Left for Dead (41 page)

Walt was coming at her. He shoved the gun in his jacket pocket.

Teetering, Claire loaded the cartridge into the flare chamber. Tears streamed down her face. She looked up again. Walt closed in on her.

He grabbed her by the front of her rain slicker. His other hand was pulled back in a fist.

Claire felt the flare gun slip out of her hands. She felt a hammer-like blow across her face.

Then blackness.

For a while, he’d lost sight of them. It was as if the Chris Craft had disappeared. Brian only saw a dark horizon ahead. He couldn’t even guess at the other boat’s destination—maybe Victoria, or maybe one of the dozens of San Juan Islands. For several awful, interminable minutes, he thought his mother was lost to him.

Then the flare shot across the night sky. He could see them. They were headed for the plant dock on the Alliance side of the island.

He knew his mom had shot off that flare.

After she’d sent him away three weeks ago, he’d hitchhiked to Seattle, and stayed with friends. Brian figured something was wrong when he phoned Derek’s house, and got Mr. Herrmann, who sounded as if he had a snootful. “Derek’s gone to Europe, backpacking,” he said. “You can’t reach him.” Brian knew the Europe story was a lie.

Though his mom had said she didn’t want to hear from him, Brian phoned the house anyway. He kept getting the machine—or Harlan—and he would always hang up.

Borrowing a friend’s fatigue jacket and a stocking cap, he returned to Deception on the ferry. He saw “Missing” notices—with his mother’s photo—posted around town. He should have known his mother had been in trouble when she’d sent him away.

For the next week, he followed Harlan around. He didn’t want anyone seeing him—not even his friends on the island. His mother and best friend had mysteriously disappeared, and he wasn’t taking any chances.

Even when his mom returned, he was reluctant to make his presence known. After all, she’d been pretty convincing when she’d told him she never wanted to see him again. And no one was posting any “Missing” notices for him. From the forest in the backyard, he kept watch of the house. As far as he could tell, his mother seemed to slip back into her normal routine. Still, he needed to make sure she was all right. So he kept an eye on her.

Maybe she’d given up on him, but Brian wasn’t ready to give up on his mother.

For the last ten days he’d been sleeping in deserted summer cabins or stowing away in boats at the marina. He lived on junk food. The five hundred bucks his mother had given him was quickly running out.

Today, he’d slept late aboard Mr. Gannon’s sloop. He made a trip to the forest behind the cul de sac, but didn’t see his mom at home. It wasn’t until he returned to the marina that he noticed her in the parking lot of The Whale Watcher Inn with that
dude.
Brian wasn’t sure who he was, but he’d seen the guy come over to the house a couple of times when Harlan wasn’t there. Watching them slip into a hotel room together, Brian figured the man was his mother’s secret boyfriend. Was this good-looking guy the reason she’d sent him away?

Brian decided he’d seen enough. His mother seemed to have been doing just fine without him.

He took refuge from the storm in the cabin of Mr. Gannon’s boat. Once the rain let up, he headed for Lyle’s Stop and Sip. He needed food, and the clerk didn’t know him there. Brian was in the alley behind some shops when he spotted his mother running down the deserted, rain-swept Main Street.

She looked half out of her mind.

Brian started to approach her, but she ran away. Defeated, he watched her drive off with Harlan and his friend, Walt Binns. The three of them boarded Walt’s Chris Craft.

Then she spotted him from the deck. His mother cried out his name. In fact, she almost jumped off the back of that stinking boat to get to him.

But Harlan dragged her below, and they sped away. Brian had never trusted Harlan much. He used to think Walt was okay, but had never entirely forgotten that the easygoing, youthful-looking man was Harlan’s best friend.

Brian followed them in Mr. Gannon’s sloop. After a while, they must have caught on he was behind them, because they picked up speed and even shut off the Chris Craft’s lights. They were trying to lose him.

They’d almost succeeded too.

But now he knew they were headed for Alliance. His mother had let him know.

Ten minutes after seeing the flare, Brian pulled into the plant harbor. Walt Binns’s Chris Craft was already moored beside a couple of Chemtech company vessels.

The plant’s main facility was a long, squat, brick and concrete monstrosity with smoke stacks belching out black fumes. There were at least a dozen other, smaller buildings on the site, along with a parking lot.

