Bill Hopkins - Judge Rosswell Carew 02 - River Mourn (22 page)

Before Rosswell could
scream loudly
enough to crumble the walls, he caught hold of one tiny
sliver of sanity.

He had to think. He couldn’t rescue Tina by screaming
and pounding
.

Center, Rosswell, center.

He needed help. He had to go back and get Ollie. What
was taking him so long? If only he could see.

Wait a minute!

His cell phone could light the way. He could turn the
settings down to low, have enough light to see, and make the battery last
longer.

Rosswell reversed course and headed for Jill’s house.
Fearful that whoever may have been on the other side of the hole in the wall would
notice the light from his cell phone if he powered it up now, he plodded on
until he could no longer see the pinhole. It seemed the spittoon was growing heavier,
although he had enough sense left in his overworked brain to realize that he
was getting tired. Stepping carefully, he kept the clanking down to a minimum.

He had to stop. Bending over with his hands on his
knees, he drew a few deep breaths. He straightened, then reached for his cell
phone. It wasn’t there. He’d left it plugged into the charger in his truck.

Rosswell gave up. No flashlight. No phone. No gun. He could
go no further. He would die in the tunnel. His time had come.

But first, he decided to take a nap, finding the
thought of dying while exhausted unacceptable. Death circled in his brain like
a hungry buzzard awaiting the last breath. He backed up to the wall and slid to
the floor. If exhaustion didn’t kill him, his heart would. Snap, crackle, pop,
and the muscle quits working faster than spit, faster than you can say Jack
Robinson, whoever the hell he is.

Rosswell had heard that dying from your heart stopping
was as easy as falling down. He felt for his gun. A second’s action would end
everything. The gun was still gone. His head hit his chest and he fell asleep.

Something snorted and Rosswell awoke to the sound of
his own snoring.

He told himself he could sleep later. Yet he still
needed a short break. A saying he heard in the military flew into his brain: “Take
a break but don’t let the sweat dry.” He had to get back and look through the
peephole again. Facing reality, whatever the reality turned out to be, was the
right thing to do.

Casting aside every excuse, Rosswell levered himself
up, oriented his body toward the pinhole, and shoved off. After another eon, he
arrived at the light and again stuck his eye to the tiny hole. Everyone had
disappeared. Maybe it was his angle of view.

Keeping his eye to the opening, he stretched up and
then slunk down, hooked a left, then a right. Finally, he could once again see
a slender woman, obviously pregnant, straining to give birth. A pair of arms,
belonging to somebody he couldn’t see, worked on the woman. A doctor delivering
the baby? The pregnant woman was the same height and same coloring as—

Tina?

No. Although the woman resembled Tina, it was not her,
yet the freakishness of a coincidence slammed into Rosswell’s consciousness,
shoving and kicking aside the piddly stuff he’d been worried about—thirst,
exhaustion, pain, death. Instead, his mind considered this strange set of
happenings: The woman tossed from the boat. Alessandra. The pregnant woman
delivering as he watched. And Tina. All the women looked similar. Slender.
Beautiful. Strawberry blonde. Tall. He’d noticed that before but the absolute
absurdity of the coincidence finally smacked him in the face with cold, bitter
hands.

Why did all the women look similar? He didn’t believe
in coincidences. Something in the way the women looked was a key factor in
explaining why they’d all showed up here, in Ste. Genevieve, Missouri, close to
a bastard named Nathaniel Dahlbert. What did the women have in common? Other
than their looks—and he was sure glad they didn’t look like Nathaniel—they had
nothing in common. Except Tina and the woman in the room were having babies.
But Alessandra didn’t have a baby and she didn’t look pregnant. The woman
tossed off the barge looked pregnant and had given birth by the time he found
her body in the cave. What did all those women have in common? Had Alessandra delivered
a baby? Was Nathaniel selling babies birthed by women who looked like Tina? If
so, why?

Rosswell drew himself away from the view to digest
this new information. It led to a realization about knowledge that he’d had all
along. When the person delivering the child moved into view, Rosswell stifled a
gasp. Karyn. One of Mabel’s waitresses, the one with granny glasses designed by
John Lennon. Karyn Byler and Jill Mabli had quit the restaurant to take midwife
tests, yet had come back to help when Mabel pleaded with them. And here was
Karyn practicing her midwifery on a woman who resembled Tina.

