The Cove (30 page)

“Then you were sixteen and you saw me hit her. Too bad. It changed everything, but then I had good reason to get rid of you. Remember that last time? You came back into the house and I was kicking her and you got on the phone to call for help and she crawled—actually crawled—over to you and begged you not to call? I enjoyed that. I enjoyed watching you simply disconnect from her.

“I kicked her a couple more times after you left. She really moaned delightfully. Then I had sex with her and she cried the whole time.

“After that I was free of you for a long while. Life was really quite good those four years you were out of my house, out of your mother's life. But I wanted to pay you back. I got Scott to marry you. That got you away for a little while, but you didn't want him, did you? You realized he was a phony almost immediately. Well, it didn't matter.

“I just had to bide my time. When I saw Jackie I knew what to do. You see, the Feds were closing in. I'm not stupid. I knew it was only a matter of time. I'd gotten very rich, but arms sales to places like Iraq are always
risky. Yes, it was just a matter of time. I wanted to pay you back for all the trouble you caused me. Those six months you were in Doctor Beadermeyer's sanitarium were wonderful for me. I loved to have you beneath me, watching me fondle you, fondle myself. I adored hitting you, watching you wince in pain. But then you got away and ruined everything.” He leaned down and slapped her, her left cheek, then her right cheek. Once, again and yet again.

She tasted blood. He'd split her lip.

“You fucking coward.” She spit at him, but he jerked away from her in time. He slapped her again.

“I never wanted to have sex with you in the sanitarium,” he said, close to her face now, “though I could have. I saw you naked enough times, but I never wanted you. Hell, Scott wouldn't even look at you. He only came that one time because I insisted. Now that little bastard will take the fall because I won't be around. Come on, Sally, spit at me again. I'm not the coward, you are.”

She spit at him, and this time she didn't miss. She watched him wipe his mouth and his cheek with the back of his hand. Then he smiled down at her. She had a stark memory of him smiling down at her in the sanitarium. “No,” she whispered, but it didn't change anything.

He struck her hard and she fell into blackness. Her last thought was that she was grateful he hadn't given her more drugs.

 

“W
E
'
RE IN DEEP
shit,” Quinlan said and meant it, but he wasn't thinking about himself and the other agents, he was thinking about Sally. If she was here in this black hole, she was still unconscious. Or dead.

There was a grunt from Thomas Shredder and a “yeah” from Corey Harper. It was true. They were in very deep shit. It was also true that it was as black as the bottom of a witch's cauldron in this room where they were being kept.

No, it wasn't a room. It was a shed with a dirt floor. Probably the shed behind Doc Spiver's cottage.

“Look,” Thomas said, “Quinlan's right. We are in deep shit, but we're trained agents. We can get out of this. If we don't, they'll fire us. We'll lose our careers and our federal pensions. I sure as hell don't want to lose my federal health benefits.”

Corey Harper laughed despite the cramps in her ankles. Her hands were okay. They hadn't tied them all that tightly, probably because she was a woman. Still, the knots were secure and weren't about to slip or slide.

“That's the funniest thing I've ever heard you say, Thomas.”

Quinlan said, as he tugged at the ropes at his wrists, “One of these clowns must have been in the Navy in World War II. These ropes are very well tied, not a bit of give to them. Anybody want to try hands or teeth?”

“I would,” Corey said, “but I'm tied to the wall over here. Yeah, there's a rope around my waist, and I can feel it's wrapped around one of the wall boards. And yes, it's solid. Even with big teeth and a long reach, I couldn't get to you.”

“I'm tied too,” Thomas said, “Damn.”

“At least everyone's alive,” Quinlan said. “I wonder what happened to David?” But he was wondering about Sally. He was just afraid to say her name aloud.

“He probably ran off the road,” Thomas said matter-of-factly. “He isn't here. Maybe he's already dead.”

“Or maybe somebody rescued him,” Corey said.

“What do you mean ‘already dead'?” Quinlan said, wishing he could see just an outline of something, anything. He kept working on the ropes, but they wouldn't budge.

“Do you think they're going to keep us here for the next ten years?”

“I hope not,” Quinlan said. “They're all so old they'd be dead themselves by then. I'd hate to be forgotten.”

“You're not funny, Quinlan.”

“Maybe not, but I'm trying.”

“Keep trying,” Corey said. “I don't want to fall into a funk. We've got to think. First of all, who did this to us?”

