Weak Flesh (33 page)

Now that avenue was closed. What next?

Dr. Bailey looked at him with pleading eyes. "We have to talk to Emily Nolan again."

Gage nodded. "She's the only one left."

#

The day passed in agonizing increments of time, a snail crawling its way from one end to another of a wide veranda. By the thin slice of light that wormed its way through a minute crack in the cabin's roof, Meghan marked the clouded sun inching its way across the winter sky.

Her cell wasn't a Swamp shack like the one where Tucker and she had waited out the snakebite's poison. Much fancier, this one boasted smooth, pine walls and a planed roof.

A far sturdier trap.

Windowless, no interior lock, no furnishings. She was afraid to imagine what Oliver Nolan used the cabin for.

With the meager light, she forced herself to inspect the room, but after what seemed hours of searching, she'd found nothing. No cracks in the walls or floorboards. No discarded item that might be fashioned into another weapon. No scrap of food or drop of water.

A loud growl from her stomach reminded her how long it'd been since she'd eaten. The hours of deprivation began to sap her energy. Without water, she wouldn't survive long. She'd relieved herself again, but hadn't felt the need in some time.

Keeping the belt on her person, she circled the room again, this time on her hands and knees, feeling for anything that might've dropped or rolled into a corner. She discovered bits of wood shavings and several long nails, but nothing else. She didn't know what good they'd be, but she stuffed the nails in her trouser pockets.

Making her way back to her corner, she leaned into the angle made by the walls and rested her head on her knees. Judging by the shift of light on the floor, she surmised it was around noon. Only mildly uncomfortable now, she'd be frigidly cold by nightfall.

She withdrew the nails from her pocket and examined them. About three inches long, they were flat-headed and thick. Stuffing them between her fingers, the points extending outward, two between her first two digits and another between the next, she created another kind of weapon. If she didn't drop them on impact, she could gouge his eyes out.

She leaned her head against the wall and, with near hysteria, thought of the story of King Oedipus who'd pierced his eyes with his wife-mother's broach.

#

Henderson reported that Emily Nolan had already been transported to Nags Head to stay with her maternal aunt. It was just as well for Gage was fairly certain the poor child knew nothing useful and realized that badgering her would be cruel.

"Good God, Tucker!" Dr. Bailey exclaimed as he threw himself into Gage's office chair. "What are we going to do now?" His voice broke a little on the last word, but otherwise the older man was holding up.

"We'll find her, sir, I swear it," Gage declared with far more confidence than he felt. He hid his wild desperation under a thin veneer of practicality. "We must put our heads together and think of where Nolan might have skulked off to."

"You think he has Meggie with him?"

He nodded slowly. "I'm afraid so."

"She's a sensible girl," her father murmured. "She won't be taken easily."

"Likely he drugged her, sir," Gage said gently.

"Oh. Oh, God."

Dr. Bailey broke down at last and wept like a child. Gage looked on helplessly, his own terror a ferocious animal that clawed at his throat.

Gage left the doctor to grieve in private and consulted Henderson and Pruitt in the reception area. Their news was ominous. Though the search parties had been looking since early morning, they'd found neither Meghan nor Nolan. By now, most of the community believed that their trusted banker and neighbor was a kidnapper and murderer.

"Nolan's smart," Gage mused. "He wouldn't have fled without sufficient money."

"Want me to investigate his bank records, Marshal?" Pruitt asked.

"He's too wily for that," Henderson said.

Gage nodded. "Right. Most likely he'd keep letters, cash, private documents close at hand." He remembered Meghan's tale about rummaging through Nolan's office. About the locked drawer she'd tried to jimmy.

"I think I know where to look," he said, hope springing in him for the first time since Bailey had left his room early this morning.

Had it been only ten hours ago? The thought of living out the rest of his life without her was a loss he couldn't bear to contemplate. "Let's go, Pruitt," he ordered.

#

Oliver Nolan's next move caught Meghan off guard.

The sun had dipped into the west and, as she'd expected, a wet chill had crept into the bare room. When he returned this time, he dangled a gun from his right hand and in the other arm held a knapsack. He threw it on the floor near her feet.

