Dead Center (19 page)

• • • • •

A
S PATHETIC AS
it sounds, this is my first time in a girl’s dorm room. It’s not for lack of trying… back in college there’s no place I would have rather been. It was off-limits back then, even if a girl wanted to invite you in, or at least that’s what the girls told me. Which is just as well, since none of them ever expressed anguish that they were so constrained.

It only took Jeremy one day to set this up. According to him, Madeline jumped at the opportunity to come here and get Liz’s things when one of Liz’s friends made the phone call. Even better, she said that her mother was going to be working, so she would never realize that Madeline was gone.

Liz’s friend Emily checked me in at the downstairs desk as her father. She’s twenty and I’m thirty-seven, so it’s slightly annoying to me that the person at the desk had no trouble believing the relationship. She’s left me alone in her room as we wait for Madeline to show, and I’m sitting on the bed feeling like a pervert, Peeping Tom, dirty old man, or something.

I’m not sure exactly what I’m going to say to Madeline. I’ll probably act as if I know she’s the one who was in contact with Eddie, even though I don’t. I hope she’s a typically transparent seventeen-year-old and that I’ll therefore know from her reaction whether I’m right or wrong.

Madeline said she would be here by one o’clock, and at ten of one I hear people coming down the hall. The doorknob turns, and I move slightly to the side so that I won’t be in her line of sight when she enters.

The door opens, and Emily says, “Come on in. There’s somebody I want you to see.” Madeline walks into the room and Emily backs out, closing the door behind her and leaving Madeline alone with me.

Madeline sees me, and her reactions are astonishing and completely easy to read. First there is a look of surprise, then one of recognition, and finally, a pain like I haven’t seen in a very long time. I don’t say a word as she starts to sob, sinking to her knees in the process.

I walk over and place my hand on her shoulder as she continues to cry. Finally, it starts to slow down, and she gets up and goes over to the bed. She sits down on it, puts her head in her hands, and gets the remaining sobs out of her system.

“They killed him,” are the first words out of her mouth. “They killed Eddie. Just like they killed Liz and Sheryl.”

This starts her crying again, so I wait the minute or so that this lasts before responding. “I need you to tell me all about it, Madeline.”

She nods her understanding but composes herself a little more before speaking again. “I wanted to call you, to talk to you… but I was scared. I am so scared.”

“It’s okay… I understand. I would be scared in your position as well. But we’ll make sure you’re completely protected. Nothing will happen to you.”

She nods again. “I don’t know that much,” she says.

“Why don’t you just tell me what you do know?”

Another nod. “The night Liz died, she was really afraid of something. She was with Sheryl and Eddie, and I never saw them like that. They were like frightened out of their minds.”

“What scared them so much?” I ask.

“I’m not sure… they wouldn’t tell me. They said it was better if I didn’t know.”

“Was this before or after Liz went to see Jeremy at the bar?” I ask.

“Before. She went there to tell him she wasn’t going to see him anymore. She was running away with Sheryl and Eddie. Sheryl went with her, and Eddie stayed behind to get some things together.”

That explains why Liz and Sheryl were killed and Eddie ran away. His staying behind to get some things saved his life, at least for a couple of months, until I set him up to be killed.

“Were you in touch with Eddie after he ran away?” I ask.

“Yes. He called me a few times. The last time he asked me to send him some money.”

“So he told you where he was,” I say.

She nods. “But I didn’t have the money; I was trying to get it. Then that police lady told my mom you had been looking for Eddie, so when he called back, I told him that. I said he should call you… that you could help.”

“Why didn’t he just call the police?”

She shakes her head. “I don’t know.”

It’s possible that Eddie was distrustful of the police because Stephen Drummond represented authority to him. Maybe he thought that contacting the police was the same as contacting Drummond. He told me that he had run that day because he thought I might have been sent by Drummond. Whatever was scaring him, Drummond was behind it.

“You’ve got to think, Madeline. What could have scared Liz and Sheryl and Eddie like that? Maybe they said something, some little thing, thinking you wouldn’t understand.”

She thinks for a moment. “All I know is it had something to do with Sheryl’s boyfriend.”

I was so focused on finding Eddie, Liz’s boyfriend, that I spent almost no time thinking about Sheryl, and whether she might have had one as well. Yet Catherine Gerard told me that boys and girls are matched up at six years old. There’s no reason to think Sheryl would have been an exception.

“What about him?” I asked. “Was it something he did? Something he said?” I’m probing for information that she unfortunately does not seem to have.

