The Kill (49 page)

“Happy trails,” he muttered, pressing the knob. He lowered the brake lever and the car instantly started to speed down the hill. Thompson ran with it for a few steps, steadying the steering wheel, until the speed became too fast and his feet began to drag. As he released his grip on the wheel and pulled back, Manning’s left arm shot up and clamped his neck like a vise.

“You’re coming with me,” Manning mumbled.

“
What the fuck?”
Thompson tried to jerk away, but Manning pinned him against the door. His feet skidded uselessly along the wet pavement. Searing pain shot up his leg as he felt his right ankle snap.

As the BMW raced across Foxcroft Road, Thompson clawed at Manning’s arm, trying to elbow him in the face. But even drunk, Manning’s strength outpowered his. His right hand groped for his jacket pocket—the Luger—but he was trapped too close to the car to squeeze his hand inside the pocket. Terror clutched Thompson’s chest; icy fingers seemed to squeeze his heart.
Jesus Christ. This couldn’t be happening!

The car smacked through the brush at the edge of the road. Briars grabbed Thompson’s legs, ripping through his pants and tearing into his skin. A tree trunk slammed into his thigh, tossing his lower body alongside the car like a rag doll. Warmth flooded his leg as his bladder released.

Out of the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of swirling water, and he felt a flicker of hope. The creek would be his salvation! Once the car plunged into the water, Manning would release his grip. Yes! Manning would let go and he’d be free. Somehow, he’d find the strength to get back to the bank. But not before he made sure Manning didn’t escape from the car. He’d knock Manning out again, do something—anything—to ensure he and Margaret met their death in a watery grave. Adrenaline pumped through Thompson’s veins as the car plunged down the bank toward the angry dark water.

A
bigale and Doug rode in the back of Lieutenant Mallory’s sheriff’s car. Smitty had gone in the kennel truck with the deputy to search the outbuildings at Dartmoor Glebe. She’d talked him into taking Duchess along.

They had just crossed over the bridge on Foxcroft Road and were slowly cruising along the banks of Goose Creek. The graying light that had guided them when they started out had been swallowed by darkness. Abigale’s eyes now tracked the beam of the searchlight from Mallory’s car as it sliced through the night.

“Stop! What’s that?” She perched forward on the vinyl seat and waved her hand to the left. “Back. And over a little.”

Mallory stomped on the brake and swung the light as she’d directed. The ugly root-ball of a fallen tree glared at them in the spotlight. Abigale sighed and flopped back against the seat, fighting a sense of hopelessness. They didn’t even know what they were looking for. Manning’s car? Uncle Richard’s truck and trailer? She could tell by the objects that Mallory was shining the light at that he was looking for something smaller.
Bodies
. But she refused to think about that.

Mallory shined the light at the rising waters. “The creek’s almost over its banks. We’re going to have to turn back soon. This road will be underwater before too long.”

Abigale shot a look at Doug.
No
, she mouthed. No way was she turning around. She’d get out and walk if she had to. The glow from the front dash caught Doug’s face and he nodded, indicating that he agreed with her.

“We’re almost past the low part of the road,” Doug said to Mallory. “It doesn’t make sense to turn back. Let’s keep following the creek. If the road floods so we can’t get back over the bridge we can turn up Snake Hill Road and go around that way.”

“All right,” Mallory agreed. “I’ll go as far as Snake Hill. Foxcroft Road angles away from Goose Creek at that point anyway.”

They continued the slow trek along the creek, stopping occasionally to focus the light on something that caught their attention. But nothing panned out. Abigale was beginning to wonder whether she had misinterpreted what Manning had tried to tell her.

Mallory threw a glance over his shoulder. “We’re almost to Snake Hill Road.”

Abigale twisted sideways in her seat and pressed her forehead to the glass. Mallory’s searchlight roamed slowly along the bank, sweeping across the debris tumbling downstream in the turbulent water.

“That’s it,” Mallory said, braking to a stop.

“
Wait
.” Abigale tapped on the glass. “Just…please…shine the light along here.”

