Reluctant Witness (5 page)

“How did you convince him to stop?”

“I didn’t. What I did was radio for backup.
My colleagues set up a very visible road block three exits up, made
it obvious they were ready and willing, with lots of flashing
lights, so this idiot took the only exit available to him. That’s
what we wanted him to do, since we were also set up on the nice,
quiet country road, lying in wait. We had him boxed in after we
popped his tires with a spike strip. He turned out to be a kid on
meth, half out of his mind.”

“That is scary,” I agreed. I watched a man in
a gray parka settle into a chair ten feet away. He pulled out a
newspaper and started reading.

“My bosses like the fact that I didn’t get
anyone killed, so they promoted me. I did a couple of years
investigating drug and cigarette smuggling up at the border. That’s
where I met Phil. She’s one hell of a cop. I chalk that up to the
fact that she comes from a big family...a big, loud family, and
nothing really intimidates her. After we got married, we decided we
wanted to move back to Windham and raise a family. Phil got an
assignment as assistant to the boss at the barracks and I decided
to take up K-9 duty. I figured I could do some good during manhunts
and, frankly, I like a partner who doesn’t argue all the time. My
last human was a guy going through a divorce and all he ever did
was whine about the woman who done him wrong.”

“I’m sure that can be annoying,” I
smiled.

“You got that right. Any idea what it’s like
to be on a stakeout with a guy who just won’t shut up? You’re a
captive audience,” he groaned, letting out an exaggerated sigh. “By
the time he was done complaining, his soon-to-be ex-wife had my
sympathy. You want more coffee...or another muffin before we hit
the road?”

“No thanks. I’m good. I’d like to use the
ladies room, though.”

Jack didn’t answer right away. Instead, he
looked towards the man in the gray parka at the nearby table. As
their eyes met, the man in the gray parka seemed to nod in Jack’s
direction. It was almost imperceptible, that tiny gesture, but with
it came the state trooper’s response to me.

“Sure. Holler if you need me.”

“Excuse me?” I was taken aback until I
realized he wasn’t talking about handing me a roll of toilet paper
over the stall wall or helping me to flush a malfunctioning toilet.
I hadn’t realized that Jack had backup at the coffee shop, just in
case someone tried to get me again. “Oh, right. Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, Marigold. Be smart.”

Those words stayed with me as the hours wore
on, while we continued to log the miles on the road. At seven
o’clock, we pulled off Route 23 A and into the parking lot of a
small diner, where I had a turkey club and a cup of coffee. Jack
ordered a Reuben, fries, and a chocolate shake, finished those, and
added a slice of apple pie a la mode to his order. When he finished
the last bite, he pulled out his Smartphone.

“Time to find out if Mrs. Twarkins should
return her library books tonight,” he informed me, as he tapped on
his touch screen. I watched as he chicken-pecked a message to his
wife. A moment later, his eyebrows rose and fell. “Nuts.”

Chapter Five

“Not good?” I asked.

“Hold on. I’ve got to call Phil.” A moment
later, he had a very cryptic conversation with his wife. It
consisted of about five words. When he hung up, he frowned, put his
phone down, and took another swig of coffee.

“They couldn’t find the old WitSec boss?” I
inquired, feeling concerned.

“Unfortunately, they did find him, just a
little too late.”

“Too late? What’s wrong with Shaun?”

“He’s in a coma. His prognosis is iffy at the
moment.”

“Someone attacked him?’

“It looks that way,” he acknowledged, pulling
out cash to pay the bill. “Don’t look so miserable, Marigold. It’s
not like you caused it to happen.”

“How can you say that? First Tovar and now
Shaun....” Shaun! Suddenly the name came back into my
consciousness. Shaun Duggan.

“Why is that your fault? You made it
happen?”

“The shooter was after me.”

One moment I was in New York, talking to
Jack, in a diner, and the next, my mind flashed back to Rhode
Island, to a time long ago. I still could see it in my mind, that
shocking sight. It looked like a room of wall-to-wall uniforms as
police crowded into my Newport condo. Blood splatters decorated the
walls of the foyer. Evidence markers were scattered here and there.
A corpse lay on the floor, with its arm still in a cast. He had
broken it in three places just a short time before that fateful
day. Even if he had tried to defend himself, what good would it
have done?