Karyn moved out of his vision. Another person—was it
Jill?—dressed in black and standing closer to the hole, blocked his view for a
moment. Rosswell clutched his throat. The necklace Maman had bestowed on him
still hung there, the star’s edges sharp as ever. With the gentleness of a nurse
picking up a sick child, Rosswell scoured the inside of the hole with the star until
it widened enough to allow him to see more of the room. He launched a prayer to
The First Available Deity that he wasn’t dumping sawdust into the delivery
room. The folks in there would find it odd to see sawdust dribbling into the
room from a hole. Someone would have to go investigate. The someone would find
him. And kill him.

The hospital bed where the pregnant woman lay had been
situated away from the wall. The sheets, blanket, and pillowcases were all
white. Rosswell thought he smelled a whiff of Clorox with a touch of Lysol.

The mother was hooked up to an IV drip. Other than the
occasional labor pain, the woman appeared to be happy. Or content. There was no
indication she was being held against her will. She appeared fully alert. If
she was under the influence of any drug, Rosswell couldn’t tell.

Close to the head of the bed, he recognized lines
running to oxygen and anesthesia tanks. A combination infant warmer and
resuscitation unit stood at the ready in one corner. The delivery room—similar
to the ones he’d seen during his military stint—was devoid of any decoration.
No pictures on the walls he could see. No carpeting on the hard wood floors. No
windows. No magazines. No television. No radio. The room was built for cleanliness
and safety, for the birth of the baby and tending of the infant following its transition
from the safe world of a mother’s womb to the scary place called Life.

Karyn appeared calm, as if she knew what she was doing
and was in control of the situation. She also didn’t appear to be under any
coercion or threat.

Rosswell judged the delivery suite worthy of a
small-town hospital. Nathaniel had supplied everything needed to deliver
babies. But why? Was he running a home for unwed mothers? But only if the unwed
mother looked like Tina?

Because he represented the legal system, Rosswell had
often spoken at fundraisers for such homes, but he’d never heard of one in the
Ste. Gen area that matched the description of River Heights Villa. Wouldn’t
such a well-equipped facility be advertising and asking for money? And wouldn’t
Rosswell have heard of such a place, especially considering that he’d been
holding court in the county on and off for months now? Many of his cases
involved a pregnant minor who needed a place to stay while awaiting the birth
of her child. Rosswell had familiarized himself with the homes providing such services
in that part of the state. Nathaniel’s place had never been mentioned.

Rosswell didn’t get it. Wouldn’t pregnant girls and
women in a home for unwed mothers use a hospital like everyone else? Or maybe
the unwed mothers didn’t have money or insurance and needed a charity to pay
for their delivery. Nathaniel was running a charity? Why did Nathaniel have to
kill Mary Donna Helperen? And Ribs Freshwater? Charlie Heckle gave Turk Malone
a file of some kind. Then Charlie got spooked and jumped a train for who knows
where with Rosswell’s silver. All that to cover up a charity for unwed mothers?
An invisible elephant in the room stomped and roared because Rosswell couldn’t
see it.

A hand, emitting a scent of ginger, clamped over
Rosswell’s mouth. Something cold and round nestled in his right ear. The barrel
of a gun wasn’t hard to recognize. Instinctively, his hands sprang into the
air.

In his left ear, he heard a voice whisper, “If you
make the tiniest sound, Nathaniel will kill you, me, and Ollie. You understand?”
Rosswell nodded in the dim light, hoping whoever held him hostage understood
his agreement. “And if he kills us, it will take us a long time to die. You
understand?” Rosswell nodded again. “And painful. It will be a very painful
death. You understand?” Rosswell nodded once more. “I’m going to remove my hand
from your mouth and my gun from your ear. Don’t talk and don’t make any noise.”
Rosswell nodded a fourth time. The hand left his mouth and the gun barrel left
his ear. Rosswell remained silent as a day-old rock concert.

His captor flicked on a dim light, played the beam
over him and, still whispering, said, “Do you know you have a spittoon on your
right foot?”

Rosswell, taking it literally that he wasn’t to talk,
nodded one more time.

His captor motioned him to follow.

After he realized he hadn’t been breathing, he sucked
in a lungful of air, stood tall, and followed Jill.

