“He’s a hard-ass. I told you that. He’s been riding me ever since I got to town. He’s not going to share that information with me.”
“He might. You won’t know unless you ask him. No harm in asking. Right?”
I frowned.
“I’ll ask him.”
Blake nodded.
“Good. Any other new developments?”
“Yesterday evening the Russians stopped at a strip club ten miles south of Rising Falls. A place called The Boobie Trap.”
“A strip club?”
“I know. Just listen.”
“Go on.”
“Dmitry and another man got out of the Escalade and entered the strip club. But a third man remained in the Escalade. Five minutes later the two men exited the place with a briefcase.”
“Extortion?”
“Who knows?”
“I wonder why the third man didn’t go in.”
“Me too.”
“Maybe Kelly was in the Escalade with him.”
“Maybe. Or maybe the Russians just had her phone. They might be the ones who phoned me.”
“Why would they have done that?”
“They might have spotted me following them. Maybe they phoned me to throw me off the trail.”
“That sounds like a stretch to me. It’s more likely Kelly phoned you. Either from the Escalade or the pizza joint.”
“But nobody spoke when I answered the phone. Kelly would have said something to me. Don’t you think?”
“I don’t know what to think.”
“Me neither.”
We were quiet. Blake started on his sandwich. Ham and cheese.
“Kelly worked at a strip club,” he said. “And the Russians visited a strip club. Must be a connection. Can’t be another coincidence.”
“I had the same thought.”
“Maybe you should pay a visit to that strip club. What’s it called again? The Boobie Trap?”
I nodded.
“I plan to stop by there today. But first I’ve got to go talk to the sheriff. Let him know about the call from Kelly’s phone. And see if I can get Dmitry’s address from him.”
“Busy day.”
“I visited Starbutts this morning.”
“And?”
“I spoke to a stripper named Trixie. A friend of Kelly’s.”
“Learn anything?”
“She told me why Kelly kept her pregnancy a secret from you. You want to hear what she had to say?”
“You know I do.”
“She said Kelly was too ashamed to tell you she was pregnant.”
“Too ashamed? Why?”
“Because she’s not married.”
“That’s ridiculous. She could have told me.”
“I know.”
I didn’t tell him Kelly had lots of boyfriends. Or that she didn’t know who the baby’s father was. I figured it was up to Kelly to share that information with her own father.
“After all,” Blake said, “marriage isn’t what it used to be.”
“Amen to that.”
CHAPTER 29
“GOT A MINUTE?”
Sheriff Cooper looked up from his desk.
“What do you need, Mr. Lane?”
“I’ve got some information about Kelly.”
“I’m listening.”
“Yesterday evening I got a call from her phone. When I answered it nobody spoke. So I don’t know whether it was her on the other end of the line or somebody else.”
“Nobody spoke?”
“Nobody. Then the line went dead.”
“I assume you phoned her back?”
“I did.”
“And?”
“It went to voice mail.”
“So you think somebody’s got her phone?”
“I’m not sure what to think.”
“Thank you for sharing that with me, Mr. Lane.”
He looked down and started fingering through some papers on the desk. As if dismissing me.
“That’s not all, Sheriff. One of my former colleagues at the U.S. Marshals Service tracked the last location of Kelly’s phone before it got shut off yesterday evening.”
“What’s the location?”
“Basic Kneads Pizza.”
He leaned back in his chair.
“I’ll send one of my deputies over there to investigate.”
“There’s more. Yesterday evening Dmitry and his goons started following me from Price Chopper. I managed to lose them. Then I followed them.”
I waited for a negative response.
None came.
“I followed them to The Boobie Trap. Then to Basic Kneads Pizza. The call I got from Kelly’s phone came when the Escalade was parked at the pizza joint.”
That got his attention.
He stood up from the desk and took out his keys and hustled toward the front door.
“See you later, Mr. Lane.”
“Where you going?”
“Buffalo.”
“Why?”
“Because that’s where Dmitry lives.”
“Can I ride along?”
“That’s not a good idea.”
CHAPTER 30
FROM THE RISING Falls Sheriff’s Office I went to The Boobie Trap.
Two strip clubs in one day.
Nothing wrong with that.
I reached into my pocket and took out a folded sheet of paper. I unfolded it and handed it to a cocktail waitress.
“Ever seen this woman before?”
She looked down at the photo of Kelly.
“Never seen her. Sorry.”
“Thanks.”
I showed the photo to a customer.
“Wow. What a babe. But I don’t recognize her.”
“Thanks.”
I showed the photo to the bartender.
“Doesn’t look familiar. You want to order something?”
“Meatball sandwich.”
I sat at the bar and ate my meatball sandwich and pictured Sheriff Cooper breaking down Dmitry’s door in Buffalo.
Maybe he would find Kelly there.
Or at least a clue as to her whereabouts.
In the meantime I had to continue looking for her myself.
