Corkscrew (20 page)

"Sure, Sarge, no sweat. What happened?"

Werner filled him in, and he nodded and asked, "An' what about the biker in the cells? You think his buddies are gonna come back here for him?"

Kennedy groaned. "That bastard. I forgot about him. I guess he oughta see a doctor. We're charging him with attempted rape, assault, resisting arrest, threatening, weapon dangerous to the public peace." He glanced at me. "Anything else you can think of?"

"Not offhand. But I figure we should keep him inside. In the hospital, probably. I don't want him bailed out and back here. These guys don't take a thing like this lying down."

Werner swore. "Sometimes I wonder why I didn't join the goddamn fire department. They just put the fire out and go home. We're stuck tyin' up loose ends till hell freezes over."

"If you can't take a joke, you shouldn't have joined," Kennedy told him. "Reid, maybe you'll stay in charge here, will you? I'll send a car over to take the biker to the hospital in Sundridge. You supervise the statements and laying the charges against the biker. Then call it a day. We'll talk to you in the morning."

"Sounds fair. Be sure to send Freda back here when you get to the Spenser place. I want to keep an eye on her, with these bikers around."

"Just an eye?" Werner laughed. "You're getting old, kiddo."

He raised one arm to me, and Kennedy nodded and they left, slouching wearily toward their car and a few hours' sleep before getting back on the treadmill at eight a.m. The OPP constable said, "So, okay, Chief, what about the biker?"

"Let's talk to the women first, get that one sorted out," I suggested. "Bring them and the photographer in, please."

He went out the back for the others, and I sat down in front of the office typewriter. The three women came in angrily. The sleeping beauty was awake now, hung over from whatever she'd taken, spitting fury.

"Why're we being kept here?" she started.

"Sit down, please."

She spluttered, but they all sat. I spoke to Carl, who was standing behind them. "Carl, can you print up your photographs, please, give us enlargements on that boot print and anything else that looks important? We'd like them in the morning, if you could manage it."

"A pleasure," he said. He looked strained and nervous. I guessed the events of the day were digging out the old memories of his own loss and the crime he had committed afterward. He nodded to the OPP man and headed for the front counter. "I'll have them to you in the morning, eight o'clock."

"Listen, you don't have to wait for me. The constable will run you up to your house."

Carl protested, but I could see how tired he was. I nodded to the OPP man. "Could you do that, please. This gentleman will show you where he lives."

They left, and I swung my chair to face the women. "Here's what's going to happen. I need a statement from you, Wendy. I want to hear what happened in that tent. After that, you're free to go. If any one of you can round up a ride home, that's fine. Otherwise, you can walk out of here or crash in the cells. Suit yourself."

Sleeping Beauty swore. "I'm not stayin' in no goddamn tank. Gimme the phone."

She picked it up and phoned, long distance, waking up somebody called Chuck. They had a brief shouting match while I wound a statement form into the typewriter and started questioning the woman I'd rescued. "Okay. What happened in that tent?"

Wendy opened her mouth to speak, but the second woman beat her to it. "Don't you say nothin'. These guys'll drag you into court; then Jack 'n they'll get mad at you. Least's'll happen is you won't have no job. An' you could wind up dead."

It worked. The girl looked at me, then at the floor, then mumbled, "Nothin' much happened. Like, it was a party 'n I got scared, but I don' wanna make no complaint or nothin'."

"You're already involved," I argued quietly, but she shook her head.

"Maybe. But I don't wanna say nothin'."

"All right, then. Why don't the three of you sit over there on the bench and wait for your ride."

I was weary myself. It didn't make much difference to my case whether she spoke or not. I had enough eyewitness evidence, of my own and from the other policemen, to make the case against the biker. I took the statement form out of the typewriter and put in an arrest form. Then I sat and thought about the charges against him. All the charges Werner had mentioned, plus forcible confinement. I listed them all. The crown attorney could drop any he didn't care for once we got the case to court. All I wanted was to have enough on paper to keep the biker in custody overnight and to prevent his pulling the same stunt that Murdoch's buddy had pulled. I didn't need any more complaints against me for excessive use of force.

