A Champion for Tinker Creek, page 26
A couple of bills awaited me on my desk, along with the envelopes from several checks Parker had deposited. There was also a package about the size of a shoebox and wrapped in butcher paper. The box’s front had “Lyle James” written on it in neat block letters with the words “By Hand” in cursive underneath. I approached and tore off the wrapping to find a work boot box. I opened it to discover Eva’s favorite camera and a sheet of common printer paper. Pasted onto it in letters from different publications, in the pattern of threats everywhere, were the words “If you want to ever see the bitch alive. BACK OFF!! Wait for our call.”
“Holy shit,” Manny said.
Chapter Twenty-one
On the Katie Ann
On a quiet afternoon, Eva rocks in the giant porch swing at her uncle’s house somewhere in upstate New York. She’s a little girl again, and this is the first time her mother has fled Beirut with her daughter in tow. The adults sit with drinks in the backyard talking. Their distant conversation sounds like insects buzzing. Eva remains silent and alone, happy to gently rock back and forth at the shaded end of the long porch. She’s never had a swing set, never experienced the joy of making herself move through space without having her feet on the ground. She loves it.
Then she notices a fish flopping up the short steps from the front yard onto the porch. It can’t breathe. Its gills expand and contract like bellows. Its eyes cast about wildly as it quakes and falls. She doesn’t want to look, but she can’t stop staring. Soon another. And one more. Now three. Then four. The entire porch teems with dying fish that are starting to smell. Soon, an adult from the house will come to rescue her from them, won’t they? She pulls up her feet to keep the animals from touching her until one leaps up, lands in her lap, and she screams.
Eva started awake as she shouted. Where was she? It was cool, but with an awful stench. Her body was draped across pipes and boxes on a metal floor. She couldn’t shake the impression of moving, though she was lying still. Her head hurt. In fact, a lot hurt. Cranium, neck, shoulders, torso. She took a deep inhalation and almost cried out at the pain. Shallow breaths.
Mustering her resources, she took an inventory, first of her body, then her equipment and her surroundings.
She started with fingers and toes. All moved. Hands free. Stretch the arms. Sore, but she could do it. Good. Legs. Movement was restricted. Clink. Clink. Clink. She was shackled, and the restraints appeared to be locked to a pipe of some sort. Could she stand? Tuck the knees and then push with the left arm. Roll? Yes, unsteadily, to her feet. God, she felt like crap.
She was still clothed. Good. Thank God for the sensible shoes she thought to wear. Pockets with phone, keys, extra drives, batteries. Empty, no camera. She was damp, but not soaking. And the air, while cool, was not freezing.
As her eyes adjusted to the gloom, she found she was in a medium-sized, mostly dark, empty space. There was a closed door on the far wall. The light filtered in from a partially covered opening in the roof about fifteen feet away. A tarp or some kind of cloth over the gap moved slightly in the wind, making strange shadows on the floor. The stench of dead fish and seaweed permeated everything.
Once she stood, she recognized waves or swells. She was on a boat. Specifically, some sort of fishing boat, based on the smell. She was the catch hold of an older trawler. Now, how to get out. She sat down again to study the shackles more closely.
* * *
“Holy shit,” I said, looking at Lyle.
He sat down. “What the fuck do we do now?”
From then on things moved rapidly. Lyle called someone he knew close to the Georgia Bureau of Investigation, and in the space of half an hour, a team of eight people from the agency and local law enforcement, some of whom Lyle knew, crowded Bonne Chance’s small front office.
“Manny, this is Agent Anthony Blake, of the GBI,” Lyle said, standing next to a tall, lean man with a serious expression. “Agent Blake, this is Jose Porter, a reporter with the South Georgia Record who is a friend of mine and Eva’s and who is not wearing his reporter hat at the moment.” He looked hard at me.
“Thanks for letting me know that,” Agent Blake said. “I’m not at all opposed to having a reporter here, but I would ask that you consult with me about the timing of publication of anything you write. I would hate to inadvertently risk this lady’s life with an ill-timed story.”
“I completely agree,” I said. “Though it’s worth pointing out the note didn’t say anything about not telling a reporter or even not calling the cops.”
“We noticed that too,” Blake said. “Right now, we’re not expecting a ransom demand.”
“Then why take her?” Lyle asked.
“We think you will be required to do something other than pay money,” Blake said.
Then Detective Walker arrived on the scene, and I blushed flaming red, ducking into the hall bathroom before he caught sight of me. Of course, he would have to be here, I thought. I braced myself, splashed water on my face, and returned to the office where Lyle called me over.
“Detective Walker, this is Manny Porter, a reporter for the South Georgia Record and one of my closest friends,” Lyle said. “He’s here because he also knows Eva, but he won’t report anything that happens with this case without first checking with Agent Blake.”
“Pleased to meet you,” I said, extending my hand to find him wearing a smirk on his face.
“Haven’t we met before?” Walker said, finally extending his hand to shake mine with a firm grip. “I rarely forget a face.”
