Paid in Full, page 23
“Karen Lassiter’s here.”
“She the one bringing his IDs?”
“Yeah.”
We walked beneath the dense pines and poplars, which provided a thick canopy and filled the air with their scent.
Windows on the lower floor were illuminated.
“Wonder if he’s waiting for us,” I remarked.
“Maybe he’s getting ready to leave.”
Then I saw a light in one of the windows flicker. At first I thought fireplace, but it was way too bright.
Shit. “That’s fire.”
I started running and as I neared the cabin, the window in the back door blew out and flames licked into the night, sending embers flying. Hoping the main entrance would still be accessible, I ran past the cars parked beside the cabin and around to the front. I heard Ed coming up behind me.
A long porch ran the length of the cabin with a big, heavy wooden door in the center. The flames hadn’t reached the front windows yet. The door felt warm, but not hot. It was locked. I kicked it once. Again. Nothing. I pulled my gun and was about to put a bullet in the lock when it occurred to me that there might be someone alive on the other side. I glanced at Carver who’d come up beside me.
Without exchanging the thought, we simultaneously gave the door our best kick. Wood cracked as it gave. “Again.”
With our third try, it flew open. Smoke billowed out. We reeled back. The heat seared and the smoke nearly overwhelmed us. The smell of gasoline was strong. I pulled my handkerchief out and clamped it over my mouth. Once the smoke cleared some I could see into the cabin, which, from what I could make out, was one large room with an open balcony. The fire had engulfed what looked like the kitchen and eating area—the black skeleton of a chair and table were barely visible through the flames. It had climbed the stairs and the balcony blazed. There must have been rooms up there, but I couldn’t see through the flames.
“Gina!” I tried to raise my voice above the breaking glass and cracking wood. Nothing. The air feeding into the fire made it howl and rage like a beast.
She could be in one of those rooms off the balcony. I started to move toward the stairs, without any idea how I’d get up there. The heat intensified. A shard of flaming wood dropped at my feet. I looked up and saw that the rafters had caught fire. Ed grabbed my arm.
“Jesus,” he said at the same time a banshee wailed. As I looked up at the balcony, I saw a portion of the flames had moved, taken life, split off from the rest. Appendages flailed as it plunged from the balcony to the floor then rolled toward us like a burning log. I looked around and saw that Ed had grabbed a large Indian rug by the door. I helped him throw it over the body. As we patted it down, I heard a loud crack, and a fiery length of rafter hit Carver square on the shoulder. As he buckled under it, I kicked it off him. The air seethed with embers. Breathing hurt. Carver, his face a dark mask of concentration, barely acknowledged the blow as we wrapped the blanket around the body and dragged it out the door.
This had to be Wicklow. It couldn’t be Gina. We set it on the ground and I lifted the rug; the body smoldered.
“Jesus,” Ed said. “Oh, Jesus.”
I thought it was a man, but I couldn’t be sure. “Wicklow?”
Carver shook his head. “Wicklow’s bigger than this.”
I saw the fire had crept to the cabin’s door. Now I prayed for rain. With the wind feeding the flames, if it didn’t rain soon, we’d have an inferno on our hands.
Then I heard the sound of a car engine. It cranked, but didn’t turn over. I saw the glare from the headlights as I heard the engine grind again.
“Wicklow!” I called out like I expected him to wait. I took off and as I rounded the corner, the engine caught and the Cavalier started to backup. “Wicklow!” Drawing my gun, I ran past the first car. The Cavalier had made it halfway down the driveway when I shot out its left front tire. It retreated a few more feet, then limped to a stop. Squinting into the headlights, I started toward the car. Then the brights flicked on, blinding me. As I shielded my eyes, the gravel crunched beneath the tires and the dogged little car inched forward, the wheel with the flat wobbling like a weak ankle. Then the engine revved and the Cavalier lunged at me. I dove toward the woods, rolling as I landed. A bullet buried itself in the earth near me. I fired at the car as I gained my footing and scrambled back into the shelter of the dark and the trees.
