The Man Who Heard Too Much Page 5
Dunn Senior looked up from his place at the desk in the office and scowled, while Junior leered at her from behind a battery charger. Martin climbed in the van and slammed the door.
“Home, sir?” she asked.
“Yep.”
She drove out of the station and turned down Main Street. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
“Do we have to go home this way?” His body tensed in the seat.
She looked down Main Street. Of course, she should have known. They were approaching the area where he had been attacked. “We’ll take Mountain Avenue,” she said with the same note of cheer. “It’s longer, but more scenic.” She swerved down a side street. “How’d it go at work today?”
“Okay.”
“Junior giving you a hard time?”
“No more than usual.”
She turned onto Mountain Avenue and soon they were out of town and in open country. The road wound up a hill, allowing a panoramic view of the Adirondacks rising from the valley floor. The day was slightly overcast and the peaks of the higher mountains were topped with clouds.
Ordinarily Sara would slow along this stretch of road in order to enjoy the view, but tonight her concern was for the man by her side.
“You know, Martin. We have to view what happened to you the other day in proper perspective.” She paused for a moment and saw that he was staring directly ahead without visible reaction. “What I mean is, we can’t let the fact that a couple of hoodlums attacked you spoil your new life at Meegan House.”
He turned to look at her. His eyes seemed to contain large pools of hurt. “I don’t know that I like my new life.”
“You will. You have to give it time. You will only be with me until you’re secure in your job. Then we’ll begin to look for a room … perhaps you can take driving lessons. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes, I would have.”
“Don’t make it in the past tense, Martin.”
“I don’t like being hurt.”
“No one does. You’ll probably never see them again.”
“They came by the house.”
“You thought they did. It’s like things that go bump in the night.”
He looked at her again, and she glanced his way until their eyes met and she looked rapidly back at the road. “I am not a child, Miss Bucknell.”
“Oh, God, Martin, of course you’re not. I didn’t mean to be condescend—childish in the way I talked to you. I’m sorry.”
They drove on in silence for a few moments. “Has anyone ever attacked you before?”
“And tried to kill me?”
“Yes.”
“Couple of times. The only place I’m safe is at school,” he said.
“Who tried to kill you the first time?”
“My mother,” he replied tonelessly.
The truck hit the right rear fender of the van with such force that Sara momentarily lost her grip on the wheel. Their vehicle skidded toward the fragile guardrail as she fought for control. She gripped the wheel with all her strength and was finally able to regain control and swerve away from the rail.
The truck hit them again, this time further along the body, and the van careened sideways across the pavement.
“They’re going to kill us!” Martin yelled.
Again the truck struck. Sara lost any semblance of control as the van canted against the guardrail.
The truck struck again and the van plummeted through the railing and jounced down the steep grade. The violent descent threw Sara and Martin to and fro within the cab.
The wheels fought for traction, but the rate of decline and gravelly grade made their route erratic. Suddenly a large rock in the vehicle’s path caused it to tip sideways and begin to roll.
They came to an abrupt stop as the van reached the bottom of the steep grade. The smell of gasoline was all-pervasive in the passenger compartment.
Martin crawled through the window and ran away from the burning van. The flames, whipped by a stiff wind, were beginning to move from the rear to the front of the vehicle.
He turned and yelled. “Miss Bucknell! Sara!” No answer.
He ran back to the van and around to the driver’s side. He could see her slumped over the steering wheel. He reached in and shook her shoulder, but she only slid sideways on the seat. “Miss Bucknell!”
He jerked at the door, but it was wedged shut. He scurried around the burning vehicle to the passenger’s side and crawled through the window. Grabbing Sara’s shoulders, he pulled her toward him.
The flames were spreading. In seconds the van would be filled with fire and might explode. He felt her body slide free.
He put his hands under her knees and lifted her to waist level as he stumbled across the rocky ground.
He had gone twenty yards when the van exploded with a force whose shockwave knocked him forward onto the ground.
Sara moaned as Martin shielded her body with his.
Chapter Five
“We found a half-empty liquor bottle in the glove compartment. We’d like a blood test run to determine your alcohol level.” The state trooper held his wide-brimmed hat between his hands as he stood by the gurney in the Emergency Room of the small hospital.
The young bearded doctor lounging against the counter shook his head. “No way. My patient is not in any condition for samples at this time.”
The trooper looked irritable. “Come on, doc. You only need to take a couple of cc’s.”
The beard shook again. “I’m extremely concerned about her electrolyte imbalance. Any further tests would be detrimental to her possible subdural hematoma.”
“How’s Martin—the man who was with me at the accident?” Sara asked.
The trooper shook his head. “Weren’t no one else there when we arrived, ma’am.”
“He was right beside me when we went off … through the rail.”
The trooper shook his head again. It seemed to Sara that everyone wanted to communicate with head shakes.
“You were the only one in the ambulance,” the doctor said.