Brian, Derek, and some of their friends sometimes broke into the plant at night. The night watchman was a total slacker, who just watched his portable TV, ate, and slept while there. Brian and his pals would climb the tall chain link fence, and ride their skateboards in the vacant lot. He and Derek also figured out how to break into the company cars on the site. They’d drive around the lot like maniacs. They had six vehicles to choose from. The key to each one was kept in a magnet-box under the rear passenger door. Derek often talked about ripping off one of those cars, but Brian wasn’t interested. Even if he was into stealing cars, he wouldn’t have wanted one from that collection of beat-up old Cavaliers and Monte Carlos. Besides, the lot entry had a gate with a padlock.

But tonight, he was very interested in stealing one of the those beat-up old sedans.

As Brian tied Mr. Gannon’s sloop to the dock, he glanced over at the company cars in the lot nearby. Instead of the usual six, there were only five of them.

He figured Harlan and Walt had driven off with his mother in one. Walt’s cabin was only a couple of miles down the road. They were probably headed there.

Brian ran over to the row of vehicles. He found the key box under the rear passenger door of the last Monte Carlo at the end. He started up the car, and tore toward the lot exit.

Harlan was the plant manager, and had a key to the gate. Hell, Walt probably had one too. He’d worked at the plant for a while.

But Brian didn’t have a key. What he did have was guts—and the recklessness of a seventeen-year-old boy.

Heading toward the gate, Brian pushed the accelerator to the floor. The tires let out a screech as the Monte Carlo charged the fence. The car crashed into the big gate, and after the initial jolting impact, Brian felt something give. Several broken metal links hit the windshield like bullets. He realized they were pieces from the chain padlock that had broken apart. The smashed gate flew open, then slammed against the other side of the fence.

At the same time, an alarm went off.

Brian hesitated just long enough to figure out the car was still working all right—except for the cracks in the windshield and a busted headlight.

He raced for the plant exit. The night watchman was obviously alerted. No doubt, he’d come out there, and try to stop him.

But Brian wasn’t going to slow down.

His mom was in trouble, and she needed him.

Claire’s head throbbed, and the side of her face hurt. She felt cold. She was naked—except for a thin, white sheet covering her.

She didn’t know how long she’d been unconscious, but she was no longer on the boat. Lying on what felt like a massage table, she became aware of the binding around her wrists. The taut rope must have run under the table from one wrist to the other. Her ankles were tied in the same fashion—so her legs were spread across the width of the padded gurney.

Claire tried to open her eyes. But she could only get her left one open. The other eye was glued shut with a false eyelash.

“Now, that was clumsy of me, wasn’t it?”

Walt Binns stepped into her view. He wore a surgical gown and gloves. There was a spotlight behind him, over his shoulder. He reached toward her face and carefully readjusted the false eyelash. “There now, better?”

She blinked a few times, then glanced from side to side. He’d cut her hair. Shorn chestnut-colored clumps rested around her neck and bare shoulders.

To her right, she saw a narrow cabinet on wheels. An array of cosmetics, brushes, combs, and astringents were laid out on top of it. A tortoise shell lipstick container was among them.

“Is that Lady deMilo Scarlet Passion lipstick?” Claire asked.

“Yes,” Walt said. “Leftovers from my late wife’s supply. Guess I’m just sentimental.” He was applying liquid foundation to her jaw, apparently trying to cover up a mark he’d left there after slugging her. “Harlan said you were asking about the lipstick when he let you out of the storage locker. How did you know about the brand? Did your policeman friend tell you?”

“Yes,” Claire answered, wincing as he continued to dab at her sore jaw. “Where is he? At the dock, you said ‘Rembrandt’ was holding him hostage.”

Walt smirked. “Rembrandt is.” He dabbed some foundation under her eyes. “Tim Sullivan is in a holding room with your friend, Tess. By the way, you were right. I first saw Tess at the hospital. I think she might have even had a little crush on me.”

Claire watched him reach for the rouge. She noticed a pair of hair-cutting sheers on the table. If only she could get at them. She tried loosening the rope around her wrist by rubbing it against the edge of the gurney.

“Clever, the way you caught me on that slipup about Tess,” he continued. “But what really amazed me was the way you nailed the Linda situation. You pretty much had it down pat, Claire.”

He let out a bitter laugh. “Linda was such a meddling, control-freak bitch. I had no idea she did that number on you. I didn’t put it together until a couple of days ago.”

“How did she find out about you?” Claire asked.