An explosion sent flames billowing up from the cabin in a fiery cloud, igniting a tall fir tree. One end of the cabin collapsed, and chunks of flaming wood and embers filled the night with fireworks. Another tree caught.
My shelter amounted to a few tenuous birches. I’d have to go deeper into the woods if I wanted more. Fifteen feet separated me from the driveway. Where the hell was Carver?
The Cavalier crawled forward then backed up so it was in front of the other car. Its headlights lit up the area I called shelter. I hugged the ground.
“Forget that,” someone yelled. Wicklow? “Get her in the Taurus.” Wicklow.
He fired two shots. One hit way to the right and the other behind me. He couldn’t see me. If he could, I’d be dead. Come on, Carver.
Muffled voices. A car door opened. I couldn’t see for the brights. Footsteps on gravel moved toward me. I fired into the glare. Just as I could make out a silhouette in the brights, two shots came from the direction of the cabin. The shadow dropped to the ground. Thank you, Carver.
“Kurt!” A woman screamed.
Wicklow got up and scuttled back to the Cavalier. “There’s two of them.”
The woman in the passenger seat fired twice in Carver’s direction. “Move everything to the other car,” she yelled. “I’ll cover you.”
I recognized Karen’s voice. She fired again. This time the shot hit the trunk of the birch six inches from my head. I bolted. Two more shots, one close enough to count in a game of horseshoes, and I was out of the headlights’ glare.
I crouched beside a tree about twenty feet from the cars. The Cavalier blocked the Taurus so I couldn’t disable it. I assumed Ed couldn’t get a shot at it either. In the orange light from the fire, a head bobbed into view as Karen crawled out of the Cavalier on the driver’s side.
Using the Cavalier as a shield, Kurt and Karen made their transfer to the Taurus, firing into the dark at us as they climbed into the newer car. I got a look at Wicklow as he ducked into the driver’s seat. The car started like a champ and they took off down the driveway.
I ran for my Accord, hugging the edge of the woods for cover. By the time I reached my car, Wicklow had swung the Taurus around and it spit out gravel as he headed back toward the main road. Using the driveway, I executed a sharp three-point turn and jammed the gear into first. The tires spun when I floored it. Then they caught and I nearly wound up in the back seat as the car lurched forward. As I edged my car up to forty, a crack of thunder shook my bones. Then, as it dissipated, another sound picked up. Sirens?
Even with the brights, it was all I could do to keep the car on the road. Trees loomed up out of pitch black. I had less than three miles to catch up with them. After that I’d have only a fifty-fifty chance of following in the right direction.
I stared straight ahead, scouring the dark for a glimpse of taillights. Sweat stung my eyes. The road took a sharp turn and as I downshifted, the Accord’s back end swung violently on gravel. I edged the car up to forty again. I hoped the blaring siren belonged to a fire truck. It was getting closer.
I heard Wicklow’s words in my head. “Get her in the Taurus.” He had to mean Gina. Did they have time to move her? I prayed she was anywhere but in the cabin.
According to my gauge, I had less than a mile before I got to the paved road. My jaw ached from gritting my teeth. A few raindrops smacked my windshield. Then I saw the lights. Two white beams not more than thirty feet ahead. I coaxed a little more out of the car and closed the distance some. Damn, the sirens were closing in. It occurred to me that this road was way too narrow for two cars to pass, let alone a car and a fire truck. Wicklow was trying to beat the truck to the intersection. The drops grew fatter and then a sheet of rain blinded me. Flipping the wipers on high, I pressed down on the accelerator.
I recognized the right angle curve coming up. We were almost to the paved road. Next would come the hill which spilled out onto the highway. Ahead of me, the Taurus’s rear end slewed as Wicklow made the turn. He had less than ten feet on me when his brake lights went on. But he wasn’t slowing. I downshifted to second and the Accord’s engine howled in protest as the tach needle jumped into the red. But it responded. The Taurus shot down the hill and at the last second it looked like Wicklow tried to veer off the road. But the car skidded into the intersection directly in the path of the lead fire truck. Metal on metal screamed. The truck’s breaks screamed. I screamed.
