The two men rolled off Philip and out of the pool of light cast by the car’s headlights, accompanied by a barrage of grunting and swearing. Philip dragged himself to his feet, the pain from his ribs doubling him over, and looked around frantically for something to use as a weapon. His right arm was out of commission again, and Hanrick would barely notice a kick from his bare feet. There were rocks by the water—if he could get a rock and get behind Hanrick—
There was a yelp from the shadows. Definitely not Hanrick. If Hanrick had stabbed McNally, Philip didn’t have much time to make sure the scene didn’t end with Hanrick having three people at his mercy instead of two.
He staggered toward the water and banged his foot into something hard and round. He dropped to his knees and scrabbled at the ground with his left hand.
He had managed to pry the rock out of the frozen ground when suddenly the sounds of the struggle stopped, and he heard a whoosh of expelled air. He knew that sound only too well—the sound a man makes when he’s been stabbed. The sound Oscar Riva had no doubt made when Tobe Hanrick had sunk a knife into his guts in the Williams lunch line.
But which one was it—Hanrick or McNally?
Philip stood in the shadows, his heart pounding, waiting for the victor to emerge.
Then Hanrick stepped into the pool of light.
Philip was about to turn and run. Maybe he could lead Hanrick into the woods, maybe he could get Wayne’s gun, maybe he could circle back to check on McNally and free Lizzy.
Then he saw the red stain spreading down Hanrick’s shirt from just below his ribcage. Hanrick’s hands were wrapped around the handle of the knife that protruded from his stomach.
Hanrick took a few weaving steps toward Philip’s car. He had almost made it when, with a horrible gasping rattle, he fell to his knees. Philip stepped out of the shadows and advanced on him. Hanrick reached for the hood of the car, missed, and went tumbling onto his side.
Philip crouched down beside him, grabbed the knife, and wrenched it out of Hanrick’s stomach. Hanrick shrieked and tried to roll away, but Philip dropped to his knees on Hanrick’s torso.
“Look me in the eyes, you bastard,” he said.
Hanrick looked up, his eyes wide. He tried to say something, but only brought a froth of blood to his lips.
Philip plunged the knife into Hanrick’s carotid artery, then rolled off him to avoid the arc of blood that pulsed out of his neck and, after a few seconds, slowed to a dark red trickle.
Philip heard a sound and whirled back toward the van as a tall, red-haired figure staggered out from behind the open van door, a maroon scarf grasped in its hand.
“Philip?” called the figure. “My God, what did he do to you?”
Then Owen McNally crumpled to the ground in a very large heap.
61
Philip spun at the sound of someone approaching—none too quietly—from the woods. How many people were out there? He had the knife, but he would have preferred to have a gun.
“It’s Andy!” called Lizzy from the shack.
A moment later, Andy McNally emerged from the woods.
“How’re you doing, Philip?” he said as he made a beeline for Owen.
“I’m okay,” Philip replied. “I’ll check on Lizzy.”
He limped to the shack as Andy bent over Owen.
The interior of the shack was still illuminated by the flashlight, which Hanrick had set on the desk. “Lizzy, are you okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine,” she said. “Put on some clothes before you freeze to death.”
“How do you know I’m—” he began, somewhat embarrassed, then stopped. “Never mind.”
Philip set aside the knife and scrambled into his clothes, trying to ignore the stab of pain from his ribs. He was slowed by the shaking of his hands that was equal parts cold and adrenaline. When he was dressed, he went to Lizzy and pulled off the blindfold.
Despite the souvenirs of her encounter with Hanrick—the welt on her neck, the angry marks on her cheeks from the tape from a gag, and her trussed state—she looked relieved, even calm.
It seemed wrong to use the knife he had just used to kill Tobe Hanrick to cut the tape that bound her to the chair, and he was trying to think what else he could use when Lizzy said, “It’s okay, you can use that knife.”
This was going to take some getting used to.
He wiped the blade on his pants and cut the ties at her wrists and ankles. When she was free, he took her by the upper arms and looked in her eyes. “You’re sure you’re okay?”