The three women were talking quietly, a low conversation full of the hissing that comes from starting every sentence with "I says to him." It was almost peaceful, and I was typing out my charge contentedly when the phone rang. I picked it up and said, "Murphy's Harbour Police."

It was Freda. I recognized her voice but not her tone.

This wasn't the breezy woman who had made me laugh since morning. She was scared. "Reid, somebody wants to talk to you," she said.

I sat up very straight and listened as the phone rustled from hand to hand and a man's voice said, "Bennett. We got the broads, both o' them. You do what we say or they're in big trouble."

Chapter Sixteen

I felt as if I were falling. The sounds of the room faded in and out with a solid whoosh-whoosh-whoosh that jolted my eardrums. I could see the faces of the bikers, the way they had laughed when one of them chased a terrified woman. And now they had Freda and Spenser's widow.

The same voice said, "You listenin', Bennett?"

"Yes, I'm listening."

"Good. Now I tell you what you're gonna do, or these two're gonna wish they was dead."

"I said I'm listening."

The man at the other end chuckled. "Yeah, I figured you would," he said. "Now you took some stuff from our tent."

"Some tapes and a camera," I said easily. "Yeah, it's all here."

"We want it back," the voice said, and before I could answer, he went on. "An' somethin' else. We want somethin' out of a house in Toronto."

"How can I get that?" I made my tone angry. I've been in hostage negotiations before; you have to keep them off balance. Everything has to seem like a favor; otherwise, they don't bother bargaining at all.

"Just do it, brother," the man said. He didn't sound menacing. He didn't have to. My imagination was racing ahead of him. I could see Freda, warm and beautiful, a butterfly surrounded by roaches.

"I'll think of something. What is it you want?"

"Good," he said. "Now you're talkin' sense. What we want is a file cabinet. It's gray metal. Got two drawers in it, legal size. Y'unnerstan'?"

"Where is it?"

"It's in the basement at two-twenty-seven Marlborough Drive, North York." He turned aside to speak to someone else. I didn't catch the exchange, but after a moment he came back on. "That's the Yonge, Finch area." I knew. It was the Spenser house. I'd taken their address earlier. I wondered why the bikers were asking me to bring the cabinet to them. Were they afraid of going to Toronto? Were they pressed for time? I acted stupid, looking for anything that would help me find them and get Freda away. "It's gonna take me three hours to drive down there, three hours back. Hell, you could do it quicker yourself."

The first hint of anger snapped into his voice. "Smarten up, asshole. You call somebody down in T'rannah. They pick up the item for us and deliver it up here pronto. Got that?"

"Oh, yeah, I got you. But it's going to take me half an hour to round somebody up to get it. Then it will take another three hours to deliver it up here. Where do I bring it?"

"We'll tell you," he said.

I leaned on him as far as I dared, keeping my voice businesslike. "Meantime, you stay away from the women. Otherwise, there's no deal, I trash this stuff you want."

He laughed. "Oh, you won't do that. I know you won't. This is a nice-lookin' momma. You wouldn't want some bad man playin' rough with her, would you?" He laughed, then said, "Here, tell her how much you miss her."

The phone rustled, and Freda spoke, "Reid?"

"Yeah, Fred. Where are you?"

I could hear the phone being moved, torn out of her hands, but not before she had a chance to speak to me, almost sobbing. "Be brave, Reid. Be brave."

The same man spoke again. "Lissen, Bennett. Don' get cute. Just do like we say. Otherwise, we party."

"Two-twenty-seven Marlborough, Yonge, Finch area. Gray metal two-drawer file cabinet. Don't worry, I'll get it. How do I get in touch?"

"You stay put is how," the voice said harshly. "I'll ring this number anytime I want, an' I wanna hear your voice every time I do. Forget about playin' hero. This ain't 'Nam. You stay put an' your chickieboo stays the way she is. You jerk us around an' she gets it."

I've heard enough threats from enough angry men that I knew the worst thing I could do was bluster. I kept my voice calm as I said, "Okay, I stay put and this whole deal is business. Let's keep it that way. Now what about the rest of your property?"

"One video camera, seven videotapes. You deliver them when you deliver the file cabinet." The voice sank for a moment as he cleared his throat. "An' don't go pokin' your nose into any of them tapes. Ya got that?"

