Final Call, page 26
3
Stacy sat in the rental car – a black Corolla, rented using a license in the name of Andi Stevens – and waited fifty yards up the road from the rental office. A car with an Uber sign pulled up and Varun got out. He looked around nervously, scanning the area for anything out of the ordinary.
She flashed her lights, and he froze.
She flashed them again, and then opened the window. She put her head out and beckoned him toward her.
‘Jesus,’ he said. ‘I wondered who you were. I was thinking we’d hardly even got started and someone was already on to us.’
‘Just me,’ she said.
‘You got the car?’
‘I got a car.’
He frowned. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I have to go and do something before we meet Ramos.’
‘I don’t understand.’ His nervous expression returned. ‘Is there something wrong?’
‘Plenty,’ she said. ‘But nothing new.’
‘Then what is it?’
‘It’s personal.’
‘I don’t mind what you do,’ he said. ‘I’m happy to come along.’
She shook her head. This was her insurance, her way of keeping control. ‘I’d rather be alone.’
He paused, then nodded. ‘OK. So what’s the plan?’
She pulled out a Maine atlas she had bought at a gas station and opened it to the page she had bookmarked. She tapped it.
‘This is Ramos’s house. It’s past the ski resort, Sugarloaf, on the way to Eustis. Like I said, I used to ski up there and it’s very remote. Almost totally empty. Just a winding, remote road that runs beside the river. There’s a right turn off the main road, then the house is about half a mile further along. Let’s meet at that turn-off and go in one car.’
‘Why not meet somewhere else?’ He looked at the map. ‘Kingfield, maybe?’
‘I think it’s better nearer the house. It could be good to have a second car, if we need it.’
‘Why would we need it?’
She shrugged. ‘I don’t know. But we might, and at least we’ll have the option.’
For a second he looked like he was about to cry, but he swallowed and inhaled sharply through his nose.
‘OK,’ he said. ‘We meet there. What time?’
‘It’s about three hours from here,’ she said. ‘My detour will take around an hour. So head straight there and wait for me. If you take your time, I shouldn’t be far behind you.’
‘I’ll tell Jeff to expect us.’
She nodded. ‘But only your car. Don’t mention this one.’
‘Why? You don’t trust him?’
‘I don’t trust anyone,’ she said. ‘You included.’
He pursed his lips. ‘I suppose that’s to be expected.’
‘Go and get your car,’ she said. ‘I’ll wait here so I know what you’re driving.’
He headed to the car rental office. She waited, noting which cars passed, which parked or lingered in places they could see her. There was nothing suspicious; at least nothing she could see.
Ten minutes later a blue RAV4 appeared at the entrance. Varun was behind the wheel. He glanced in her direction, just long enough to see she was there, and pulled into the traffic.
She pulled out her phone, and opened Craigslist.
4
An hour later she parked her car by the train station. The sign outside hadn’t changed.
Welcome to Barrow
She got out and pulled her cap low over her head, then started walking. She had no need of a map. She knew every street in this town. Her destination was a small, white cape on a large lot. There was a Prius and a Highlander parked in the driveway; on the grass in the corner of the lot was an old blue Ford Ranger.
She knocked on the door. A man in his fifties opened it. He was wearing a red flannel shirt and had white, tufty eyebrows.
‘Priscilla?’ he said. ‘I’m Rusty.’
She’d sent a message through Craigslist in a false name. Rusty had replied immediately, saying he was home and she could come at any time.
‘Yes. Thank you for replying so quickly.’
He shrugged. ‘Nothing else to do. Winter goes slow. You want to see the truck?’
‘I’d love to.’
He had the keys in his hand and he gestured to the Ranger.
‘She goes good. Bit temperamental, but runs nice.’
‘How many miles?’
‘Two fifty.’
Stacy nodded thoughtfully.
‘That’s a lot.’
‘Plenty more in her. Treat her right, that is. I was keeping hold of her for my daughter. She’s driving now, but she don’t want an old truck. Seems it’s not cool enough.’
‘I would have loved this when I was sixteen,’ Stacy said.
‘That’s what I was hopin’. But I got it wrong, I guess.’ He handed her the keys. ‘Here. Start her up.’
The truck was unlocked. Stacy climbed in the driver’s seat and put the key in the ignition. The engine turned over once, twice, then coughed into life. She listened for a moment, then revved the engine. It sounded fine.
‘Take her out,’ Rusty said. ‘I trust you’ll be back.’
‘You know,’ she said. ‘That won’t be necessary. I think I’ve seen enough.’
‘Not for you, huh?’ he said. ‘Too old?’
‘Not at all.’ Stacy smiled. ‘I love it. You said two thousand in the listing? Would you take fifteen hundred?’
‘Seventeen fifty,’ he said. ‘I’ll fill in the paperwork, and she’s yours.’
‘Got it,’ Stacy said. ‘You have a deal.’