“I just don’t know… I’m sorry,” she says, getting upset at her inability to give me what I want. “They wouldn’t tell me.”

“Do you know her boyfriend’s name?” I ask.

She nods. “Alan.”

“Do you know his last name?”

She nods again. “Drummond.”

Alan Drummond.

Son of Stephen.

When Eddie told me he was afraid that Drummond was coming for him, he wasn’t talking about the father; he was talking about the son.

“Is it possible that Eddie was afraid of Alan?” I ask.

She says it simply, almost matter-of-factly, but it sends a chill through me. “Everybody’s afraid of Alan.”

I continue to question Madeline, but she has little else to offer in the way of information. Finally, she tells me that she should be going so she can get back before her mother returns home.

“If you’re worried, afraid for your safety, I can get you taken into protective custody. That way no one can get near you.”

“You’re not going to tell anyone we talked, are you?” she asks.

“Only Laurie Collins. She’s the chief of police in Findlay, and she won’t repeat it. I trust her with my life.”

Madeline thinks for a moment, perhaps cognizant that it’s not my life we’re trusting Laurie with… it’s her own. Finally, she says, “Okay. How can I reach you if I hear anything important?”

“I don’t want you to. I’ll take it from here.”

“But I want to help if I can,” she says. This seventeen-year-old girl is easily the bravest person in this room.

I write my phone number out for her. “Call me any time of the day or night. But not from your house; call from a pay phone.”

“I will,” she says.

She leaves to make the drive back to Center City, and I head back to Findlay. I’m not anywhere near knowing the “why” behind the murder of three young people, but I may have just learned the “who.”

• • • • •

W
E WOULDN’T
have anything on Al Capone if he lived in Center City.” This is Laurie’s way of telling me that my request to check if Alan Drummond has a criminal record is not going to be productive. I’m sure she’s right; they are not about to share any details about their citizens with the outside world, and especially not negative ones. And most especially not negative ones about the son of Stephen Drummond.

We’re sitting on the couch drinking wine, and Laurie is gently and absentmindedly rubbing my thigh as we talk. If she continues doing that, I’m going to forget what the hell we’re talking about.

So I’ve got to focus. “That’s a shame, because Madeline said that everyone was afraid of him,” I say. “He must have done some bad things; you don’t generate that kind of fear by not cleaning your plate at lunch.”

“Have you ever seen him?” she asks.

I nod. “Twice. Big, powerful kid. He was wearing one of those servants of the Keeper uniforms and driving Wallace around.”

“So whatever he’s up to, there’s a good chance Wallace and his father are behind it.”

“Probably, but not definitely,” I say. “You know, until now I’ve been thinking that this was all about the religion, about keeping everything secret. I figured these kids were going to run away, and the town leaders decided they couldn’t have that happening. But this is something else… something bigger.”

“Why do you say that?” she asks.

“Well, first of all, Henry Gerard already told the secrets, and nobody cared, remember? Why would anybody listen to these kids, when he wrote articles about it in the damn newspaper and nothing happened? But Madeline said the three kids knew something, probably about Alan Drummond, and it scared them so much they were leaving their town and their families.”

“They had nobody to turn to,” she says. “Alan’s father is the number two guy in town, and his regular passenger is number one.”

Something pops into my head. “Hey, I remember something else. The kid’s a pilot; I saw a picture of the family in his father’s office. They were standing in front of a plane, and Stephen told me that his son was the pilot in the family.”

“So maybe he does more than drive Wallace around in a car,” she says. “The question then is, where would Wallace be flying to?”

I shrug. “Maybe the wheel sends him on trips. Probably to conventions with other wackos.”

“Shouldn’t be too hard to find out.”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“If they’re flying around, they’ve got to declare flight plans with the FAA. I should be able to get the records.”

“It’s worth a shot. When can you do it?”

“Well,” she says, “I can spend a few hours on the phone now trying to find someone who can help, or we can go to bed now and I can make one phone call in the morning.”

I think about this for a moment. “In which scenario are you likely to be naked faster?”

“The ‘bed now, call in the morning’ one.”

“Then that’s the one we go with.”

It turns out to be a great choice, but like all good things, it comes to an end when the alarm goes off at six
A.M.
Laurie is showered, dressed, and out of the house in forty-five minutes, leaving me and Tara to reflect on just what the hell we think we’re doing here.

I’m pleased with the progress I’ve made so far, and certainly not regretting deciding to stay, but I am feeling somewhat out of my element. I’m an attorney, not a detective, and I’m finding that this new role requires a different mind-set and strategic outlook.

