open with the three men outlined against a night sky. No city lights nearby.
Night? How much time had passed? I wanted to ask questions, but my mouth still wouldn't work. I realized it was covered with duct tape. I tried stretching my arms and legs but they too were tightly bound. I decided my best defense for the moment was to lay quietly, trying to appear unconscious.
"Shit, I don't know," the Congressman said. "You two were supposed to get rid of her during the day, not drive around with her until you got me back into it. Can't you fuck-ups do anything right?"
"Hey, I wanted to off her this morning," the mean voice growled again. "Wimpy here wouldn't go along with it. Said you wouldn't like it, sir."
"Okay, okay," Cudahy said. "He's right. I didn't want to kill her unless we needed to. But you guys never did come up with those documents. How do we know exactly what she found unless we can question her?"
"Oh, boss, I'd like to question her," the mean one said. I tightened up at the thought of what he meant by that.
"Okay, look. We know she found some kind of computer disk. We know she had that geeky kid copy it for her. You take care of him?" He waved away the answer. "The question is, who else did she share it with? She came right home last night, didn't see anyone else but the boyfriend, then got up this morning and started out for a walk. Didn't have the disk on her, so it's gotta be somewhere in that office."
"We tossed the office before," the whiney one said. "There wadn't nothing there."
"Well, it's the only place she's been," Cudahy explained, as if to a six-year-old, "so it has to be there. Now, tonight I want you to go back there and look again."
"What about the boyfriend? He'll be there."
"Well, you know what to do about that." Smooth, oily.
Think, Charlie. I had to figure out how to get myself out of a mile or two of duct tape, overpower three large men who had at least one gun, get back into the city, and be sure Drake was safe. And I'd forgotten to take my vitamins this morning. Shit!
I tuned back into their conversation.
"I say first we dump her, boss," the mean voice was saying. "What's gonna happen if we get stopped driving around and she makes a noise?"
"With Congressional plates on the car?" Cudahy sneered, "Not a damn thing. The cops would probably wink and nudge, and think we're into some kind of cute sex games. Might even want to join in."
Now I really wanted to throw up. Partly from the thought of sex games with a slime like Jack Cudahy and partly because the cops overlooking it was probably true.
The men were still chuckling over Cudahy's little scenario when he slapped one of them hard across the face.
"You jerks! Get her out of the car. I'm not having my reputation smeared at this stage of the game. It's cost me a lot to get this far."
My teeth clenched behind the duct tape barrier. Cost you a lot? How about all the people whose lives you've taken, whose homes you've taken?
"Look, she's awake now."
Yeah, my eyes must have been flashing fire.
"Okay, get her to the edge of the trunk here, then cut her legs loose so she can walk. Take her out into the desert and do it, then get your tails back here quick," Cudahy ordered. "I'm gonna be in the car, and I'm seeing none of this."
Rough hands pulled my legs toward the opening. The second man leaned over and reached for my shoulders. I saw the flash of a knife blade. In an instant I knew what I had to do.
The moment the duct tape at my ankles was free, I kicked out, going first for the man who had the gun in one hand the knife in the other. Both weapons flew, but I couldn't tell how far.
"Hey!" Mean Voice clenched his two hands together, rubbing the bruised knuckles.
I went for Cudahy next. Both feet right to the gut, but he was quick. I barely grazed him before he leaped out of reach.
The effort of kicking outward threw me off balance and I toppled back into the trunk, landing on my shoulder blades and whacking my head against the spare tire.
Whiney Voice looked like he didn't quite know what to do next and I took advantage of the moment by rolling sideways and kneeing him in the chin. His head smacked the trunk's hinge and his eyes rolled back. I got myself up on one elbow and managed to shift my weight again so my legs were free and kicking wildly.
I could see Mean Voice grappling on the ground for his weapons, but so far he hadn't come up with one. I threw myself forward and came out of the trunk, landing on my knees in the dirt. I was on my feet in a split second.
Cudahy was doing the manly thing, trying to dial his cell phone. What was he going to do, call 911? I kicked him in the balls. He dropped the phone and went down on his knees.
I spun and looked around me for the first time. The lights of Albuquerque glowed in the distance, with the Sandia Mountains behind them. We were on the west mesa, beyond the newest housing developments, but apparently near enough to a road that the Lincoln Towncar hadn't had any trouble getting here.
