Terry Odell - Mapleton 02 - Deadly Bones (39 page)

And then a blinding pain hit the back of his head.

Gordon staggered, dropped to his knees. Tried to get up. Another blow to his head and his world went dark.

Chapter 43

Gordon’s world reformed, a universe filled with blurred sparkles. His groans were rewarded with something smacking him in the ribs. A boot? A baseball bat? Deciding what it was seemed irrelevant. It hurt. Period. He closed his eyes again.

The next time he opened them, he was on his side. Trying to move told him his arms were secured behind his back, and bound to his legs, which were bent and trussed at the ankle. Something in his mouth, tied behind his head, kept him from shouting out.

He blinked the world back into focus. Tried to ignore the throbbing in his head. Tried to ignore the gag reflex building from the cloth in his mouth. He looked into a pair of heavy hiking boots beneath denim-clad legs. As his gaze traveled upward, he noticed the shotgun resting across the thighs. Fred had been wearing jeans, but these weren’t as faded, nor were they torn at the knees. A new player.

“Hi, there.” The voice was unfamiliar. Then again, the ringing in Gordon’s ears might explain that. “Sorry I had to hit you. Does it hurt much?”

“Mmmph.”

“Good. I don’t like it when I have to hurt people. Are the ropes too tight?”

What was this? A compassionate captor? “Mmmph,” he said again, trying to work the gag free.

“Everything should be okay soon,” the man said. “All you have to do is be nice and quiet until they tell me you can go.”

Gordon wasn’t sure he was actually conscious. From the way his head pounded, he quite likely had a concussion, which might explain why nothing made sense. And where the hell was Angie? He tried to inch around to get a view of the room, but as soon as he moved, the stock of the Mossberg smacked him in the ribs.

“I said you have to be nice. That means not moving.”

Gordon didn’t even try to respond, not with the gag in his mouth. Slowly, carefully, so as not to upset his captor, he tested his bonds. No give. This guy might not have a full complement of functioning brain cells, but he knew how to tie up his victims. And, near as he could tell, disarm them. Gordon shifted his weight, rolling slightly, and determined his belt had been removed. No gun, no radio, no cuffs. He moved his legs, but felt nothing at his ankle, either. So much for his backup piece.

While he tried to speed up the brain-clearing process, Gordon stared at the man’s feet. He caught an up-and-down motion, and a creak accompanied each movement. Rocking chair. So, Gordon lay on the floor, trussed like his grandmother’s Sunday chicken while his captor relaxed. Wouldn’t it be nice if he rocked himself to sleep?

Gordon tried to visualize the room from the brief glimpse he’d had before the lights went out. He was lying between the bed and the chair. He hadn’t noticed a window, but his shadow extended in front of him in a rectangle of light on the wood floor. Window would be behind him, then. Where his captor would be able to see anyone trying to breach it.

Gordon had no idea whether any of this information would be useful, but he filed it away. At least it made him feel like he was doing something.

Footfalls approached. Gordon tensed. Fred? Solomon? If the ERT guys were here, they’d storm in with flashbangs and would sound more like a stampede than a single set of boots. Gordon decided he did ‘helpless’ even worse than waiting. The door opened. Something fluttered through the air. A hand reached from the rocking chair and snagged it.

“Blindfold him.” Fred’s voice. The door closed.

His captor rocked forward, then stood. “Gotta do this. But it won’t hurt.” When the man leaned over him, extending a red patterned bandana, Gordon got his first good look at his face. Clear, not blurred. Not sparkling. Not fading in and out. And familiar. Not someone he knew, but there was
something
. He captured as much of the image as he could before the blindfold erased it.

As he lay in the darkness, Gordon tried to connect the face to where he might have seen it. He wasn’t getting a match, but something tickled his memory. The white board. Old pictures. Gordon visualized one of the pictures side by side with the man he’d just seen. Definitely a resemblance.

“Haaahh?” He tongued at the gag, trying to move it enough to talk. Bracing himself for another clout from the Mossberg.

“Not my name anymore,” the man said. “Don’t recall you.”

“Mmmph.”

“I’m not supposed to take the gag out,” he said.

“Plmmmph?”

“You promise not to shout? You shout and I’ll have to hurt you. Bad. The other one shouted.”

Gordon’s heart went into overdrive. The other one. Angie? He could picture her screaming. Kicking. Making life miserable for this slow-witted captor. What had he done to her? He forced himself to stay calm. His code word? No. If Fred was still downstairs, he’d pick up on anything loud enough for Solomon to hear. But he had to question this guy. He nodded his head, pleading behind his blindfold.