Sara sat up and for a brief moment felt dizzy. The room steadied and the momentary double image refocused. “He was with me, I tell you. Right beside me. He could have been thrown from the van and be lying out there right now—dying.”
“No, ma’am,” the trooper said. “Weren’t no one else anywhere near that vehicle. We searched, you can count on it.”
Sara lay back on the gurney. “A truck deliberately ran us off the road.”
The trooper whipped a small pad from his breast pocket. “What kind of truck? Did you get the marker number?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. I was too busy fighting for control of the van. I didn’t notice much of anything except that it kept hitting us until we went over the side.”
The highway patrolman looked at her dubiously. “Weren’t no truck there when we arrived either.”
“Well, there wouldn’t be if they ran us off the road on purpose.”
Strickland took the police officer by the elbow and steered him from the small examining room. “She needs rest now. She can give you a statement tomorrow.”
“What’s all this talk about electrolyte imbalance?” Sara asked Don Strickland when he returned.
He smiled. “I got busted in college for carrying a couple of joints. Damn near didn’t get into medical school. It made me a little paranoid, so, a little subterfuge.” He took a small penlight from his pocket and began to peer into her right eye.
“To protect me from the minions of the law?”
“What else?” He proceeded to examine her other eye. “This isn’t your week, is it?”
“I need to make a phone call.”
“Sure,” he said as he replaced the light in his breast pocket. He made a few rapid notations in her chart.
“What about the phone call?”
“I’ll have one jacked in the wall here so you won’t have to move. I’d like you to stay the night, just
in case. You had a nasty bump there. I’ll send an admissions clerk in to fill out the forms, and we’ll move you to a room.”
“The phone, please?”
A few minutes later, an orderly brought in the phone and jacked it into the wall. With shaking fingers, Sara dialed Meegan House. The phone rang a half-dozen times before it was answered.
“Yeah.”
“Who’s this?”
“Roger. Who’s this?”
“Miss Bucknell, Roger. Is Martin there?”
“Nope.”
“Are you sure?”
“I ain’t seen him.”
“Haven’t seen him,” she replied automatically and nearly bit her tongue in frustration. She certainly had a lot to learn in handling these people. “I want you to listen carefully. Roger. Leave the phone off the hook and get the other boys … the other people and search the house, yard, and the barn for Martin. It’s very important that I find out if he’s home.”
“You like Martin, huh?”
“I like all of you, Roger, but Martin was in an accident and I’m worried about him.”
“Okay.”
She heard the phone clank and clank again as it hung from its cord, swinging back and forth against the wall. It took an eternity, a black eternity, until Roger came back and picked up the phone. She clenched the receiver with damp palms. “Is he there!” she nearly screamed.
“Nope. Not unless he’s hiding in a real good place.”
“Thank you, Roger. I’ll be home as soon as I can.”
“We want hot dogs for dinner and we’re hungry.”
“Fine. You guys can cook them yourselves, right?”
“You know it.” He hung up without further comment.
As Sara swung her legs off the gurney she felt a wave of dizziness that made her lightheaded. Concentric black rings swarmed before her eyes. She sat quietly for a moment until the feeling passed, and then slid from the cart. They had removed her blouse and bra and the covering sheet fell to the floor as she staggered over to the hooks where her clothes had been hung.
She dressed hurriedly, and was running her hand through her tousled hair when Don Strickland stuck his face in the door.
“Admission will be here and—what are you doing?”
“Dressing. I’m leaving. I have people to take care of.”
“You have yourself to take care of.”
“Will I die?”
“Probably not. But you might have a more severe concussion than we can now determine.”
“I’ll take the chance.” She walked to the door. “Thanks for everything.”
“This is against medical advice, you know that?”
“And you have a form for me to sign.”
“But of course.” He smiled. “Saturday still on?”
“If I live,” Sara said.
At the front desk, by the waiting room, the startled clerk informed Sara that cabs in Horton were an extinct breed.
“I must get to Meegan House as soon as possible,” Sara insisted.
“I’m going out that way. I’d be glad to drop you,” a woman called from the nearby waiting room.
Sara turned to smile at the invitation. “That’s very nice.”
The woman who offered the ride wore a light green pants suit, dark glasses, and a scarf over her red hair. She came toward Sara with an extended hand. “Debby. Debby Wainwright.”
Automatically, Sara took the offered hand. “Sara Bucknell.”
The woman took her arm and they walked from the hospital together. “Oh, yes, I’ve heard your name before. You must be the new director of the halfway house?”
“Yes, I am.”
“I think you’re doing such good work. I volunteer at the hospital—you know, push the book cart around for a couple of hours a week, but it isn’t nearly as significant as the work you are doing.” The woman opened the door to her car and Sara got in.
“Most of it is really mundane, but it is a challenge.”
“I’m sure it is,” she said as she started the car and drove cautiously from the parking lot.
“I can’t tell you how much I appreciate the ride. I really am in a hurry to get home.”