He gently applied the rouge to Claire’s cheeks. “Linda knew I was interested in this girl, Nancy, who was vacationing with her family out here a couple of years ago. Nancy was engaged to some fellow in Wenatchee, a high school sweetheart. I didn’t want her to, but she married him anyway. When Nancy ended up dead a year later, Linda put it together that…” He shrugged. “Well, Linda knew I don’t get over losing a girl very easily.”

“Like Harlan’s first wife, Angela,” Claire said. “Is that why they’re all made up to resemble her? Is that how you’re making me up now—like her?”

She kept trying to wiggle loose the rope around her wrist. Walt was so focused on her face, he didn’t seem to notice her hand moving under the sheet.

“I liked her looks,” he replied.

“Tim said you enjoyed the challenge of transforming your victims into Angela’s likeness.”

Sighing, Walt picked up the hairbrush. “Well, Tim isn’t talking much any more. I shot him about an hour and a half ago, and left him locked up with your pal. Unless Tess picked up some nursing skills while she was in the hospital, I’m pretty sure he’s dead by now.”

Claire jerked at the rope. She couldn’t hold back. She started to tremble. Tears slid down from her eyes.

“Now, don’t do that,” Walt said, reaching for a tissue. “You’re ruining it. God, I hate when I get criers. I didn’t think you’d be one of them, Claire.”

“What about Tess?” she asked, her voice cracking.

“You’re warming up the table for her,” he said. “Maybe Tim was right. I’m looking forward to the challenge with Tess. I want to do something to cover that birthmark of hers.”

“You’ll never get away with this,” she said.

He sighed. “Yes, I know. I’m not sure how much I’ll like life as a fugitive. Then again, maybe I’ll enjoy the challenge.”

He carefully brushed her hair over her forehead and to the side. “You know, there was a little party earlier tonight down the road about two miles,” he said. “It was a kind of ‘surprise party’ for you, Harlan, and Tim Sullivan. Something clever Moorehead and the Guardians had hatched out. I just called and busted it up a half hour ago. I said the three of you had just died in what would conveniently look like a boating accident.”

Walt chuckled. “So they’ve all gone home. They’re waiting to hear the sad news from the Coast Guard. They’ll be in for a surprise in the morning. I’ll be long gone by then.”

While he hovered over her, Claire kept trying to wiggle her hand free from the rope. “You should listen to yourself, Walt,” she said. “Harlan considered you his best friend, and tonight you shot him in the throat. Don’t you have any remorse at all?”

He stopped brushing her hair for a moment, and gazed down at her. “To tell you the truth, Claire, part of me kind of enjoyed it.”

From the end of the muddy pathway where he’d parked the Monte Carlo, Brian couldn’t see any lights coming from Walt Binns’s cabin. As he came closer to the house, Brian noticed all the window shutters were closed. There didn’t seem to be anyone home.

Still, he crept along the trail, hoping to find the Chemtech car parked on the other side of Walt’s front porch. If they hadn’t taken his mother here, where had they gone with her?

Approaching the chalet, Brian darted behind one tree and then another. The army fatigue jacket made him nearly invisible—at least from a distance.

He spotted a car in the alcove beside the porch. But it wasn’t a Chemtech vehicle. It belonging to that guy his mother was seeing. Brian skulked toward the car, then suddenly stopped. “Holy crap,” he murmured.

The trunk was popped open. Three bullet holes perforated the hood. Brian felt his stomach turn.

He was staring at a dead man, curled up inside the trunk. Blood leaked from holes in his yellow slicker. His eyes and mouth were half-open. The face was frozen in a rigor-mortis grimace. It was Deputy Landers.

Brian staggered back from the car. He thought he might be sick.

He bent forward and took a few deep breaths. As he straightened up again, he saw a beat-up white Taurus parked in front of the other car—closer to the backyard. It was unmistakably a Chemtech company vehicle.

They had his mom here, somewhere inside this cabin.

Brain reached up and tugged at one of the window shutters, but it didn’t budge. He crept around back and tried another window shutter. No luck. He was about to move onto the next window, but a noise stopped him. He froze, and glanced over his shoulder.

A large raccoon lazily crawled up the trunk of an evergreen tree beside the cabin.

“Jesus, you scared the shit out of me,” Brian muttered to the animal. He took another couple of deep breaths, then tried to jiggle open the shutter. Like the others, it was firmly fixed in place.