Mallory let out a sigh. “Goose Creek angled off back there.” He danced the light across the dark water to the right front of the car. “This here is just a tributary that runs into the creek.”

“I know. Technically it’s not Goose Creek. But…still. Please.”

Mallory and Doug exchanged a glance. Mallory shined the light at the water, rotating it slowly in an arc.
Nothing
.

The dark seemed to fold in around Abigale and she slumped back against the seat. Mallory drew the beam back toward the road.

“Wait, what was that!” she said, gripping the armrest.

A glint of red winked through a tangle of brush just above the water’s edge. Mallory must have seen it, too. He shot the light down the bank.

Abigale tapped against the glass. “Look! It’s a car’s taillight.”

Mallory whipped the steering wheel around and nosed the car onto the bank so the headlights shined down toward the river. He jammed the gearshift into park and grabbed the searchlight off the dash. Abigale groped frantically for a door handle until she realized the rear doors weren’t operable from inside the sheriff’s car. As Mallory pulled on the outside handle, she shoved the door open and shot out of the backseat. She heard Doug scramble out behind her.

“Hold on,” Mallory said, grabbing her arm as she pushed past him. “Let me go first.”

Abigale twisted out of his grasp. The wind whipped through the trees and she leaned into it as a strong gust socked her in the chest, pelting her with rain. She fought her way through the brambles toward the embankment, ducking wet branches that slapped her face. Mallory and Doug crashed through the brush behind her.

The searchlight cast a shadowy path that flickered between the trees, shimmying across the dense undergrowth. Abigale felt elation and fear collide as the beam of light rested on Manning’s battered BMW. The car looked as if it was suspended mid-roll—overturned onto the driver’s side, halfway on its roof—wedged against a tree a few yards above the raging water. The tree trunk was all that prevented it from flipping over and plunging into the swollen creek. Abigale raced down the bank, grabbing at branches and tree trunks to steady herself.

“Stay back!” Mallory shouted as she neared the car. “I don’t like the way that thing’s leaning. It looks like it could go at any minute.”

Abigale glanced at him over her shoulder as her feet struck something with a muffled thwack, pitching her to her knees. She flung both arms forward to keep from sprawling flat on her face. Her palms smacked against the tough fabric of a waxed rain jacket. “Shine the light down here,” she cried, rocking back on her heels.

Mallory and Doug caught up with her, bathing the bank in the harsh beam of the searchlight.
Oh God
. Bile rose in Abigale’s throat as the light caught Thompson’s face. His mouth was open as if frozen in a look of disbelief, his head bent sideways at a nauseating angle. She jerked her hands back.

Doug dropped beside Abigale and gripped her shoulders, pulling her back from the body. But her eyes lingered. She’d seen dead people before—soldiers—and had struggled with witnessing loss of life. Emilio had never been able to understand how even the death of the insurgents had pulled at her heartstrings. But looking at Thompson’s battered face, his terror-stricken expression, Abigale felt nothing more than a hollow rush of satisfaction. She hoped he’d suffered some of the pain he’d inflicted on others.

Mallory crouched down and pressed his fingers to Thompson’s throat. A futile gesture, but still, Abigale waited for his nod of confirmation.

“Come on,” Doug said, tugging her to her feet.

The three of them hopped over Thompson and tramped through the thicket to the car. As the searchlight flashed against the rain-streaked glass, the back of a weathered hand tapped against the window.

“It’s Margaret,” Abigale said, dancing on her tiptoes and craning to see inside. “Can we get the door open?”

“I don’t think we can risk it, not with the way the car’s tilted,” Doug said, shouting to be heard as the wind whipped at his words. He looked at Mallory. “I think our best bet is to break the glass.”

“I agree,” Mallory said, handing the searchlight to Doug. He pulled a flashlight off his belt and shined it into the car. “It’s Lieutenant Mallory, Mrs. Southwell. I’m going to break the glass. Try to cover your face.”