"Yeah, sure." I made my tone impatient. You have to keep some pretense of control no matter how many trumps they hold.

"What if something gets screwed up, like my errand boy gets a flat or something?"

"Make sure he don't," the voice said. "I'll call you back. Now start movin'. You got three an a half hours before party time."

He hung up. I put the phone down and sat staring at it, the stare of combat fatigue. What could I do?

I reached into the drawer for my phone book. Irv Goldman's number was there, and I dialed him, waking up Dianne, his wife.

"I'm sorry, Dianne, this is Reid Bennett, I have to talk to Irv—it's an emergency."

A second later he was on the line, his voice thick with sleep. "What's up, Reid?"

I told him, and he took over the Toronto end of the business. He would call the police, explain the circumstances, and break into the Spensers' house to take the file cabinet. Then he would bring it north. He would bring a neighbor of his, another copper. They would be armed, for whatever good that might do.

I thanked him and called the OPP. After a minute or so they gave me the home number of Sergeant Positano, the man in charge of the biker squad. He was still up, just in from a hard day's work, but he listened to me without complaining. When I'd finished, he spoke.

"That's the Devil's Brigade. They're new in Ontario. Most of our gangs are headquartered around Toronto, but this bunch is out of Vancouver."

"You mean there's no place we can raid and expect to find the women?" What about Freda? I wanted to scream. What about poor shell-shocked Mrs. Spenser?

"No, they don't have any permanent address yet. Maybe they're setting one up, up close to you, but I'd doubt it. Bikers are criminals, into drugs, extortion, prostitution. They'll locate close to Toronto, if they dare, if the other established biker gangs will let them."

I interrupted him. "What's going on? We were told to back off the gang by the inspector. Have you got a bust going down?"

"I can't discuss that," he said. "But take it from me, this abduction wasn't in the cards. It changes everything."

"Okay, you're the boss. But if they could be anywhere, what do I do next?"

"Yeah, I was coming to that. First thing to do is get your phone tapped to see if we can trace where they're calling from. I'll set that up from here. It's gonna take an hour or so. Tracing a call is a bitch once you get away from a big center. Next thing is to do like they say. Get all the gear they want back and have that file cabinet delivered to you. Meantime, I'll be rounding up the troops to help when it comes delivery time. Don't call me here again. I'll be gone. Okay?"

"Yeah. And thanks," I said, and hung up just as the door opened and Werner and Kennedy entered. I could tell from their faces that they'd come to break the bad news.

"I know," I said. "They called here."

"I'm sorry, Reid. It's a hell of a thing to happen." Kennedy raised his shoulders helplessly.

Werner was practical. "What've you done?"

I told them and they nodded. Then Werner said, "I'll call the inspector again, tell him what happened. Maybe he knows something useful. They have to be on to something or they wouldn't have warned us off like they did."

I waved to the phone and sat back, thinking. What could I do? I wanted to be out there, armed and ready to take them all out, with my marine M16 for preference and six or seven of the guys from my old platoon. I blazed with anger for one moment, but the fear of what could happen to Freda washed back over me, dousing the anger, making me cold enough to shudder.

"The only thing we've got to go on is whatever is in that cabinet," I said. "It has to be vital. We can hope they won't do anything to stop themselves getting that."

Kennedy looked at me, his face as grim as mine, but he didn't say anything. He was wondering, like me, whether a gang of dedicated yahoos would leave two women prisoners alone for three hours no matter what was at stake. But he kept on thinking like a policeman.

"What beats me is why they asked you to set it up for them. Hell, scared or not about your girl, you're a cop. They have to know somebody else who could break into that house."

Werner fished out a cigar from his inside pocket. He hadn't smoked all evening. I guess it was his indication that he was on overtime now and the rules he set himself for work didn't apply anymore. He bit the end off and spat it casually on the floor.

"Only thing that makes any sense is that they're in some kind of a time bind," he said, digging in his pocket for matches.

Behind him one of the three women cleared her throat. He turned to them and then slowly walked over to the one we had found in the tent. "You're in pretty good with the bikers. What racket're they into?"