“It should have been me lying there on the
floor, not him. I was the one the killer was seeking. I was the
reason Jared was murdered.”

“Who’s Jared?” the state trooper asked
me.

“He was my fiancé and someone shot him in the
face, all because I crossed a line.”

“What kind of line?”

“I should have listened to
the man when he warned me. It never occurred to me he would kill
Jared.” I felt the heat of my shame burning my cheeks as I shared
my guilty sin with the state trooper. Was I hoping for absolution
from someone, anyone? How many times had I asked myself what might
have happened if I had just kept him out of it?
If only....

“Sounds like you should let yourself off the
hook, kid.”

“I don’t think so,” I responded, shaking my
head as the sadness welled up in me. Obviously Jack didn’t
understand the situation. “I should have been more careful. And now
more people have been hurt as a result of my stupidity. I should
have never let them get close to me. You’re risking your life to
save me. What happens if you’re killed? Philomena will curse me
forever.”

“I’m not going to die, at least not today.
And as for Phil, she understands this job, Marigold. She’s seen
this kind of thing before. That’s why the New York State Police
didn’t just drive you to the nearest Marshals office and drop you
off. We all know there’s more to this story than meets the eye. We
know the bad guys want you alive for some reason, Marigold. They
didn’t kill you when they had the chance. You have something they
need, something valuable, probably information. But that’s not why
Tovar was shot.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Were you expecting to see him?” Jack wanted
to know. “Was it a planned meeting?”

“Good heavens, no!” I wiped my eyes with the
back of my hand, thought better of it, and grabbed a fistful of
napkins from the chrome dispenser on the table. “I was surprised to
see him there.”

“Why was he there?”

“I...I don’t know. He was probably coming to
move me.”

“Not if he came alone, without backup. How
did he know where you were? Was he tracking you? Or was someone
else tracking you? Maybe he was following some guy who followed
you.”

“You mean the guy who grabbed me?” The moment
I said that, I was instantly back in the main reception room of the
Gilded Nest. Tovar was by the door, holding his gun, screaming at
me to hit the floor. There were several flashes of gunfire back and
forth. A moment later, I was enveloped in acrid smoke, watching in
horror as the marshal collapsed. It seemed to happen in a world of
silent, slow-motion action. Tovar drop to his knees like a sack of
potatoes before he pitched forward onto his face. I felt hot metal
on my back as the shooter shoved his weapon against my silk blouse
and led me past Tovar’s crumpled body. And even as I stepped
gingerly past the man who had protected me, the shock ravaged me
like the after tremors of an earthquake, leaving me stunned,
weak-kneed, helpless. It couldn’t be real. I must be dreaming, I
decided. But even then, I knew the truth.

Jack’s eyes reflected his concern as he
listened to me tell my story. A moment later, he held up his hand
and instructed me to stop.

“Marigold, hold that thought. Don’t say
another word,” He punching at his Smartphone with a determined
finger. A moment later, he spoke. “Derek, you up for some night
fishing, buddy? Great. Bring a big rod.”

Five more phone conversations happened in
rapid succession, and each time the message was the same. On the
sixth, it changed. “Yeah, Johnson, you mind picking me up? I’ve got
trouble with the car here in Tannersville and Triple A says they
can’t send a tow truck for another couple of hours. I’ve got the
dog and a newbie with me. Thanks, man. I’ll buy you a cup of coffee
at the usual place. Say what? Oh, yeah. Sure, in that case, I’ll
make it a beer.”

The next thing I knew, Jack was hustling me
out of the diner and over to the car. Brutus was napping in the
back seat when the K-9 trooper opened the door.

“Come on, boy. Hop out.” Brutus followed the
command, stretching his long, lean body. Jack popped the trunk of
the Ford sedan and extracted a long-barreled weapon, a couple of
small boxes, which he stuffed in the side pouches that lined his
pants, and a small metal box. He carefully put everything on the
roof of the car before going back for more.