Ollie, fettered from
head to
foot with an orange plastic rope, spoke volumes with his eyes
when he glared at Rosswell. In addition to the rope, Jill had used three rolls
of duct tape, no doubt to assure herself that the research assistant wouldn’t
escape. Locking him in a hallway closet had sealed the deal that Ollie would stay
put.

Jill handed Rosswell a knife. “Cut him loose.” Her almost
invisible black eyebrows arched. “You do know how to use a knife, don’t you?”

Rosswell suspected sarcasm, explaining his choice to stay
shut. Jill hadn’t reached the level of trustworthiness in his short book of
people he could rely on and he didn’t feel up to testing her. She’d lost the
crinkly blue waitress dress. Her outfit now comprised black tennis shoes, black
socks, tight black ski pants, and a black hoodie. Rosswell approved. He thought
it was a good choice of gear for someone slinking around in the dark and taking
a judge hostage.

Rosswell flicked the knife through the ropes, then gauged
the placement of the duct tape. “This is going to smart.”

Ollie screamed each time Rosswell ripped off a piece
of the gray tape. When Rosswell finished, Ollie stood and did the shimmy shake.
He whimpered. “Houdini didn’t cover duct tape.”

Rosswell said, “Sorry about that. The best way to get
it off is pull it quickly.”

“Good thing my body hair is at a minimum.”

“Mabel would be ashamed of you, screaming like a
little girl.”

“Do you know you have a spittoon on your right foot?”

“Take it off.” Rosswell eased himself into a chair to
allow Ollie room to work the nasty thing off. When Ollie jerked the spittoon
hard to the right, Rosswell yelped. “Gently! Gently!” Ollie tried wrenching it
off. The thing wouldn’t budge. Ollie twisted it hard to the left, then hard to
the right, causing Rosswell to yelp. Success! That popped the spittoon from the
foot. Dried brown stuff fell onto the floor. Rosswell ordered himself not to
think about what the brown stuff might be.

Ollie said, “Sorry about that. The best way to get it
off is pull it quickly.”

Jill interrupted. “Save it, boys. We’ve got a
situation.”

Rosswell said, “No crap. Tell us what’s going on.”

“Karyn’s the bad girl, not me.”

Rosswell saw an objection forming in Ollie’s face. “Quiet.”
Rosswell snapped his fingers and pointed at Ollie. “You wouldn’t believe what I
saw down there. Jill, I need a glass of water.” He smacked his dry lips
together to emphasize how thirsty he was.

She walked down the hallway, Rosswell limping behind
her, and showed him the kitchen where clean tumblers dried in a dishwashing
rack next to the sink. After filling a glass from the tap, Rosswell took a long
time sipping the tepid water, hoping he wouldn’t throw up. The only rebellion
his insides evidenced was a loud growl, complaining about missing both supper
and breakfast.

Ollie asked, “Isn’t anyone going to tell me what’s
going on, or was my near fatal imprisonment all for naught?”

Jill searched Ollie’s face, probably a quest for the
source of his whininess. “Judge, is he always that crabby?”

“He’s got a bustle in his hedgerow.”

“I always wondered what that meant.”

“Unadulterated bullshit.”

“No,” Rosswell said forcefully. “That’s not what that
means.” He finished the water and stared at the empty glass. His stomach
lurched but the water stayed down.

“Listen,” Jill said, “time’s running out. Nathaniel may
already know that you all have caught on to his scheme. That means he’s
searching for you.”

Ollie said, “He’s been searching for Rosswell a long
time. In fact, he captured both of us one time. We barely escaped with our
lives. Let me tell you about it.”

Rosswell said, “Not now. I want to know what the
scheme is.” He deposited the glass gently in the sink under the tap, hoping the
tumbler didn’t tumble out of his weakened grip.

“His guys pick up young pregnant runaways who sell their
bodies and their babies to Nathaniel. It’s human trafficking.”

“It’s slavery.” Rosswell drew another glass of water. “Do
you have any whiskey?” He held the water up to the kitchen light. Pure, no
dancing motes, and, as water is supposed to be, tasteless. A shot of booze
would round out the taste. Maybe two shots to make it an even number. Was Jill
telling the truth? Why should he believe her story? It sounded like something
Nathaniel told her to say.

Ollie glared at Rosswell. “No, she doesn’t have a drop
of booze in the whole place. I already asked her. Not even NyQuil.”

“Judge, tell Ollie what you saw in the tunnel.”