"You'll see I'm not an uncivilized man," he said smoothly with the same snake-oil charm. He spun on his heels and left before she could say anything.

Was this a trap? She let the knapsack lie on the floor for several long minutes as she contemplated what trick Nolan had up his sleeve. Just as she reached for it, the door banged open again and he returned, this time carrying a bucket that sloshed water over the sides as he dropped it onto the floor.

After he'd left, Meghan pulled the pack towards her, slowly unbuckled the flaps, and peeked in. Clothing – a shirt, pants, socks. A rag for washing and a sliver of soap. She crawled toward the pail, looked in, and sniffed. Dipped her fingers inside. Water, cool, but clean smelling.

He expected her to wash? To clean herself up? It made no sense unless ...

#

Gage preceded Will Pruitt and Dr. Bailey into the now empty Nolan house. The structure now seemed heavy with dust and decay. The young maid Lettie had gone, the coroner had transported Mrs. Nolan's body to the morgue, and Oliver Nolan had fled to parts unknown.

But Gage was determined to find a clue to the man's whereabouts. He went straight to the hidden space beneath the stairwell.

The door was locked, but he had no compunction about smashing the hinge with the barrel of his pistol. Inside the alcove he found the chest she'd described.

And tucked away in the farthest recess of the alcove, barely visible from the entry, was a type-writer machine. Upon closer inspection Gage realized it was the Hansen Writing Ball, the same type used on the anonymous notes. Pruitt and Gage exchanged matching looks.

"I'll bet the type on that machine matches, sir," Pruitt concluded.

Gage nodded. Time for that later. He gestured toward the chest. "Help me haul this out," he instructed.

They lugged the heavy trunk to the hallway where the light through the window shadowed the ornate brass studded lid. Gage lifted the unlocked cover to find the Klan robes Meghan had described.

He removed the robes, laid them on the floor, and searched beneath them. Hidden under a mound of outmoded clothing were stacks of portfolios, documents, and various papers bound together with string. The chest was inundated with them.

"Take a handful and we'll examine them in the parlor," Gage instructed.

Each armed with a bundle of papers, Dr. Bailey and Pruitt made their way to the Nolan's fancy parlor.

"You think we'll find a clue in these?" Pruitt asked.

"I'm hoping for a property deed or a letter with an address that might lead us to where Nolan went," Gage answered, looking straight at Bailey. "I think – I believe Nolan will have taken Meghan somewhere private."

Visibly shaken, the doctor said, "He's going to kill her, isn't he?"

"Not if I can help it." Gage didn't voice what his greater fear was – that Nolan would murder Meghan, but only after he'd made her suffer a great deal.

#

Inside the rucksack Meghan also found bread wrapped in newspaper and a canteen of brackish water. Emptying the canteen, she rinsed it with fresh water from the bucket, and refilled it. She wanted to gobble the bread, but forced herself to take small bites and tiny sips of water. She rewrapped half the bread and shoved it back in the bag.

Next she used the soap and water to wash her face and arms, but she didn't dare change her filthy clothing. She had no way of knowing when Nolan would return and having him catch her naked would undo her firm resolve to remain strong.

Feeling slightly better, she sat back down to wait.

She couldn't rely on Gage or her father to save her. When she felt her bottom lip tremble at the thought of rescue, she clamped down hard on it, tasting the raw copper flavor of her own blood.

The only plan she could think of was to catch Nolan unawares. Gouge him with the nails and smash him with the belt buckle. The thought of Nolan hurt and bleeding made her feel stronger, less helpless.

Even though the idea of murder didn't appeal to her, she believed she could kill him if she had to. She had no doubt that he would kill
her
when he grew tired of tormenting her.

She shivered and hugged her weapons close to her body.

Chapter 37

"Marshal, look at this," Will Pruitt said carefully, offering him a packet of papers and old news clippings.

The deputy handed Gage the items over in such a way that Dr. Bailey, who was sifting through land and property deeds, couldn't see them. Gage took them into the dining room where he could spread them out on the long table, and keep them from Bailey's keen and curious eyes.