Chapter 26
The fire engine pushed the Taurus almost twenty feet before careening into the road abutment. A ball of fire shot up, defying the torrent of rain, then dwindled and receded. I eased my car the rest of the way down the hill until I could see Wicklow’s car, which was recognizable only as metal accordioned between the truck and the wall.
I sat there for a minute, watching the emergency lights flashing as the vehicles accompanying the fire truck closed in on the accident. Through the rain-swept windshield their movements resembled a strange, impressionist ballet. Then I turned the car around and headed back up the hill.
I drove as fast as the rain and the road would allow, latching onto the notion that I’d find Gina in the Cavalier and I clung to it like a dying man clings to God. I’d find her in the back seat. Or maybe the trunk. Yeah, the trunk. Or in the cabin. No. Even Wicklow couldn’t do that to two women.
As I pulled in the driveway, I saw that the rain had contained the fire. While the cabin still burned, the trees had won the battle. I pulled up beside the Cavalier. Its back door was still open and the car was empty. I dug a crowbar out of the Accord’s trunk.
The rain came so hard and fast I could barely see as I wedged the tool below the trunk’s lock and with a few solid efforts managed to pry the lid open. The trunk’s light went on as it swung up revealing nothing but a blanket and some pieces of rope. I stared into the empty space, the rain stinging the back of my neck, and couldn’t believe I’d lost. “A key works better, you know.”
I looked up and saw Carver standing beside me in the rain, dangling a ring with two keys on it from one finger. A flash of lightning illuminated the area.
“Gina?” I had to yell to be heard above the thunder.
“She’s fine.”
Slumping against the car’s frame, I could practically taste the relief.
Carver palmed the keys and dropped them into his pocket. “She helped me get Mick over to a shed on the other side of the cabin.” He waved a flashlight in the general direction.
I tried to wipe some of the rain from my eyes. “Mick Jensen?”
He nodded. At this point, I guess that didn’t surprise me. As we started to walk toward the shed, I thought I could make out a white shape standing in its door. “Wicklow?” Carver asked. “He ran into a fire truck.” He turned to me, eyebrows raised.
I shook my head. “I don’t think he had enough money left over for a miracle.”
Ed spoke as we walked. “Mick was able to talk some.” He paused, staring down at the ground for a few steps. When he looked up again, he was blinking rain from his eyes. “Tracy was his sister. Danny wrote him just before he died. He named Wicklow and Brewster. Mick said he killed Brewster. Tried to burn him to death, but Brewster put up too much of a fight.” Then, “I’m not sure, but I think Mick’s dead. He hasn’t moved or spoken in a while.”
Gina met us a few feet from the shed. She gave me a hug and whispered in my ear, “I knew you’d figure it out.”
I crouched beside Mick Jensen who lay on the Indian rug. Carver knelt beside me and turned the light on the body. It was real hard to look. His face, neck and chest were black and charred. His shirt had been mostly burned off. A blackened, curled up piece of T-shirt clung to his shoulder. One arm was black and the other had a few patches of white. Then I saw it on his upper right arm. Part of it was burned, but there was enough left to recognize the tattoo. That thin, worm-like appendage I’d seen before did belong to a rat’s body.
“Mick?” I barely breathed the word.
His eyes blinked open. They were red slits buried in the charred black of his skin. I wasn’t sure if he could see me. When he opened his mouth it was like a piece of raw meat. “Wicklow,” the word hissed out of him.
I couldn’t believe he was alive, much less talking.
“He’s dead.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yeah,” I said. “He went up in flames.”
He looked up toward the roof of the shed. “All of them. We got all of them, Tracy.” Then he closed his eyes.
I touched the skin of Mick’s throat, feeling for a pulse. Nothing. I wasn’t sure it could be felt under the burns.
I glanced up at Carver. His thumb and forefinger were pressed into his eyes. He looked like he was praying.