I laughed brightly. “I imagine that kind of memory comes in handy,” I said. “I suppose it’s possible we’ve met. I’ve done a couple of stories off the police blotter. But I’m sure if we did, it was just in passing.”
Lyle watched our interchange closely.
“Okay. Just in passing, then,” he said. “I’m pleased to finally meet you more formally now.”
“Yes.” I agreed.
Agent Blake then called Walker over, and he excused himself.
“I didn’t know you knew him,” Lyle said.
“I didn’t know I did either,” I lied.
“When would you have met?”
“Last week I covered our crime reporter’s beat for a couple of days, so I might have met him that way.”
“I’m surprised he didn’t make more of an impression on you. I think he’s pretty hot myself,” Lyle said, then lowered his voice. “Word is he’s a big top, and he plays a bit in the leather community.”
“Wow, I wouldn’t have guessed. But for all we know that might mean he’s had a drink in a leather bar from time to time.”
“Yeah. Rumor mills aren’t ever reliable,” Lyle said.
Later in the evening my phone buzzed with a message from Walker.
In passing? I want the record to show I’m looking forward to a time when I get to form more than a short-lived acquaintance.
Hush, I texted back. Aren’t police supposed to be gentlemen? And I’ll have you know that you caught me at a weak moment the other day.
I am a gentleman. I would never let your hunky boyfriend know you looked like you could eat me up without salt the other afternoon. Your secret is safe with me.
The meeting broke up not long after I met Walker. It would take a while for the forensics team to get back with results from fingerprint searches and other tests, and we would need to be ready tomorrow for any communication from the kidnappers.
Lyle and I had planned on spending the night together. I longed for his touch. But we decided, in light of what had happened, that I would go back to my chauffeur’s digs. I could get some fresh clothes and think about what our reply should be to the kidnappers’ demands. I summoned a rideshare and went back to Tommy’s Victorian. Little did I realize I wouldn’t see Lyle again for days.
* * *
I spent the night fitfully. The sleeping aids I had in my medicine cabinet weren’t enough to slip me under. Instead, I passed the night in that weird stupor that mimics half-slumber, fighting through hallucinations where we rescued or failed to save Eva.
I called the staff together at about eight thirty and briefed them all generally on what had happened and asked each of them for their respect and confidentiality until we got word that we could talk about the situation.
“Officially, we’re open for business, but as a practical matter, we won’t be taking any new cars until next week,” I told them.
After the meeting broke up, Carolyn Mondial called. “Good news, client,” she almost sang out. “Old Judge Klinefeld has granted our petition to add all of the eminent domain cases into a single class.”
She reminded me she’d been worried about this because there was no precedent for class action suits in eminent domain cases, and Klinefeld was not known for steering into unfamiliar waters.
“But he’s also a stickler for procedure,” she continued, “and I think the realization of how much work was going to be needed for 181 disputed eminent domain cases helped him see things our way. Now we just have to get ready because I think things are going to move pretty quickly from here.”
But her attitude shifted after she heard my voice. “What’s going on? I thought you would as happy or happier than I am.”
I told her about what had happened with Eva and the uncertainty that hung over everything related to the case now. “We haven’t heard from the kidnappers, so we don’t really know what they’re going to ask,” I said. “But if they want me to drop the case, I think I may have to.”
“But you can’t,” she said. “I’ve been taking depositions from people who are counting on this case to keep their lives from being overturned and destroyed. They know they might not win the case, so they’re prepared to possibly lose. But I don’t think they’re ready to give up right out of the gate.”
“I know that. But if they ask me to drop the case, and I don’t and they kill Eva, what about that? Is keeping a bunch of people in their homes worth someone dying?”
She sighed. “Keep me posted. And please don’t make any final decisions without talking to me first. Meanwhile, I’ll start working on ways we might be able to salvage the case if worse comes to worst.”
“Thank you,” I said. “I know it’s hard, but I really feel trapped.”
“Have you called the police?”
“Yes, they’re on it as well as the GBI.”
“May I inform the court?”
“Of course, but please ask them to keep it confidential for now. Assuming we move forward with the case, what’s our next step?”
“Well, because your case represents the whole class, you may have to show up in court on Monday for an important preliminary hearing. I’ll let you know if it’s definite or not.”
“Okay.”
She sighed again. “Nothing is ever easy,” she said. “The key thing for you to understand is that while adding all these homeowners to this class means a major victory, it also means our flexibility in this particular case has shrunk a lot. When I argue now, I won’t be arguing for just you but for everybody, and they will share our triumphs but also our mistakes. So, no pressure,” she said.
“No, none at all.”
“Keep me posted, ideally once a day at least. If nothing happens, call or text anyway.”
“Right.”
* * *
The entire ride from Bonne Chance to Tommy’s, I couldn’t pull my mind away from Detective Walker. As annoying as I found him, he excited me in a way Lyle didn’t and wouldn’t.
I imagined Tommy’s sarcasm. “Oh, poor boy, two hunky men interested in you at once, boo hoo.” And he would be right, but merely knowing that didn’t help.
My driver caught my eye in the rearview mirror. He looked to be in his early twenties, slim, cute. Definitely gay to boot.