“Yes, he didn’t do anything to me. Although he would have if you hadn’t shown up and rescued me.”
Philip gave a bitter laugh. “I’m pretty sure I would have ended up doing more harm than good if you hadn’t helped me out, but let’s save that argument for later. We need to make sure there aren’t any other friends of Hanrick around.”
“There aren’t. It was just him and Clemson.”
“None other that you know about—” he began, then stopped. “If they had been thinking about another accomplice, you would know, right?”
“Right.”
“Then let’s check on Owen.”
“He’s okay, he’s waking up.”
“He’s coming around,” Andy called from outside the building.
Philip helped Lizzy up and they stepped outside to find Owen sitting up, pale and woozy-looking, supported by Andy. A rough bandage, evidently fashioned from Andy’s shirt, was tied around Owen’s thigh.
Lizzy ran to Owen, her gait a little uneven. She fell to her knees and wrapped her arms around him. “Uncle Owen, you saved us.”
Owen gave a wobbly smile. “And then fainted dead away.”
“I don’t think the wound is too serious,” said Andy.
“Thanks to my protective layer of fat,” offered Owen gamely.
“Thanks to the fact that, much to my surprise, you turn out to be a pro at hand-to-hand combat,” said Andy.
Philip waited for the snarky addendum, but it didn’t come. Instead, Andy looked around the group and asked, “What now?”
“We should check on the guy who came with me,” said Philip. “Clemson said he was dead, but he might just be injured.”
“What if there are other people out there?” asked Owen, peering nervously into the woods.
“Lizzy says it was only Hanrick and Clemson.”
“I’ll go,” said Andy.
“I’ll come with you,” said Philip. “Let me get the flashlight.”
He retrieved the flashlight from the shack and Andy followed him into the woods.
It didn’t take them long to find Wayne, his body slumped over a boulder near the creek. In the light of the flashlight, Philip could see a dark stain on the front of his coat, but Clemson hadn’t wanted to count on that being fatal. He had also shot Wayne, execution-style, in the temple.
Philip stood over Wayne Watchman’s body, feeling exhausted and useless and horrible. “Son of a bitch,” he said. “Son of a bitch.”
“We’re leaving him here, right?” said Andy.
Philip took a shaky breath. “Yeah.”
He turned and followed Andy back to the shack.
Andy checked the bandage on Owen’s leg, then said, “I’ll take Owen to the ER in our rental car and you guys can leave in Ruby’s van.”
“How would we explain what happened to me?” asked Owen.
Andy ran his fingers through his hair. “I don’t know, bro, but you got stabbed in the leg. It’s not as bad as it could be, but it’s going to need more than a Band-Aid.”
“We’ve come this far without attracting undue official attention,” said Owen. “I don’t want to start now.”
“I might have an alternative,” said Philip. “A place with a well-equipped clinic that isn’t likely to be making any official reports.”
“Where’s that?” asked Andy.
“I’d rather not say. It’s a couple of hours away, but I can make a phone call and have people—an
d medical supplies—meet us halfway.”
They looked at Owen.
“Philip, are you really all right?” Owen asked. “It looked like—well—” he broke off, casting a glance toward Lizzy.
“Uncle Owen, I know what he was doing to Philip, even if I couldn’t see it.”
“I’m fine,” said Philip.
“You’re not fine,” said Lizzy.
“I’m fine enough.”
“And Lizzy, you’re really okay?” asked Owen.
“Yes, Uncle Owen, I really am. You guys showed up before he could do anything to me.”
“And I’m fine as well,” said Owen. “If someone can just help me up.”
Philip, whose ribs were becoming increasingly bothersome, let Andy and Lizzy hoist Owen to his feet and get him seated on the floor of the back of the van.
Andy looked around the clearing. “How about the car you came in, Philip?”
“It belonged to Wayne. I’ll wipe down anything I touched and we can leave it here.”
“How about blood on the ground?” asked Andy.