“That's pretty damned obvious, isn't it?” Thomas said. “That damned old relic. She probably had Martha bring her the Amaretto and she put something into it. I was out like a light the second I lay down on my bed.”

“Where's Sally?” Corey asked suddenly.

“I don't know,” Quinlan said. “I don't know.”

He'd prayed she was locked up with them, still unconscious from the drug. “Everyone stretch your legs out in front of you. Let's see how big this shed is.”

Quinlan could just barely touch Thomas's toe.

“Now lean to one side and then the other.”

Quinlan got a pinch of Corey's blouse.

No Sally.

“Sally isn't in here with us,” Quinlan said. “Where'd they take her?” Oh, Jesus, why had he asked that question aloud? He didn't want to hear what Thomas had to say.

Thomas said, “Good question. Why would they bother to separate us anyway?”

“Because,” Quinlan said slowly, “Sally's Aunt Amabel is a part of this. Maybe she has Sally. Maybe she'll protect her.”

Thomas sighed. To Quinlan's surprise, he said, “Let's pray you're right. Damn, my head feels like a drum in a rock band.”

“Mine too,” Corey said. “But I can still think. Now, Quinlan, you think the whole town is part of a conspiracy? You think the whole bloody town has killed at least sixty people in the past three to four years? For their money? And then they buried all of them in their cemetery?”

“It shows respect,” Quinlan said. “Can't you just see all those old folk, stroking their chins as they look down at an old couple they've just offed, saying, ‘Well, Ralph Keaton can lay 'em out, then we'll bury 'em really nice and Reverend Vorhees can say all the right words.' Yeah, Corey, the whole bloody town. What other possibility is there?”

“This is nuts,” Thomas said. “An entire fucking town killing people? No one would believe that in a million years, particularly since most of them are senior citizens.”

“I believe it,” Quinlan said. “Oh, yeah, I believe it. I'll just bet it started with an accident. They got money from that accident. It gave them—or maybe just one of them or a couple of them—an idea of how to save their town. And it grew and grew.”

Corey said slowly, “The way they lure victims here is that big advertising sign on the highway.”

“Right,” Quinlan said. “The World's Greatest Ice Cream Shop. By the way, it is the best ice cream I've ever eaten.”

He had to make jokes, he had to or else he'd go nuts. Where was Sally? Could Amabel really be protecting her? He had to doubt it.

“Come in and buy your last ice cream cone,” Thomas said. “That's the bottom line.”

“What about that woman who was murdered? And Doc Spiver?” Corey said.

Quinlan said, even as he was working furiously on the ropes at his wrists, “The woman must have heard something she shouldn't have heard. They held her prisoner for at least three nights, probably more. She must have gotten her mouth free, because Sally heard her screaming that first night she was here in The Cove. Then, two nights later, she heard her screaming again. The next morning Sally and I found her body. My guess is they had to kill her. They didn't want to, but they did. They knew it was either the woman or them. No choice really. They killed her. They must have been pissed—they just threw her off that cliff, didn't bother laying her out or burying her in their precious cemetery.”

“What about Doc Spiver?” Thomas said. “Damn, these ropes are strong. I can't get even a micron of play in them.”

“Keep working on them, everybody,” Quinlan said. “Now, Doc Spiver. I just don't know. It's possible he was a weak link. That as a physician, all the killing had turned him. Maybe the woman's murder was the last straw. He just couldn't stand it anymore. He cracked. They shot him in the mouth, trying to make it look like a suicide. Again, they saw it as they had no choice.”

“Jesus,” Corey Harper said, “do you guys know that most FBI agents never get close to the deep shit we're in now? Some of them never even draw their guns. They spend their whole careers interviewing people. I've been told that quite a few agents, when they retire, become psychologists—they're that good at getting information out of people.”

Quinlan laughed. “We'll get out of this, Corey. Believe it.”

“You think you're so bloody smart, Quinlan. How the hell are we going to get free? And a swarm of little old people are going to show up any minute. Do you think they'll form a firing squad? Or just beat us to death with their canes?”

Corey said quietly, “Don't, Thomas. Let's get loose. There's got to be a way. I don't want to be helpless when someone comes, and you both know they'll come.”

“What, dammit?” Thomas shouted. “What the fuck can we do? The ropes are too tight. They even tied us to the wall so we couldn't get to each other. We're in the dark. So what the hell are we going to do?”

“There's got to be something,” Corey said.