Generally on a case I view events and information through the prism of the legal system in general and its likely effect on a jury in particular. Even though a trial is often referred to as a search for the truth, that’s not my job. My job is to convince a jury to accept my truth, which is that my client is not guilty of the crime for which he or she is charged.

This detective stuff comes with a different mandate. I’ve got to find the real truth, actually extract it from people who don’t want to give it up. By definition those people are dangerous, and by definition I am not. I have a natural inclination to avoid danger, an inclination often referred to as cowardice, which leaves me with a dilemma. It’s hard to avoid danger when the truth is hiding behind it and I’m after the truth.

I’m finding that another difference between lawyering and detecting is the gaps between events. When I’m on a case, I can fill those gaps with preparation for trial. In my detecting mode, I often find that I’m sitting and waiting for something to happen, like right now, when I’m waiting for Laurie to find out information regarding the flight plans in and out of the tiny Center City Airport.

It’s almost four in the afternoon when Laurie calls me. “You got a pen?” she asks.

“I’m a lawyer… what do you think?”

“Take down this number,” she says, and then reads me a phone number with a 202 area code, which I recognize as Washington, D.C. “It’s the FAA. We got really lucky: Sandy Walsh has a cousin whose wife works there. Ask for Donna Girardi.”

“Didn’t you find out the information?” I ask.

“I did, but I want you to hear it from her directly. And you might have some additional questions.”

We hang up and I dial the number. Within moments I’m talking to Donna Girardi. “Chief Collins said you had information about the flight plans coming out of Center City Airport.”

“I do,” she says. “There are no such plans.”

I’m taken aback by this news, but less than fully confident that Ms. Girardi has taken the time to check through all the records. “How were you able to find this out so fast?” I ask.

“Because there is no such airport.”

“It’s not really an airport… it’s more of an airfield,” I say. “There’s just a runway, a small hangar, and one other building. I think they just use it for their personal planes… it’s not like United Airlines is flying in and out of there.”

“Every facility that’s used for takeoffs and landings, no matter how small, is required to be registered with our agency. Not to do so is a federal crime.”

“It would be really great if you didn’t investigate this particular federal crime for a while.” One thing I don’t need right now is the FAA entering the picture and tipping off the Centurions that something is going on.

“Chief Collins mentioned something about that as well. Let’s just say that a landing strip in Wisconsin is not a particularly high priority for our investigators. Especially in December.”

“When might it become a priority?” I ask.

“Without some incident requiring our attention, I would say you’re looking at July,” she says.

I look outside at the frozen tundra that is Wisconsin and the snow that is starting to fall.

“Ms. Girardi, right now there is nothing I would like better than to look at July.”

I thank her and end the call. The fact that the FAA has no record of the Center City airstrip could be crucially important. It could indicate that something illegal is happening there, and it could be the information that led to the death of Liz and Sheryl, and later Calvin and Eddie.

Or it could be of no significance whatsoever, merely a reflection of Center City’s resistance to outside authority. They never reported the airstrip’s existence and never filed flight plans, and no one has bothered them about it.

It does me no good to believe that this new information is unimportant. I have to focus on the airstrip, both because it’s a very good lead and because I have nothing else nearly as good.

My shortage of things to focus on disappears with the ringing of my telephone.

“Hello?”

The voice is young and near panic. “Mr. Carpenter, it’s Madeline. They know I talked to you. They were looking for me, but I got away.”

“Where are you now?”

“I’m at a pay phone on Route 5… a picnic area that people use in the summer. Near the Hampton Road exit.”

“I think I know where it is. Are you alone?”

“Yes.”

“Is there a place where you can go inside? To get shelter?” I’m thinking such a place would be good to hide in, but I don’t mention that.

“Yes. There’s a small building, they sell drinks and things in there in the summer.”

“Okay, go inside. I’m coming to get you.”

“Okay,” she says, but her voice doesn’t sound like she thinks everything’s okay at all.

“It’ll be fine, Madeline. I promise. No one will hurt you.”

“Please hurry, Mr. Carpenter.”

“I’m on my way.”

I rush out to the car. It should take me about fifteen minutes to get there, providing I actually know where the hell it is. Either way, it won’t be enough time to beat myself up over putting another teenager into jeopardy. My mind’s eye has been flashing all week to Eddie hanging from the skylight in that bathroom, and I will simply not be able to stand it if anything happens to Madeline.