He felt the barrel of the Mossberg in his chest. A hand at his mouth, tugging at the gag. Gordon resisted the urge to bite down on that hand. God only knew what he might catch.

The hand clamped over his mouth. “You promise not to shout, right?”

Gordon nodded. The gag loosened. The pressure of the Mossberg increased. “I’m gonna take my hand away now. But we gotta whisper or they’ll come for us.”

The gag was gone, but the Mossberg remained.

“Hal Osterback?” Gordon whispered.

“Told you, that’s not my name anymore.”

“What is it now, so I know what to call you?” Gordon said.

“They call me John. John Smith,” Hal said.

Questions whizzed through Gordon’s mind, but he set most of them aside. Angie came first.

“Angie,” he whispered. “Angie Mead. A pretty girl. Was she here today?”

“Pretty girl? Shiny hair? Blue eyes?”

“Yes, that’s her. Angie. Was she here?”

“Not today. Last night, though, she was. She was fighting, so Fred said she had to go somewhere else.”

“Where?”

Hal rubbed his chin. “He didn’t tell me that.”

Gordon practically bit his tongue to keep from shouting. He sucked a deep breath. “Did you tie her up like me?”

“That was what they said. Only she was kicking and screaming, so I had to make her be quiet first. She wasn’t… co… op… er… a… ting, not like you.”

Gordon shuddered. “How did you make her be quiet?”

“I poked her a bit. Then I tied her up and Fred said he’d take her somewhere. To wait for Isobel. That’s his kid. When Isobel first went away, Fred said she was going to sleep for a long, long time. I guess she woke up.”

Damnation. He had to get out of here. Maybe if he kept Hal talking, he’d convince him he was no threat, and he’d untie him.

“Who said you had to be John Smith?” Gordon asked. “I think Hal is a nice name.”

“Everyone, after I had to make Sunny go away. Marty said he’d make sure nobody ever found out about Sunny. Said his grampa knew how to make me disappear.” Judging from the creaks, Hal had settled back into the rocking chair. “Only he didn’t. My name’s different, but I didn’t disappear. I don’t like John, but he said I had to
not
be Hal anymore. You’re the first one to call me that in a long time.”

“Marty? You mean Martin Alexander?”

“Yep. He’s real important now… the mayor. But back then, he was a loser like me. Said it was Sunny’s fault, and if she was gone, then everything would be good.”

“You…” Gordon searched for words Hal would comprehend. “You made her gone?”

“I had to. Marty said so.”

“How?”

“I poked her.”

The crime scene tech at the bone site said there was evidence that someone had stabbed one of the bodies. Sweat trickled into his armpits. Blood pounded in his ears. Bile rose in his throat. Sunny was dead. Hal said he’d poked Angie.

“Untie me,” Gordon said. “We have to find Angie.”

“I can’t do that. Fred already hurt me when I poked Angie.” Hal rubbed his head. “If I don’t do what he says, he’ll hurt me again.”

“I won’t let him hurt you, Hal. I’m important, too. Like the mayor.” Gordon was afraid to mention his position. What if Hal hated cops, or if the mayor had poisoned his mind against Gordon? He waited while the rocking chair creaked.

“You promise?” Hal’s voice was tentative.

“I promise. If he hurts you, I’ll hurt him even more.” Gordon held his breath, hoping for any indication that Hal had bought into his offer. The rocking chair creaked faster.

“Maybe. I’m tired of Fred bossing me around. Just ‘cause he lets me live here, I have to do everything he says.” After a pause, he added, “It
was
fun pushing Angie’s car down the hill, though. Fred let me drive it. Don’t get to do that much. But he wouldn’t let me drive his car after. Never does. I can fix ‘em good. But I’m not allowed to drive.”

A grunt. A loud creak from the rocking chair. Gordon sensed Hal’s approach, confirmed by the Mossberg in his chest again. A tug, a slicing sound, and he could move his arms and legs. “Thank you.”

He rolled to a sitting position, pulled off the blindfold and started chafing his wrists and ankles, trying to get the blood flowing again. “Hal, do you know where my guns are? I need them to make sure Fred doesn’t hurt you.”

“Fred took them.”

“What about my cell phone? It was in my pocket.”

Hal broke into a smile. “I know that one.”

“Do you have it?”