5
The Ranger was old and creaky and would need some new shocks soon enough, but it ran, and it wasn’t the rented Corolla, which meant it was untraceable. The Corolla was parked in a corner lot near the train station, just another commuter vehicle left for a few days. Even if it was found, it wouldn’t tell anyone where she was, only that she had been to Barrow. It was as likely she had taken the train to Boston as bought another vehicle and driven somewhere new. If the last few years had taught Stacy anything it was that you couldn’t be careful enough. She enjoyed invisibility, and she had no intention of giving it up.
In the truck, cap on her head, she could have been anyone, man or woman.
She headed out of town, west toward the Carrabassett Valley, but there was one more stop she needed to make before she left.
The cemetery was on the road out of Barrow. She parked against the fence, and grabbed her coat. It was getting dark, and Maine’s winter cold was biting.
She walked along the path between the graves until she reached her destination.
Cherry and Dan, side by side.
Her grave to the left of Cherry’s. A daughter taking her eternal rest between her loving parents.
She had seen it before but it never failed to send a shiver along her spine.
She split the flowers she had bought at the gas station into two bunches and placed them on the graves.
Her daughter, and her husband.
The pain of their loss was as great now as it had ever been. It would never go away. Maybe – maybe – it would lessen over the years, but she doubted it. If anything, it got worse, the sense of what she had had taken from her sharpening as time went by. Cherry would be nine now. Four years of her daughter’s life had been stolen from her. In a decade that would be fourteen. The more that had been taken, the worse the pain.
So she was pretty sure the wound would always be there, like a missing limb, its very absence a reminder it was gone.
She had stood here many times over the years, placed many bunches of flowers on the graves. She wondered whether anybody had noticed them and asked themselves who was bringing them. Perhaps she had been spotted, but she didn’t think so. She came at quiet times, always when it was darkening, and she was careful to make sure no one was around. Once she had been startled by a couple turning into the row she was on, and she had looked down and covered her face as though crying.
She knelt and placed her hand on Cherry’s gravestone.
‘I think I’m getting close,’ she whispered. ‘To getting justice for you. But it’s dangerous, so maybe I’ll be joining you soon. I’d love that.’
She pressed her cheek to Dan’s gravestone. It was ice cold. ‘I miss you,’ she said. ‘Every day, all day. I love you.’
There was no reply. Just the quiet of the graveyard, and the pain of the cold stone on her cheek.
She got to her feet and headed for the truck, wiping the tears from her cheeks as she went.
6
Stacy knew the area reasonably well. Before Cherry was born she and Dan had spent a lot of cold and icy winter weekends skiing. They had friends with a ski condo at Sugarloaf Ski Resort so they had a place to crash for the night; those friends had rented it to them for a week in the February before Cherry and Dan were killed.
As she approached Kingfield – the last town before the ski resort – she couldn’t help remembering driving this route with the two of them ahead of one of the best weeks they had had as a family.
Cherry had been in ski school from nine to three each day, leaving her and Dan with precious hours to spend together. They had spent a lot of them skiing, although most days they had taken advantage of the empty condo to work on a sibling for Cherry. Then at three they had picked up their daughter, a miniature skier waiting in a group of classmates for their parents to come and collect them.
On the first day Stacy had been worried she would not enjoy herself and that they would struggle to persuade her to go back the next day.
How was it? she asked.
Cherry beamed. I love it!
Stacy hugged her. That’s great!
The instructor, a woman in her late fifties, patted Cherry on the shoulder.
She’s wonderful, she said. And such a great skier, for her first day!
Let me show you, Mommy, Cherry said. I’m really good.
Cherry followed her down the bunny slope, her heart bursting with pride and joy at the sight of her daughter wobbling along on unsteady legs, then collapsing in a heap when she wanted to stop.
By the end of the week she was a fully-fledged skier. Dan had shaken his head in disbelief.
They change in front of your eyes, he said. It’s hard to believe.
What would Cherry have been doing now, aged nine? The black diamonds and double black diamonds? Maybe. It was another thing that had been stolen from her.
She pushed the thought away. She needed to be clear-headed. She needed to remember what they were doing here.
Varun had proof that Jill Stearns knew about a cover-up of a toxic product, a cover-up which had included arson.
A cover-up which had included murder.
But they only had proof of the first part, and they needed more. They needed to get off the grid and build their case.
Anger could come later.
In Kingfield she pulled into a gas station. She needed fuel for the truck and fuel for herself. The pump was card or pre-pay cash, so she headed into the store.
‘Fifty bucks,’ she said. She wasn’t sure how much the tank held, but it was empty, and with gas at nearly four bucks a gallon it would easily take fifty dollars’ worth. She picked up some Gatorade and a bag of beef jerky and put them on the counter.
Close by, sirens sounded. A fire truck, then an ambulance sped past the gas station, headed toward the ski resort.
‘Someone’s had an accident,’ the man behind the counter said. ‘Probably a drunk skimobiler. Or a heart attack on the slopes.’
‘Probably,’ she said. She handed over three twenties and the man counted out some change.
‘Enjoy the skiing,’ he said. ‘Supposed to be good right now. Cold, but some decent snow.’
‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘I will.’