“I’m glad to be of help.” The woman looked over at her apprehensively. “Is anything wrong? I mean, besides the accident. You seem rather nervous.”
“One of my charges is missing, which is why I’m so eager to get back.” Sara realized that she was apprehensive over more than just Martin’s disappearance. There was something familiar about the woman driving the car … a familiarity that was somehow connected with Martin.
“I suppose they do run off ever so often,” the woman said.
Sara shook her head. “I wouldn’t know. I’m rather new on the job.”
“If he did run, how will you go after him?”
“Pardon?”
“I mean, I heard from the receptionist that you were in an automobile accident and that your car was totaled.”
“To say the least,” Sara replied. “A real mess. We were forced off an embankment.”
“How terrible. Perhaps I can help. We have an extra car at home. It’s rather old and not much to look at, but it would provide transportation for you on a temporary basis.”
“Oh, I couldn’t impose on you like that.”
“Nonsense. It would only be a loan until your car is fixed or you get another one. I’d really like to do it. It seems … well, more significant than volunteer work.”
Sara’s natural reaction to not be beholden to strangers was overcome by her increasing concern for Martin Fowler. If he wasn’t at the house, he could be anywhere. She had to find him. She decided to take the offer as a gesture of good faith. “That’s very thoughtful of you. I accept and promise that it will only be for a few days.”
The woman gave her a warm smile. “You keep it as long as you like. We’ll just stop by my house and pick it up.”
They drove in silence for a few minutes before the woman turned off the highway and up a narrow winding drive that approached a small white house nearly hidden in a grove of maples. The car stopped by the stoop and both women got out.
“The car’s in the garage, but I’ll have to scare up the keys. Please come in.”
Sara was led into a warm, sun-splashed living room. A highly polished hardwood floor gleamed in reflection of the care that had been lavished upon it. The room was dominated by a baby grand piano, also polished to a high gloss. The furniture was maple and a Navaho throw-rug covered the center of the floor. It was a warm room with a large bay window at the front of the house. Photographs of small children in the arms of young couples adorned the mantel. Everything in the room reeked of love, care, and a full life.
The ambiance removed the last of her misgivings about the woman who had befriended her.
“Let me get you a glass of sherry while I find the car keys.”
“I really must go,” Sara replied.
“Of course you must. I know how anxious you are, but I’ll probably have to search my husband’s bureau from top to bottom. Do let me get you something, it will calm your nerves.”
“Thank you.”
The woman returned in a short time with a pony of sherry that shimmered in the sunlight. Sara sat on the divan and took the sherry gratefully. The woman smiled and left the room.
The sherry created a warm glow in her stomach. She finished the pony and leaned back on the couch.
The wine seemed to have created a lethargy that seeped through her. Her arms and legs felt leaden. Her eyelids were heavy. She wanted to lie down on the couch and close her eyes.
The room was turning dark, as if clouds, appearing from nowhere, had obscured the bright day’s sun and filled the room with deep shadows.
Sara began to lean toward the pillows on the couch, but forced herself to sit erect.
Something was wrong!
The floor was tilting. The wide windows at the front of the room were elongating into strange trapezoid shapes.
She had been drugged!
She must sit up. She must find Martin.
Her eyes closed again.
“Phone call for you, Senator Baxter. You can take it in the manager’s office.”
“Thank you.” Rutledge smiled at the waiter and then at the group at the table. He placed his arm lightly on his wife’s shoulder. “I’ll just be a moment.”
“You’re going to have to hide better than this,” his wife said.
“They always find me,” he whispered back. He moved confidently through the restaurant waving to those known to him. The receiver was off the hook in the manager’s office and he picked it up.
“Senator Baxter here.”
“Are you on a safe phone?” Althea asked. “I had a hell of a time finding you.”
“You can speak. Make it short.”
“I’ve got her.”
“You’re compromised.”
“I know. What do you want me to do with her?”
“Fix her. Fix her so that if she recites the ten commandments no one will believe her.” He hung up and walked back to his dinner partners, his boyish smile automatically restored. As he passed each table the diners fell silent, and then, when he had passed, he heard them resume their conversation—about him.
Sara choked.
A water tumbler filled with liquor was harshly pressed against her lips. A strong male hand held her head tilted back, another hand squeezed her nostrils shut. She couldn’t breathe!
She gasped and liquor spewed down her throat. She choked again and fought against the restraining hands.
“Drink it! Damn you!” The voice was unfamiliar. “Drink.”
Her eyes fought for focus, but the room was blurred. She gasped for air and drank more.
Lying in the hallway, Sara stared glassy-eyed toward the white molding only inches from her face. She felt ill, dizzy, and knew she was drunk.
“God, what a mess,” a man said from some distant place far above her.
“Is the car ready?” a woman asked.
“Yes. I’ve worked on the brakes.”
“And it’s rented in her name?”
“With her credit card.”
“Then dump her in and let’s get it over with. We have to find Fowler.”