CHAPTER 31
IN THE MORNING I woke up at my usual time and ate breakfast at my usual time.
I am a man of routines. A creature of habit. I do the same things at the same time every day. Wake up at the same time. Eat at the same time. Exercise at the same time. Go to bed at the same time.
Sometimes life tries to interfere with my routines. I try not to let it. But that doesn’t always work out.
After breakfast I took a brisk walk around the RV park. Thick fog billowed around me. A thin layer of snow dusted the ground. Lights glowed dimly in half a dozen camper windows.
I huddled in my heavy wool coat and picked up the pace when a chill breeze rippled the foggy surface of Lake Ontario.
Back in my RV I opened a kitchen cabinet and took down a coffee mug with OCD: OBSESSIVE COFFEE DISORDER printed on it. I turned on the Keurig coffee maker and placed the mug on top of the drip tray.
My eyes scanned the selection of K-Cup pods.
Caramel? Sumatra? Hazelnut?
I put in a Sumatra K-Cup pod and hit the button.
The coffee maker sputtered.
Moments later I carried the steaming mug to the dinette table and sat down and opened my laptop.
When I saw the email from Kelly my hand jerked and my coffee spilled and my jeans got soaked.
I read the email:
Rip,
Devil’s Landing Beach. Meet me there.
Come as soon as possible.
Come alone.
Kelly
The cryptic message left me feeling both relieved and uneasy.
Relieved that she was alive.
Uneasy that she seemed to be in trouble.
Come alone? Why?
I stood up from the dinette table and got a kitchen towel and wi
ped up the spilled coffee. Then I went to the bedroom and put on a dry pair of jeans.
Devil’s Landing Beach.
Where the hell’s that?
A Google map showed me. It would take me ten minutes to get there. Maybe a little longer in the fog.
I studied satellite imagery of the area.
A long stretch of beach. Two waterfront restaurants. A pier.
Why meet there? What’s there?
I frowned. I rubbed my chin.
Why’d Kelly email me? She could have just phoned me.
I picked up my phone and hit the speed dial.
Ring . . . Ring . . . Ring . . .
No answer.
Her voice mail picked up.
“Kelly? It’s Rip. What’s going on? You in some kind of trouble? Phone me when you get this message.”
I knew better than to expect a return phone call.
I replied to her email:
Kelly,
I’m leaving now.
See you soon.
Rip
Her email had been sent an hour earlier.
From where?
From what computer?
The U.S. Marshals Service’s Technical Operations Group could find out for me. But I had no time for that now.
Kelly would be waiting. Waiting for me. Waiting on a foggy stretch of beach.
I thought about phoning Blake. I thought about phoning Sheriff Cooper. I decided to do neither.
Kelly was waiting.
CHAPTER 32
THE HEADLIGHT ON my motorcycle cut through the thick blanket of fog.
I could barely see the road in front of me. Everything looked ghostly in the vaporous air. Ghostly and haunted. Shadows and shapes everywhere.
Ghosts. The dead. They don’t worry me.
But living people do.
I was armed. One holstered gun on my hip. One holstered gun on my ankle. Two lethal hands at the ends of my arms.
The pale morning sun struggled feebly to shine.
No traffic on the road. No sounds. No sign of life.
Except me.
The map in my head guided the way. Turn left at the traffic light. Drive two miles. Turn right onto Wayward Drive. Follow it to the end.
When I got to Devil’s Landing Beach I parked at the end of Wayward Drive and dismounted and stood looking around.
Fog over Lake Ontario.
Big waves. Loud waves. Creaming and crashing.
Two waterfront restaurants flanked the end of Wayward Drive. Both were open for breakfast. Several vehicles sat in each parking lot.
Breakfast smells wafted through the air. Waffles. Bacon. Coffee.
Flags whipped in the wind. Chains clanked against flagpoles.
Gulls wheeled overhead.
When I started walking toward the water a distant pier loomed out of the fog. It seemed like a good place to start looking for Kelly. I headed toward it.
Three minutes later I stood on the empty pier.
Waves lapped against the pilings.
“Kelly,” I shouted.
No response.
I headed back toward one of the restaurants.
On the way there I thought about Sheriff Cooper. He would have visited Dmitry’s house in Buffalo the previous night. I wondered what had happened. Had he found anything interesting there? He would have phoned me if he had. Right?
I wasn’t so sure.
When I entered the restaurant the hostess handed me a menu.
“Party of one?”
“I’m supposed to meet somebody here. Maybe you’ve seen her? Here’s a photo of her.”
“Sorry. I haven’t seen her.”
“Thanks.”
I took a quick look around.
When I didn’t see Kelly anywhere I asked a woman to check the ladies’ room for me.
“Nobody’s in there.”
“Thanks for checking.”
Outside in the parking lot I stood scanning the parked vehicles.
I frowned.
Then I headed to the other restaurant.
“This woman hasn’t been in here,” a waiter said and handed the photo back to me. “Sorry.”