A birth certificate for one Joseph Carpenter, born 12 July 1849, in George County, Alabama. Another document of marriage for Aaron Sharpe and Louella Strickland in Boston, Massachusetts, on 21 May 1869. Gage threw Pruitt an inquiring look.

Will nodded. "Not those. Keep looking." The young deputy had a too-knowing look in his generally mild eyes at odds with his fresh, young face.

Gage quickly realized what the lad meant. Near the middle of the stack of papers was a series of newspaper clippings folded in on themselves and tied with a string so they made a solid bundle. He carefully untied them.

The headlines fairly screamed with sensation.

"Murder Most Foul in Massachusetts."

Another one proclaimed, "Who Murdered Young Motherless Eliza Strickland?" The accompanying article was brief and the two men read silently together.

"The body of sixteen-year-old Eliza Strickland, whose mother recently passed away after a long illness, was discovered early this morning near the Charles River. The girl had been strangled. The police investigation continues. Miss Strickland is survived only by her step-father, Aaron Sharpe."

"What does it mean, Marshal? You think Mr. Nolan's related to this Aaron Sharpe in some way?"

"I don't know," Gage said slowly, sifting through the remaining items. He plucked out another set of articles and sat down to read them, his back toward the parlor where Dr. Bailey continued his examination of property deeds.

This second batch was a series of flyers – no dates available – from out west, primarily Nevada. The posters featured different persons whom someone was searching for, presumably a family member, and offered a reward for information leading to their whereabouts.

"They're all missing women?" Pruitt noted.

Gage continued looking. "Not all. Some are men and some are reward declarations for any information leading to knowledge of what happened to them. Here's one which puts a bounty on the head of someone who murdered a woman."

Gage counted the flyers – seventeen in all.

"Why would Mr. Nolan keep these clippings?" Pruitt questioned. "Seems kinda morbid to me."

An idea formed in Gage's mind, but before he could respond, Dr. Bailey spoke from the dining room doorway. "What're you two looking at?"

Gage realized they couldn't keep the grisly articles from the doctor. At any rate, he might be able to help. "What do you make of these?" He nodded toward the papers on the table.

Bailey picked up and perused several items. He frowned at the birth document. "Hmmm, Joseph Carpenter, I think I know that name." He tapped his finger on his lips. "Carpenter, Carpenter."

"The only reason I can think for Nolan to keep these papers is because he has a connection to the victims," Gage said solemnly.

"You think he's responsible for the deaths of – " Bailey caught on quickly as he rummaged through the papers, scattering them with frustration. " — all these people? But why? They're missing or murdered from all parts of the country. How could he have accomplished that, and what motive could he possibly have?"

"I'm afraid the killing itself is reason enough for this kind of madman," Gage answered grimly.

Dr. Bailey turned as pallid as the white shirt he wore and sank onto a chair next to Gage. "And – and this man is the one who – who's stolen my daughter?"

#

Nolan was livid. Although he said nothing, Meghan knew by his red, puckered face and his tight grip on the pistol that his rage was barely under control. He'd brought another package, but this time when he placed it carefully on the floor and slid it across with his foot, he glared at her for a long moment until she reached for it.

Nodding his approval, he squatted down to examine her as if she were some rare species of insect. "Go ahead," he said evenly. "Look inside."

If she provoked him, she thought he might react, become careless, and give her an opportunity to strike out at him with her weapons, puny as they were.

She shrugged carelessly. "Why should I do anything you say or even speak to you?"

The force of the unexpected blow shocked her more than the numbing pain. The back of Nolan's hand struck her high on her right cheek and sent her sprawling into the corner. She felt the clink of the nails against the belt buckle inside her trouser pocket and prayed he wouldn't hear the faint sound.

"You ungrateful bitch!" His eyes possessed a crazed wildness as he spat out the words.

"I bring you food, clothing, water. I hold your very life in my hand." He cupped his hand in front of her and tightened it into a fist. "I can crush you like the insignificant whore you are!"

Meghan blinked rapidly, holding her hand against her cheek, feeling the sting and swell of it as she held back tears.