I’m five minutes away before I realize I should be calling Laurie to tell her what’s happening and where I’m going. I dial her number on my cell phone, but the sergeant at the desk says that she’s out of the office.

“It’s Andy Carpenter. Please reach her and tell her that it’s urgent she call me on my cell phone.”

“She should be back in a few minutes.”

“It can’t wait that long. This is life-and-death.” It sounds like a cliché when I say it, but I really believe it’s true.

He agrees to contact her right away. I tell him where I’m going to be, and that if she can’t reach my cell for any reason, she should go there immediately. I add the strong suggestion that she bring some of her fellow officers with her.

So as not to drive by it, I slow down as I reach the area where I believe Madeline called from. I spot it and pull off the road. A sign directs me to the picnic area, though the area is frozen over with snow and ice.

Off in the distance I can see picnic tables and a few sets of swings, all of which have at least another five months’ vacation ahead of them. Just past them is a small building, with a car parked nearby. I assume and hope that it’s Madeline’s car.

I drive and park about twenty yards from the building. “Madeline?” I call out, but I get no response.

I walk toward the building, continuing to call her name and getting no response. Finally, I hear, “I’m in here.”

I don’t like the way this is setting up. She should have heard me the first few times I called, but she didn’t answer. And if I were her, I wouldn’t be calling me to come inside. I’d be coming outside, so as faster to get away to safety.

My hope is that I’m just being paranoid, but either way I have no choice. I’ve got to go inside. I walk up the three steps and see that the door is open. “Madeline, are you all right?”

“Yes.” Her reply is shaky, worrying me even more. I reach the door. Here goes…

When I get inside, I don’t see her at first, and then there she is, at the far corner of the room. My worst fears are realized because standing next to her is one of the servants of the Keeper. I’ve seen him before in the town, but he looks even larger and stronger now.

His hand rests on the back of Madeline’s neck, and she’s cowering from it. She’s trying to control her sobs and repeating over and over how sorry she is. She and me both.

“Come in, Mr. Carpenter,” says her captor. I’m already in, but there’s an open door behind me, and he obviously doesn’t want me running out through it. It’s not the worst of ideas, but even I couldn’t leave Madeline behind like that.

“Don’t hurt her,” I say. “She’s done nothing to you.” I have no expectation that anything I say will make him any more conciliatory or compassionate, and that’s not my goal. My goal is to keep him from doing anything until Laurie and her officers can get here.

“She spoke to you,” he says.

“She told me nothing. She didn’t know anything at all.”

“You believe that?” he asks.

I start to tell him that I do, and then I realize that he’s not talking to me. I half turn and see that behind me is another one just like him, only even larger. They probably represent close to five hundred pounds between them, and with a feeling of panic and dread, I realize that they are not here to warn us. They are here to kill us.

“You expected him to tell the truth?” number two asks. “You know what he is.”

I can feel number two start to walk toward me, so I turn toward him, not wanting to be attacked from behind. Suddenly, he seems to turn horizontal, almost suspended in midair, as something smashes into the side of his head. That head and his shoulders fly to the left, and his feet leave the ground to the right. When he hits the ground, standing in my line of vision is Marcus Clark.

Marcus just stands there, expressionless, as his victim lies on the ground, moaning. His eyes are trained on the other servant, who no longer looks quite so confident. His hand is still on Madeline’s neck, but it seems as if he’s doing so to get support rather than to threaten.

“I can break her neck,” he warns, and there is no doubt he is capable of just that. There is also no doubt that Marcus is undeterred by the threat as he walks slowly toward them.

I pick up motion back near the door, and I see that the guy who Marcus hit has gotten shakily to his feet. “Marcus!” I yell, and Marcus turns to see what is going on.

Apparently, Marcus didn’t knock the first guy senseless, because he’s maintained enough of his faculties to know that he doesn’t want any more of Marcus. He runs out the door, and as he does so, the guy holding Madeline throws her across the room. She crashes into a counter as her former captor runs out a side door.

I go to make sure that Madeline is okay, while Marcus goes out the side door to see if he can catch the two servants. I hear the sound of motors starting, and I look out the window. They are taking off in snowmobiles, which had been parked behind the building. It’s why I only saw Madeline’s car when I drove up.

Madeline seems shaken but all right. My cell phone rings; it’s Laurie calling as directed. “We’re on our way there now. What’s wrong, Andy?”

“Everything’s under control now, thanks to Marcus. But you should get an ambulance out here as well… Madeline Barlow may be injured.”