Mallory hammered the butt end of the flashlight against the passenger window. Glass showered down into the car. The BMW rocked as someone moved inside and the roof screeched against the tree trunk. Abigale sucked in a breath, then released it slowly as the car held its position. If the car slid another foot down the bank, it would clear the tree and topple onto its roof like a domino.

Mallory flipped the light around and directed the beam into the car. “Are you injured, Mrs. Southwell?”

“I’m all right.” Margaret’s voice was weak. “I hurt my hip, is all. But I don’t know about Manning. He keeps slipping in and out of consciousness.”

“Okay. Just hold on. We’re going to get you both out of there.” Mallory backed away from the window. He squinted against the blowing rain at Abigale and Doug. “Do we risk trying to lift her out through the window?”

“What’s the alternative?” Doug asked.

Mallory shook his head. “I’m not sure we have one. Time’s not on our side.”

“We can’t wait for help. We have to get them out of there,” Abigale said.

“I agree.” Doug aimed the searchlight at the creek. “The car’s hanging by a thread and the water’s rising fast.”

Doug handed the searchlight to Abigale and she aimed it at the car door as she backed out of their way. He leaned over the window. “It’s Doug, Margaret. Lieutenant Mallory and I are going to lift you out through the window. Can you reach your seat belt buckle?”

“I think so,” Margaret said.

“Good. Don’t unbuckle it yet. Just let me know if you can reach it,” Doug said.

Abigale’s stomach clenched as the car groaned against the tree trunk. Doug jumped back and shouted, “Try to move around as little as possible, Margaret. The car’s in a precarious position. We don’t want to rock it more than we have to.”

“All right.” After a moment Margaret said, “Yes, I can reach it.”

Doug said, “Okay, good. I’ll tell you when to press the release button. Let us get a good hold on you first.”

“Okay,” Margaret replied.

Mallory moved closer to Doug. Both men spread their legs, searching for a good foothold, before reaching into the car.

“Can you reach an arm up around my neck?” Doug asked.

Abigale saw Margaret’s right arm snake through the window opening and grip the back of Doug’s neck.

“Ready?” Doug asked Mallory.

Mallory gave him a quick nod.

Doug said, “All right, Margaret. Release the seat belt buckle.”

Abigale saw both men shift their weight as they caught Margaret. Her other hand shot around Doug’s neck.

“Okay, hold on tight, all right?” Doug said. “We’re going to try to move you as smoothly as possible. If you need us to stop just say so.”

“Don’t imagine it can hurt any more than when Champ bucked me off and broke my pelvis,” Margaret said in a shaky voice. “Just go on and do what you need to do.”

Abigale’s fingernails bit into the palms of her hands.
Dear, God, please don’t let the car slide toward the creek
.

“Okay,” Doug said. “On three. One…two…three.”

Both men pulled back and Abigale heard Margaret cry out in pain.

“Almost there,” Doug said, scrambling to get an arm around Margaret’s waist as her upper body cleared the window.

The glare of the searchlight bounced off Margaret’s pale face. Her lips were caked with blood and an angry purple lump swelled across her forehead. Bits of glass from the broken window glistened in her hair. Abigale steadied the beam to guide Doug and Mallory as they slid Margaret free and lowered her to the ground several yards up the bank. Doug whipped off his rain jacket and spread it over her.

“We’re going back for Manning,” Doug said, trading Mallory’s flashlight for the searchlight Abigale was holding.

Abigale tucked the flashlight under her arm and crouched next to Margaret. She knew it was up to Doug and Mallory to get Manning out. She wasn’t tall enough to see inside the car, let alone lift Manning. Still…

She shot a glance over her shoulder as she reached for Margaret’s hand. Doug was leaning into the car while Mallory shined the searchlight inside.

“They’ll get Manning out,” Abigale said, with more conviction than she felt.

“Thompson wanted to drown us in the creek,” Margaret said hoarsely. “He forced whisky down Manning’s throat, planned to make it look like a drunk-driving accident.” She squeezed Abigale’s hand. “Go to him, Abigale. Go help them get Manning out of the car.”