“I don’t think I bled onto the ground, and even if I did, at this point it would be so mixed up with Hanrick’s blood that I don’t see what we could do about it. How about Owen?”
“Not much blood,” said Andy, “and even if he did leave some behind, they wouldn’t be able to ID him with it, right? Unless,” he said to Owen, “you did some time for street fighting that I’m not aware of.”
Philip looked toward Lizzy. “Lizzy? Anything you might be leaving behind?”
She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
“The ideal scenario,” said Philip, “is that someone eventually finds Hanrick and Clemson and Wayne—might be tomorrow, might not be for a couple of days—and figures that it was an ex-con reunion gone wrong. They’ll probably figure it was more than just the three of them, but there’s nothing to tie it to any of us.”
“It’s pretty close to your office, and to where you live.”
“Pretty close to Philip Castillo, but not to Philip Casal, who’s the person who might have motive to kill Hanrick and Clemson. They could dig up the connection eventually, but I don’t think I’m going back home or to work anytime soon. Let’s get somewhere safe and then figure out the details.”
Lizzy helped Philip wipe down Wayne’s car, while Andy, at Lizzy’s suggestion, unfolded the mattress in the back of the van for Owen. Philip gathered up the several guns and knives that Wayne had had in the trunk of the Sunbird, as well as the gun Hanrick had been carrying and the ones he’d put in the trunk of the tan sedan, and deposited them in the back of the van.
They piled into the van, Andy driving, Philip riding shotgun, and Lizzy in the back with Owen. When they got to the overlook where the rental car was parked, Philip said, “Andy, why don’t I drive the car and you can follow in the van. Lizzy can stay in back and keep Owen company. If you need to stop for any reason, just flash your lights and we’ll pull over. As soon as we’re out of the canyon, I’ll call to let them know we’re coming.”
“And the people you’re taking us to—they’re trustworthy?” asked Andy.
“I’d trust them with my life,” said Philip. “In fact, I am trusting them with my life. And yours as well.”
“Good enough for me,” said Andy.
62
Louise, accompanied by Maja, pushed her hands deeper into the pockets of her coat as they walked to the lab. The temperature had plummeted the night before and she could see her breath.
She had had little appetite over the last few days, breakfasting only on tea and toast that morning, much to Maja’s disapproval. The dozen tailored dresses now hanging in the closet were beginning to hang a bit loosely on her frame.
They arrived at the lab to find Theo and Edmund seated at one of the lab tables. The men looked up.
“Good morning, Dr. Mortensen,” said Edmund.
“Louise,” said Theo.
“Gentlemen,” replied Louise.
She surrendered her coat to Maja and took a seat at the Mac, resuming her perusal of a cache of draft NIH policy guidelines.
Theo and Edmund turned back to what was evidently an argument about an article Theo had read in Scientific American. Actually, she could hardly call it an argument—Edmund clearly didn’t agree with what Theo was saying but wouldn’t respond with anything more definitive than “perhaps” or “if you say so.” She blocked them out as best she could.
The conversation had turned to a piece of lab equipment mentioned in the article that Theo was considering acquiring when a cell phone rang. Louise glanced over at the pair.
Theo pulled his phone out of his pocket and glanced at the screen. “Pardon me,” he said, and tapped the screen.
“Hejsan, Hugo,” he said. “Hur är läget?”
Louise returned to her perusal of the NIH files, then turned back when Theo spoke again, his voice taut.
“Nej men, va? Vad hände …. När?”
Louise and Edmund exchanged glances.
Theo noticed their looks and rose from the lab stool and hurried toward the door. “Vem kunde ha gjort det åt henne? ... Nej, jag gjorde inte—”
The door closed on the rest of the sentence.
“What was that all about?” asked Edmund.
“I have no idea,” said Louise.
She closed the NIH connection, pulled up a browser, and typed in a search: online swedish lessons. She couldn’t very well ask Theo for a credit card number to purchase a course. She added free to the search.
She had completed a few of the online lessons, hurrying through those related to how to greet people or ask for directions, but she was distracted by her curiosity about the cause of Theo’s outburst. Finally, she pushed back from the Mac, got out her phone, and pressed zero. Maja took longer than usual to answer.