As she climbed in the Ranger another fire truck went past, sirens blaring, lights flashing, followed by a police car.
She pulled out behind it and headed toward the mountains.
7
The road ran alongside a wide river. It was mostly frozen, only the occasional pool of water glistening in the moonlight where the current was strongest. For the first few miles the road was alongside the river, but as the road went up the valley it rose until there was a steep drop to the icy water below.
She kept to the speed limit; most cars passed her on the narrow road in their haste to get to the ski resort, but the old Ranger started to rattle and wheeze if she pushed it too hard, so she trundled along, happy to take her time.
There were houses and driveways on the left of the road, but the mountains on the other side of the river were unlit. At one point she saw a house high on the hill; there was a narrow bridge over the river leading to it. Ramos’s place was probably similar, but even further up the valley.
After she passed the turn-off for the ski resort – a huge blue sign saying SUGARLOAF – the houses thinned out and the cars became even more scarce. There was about another five miles to go before the bridge where Varun would be waiting. She looked at the clock. At this speed it would take six or seven minutes.
That was nothing. Her back and neck tensed.
This was the moment.
The road curved to the right in a long, slow bend. As she came out of it, she saw a red glow up ahead. For a moment she thought it was a fire, but then she realized it was the lights of multiple emergency vehicles that had gone by her in Kingfield.
She slowed as she approached them. Two fire trucks were parked on the road, blocking her side. The police car was on the verge, and the ambulance was in a small lay-by.
A group of EMTs, cops and firefighters was standing by the barrier, looking down into the valley below.
A cop turned to look at her and waved her on. She tried to see what was in the valley, but the drop was too steep. It wasn’t until she reached the next bend that she could get a good look.
There was a car upside down in the river, the wheels still spinning. She stared, trying to make out what it was but it was impossible to tell.
Her head spun. From here it looked like a RAV4. She felt like she was going to vomit.
Was that Varun? Was he the latest victim? She couldn’t tell, but she had to find out. She pulled onto the side of the road and switched off the lights.
She waited for a few minutes to see if any of the emergency responders had noticed she had stopped. None of them came over, so she got out of the truck and climbed over the barrier. The cliff was steep and she picked her way down carefully, moving from rock to rock, each time making sure of her footing. When she was halfway down, she got a clear view of the car.
It was a RAV4.
A blue RAV4.
Her heart sped up. She had little doubt now, but she had to be sure. There were plenty of RAV4s in Maine.
She inched further down the slope, squinting until she could make out the plates.
She recognized them and her heart rose into her mouth.
All doubt was gone.
It was Varun’s car.
8
She crawled up the rocks, feeling very exposed and very alone.
Varun was dead, that was certain. He hadn’t survived that fall; no one could have. And if – by some miracle – he was alive, she was pretty sure that whoever had caused this would have seen to it that he perished.
Because this was no accident.
Yes, it was possible for someone to make an error on these narrow, windy roads, but that was not what had happened here. It was too much of a coincidence.
And it was all clear to her now.
Ramos inviting them up here, and asking for the details of the car. He was in this as much as Stearns was. Presumably he had told Stearns that Varun had found a link to the poisonings and they had come up with this plan. Get him and Stacy up to his remote mountain lodge and arrange an accident on the way. No doubt he would ensure that the local police department recorded it as such, too.
She was utterly deflated. She’d been a fool. It had been stupid to even try. They would stop at nothing and nothing would stop them: not the police, the regulators, the lawyers. They were above it all, and they knew everything.
Except there was one thing they didn’t know. Unless Varun had said something – and she hoped to God he hadn’t – they thought she’d died with him.
But she hadn’t. She was here, on the side of this ravine, alive.
Very much alive.
And now she knew she was truly out of options.
Except for one.
She felt the great relief of clarity.
She knew exactly what she had to do.
Jeff Ramos
Jeff Ramos sat by the stone fireplace, the heat from the blaze in the hearth reddening his cheeks. He sipped his Talisker Malt – eighteen years old – and got to his feet. He wasn’t sure he really liked it – he kind of preferred Jack Daniels, if he was honest – but it was expensive, and that alone gave him pleasure.
He walked over to the large picture window that looked down over the Carrabassett Valley. The valley was dark and quiet. His house was past the ski resort, which was where most of the visitors turned off the road. Very few came as far as this.
Somewhere down there Varun Miller and Stacy Evanston were making their way up the winding road, ready to put the final pieces in the puzzle of the downfall of Jill Stearns.
They too would not make it.
In the distance he saw lights between the trees. It was not Miller and Evanston. There were too many lights for one car, and they were too bright. They were also flashing red and blue.
Emergency vehicles.
He turned to the armchair by the fire and smiled. His guest raised a questioning eyebrow.
‘Looks like some kind of an accident,’ he said, and shook his head, a wry smile on his lips. ‘Tragic. I’d hate for someone to have had an accident of any kind.’
Jill Stearns raised the glass of water in her hand in a toast.
‘It seems it worked.’ She sipped her water. ‘You got rid of them. Now let’s hope this thing is behind us for good. What did Miller say, exactly?’