Chapter 26
For once this summer, we had a storm that actually cooled things off—low eighties and just enough humidity so you knew you weren’t waking up in Phoenix. It was past noon by the time I pulled into my driveway. I felt twitchy, but not tired. Past tired. I’d offered Ed a cup of coffee and he’d accepted.
Ed, Gina and I had been up in Comstock, Wisconsin until seven a.m., answering questions and explaining how we all happened to converge on this cabin. Ed didn’t say anything about being involved in the death of Tracy Mitchell. Mick was dead by the time an ambulance arrived. Both Wicklow and Karen had died in the accident.
Gina told us and the police that two nights ago Karen Lassiter had called her and told her Kurt was up at the Dive Inn and wanted to talk. When she’d gotten there, she’d found only me. She saw how drunk I was, and after feeding me some coffee, she’d poured me into her car and taken me home. Then she’d been abducted at gunpoint from my apartment by Karen, who forced Gina into the trunk of her Cavalier, and then tried to gas me to death. She’d driven Gina up to Wisconsin where, eventually, Gina would be disposed of. “Someplace where I’d stay buried for a long time.” Apparently it was all part of an elaborate plan to set up Gina as the ruthless wife who got a love-smitten sap—that would be me—to kill Kurt, and then disposed of me when I was no longer useful to her. The object was for Kurt to be considered missing and presumed dead, instead of just missing.
“We played right into it,” Gina said. “They didn’t even have to set us up as lovers.”
Kurt kept Gina tied up in one of the bedrooms until last night when Karen returned with another man. “I never saw him,” Gina said, “but from what I could hear, he’d forced her to bring him.” This man was, of course, Mick, who had come there for a single purpose: to kill Kurt Wicklow. But somehow Wicklow managed to get the upper hand because shortly after Gina smelled smoke, Wicklow came for her. “He threw me over his shoulder like I was a sack of dirt and carried me past this man lying on the balcony. I could tell he wasn’t dead. I saw him try to get up.” Kurt poured gasoline down the steps and all over the kitchen. “The smell made me gag.” She put her hand over her mouth and took a few seconds before continuing. “He lit a match and dropped it in the puddle of gasoline.” As he carried her outside, she saw the fire climb the steps. “They must have seen your headlights or something because he threw me in the trunk and left me there for a few minutes before they came back and tried to leave.”
If they hadn’t had to change cars, Kurt and Karen would probably have beaten the fire engine. But they’d still have Gina and I considered it a just exchange.
Our next stop was Foxport PD where we spent another two hours being grilled by Lieutenant Abigail MacKenna and company. She found the theory that Ellie had been blackmailing Wicklow worth considering. No one knew what Ellie had on him, but since the monthly five-hundred dollar withdrawals from his account could be traced back fourteen years, almost coinciding with the death of his first wife, Paula, it was possible that Ellie knew something more about her death. So, Ed wasn’t off the hook yet, but Cal Maitlin was feeling optimistic.
While we were there, Abigail sent a couple of her people to the Foxhole to check out Mick’s room. Among the things they found were files on Brewster Plunkett and Kurt Wicklow and a smaller one on Danny Morgan. A photo album displayed pictures of Mick’s family with his sister, Tracy, featured prominently. She was prettier than Ed had remembered. Or maybe it was just that she looked so young. There were also shots of several men in army gear. From the background, I’d guess they were taken in Vietnam. In one photo five guys stood front to back so their sides faced the cameras. Each of them had yanked up the sleeve of his T-shirt to show off a rat tattoo.
When I dropped Gina off at her house, I walked her to the door. Other than some nasty rope burns on her wrists, she’d come through this physically unscathed.
“I feel numb,” she’d said. “I can’t believe what he did. Any of it. That young girl. Thinking he could buy his own salvation. Set us up. Crazy, isn’t it?”
We stood on her porch, holding onto each other for a couple minutes. I didn’t want to let her go, but I had to talk to Ed. And it couldn’t wait.
When I got back to the car, he had my cell phone to his ear. After a minute he pushed the disconnect button and said, “Can’t get hold of Elaine. I’ll try her again from your place.”
Now he sat, hunched over my dining room table, staring into his laced fingers.