“Here,” he said, shoving gear at me. I caught
the heavy flashlight he thrust at me in one hand and the small
duffle bag in the other. “Quick, grab your stuff.”

I opened the front passenger door and reached
in for my own tote bag, the medications and toiletries inside,
while he yanked the hood release. I could see him moving around on
the other side of the raised metal panel. He slammed it down, even
as he shoved something into his pocket.

“It’s got to look like
legitimate car trouble when they show up to tow it. Come on,” he
urged me, hurrying me over towards the back of the restaurant. We
huddled by the Dumpster, in the dark shadows of the trees, out of
sight. The night was quiet, with only the occasional sound of tires
rolling over pavement and the infrequent flash of headlights that
blazed as cars passed by. Jack was apprehensive. I could tell my
story of the Gilded Nest had gotten to him in the silence of the
night while we waited for help to arrive. He didn’t speak. Jack was
on high alert beside me, listening. Listening for what?
For sounds of an approach. For signs of more
trouble.

Thunk!
An unexpected noise caught us by surprise. The back door of
the restaurant swung open and a young man in a white tee shirt and
pants, apron tied around his middle, stepped out, dragging three
plastic trash bags. I clung to the cover of darkness in this unlit
corner, watching the busboy lift the plastic lid of the giant metal
box and toss them in, one at a time.

How I longed to rewind the events of the last
forty eight hours, to erase that moment of sheer terror in the
Gilded Nest. I wished it were a distant memory, something long ago
and far away. I wanted to believe it was all in my past. And yet,
that man had shot my kidnapper and sent her into the frozen pond
here in Windham only a day ago. Maybe Jack was worried that the man
had hung around to finish the contract on me.

Five minutes or so later, a vehicle pulled
into the diner and its sweeping headlights came dangerously close
to our position. A silver Dodge van with a rooftop extension came
to a stop a good fifty feet away and a tall, lean silhouette of a
man got out. As he passed the glow of a lantern along the walkway,
I could see him more clearly. He wore a bright orange cap on the
top of his head, a dark ski parka, light-colored pants, and heavy
boots. We could hear him as he noisily trudged over to the steps of
the diner, the soles of his boots scuffing along the pavement, and
up to the door. Once he was inside, Jack nudged me.

“It’s time to move out.”

We made our way around the
woodsy tree line that surrounded the parking lot, and when we got
to the area by the van, we stopped and tucked ourselves into the
black shadows to wait once more. I felt my hand brushed against
Brutus’s soft, furry neck as he sat on my foot.
Good dog.

“Okay,” Jack whispered by my ear. “Here’s
what we’re going to do. We’re climbing into the camper, Marigold
and we’re going to lay low while we wait for Johnson to come back.
I want you to lie on the seat with Brutus. Don’t get up until I
give you the all clear. Understood?”

“Understood.”

Scurrying over to the side door, Jack
carefully opened it. The click of metal on metal as the latch
released seemed overly loud. A part of me wanted to stop him, to
warn him that we were just too exposed if there was really anyone
out there waiting for us, watching for us. I expected the overhead
light to come on and expose us, but the interior of the camper
remained dark.

“You’ll have to feel your way around,
Marigold. Johnson turned off the van lights. Just settle in. I’ll
be moving about, so keep the aisle clear for me, just in case we
have an emergency.”

About ten minutes later, Johnson returned to
the camper van with a big paper bag that smelled of burgers and
fries. He climbed behind the wheel and tossed the bag on the
passenger seat.

“Ready to roll, chief?”

“Ready.” I turned to look over my shoulder.
Jack was tucked into a ball, scrunched up at the back of the van,
scanning the parking lot through the small window.

“Where to now?”

“We’re going fishing.”

We were on the road for about a quarter of an
hour when Jack nudged me. “You can go sit in the passenger seat.
Hand me the food. I’ll put it in the cooler. We might need it
later.”

I stood up and retrieved it, passing him the
still-warm paper bag, and as I climbed past the console and buckled
myself into the seat, I stole a glance at Johnson. Without his
orange cap on, he was a good-looking guy, on the short side of
thirty-five, with a nice profile and a winning smile, which he
flashed at me briefly as he looked my way.