“Can I ask you a question about that place I picked you up?”
“What? Bonne Chance? Sure.”
“That’s a garage, right? Are they good? Are they expensive?”
“I can’t speak from personal experience, because I haven’t used them. But I’m good friends with the owner, and I believe they’re both good and honest. I expect if they say something is going to cost whatever amount to fix, that’s what it will really cost. Why?”
“Because I just got this car from my older brother last week, and I don’t have a garage.”
“I would give them a try,” I said.
“You’re gay, aren’t you?”
“Good to know your gaydar is functioning, even if that was a little forward,” I said, shooting him a smile.
“Why not? You’re cute. How about a drink sometime?”
“Now, that was very forward.”
“I don’t care. It’s true, you are cute. And I need to build my network since I live here now.”
“Sorry to disappoint, but I have a boyfriend,” I said as we turned onto Tommy’s street. Actually two, I thought.
He sighed. “The cute ones always do.”
We stopped in front of the garden gate because the driveway was shut.
“Drive safely,” I said as I got of the car. He thanked me, then drove off.
A new streetlamp Tommy had pushed for threw a pool of light in front of the gate. I was able to find my key and enter easily. Ahead I made out the dark upper floors of the house above the trees. Everyone looked to be in bed. I had passed the midpoint of the walk to the front door when I heard a branch crack behind me. I started to turn when someone covered my head with a dark bag, and I went down to the ground.
That was the last thing I remembered from that night.
* * *
I woke up half seated on a cold metal floor in a dark room, but I had enough light to recognize Lyle’s friend Eva Almisra gazing seriously at me.
“Ms. Almisra, you’re alive. Thank God,” I croaked through my dry mouth and throat. “What are you doing here? Where are we?”
“Shh,” she said. “Don’t talk. Let me try to give you some water.”
She reached behind her, pulled up a gallon container of liquid, and shuffled closer, her small steps striking a metallic chime. I tried to lift my hands but found I couldn’t. They had been cuffed together.
“We’re going to have to coordinate this,” she said with an attempt at a smile. “One mouthful at a time, okay?”
“Okay,” I whispered.
She brought the container up to my lips and poured. My mouth started to fill, but she pulled it away. I swallowed. It tasted and felt good.
“One or two more, please,” I said. “You can hold it up a little while longer.”
She did it again, a second longer, and a third time brought me still more. She set the gallon down.
“Better?” she asked.
“Much.”
We looked at each other.
“Your hands are free,” I said.
“Yes, but not my feet.” She lifted one and I could see the chain. I tried to move mine but found them held tightly together.
“What’s on my feet?”
“Duct tape. It was over your mouth too, but I ripped it off.”
“Is that why my face hurts?”
“Probably. I didn’t have any solvent to loosen the adhesive, and I was afraid you couldn’t breathe.”
“How long have I been here?”
“I’m not entirely sure. Without my watch or cell phone, it’s been hard to measure time.” She stretched her arms. “But my body thinks it’s been a long time. I tried waking you up a number of times, but whatever they used on you was more powerful than just chloroform.”
“Who’s they?”
“I don’t know. So far I’ve only seen Caliban. He was the one that brought you here and probably me too, but I was unconscious. And I’m pretty sure he wasn’t the one who captured me. He doesn’t appear coordinated enough.”
“Caliban?”
“Sorry for the Shakespeare reference, but it fits. About six-three, lots of muscle, shoulders like Hercules, really bad haircut, nose that’s been broken several times, and needs a shave and a bath. Doesn’t appear very smart.”
“Where are we?”
“On a boat. An old fishing boat, I think, anchored somewhere probably not too far offshore.”
“Yeah, I got the fish part,” I said. “Oh my God, it stinks.”
“You’ll get used to it. Or at least I did.”
I sized her up. “Any thoughts about getting off this tub?”
“Lots of them, but none terribly promising,” she said. “First, let’s assess your condition. How do you feel?”
“Like crap.”
“More specific, please. Any sharp pains?”
I tried to move and everything hurt, but nothing sharply. “No, just aches.”
“Great. Fingers and toes all move when you tell them to?”
“Yep.”
“Great. Now stuff. Did they empty your pockets?”
“I can’t be sure, but I don’t think so.”
“If they didn’t, what does that give us?”
“Some loose change. My Swiss army pocketknife. My wallet with credit and debit cards and a ten dollar bill. My mobile phone.”
“It would be amazing if we had the mobile phone,” Eva said. “But that’s probably too much to hope for. Still, the pocket knife would be great.”
“Are we alone on board?”
“I think so. Caliban stayed on board last night after he brought you, but I heard the boat motor early this morning, and I haven’t heard it again since.”
“I think I can wriggle my way closer to you so you can reach me,” I said. “We could find out if we have the knife or not.”
“Let’s try it,” she said.
* * *
The day had gone well for the business so far, which meant it went terribly for finding out anything about where Eva was being held. Around noon, Agent Blake called the team, including me, back into Bonne Chance’s small front office, transformed into a miniature command center.