“Yes, Dr. Mortensen?” she said. Her voice sounded unsteady.
“Maja, you were quite right, I should have had more than just tea and toast. Could you have breakfast sent to the suite, and come down to the lab to escort me back?”
“Certainly, Dr. Mortensen. I’ll be there … as soon as possible.”
Louise ended the call and clicked through another lesson while she waited for Maja.
Nine minutes ticked by, then Edmund said, “Taking her longer than usual.”
“Yes.”
“Something’s up.”
“Yes.”
Another four minutes had elapsed when Maja appeared at the door of the lab.
Louise rose from her seat. “I’ll be back in an hour or so,” she said to Edmund.
“I’ll look forward to picking up our discussion,” said Edmund.
Maja’s eyes were red. As she stood back to let Louise pass through the door, she exclaimed, “Oj nej, I forgot your coat. Let me run back to the house to get it.”
“That’s not necessary,” said Louise. “It’s a short walk.”
Louise walked with Maja up the path, resisting crossing her arms against the cold. The lapse seemed to have further rattled Maja, and it took her two tries to enter the correct code into the keypad at the door of the suite.
“Maja, are you all right?” Louise asked as they stepped inside.
“Yes, thank you,” said Maja. She glanced distractedly around the suite. “Breakfast may be slightly delayed, but I’ll bring you some tea to warm up.”
“Maja, there’s something wrong—what is it?”
“It’s Rey …”
“Theo’s niece?”
“Yes. She’s …” Maja pulled a tissue from the pocket of her coat and blotted her nose. “She’s dead.”
“Dead? What happened?”
“Herr Viklund didn’t tell me many details. But his brother—Rey’s father—called to tell him. She was murdered.” A tear trickled down her cheek and she blotted it away quickly.
“Murdered?” exclaimed Louise. “Good heavens.”
“Rey worked for Herr Viklund,” said Maja. “She was his
… sergeant?”
“Second-in-command?”
“Yes, second-in-command. Not yet, you understand—she was still so young,” she blotted her eyes again, “but eventually. He is quite upset.”
“Yes, I can imagine.”
“We are all quite upset. We were all quite … I can’t think of the word … förtjust.”
“Fond?”
“Yes, fond. We were all quite fond of her.”
“I only met her a few times,” said Louise, “but I can imagine I would have grown fond of her as well.”
“Yes, she would have been company for you.” Then, perhaps feeling she had said too much, she glanced nervously around the room and returned the tissue to her pocket. “I’ll check on the breakfast.”
“Please don’t rush. I know you and the rest of the household have other things to worry about at the moment.”
“It is no trouble,” said Maja. “It is good for everyone to have normal things to do. And to stay out of Herr Viklund’s way.”
She disappeared through the door and Louise could hear her steps hurrying down the hall.
Louise went to the window and gazed out at the woods. The wind tossed the tops of the trees and a cloud slipped in front of the sun, dimming the light.
So it was to be just her, Theo, and Edmund. There had been few enough members in Theo’s little coterie. Now there was one less.
Despite the warmth of the room, she shivered and crossed her arms.
63
The morning sun was slanting in the window of the clinic room as Andy wrapped up the story of his and Owen’s trip to Sedona and their arrival at Oak Creek. Owen lay in bed, propped up against a mound of pillows, a faded quilt covering his legs. Lizzy sat in a chair next to his bed. Philip’s chair was tipped back against the wall, his arm in a sling that one of the clinic staffers had insisted he wear.
“I got pretty close to the van,” said Andy. “Close enough that I could have heard a cell phone ringing if it hadn’t been for the creek being so close by, and so noisy. I not only couldn’t hear a cell phone, but even though I could hear voices, I couldn’t tell what they were saying, or who they were. I was going to open a call to Owen so he could listen in, but when I got out my phone I realized I wouldn’t have heard a phone ringing even if it hadn’t been for the creek—no reception in the canyon.
The Iron Ring Page 26