Rosswell recounted the story of the delivery suite. He
finished at the same time he drained the glass of water. “Did you deliver any
babies?”

Jill rinsed out the tumbler Rosswell had placed in the
sink. “Yes, until I found out what Nathaniel was doing with the children.”

Ollie said, “And you found this out how?”

“I overheard Nathaniel talking about it one day.” She
wiped the sink out with a dish rag. “Let’s say that I was someplace he didn’t
expect me to be, so I did a bit of snooping. He never suspected a thing.”

“Sneakiness,” Ollie said. “I like that in a woman.”

Rosswell steered the conversation back on course. “I
need to know two things.” He held up two fingers. “Where were you and what did
you hear?”

“I overheard Nathaniel selling a pregnant woman on
giving birth at the Villa and letting him put her baby up for adoption. He told
her he’d give her twenty-five thousand dollars cash so she could start a new
life.”

“And where were you when you heard this?”

“Hiding in Nathaniel’s office. I’d been searching it
for info, in case I needed something I could blackmail that bastard with.
Insurance, I call it.”

Ollie said, “My admiration grows.”

Rosswell said, “I’ve got a message and pictures on my
cell phone, which is in my truck. Let me get it.”

“Don’t bother.” Ollie pulled the cell phone from his
pocket and handed it to Rosswell.

“My gun?”

Ollie handed it over. “It’s loaded and ready to go.”

Rosswell pointed to the phone. “Listen.” He punched a
button.

“Rosswell, come get me. I’m—”

“That call is from Tina. Tina Parkmore, my fiancée.
She’s missing and I think someone kidnapped her. She made the call from Sainte
Gen. We tracked it back to a payphone on the square.” Rosswell clicked through
several photos on his phone. “Did you ever see her?”

Jill reviewed the photographs. “No. That voice doesn’t
sound familiar and I’ve never seen the woman in your picture. Sorry.”

Rosswell said, “I’m almost positive that Nathaniel has
her,” while thinking,
I’m
not almost positive about anything
. But Jill would never hear that
from his lips.

Jill shook her head. “Never saw her although she
resembles some of the other mothers we’ve had.”

Ollie’s forehead and eyebrows—where his eyebrows would’ve
been if he hadn’t shaved them off—furrowed. “We? Then you’re as guilty as
Nathaniel and your sister.”

“Yes, I am. But hear me out. Nathaniel is selling
those children. When I found that out, I told Karyn. We had a huge fight. She
said that Nathaniel was merely running a private adoption service. I told Karyn
that Nathaniel was dealing in human flesh. He literally bought and sold kids.
The mothers get sold, too. Obviously, Nathaniel lies to them about what their
new life will be like.”

Ollie said, “He’s paying the girls for their kids and
then selling them to people who want a baby and the mommas become sex toys.” He
ground his teeth. “Nathaniel is a huge pile of human excrement.”

Rosswell asked, “Did you see every woman who was in
Nathaniel’s house? Every pregnant woman?”

“I have no way of knowing that. Nathaniel is a
secretive creep. When we—Karyn and I—visited River Heights Villa to check on
the expectant mothers, either Nathaniel or Turk would follow us to a room, let
us in, and then escort us out when we finished.”

Ollie said, “Turk Malone? You know him?”

“Yes. He makes Nathaniel seem normal.”

Rosswell said, “Jill, if you’ll go to the sheriff and
tell him what you’ve seen, we could bust that place wide open.”

Ollie said, “You’ve told us enough for the sheriff to
get a search warrant.”

“I agree. Ollie’s learned something from hanging
around with me.”

Jill said, “The sheriff? You mean Gustave Fribeau, the
guy with the skinny mustache who chews on those nasty black cigars?”

Rosswell said, “The same.”

Jill hung her head as if to indicate she was astounded
by Rosswell’s blindness. “Judge, do you know who’s in that delivery room
helping Karyn? Or, I should say, who’s making sure that Karyn doesn’t do
anything odd, like helping the woman escape?”

Rosswell made his face as blank as possible. “How
would I know something like that?”

She said, “Because rumor has it that you’ve talked to
her recently.”

Ollie said, “Her who?”

A pounding coming from the outside caused Jill to aim
her gun at the front door. “You two,” she whispered, “get in the closet. If you
hear gunshots, stay in there, unless you want your brains smeared all over the
walls.”