“No. But I know where it is. In the trash. Fred smashed it like the one from the pretty girl. Fred doesn’t like cell phones. Calls them nothing but trouble.”

Great. No phone, no weapons, and a dim light bulb for a partner. But Angie was out there, and if there was a chance she was still alive, Gordon had to find her. Keeping an eye on Hal, Gordon stood, testing his muscles. A little stiff, but if he didn’t have to set any sprint records, he’d be fine. “Let’s go find Angie.”

“Can’t.”

“What?” Gordon held his patience in check. Hal seemed to take things literally. “Why not?”

“Fred said I can’t go downstairs.”

Gordon didn’t particularly want to go downstairs, either. He eyed the window. “Then we won’t go down the stairs. Fred didn’t say anything about the window, did he?”

Another smile split Hal’s face. “Nope. Only said downstairs. No stairs from the window.”

“You wait here. I’m going to check.” Gordon stepped to the window and prayed that it wasn’t stuck after what he assumed was years of disuse. He tested the sash, which rose smoothly and quietly. He checked to make sure the coast was clear.

Nothing to the left. Nothing to the right. He considered the oak tree directly outside the window. The limbs looked barely strong enough to support him, but barely was all he needed. He reached out. A hand appeared from the leaves and grabbed him.

Gordon jerked back, trying to dislodge whoever had hold of his arm. Let the bastard fall out of the tree.

“Hey, Chief, take it easy. I’m on your side.”

“Solomon? What the—?”

“Just doing my job. Covering your six.”

“Where the hell were you twenty minutes ago?”

“Recon, planning, and figuring out where you were, what your condition was. You know. Cop stuff. Making sure acting rashly didn’t get you killed.”

“Hey, who’s that?” Hal stood next to Gordon.

“One of my helpers,” Gordon said. “His name is Ed Solomon. Ed, this is John Smith, but his name used to be Hal Osterback. You know, like the names in my office?” Gordon prayed Solomon would put the pieces together.

Solomon, bless him, merely crawled from the tree into the room. Extending his hand, he said, “Pleased to meet you.”

Gordon rubbed his head, fingering a lump at the base of his skull. “Sitrep, Solomon. Any word on Angie?”

“ERT is organizing a search. Oh, and I suppose I should mention that McDermott is downstairs interrogating Fred.”

“If downstairs is secure, what made you think you had to come in through the window?”

“Since I was already there doing recon, when you stuck your hand out, I figured it made more sense than climbing down and coming in through the front door, and maybe having you fall from the tree and break your neck.” His grin faded. “When I took my loop around the house, I saw a car parked about a hundred yards away, under some trees. If a beam of sunlight hadn’t reflected off the side mirror, I’d never have noticed. Looked too new and fancy to be Fred’s, so I ran the plates. Turns out, it’s registered to Martin Alexander. But it took time, and by then, the ERT team was here. I let Colfax know about the car, and then said I’d check the second story.” His grin returned. “They let me have some of their cool toys. I saw John here—or is it Hal?” Solomon cocked his head in Hal’s direction.

Hal seemed to deliberate that for a moment. “Your friend calls me Hal, so you can, too. I like it better, anyway.”

“Very good, Hal. So, I see Hal sitting in a rocking chair with a Mossberg across his lap and I wonder what he’s doing. I used their nifty listening gizmo—we really need to get us one of those—and then I heard your voice. I was going to toss one of their remote cameras into the room, but I’d have had to break the window. Since you seemed to be doing fine on your own, I waited in case you needed help. Which, you did, apparently, since you reached for my hand.”

“Can you quit being a wiseacre for two minutes? We need to find Angie.” Gordon faced Hal. “When you said you poked her, was it as bad as when you poked Sunny?”

“Oh, no. I wasn’t trying to make her gone, just quiet.”

Gordon’s relief was almost palpable. “Think, Hal. You said Fred was taking Angie to be with Isobel. This was her room. Isn’t she coming back here?”

“Oh, no. At least I don’t think so. He was blowing stuff up out in the woods for her new home, he said.”

Score one for Mrs. Blanchard. “Thanks, Hal. You’ve been a great help. My friend and I are going to look for Angie now. You can go downstairs if you want. Fred won’t mind. But since Fred took my guns, how about you give me Morris? It seems only fair, right?”

Hal handed the shotgun over without protest. “Sure. It ain’t loaded, though. Would you like my knife, too?” Hal hiked the leg of his jeans and produced a Buck knife from a sheath strapped to his calf.