“Just maybe there is,” Quinlan said.

 

Sally's jaw hurt. She opened and closed her mouth, working it until the pain eased to a dull throb. She was lying in the dark, the only light coming through the open doorway from the hall.

She was alone. Her hands were still tied in front of her. She lifted her hands to her mouth and began to tug with her teeth on the knot.

She was concentrating so hard that she nearly screamed when a quiet voice said, “It's really no use, Sally. Just relax, baby. Don't move. Just relax.”

“No,” Sally whispered. “Oh, no.”

“Don't you recognize where you are, Sally? I thought you'd know right away.”

“No, it's too dark in here.”

“Look toward the window, dear. Just maybe you'll see your dear father's face again.”

“I'm in the bedroom just down the hall from yours.”

“Yes.”

“Why, Amabel? What's going on?”

“Oh, Sally, why'd you have to come back? I'd give
anything if you hadn't shown up on my doorstep that day. Jesus, I had to take you in. I really didn't want you involved, but here you are again, and there's nothing I can do.”

“Where are James and the other two agents?”

“I don't know. They're probably in that little tool shed behind Doc Spiver's cottage. That's a sturdy prison. They'll never get out.”

“What are you going to do to them?”

“It's really not up to me.”

“Who is it up to?”

“The town.”

For a long moment, Sally couldn't breathe. It was true. The whole bloody town. “How many people has the town killed, Amabel?”

“The first old couple, Harve and Marge Jensen, the ones Quinlan was supposedly here to look for, they were both accidents. Both of them keeled over with heart attacks. We found cash in their Winnebago. Next there was this biker. He started hitting on poor old Hunker, and Purn cracked him over the head with a chair to protect Hunker. It killed him. Another accident.

“Then the biker's girlfriend realized he was dead. Sherry Vorhees had no choice but to kill her. She slammed her over the head with an industrial blender.

“It got easier after that, you know? Someone would spot a likely old couple or just someone who looked rich. Or maybe one of the women who was working in the World's Greatest Ice Cream Shop saw a whole lot of cash when the person pulled open his wallet. Then we just did it. Yes, it got easier. It got to be nearly a game, but don't misunderstand me, Sally. We always treated them with the greatest respect after they were dead.

“You've told me how beautiful the town is now. Well, it was a run-down mess before. But now, our investments are doing well, everyone is quite comfortable, and many tourists come here not just for the World's Greatest Ice
Cream but also to see the town and buy souvenirs and eat at the cafe.”

“How wonderful for you. More people to choose from. You could discuss it among yourselves. Did that couple look richer than that one over there? You played Russian roulette with people's lives. God, that's disgusting.”

“I wouldn't put it so crassly, but as we've gotten to be more of a tourist attraction we've been able to be more selective. But we've killed only old people, Sally. They had all had a full life.”

“That biker's girlfriend didn't.”

Amabel shrugged. “It couldn't be helped.”

Sally was just shaking her head back and forth on the pillow, believing but still incredulous. “Jesus, Amabel, you've killed people. Don't you understand that? You've killed innocent people. It doesn't excuse anything that they were old. You've robbed them. You've buried them in the cemetery—what? Oh, I see. You buried them two to each grave. Only you used just a man's name. Does one of you have a list identifying who's really in each grave?”

“No, but we left identification on the bodies. Don't sound so appalled, Sally. We were dying here. We desperately wanted to survive. We have. We've won.”

“No, everything's coming down on your heads now, Amabel. There are three FBI agents here, and Sheriff David Mountebank knows everything they know, maybe more. You kill the agents, and you'll all be in the gas chamber. Don't you understand? The FBI is involved!”

“Oh, Sally, here you are, going on and on about something that really doesn't concern you. What about yourself, baby? What about your father?”

“He's not my fucking father, thank God. At least I found that out.”

“Good, there's anger there. I was afraid you were still trying to believe he was a nightmare come back to haunt you.”

“You're saying he's here with you, Amabel? You want him here?” She knew the answer. But she didn't want to hear it.

“Of course, Sally.”

She stared beyond her aunt to the man illuminated in the doorway. Her father. No, not her father, thank God. It was the bastard who'd raised her, the bastard who'd beat the shit out of her mother and locked her away in Dr. Beadermeyer's sanitarium, the bastard who'd beat her just because it pleased him to do so.

“So how does our little bastard feel, Ammie?”

Ammie? What was this?