The previous evening's changing weather had moved in full force. A bitter winter wind whipped across the open mesa, driving dust and particles of trash against the luxury car. We weren't that far from civilization. Low gray clouds blocked the stars, allowing the moon to peek out occasionally, but quickly hiding it again. The glow of the city bounced off the light clouds, casting an orange aura over the area and providing the only illumination out here in the far reaches.
Cudahy's flashlight, which had blinded me so badly when they first opened the trunk, lay on the car's back bumper, aimed toward the city, fortunately of no help to the goon who was still scrambling on the ground for a weapon.
All I could think was, Run!
So I did.
I put the car between the men and myself, running toward the city as efficiently as one possibly can over sand and sagebrush, on legs that have been bound for more than twelve hours, with arms tied in back with duct tape and gasping for air through one semi-clear nostril.
I made it about twenty yards before I heard the distinctive click of a gun being cocked.
I almost stopped, having seen far too many TV movies, but clear thinking took over and I realized that was sure death. Instead, I doubled my speed. I tripped on a clump of cactus and rolled to the ground just as something sizzled past my left shoulder.
It would be a matter of seconds before he'd catch up with me and finish me off. I struggled desperately for a plan, when the ground gave way beneath me and I began tumbling downward into hell.
Chapter 36
I came to a stop abruptly with a whoosh as I bounced off a huge fluffy chamisa bush and landed in a mound of soft sand. Stars twinkled in front of my eyes, but they were not the celestial kind.
Somehow, during the tumble, my arms had done a shoulder-wrenching inside-out with my legs, and I now had my hands in front of me. I grabbed at the duct tape on my face and ripped it from my mouth, hogging huge lungfuls of air at the same time.
My head pounded and my ears rang, but I was alive.
Maybe not for long. I looked to the edge of the arroyo into which I'd just fallen and there stood the goon who'd shot at me, outlined against a curiously light place in the sky. He hadn't spotted me yet. His body twisted from one side to the other, looking for a spot to aim the gun. With my light gray sweat clothes it wouldn't take long.
I raised my wrists to my mouth, working to find the end of the duct tape with my teeth. The pounding, throbbing sound in my head grew louder. The tape tasted awful. I closed my eyes and worked at it by feel. Was just finding an edge I could bite onto when it occurred to me what the throbbing was.
I looked again at the arroyo's edge, just in time to see a bright spotlight trained on the goon.
Tears sprung to my eyes as I recognized the blue and white JetRanger overhead.
Another helicopter, APD's OH-58, hovered into view. A voice over a loudspeaker yelled, "Put down that weapon!"
The man in black aimed his gun towar
d the JetRanger, but realized the futility of it. Slumping and dropping the weapon, he raised his hands in the air. The APD machine took over with its spotlight and Drake hovered over the arroyo until his spot found me dancing and waving madly with my two arms still tied together.
He edged eastward, illuminating the wide dry riverbed, landing in the center of it. I waited a moment for the upwash of dust to clear, then ran toward him. I reached the pilot's door just as he yanked his headset off and swung his leg over the cyclic to jump to the ground. I buried my head in his shoulder and let my sobs of joy merge with his.
"Could we hurry it up a little?" a voice shouted from the back seat.
I raised my head and noticed that Drake had three passengers.
Drake nodded his chin toward the man who had shouted. "In a second!" he shouted back. To me, he said, "Vic Ratcliffe, from the Journal. He caught up with me at the hangar—said some big story was breaking over the wire services . . . I didn't know what he was talking about, but let him hitch a ride. Guess I better get him up there to the action."
Ron occupied the front passenger seat, and he hopped out as I approached, enveloped me in a big hug, and offered me the seat. But the other backseat passenger was quite anxious that I join him, so I told Ron to keep his spot.
Rusty licked my face as I threw my arms around his furry neck. The Journal man snapped our picture. I edged Rusty to the middle seat and I latched my door and pulled my shoulder and lap belts into place. Pulling a headset from the compartment behind my right shoulder, I put it on and adjusted the microphone.
"All set?" Drake asked.
Three heads nodded. Rusty was too busy burrowing his muzzle against my leg. The turbine picked up speed and we lifted gently above the rim of the arroyo. Air traffic had picked up considerably as all three TV stations' helicopters were now on scene. The APD ship had kept the black limo in its spotlight until three squad cars arrived, and it was preparing to depart the area.
Memories Can Be Murder: The Fifth Charlie Parker Mystery Page 20