“Thanks. I’ll just have a look around.”
A quick check turned up nothing.
My eyes swept the parking lot.
Nothing.
I found a bench on the beach between the two restaurants and I sat down and stared out at the foggy lake.
I sat there for a long time.
My teeth chattered. Then stopped. Then chattered again.
I put on my knit cap. If I had had gloves, I would have put them on too. Fortunately my heavy wool coat had warm pockets. I put them to good use.
A fisherman stood at the shoreline. He cast his line. He waited for a moment. Then he reeled in.
I felt like a fish. Hook in my mouth. Reel pulling me in.
I took out my phone and checked my email.
No return email from Kelly.
I phoned her.
No answer.
My teeth chattered.
It seemed unlikely Kelly had stood me up. Something must have happened to her. But what?
Well, Rip, what’s your next move?
Leave?
Wait a little longer?
A moving figure caught my eye.
I turned my head to the right and saw a woman standing on the back deck of one of the restaurants.
Jeans. Black turtleneck sweater. Red winter coat. Boots.
Kelly?
It looked like her. Same hair. Same body. Same clothes.
But I was too far away to see her face. Plus the fog obscured my view.
I stood up from the bench.
“Kelly!”
No response.
Too far away to hear me?
I started walking down the beach toward her.
Waves crashed. Gulls wheeled. Fog loomed.
She went down the deck steps. She stopped at the bottom. She stood on the sand and half turned toward me.
I waved.
She turned away.
Did she see me?
She started walking toward the lake.
What’s she doing?
“Kelly!”
She continued walking. Almost like a zombie.
I started walking faster.
“Kelly!”
No response.
Why not? Too far away? Loud waves?
I broke into a trot.
“Kelly!”
Still no response.
She continued toward the lake.
Is this a game? Is she playing some kind of a game with me? Her father’s dying in a hospital and she’s behaving like this?
I started running.
She moved zombielike. No life in her step. Like the walking dead.
The fog got thicker. The waves louder. The air colder.
She stepped into the water.
It must have been cold enough to stun. But she didn’t seem stunned. She continued wading. Farther and farther. Deeper and deeper.
Then it hit me:
Suicide.
“No, Kelly! Wait!”
Water sloshed at her knees.
Nobody was close enough to rescue her. No lifeguard. No swimmer. Nobody except me.
I am an average swimmer. Not poor. Not great.
But if it came down to it, I could rescue a drowning victim. Even a panicked one. Even in freezing water.
She looked calm. Not panicked.
Water sloshed at her waist.
Running on sand isn’t easy. It slows you down. Some athletes train by running on sand. That training makes it easier for them to run on solid tracks.
A flotation device is the most important tool in rescuing a drowning victim. But I had no flotation device.
I planned to approach her from behind. Then I would put my arms under her armpits and grab her shoulders and tow her to shore. On the beach I would first check her airway. Then her pulse. Then I would perform CPR if necessary.
There would be no time for me to take off my boots. I would have to plunge into the water with them on. They would make it harder for me to swim. But I had no choice.
I was twenty feet from the shoreline when I heard a sound.
A rumbling sound.
Getting louder. Closer.
Lights sliced through the thick fog over the lake.
A speedboat shot toward shore.
Three men in the boat. Yellow slickers. Black knit caps.
Fishermen?
I squinted.
Not fishermen.
I recognized the three men.
One: Dmitry.
Two: The tall man.
Three: The imposter who had impersonated Earl the mechanic.
My mind raced.
The imposter. What’s he doing with the two Russians?
Maybe he’s Russian too. A Russian with no accent.
He must have been the man in the back seat of the Escalade.
He impersonated Earl. Why?
I thought about that.
An answer came to me.
You dirty bastards. The three of you followed Kelly and I from the hospital in Watertown. You tampered with my brakes at the roadside rest area. Then you raced off to the only gas station in the area and took Earl’s clothes and tied him up. When we got there the imposter sent Kelly out to pick up his lunch order. That enabled Dmitry and the tall man to take her without interference from me. Bastards.
“Kelly! Stop!”
She ignored me.
Water sloshed at her neck.
The boat stopped beside her.
No no no.
Hands reached down.
No no no.
Hands pulled her into the boat.
I drew my gun and ran into the freezing water. My legs churned through choppy waves. White surf splashed around me. The resistance of the water made it seem as if I were moving in slow motion.
The boat bobbed on the swells. Its engine burbled. Its bow pointed toward shore.
They weren’t going to get away. I wouldn’t let them. I would shoot all three men if I had to. No hesitation. No second thoughts.
When the water got to my waist I stopped and pointed my gun at Dmitry.
Wind whipped across the water. Fog swirled.
“Let Kelly go.”
Her back faced me. Wind tore at her hair.
“Never,” Dmitry said and held a pistol to her head.
The other two men pointed guns at me. Assault rifles. Kalashnikovs.
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