Witness to Murder (9 page)

But he couldn't dwell on what might have been. He needed a plan for escaping Cutter's men now. And if he could successfully overpower them, how could he and Annie get back to town? Cutter's car. That was it. Ambush them and take their car.

"Annie." Joe pulled her into a small clearing and behind an outcropping of rocks. "I've got a plan. We're going to stop and wait for them. You stay here. I'm going to see if I can find another place to hide."

"Joe, don't leave me alone," Annie pleaded.

"I'm not leaving. Get back behind those rocks and keep your eyes open. And keep that karate chop ready."

Hunched down, Joe ran for a thick tree. He paused, listened, heard nothing. Maybe they weren't being followed. A short distance away a small stream bubbled and slid over rocks. A thrush sang in sweet, melodious tones. Joe was pleased to hear it, since its presence meant no one was disturbing the bird.

Circling back the way they'd come, careful to plant his feet on grass or rocks rather than dry leaves, he listened. Nothing.

He was on the verge of deciding that he and Annie were alone when a scream pierced the air. At the same time a shot rang out.

"Annie!" he yelled, and dashed back to where he'd left her.

She had been struggling with a man, and was just throwing him to the ground when Joe reached her.

The man rolled over, jumped up, and whirled at Joe's approach. Annie was reaching for a rock to hit him on the head when three men crashed out of the woods behind her and shouted, "Hold it—right there."

One man had an Uzi pointed straight at Annie. Another trained his weapon on Joe. The third lowered his gun and picked up the .44 Magnum his partner had dropped when he'd fallen to the ground.

"What's the matter, Clive?" the thug with the machine gun said. "Can't handle a little girl?"

"This is no ordinary girl, pal. Take my word for it. You tie her up." He grabbed Annie's arms. She struggled, her eyes pleading with Joe to help her.

Before Joe could move, two of the other men slammed him to the ground. Twisting loose, Joe rolled and kicked upward, catching one man in the stomach. Even so, his two attackers finally managed to pin him facedown. Then Joe felt a small circle of cold steel against his neck.

"We have orders not to kill you, kid, but we might just forget. So lie still."

"You could say it was an accident," the man called Hodge gasped. He'd helped wrestle Joe to the ground and was nursing a bruised solar plexus. "Your gun went off in a struggle."

"Please, don't kill him!" Annie demanded. "You've got me. Let him go."

"Let him go, lady? You've got to be kidding."

Joe's fear for Annie forced him to make one more try for freedom. If he could get the machine gun . . . Twisting out from under the man who held him captive. Joe kept low, then hacked at his wrist with a powerful blow. The gun flew from the man's hand, but just as Joe closed his hand around the weapon, the butt of a gun slammed into his head from behind. Through a burst of stars, Joe heard Annie scream. Then he toppled onto the forest floor.

It was hours later when sunlight streamed into the clearing, warming Joe's stiff body. His temples pulsed in a wave of pain. His head felt as if it were filled with lead pellets. He managed to focus his eyes, but he could move neither his arms nor legs. Both were tied securely behind him. Slowly, Joe forced himself to raise his head as the world around him flashed and wavered like a gruesome light show. Pain and fear struck his gut like a lightning bolt.

The fear was not for himself. It was for Annie. Cutter's thugs were gone, and they had taken the girl with them.

Joe had failed to protect her—and for Annie his failure meant certain death.

A blue jay shrilled overhead as if laughing at Joe's predicament. Two squirrels chattered, chasing each other down the bark of a nearby tree. Each sound made his headache worse. Yet Joe couldn't lie there suffering. That wasn't doing him or Annie any good. He used the pain like a whip to bring himself to a state of alertness and to remain conscious.

Slowly Joe rocked from side to side, trying to gain the momentum he needed to turn over. The movement only twisted the ropes tighter, making them cut into his wrists and ankles. Finally, he flipped over onto his back, biting his lip to keep from crying out as the ropes cut deeper into his already raw skin.

He managed to sit up and look around. He saw nothing that he might use to cut through the cords. He was no longer near the rocks where Annie had hidden, but near the creek now.

If his memory served him correctly, there were rocks clustered all up and down the stream bed. He used to climb on the rocks years ago.

Fatigue threatened to eliminate the surge of adrenaline he'd mustered by turning over. Annie's in trouble, he reminded himself. And it's my fault. How long had he been unconscious? Not too long, he thought, since the sun was still low in the east. There was a chance to find her if he could get out of there soon.

He debated whether or not it would be faster to roll or scoot down to the stream. Scooting won since it was the less painful of the two. But twice he lost his balance and rolled when he would have preferred to move in the slower manner.

Finally he reached his goal. There were plenty of sharp edges in the jumble of rock piles beside the stream, left there by some long-ago shift in the mountainous terrain.

Joe's mouth was so parched he could scarcely swallow, and the water teased him. It was so near, yet he couldn't reach it. He had to get loose first. Again he endured the agony as he lifted his hands behind his back to the edge of a rock and began to slide the rope back and forth.

It took less time than he'd anticipated once he got a rhythm going. The granite was razor sharp where a piece had broken away long ago.

When he felt his bonds release, he gave a sigh of relief. Quickly he brought his arms, stiff and sore, around to his ankles to untie the cord there. He rolled to the creek, drank deeply, then ducked his head into the cold water to clear his cobwebby brain.

His muscles screamed as he stood, but he insisted that his legs move until he reached the road.

The van was still hidden beside the small dirt road, but it was useless to Joe. There were flares in a toolbox in the back, but no one was likely to be driving by so early in the day. Joe checked his watch, but it was crushed and broken. Apparently, he had smashed it during the fight with Cutter's men. Joe took off on foot for the highway.

He was sweating profusely from the pace he'd maintained when he came in sight of the highway. Never had morning rush-hour traffic looked so good. One, it suggested that it was not so late as Joe had feared. Two, with all these people out there, someone had to pick him up.

Or would they? He must look awful. That was it. He'd play on looking awful. Taking a handkerchief from his pocket, miraculously still white, he dabbed it in the fresh blood on his wrists that were rubbed raw enough to bleed. Then he tied it around his head. Stepping back off the road, he searched until he found a dead limb of sufficient length and strength to fashion into a crutch.

He climbed the embankment to the expressway and went into his act. Placing the crook of the limb under his armpit, he limped in an exaggerated manner, using the limb to partially support himself. Then he turned and stuck out his thumb.

No one stopped. While he didn't blame them — he rarely picked up hitchhikers—he thought surely they could see that he had been injured.

Suppressing the desire to either run out into the road and wave someone down or scream at the cars whizzing by, he continued to wave and thumb for a ride.

Finally a station wagon did pull over just ahead of him.

"Have a problem, young man?" To Joe's surprise, his rescuer was an elderly woman. She sat ramrod straight in the driver's seat, her white hair piled high on her head.

"Yes, ma'am. I wrecked my car back on that dirt road." He motioned toward the woods. "Hit a rock in the road as I came over a hill. I need to get some help."

"Get in, young man. You must have been driving awfully fast to have gotten hurt that badly. I'll bet you weren't wearing your seat belt, were you? You young people think nothing bad can ever happen to you."

Lady, Joe said to himself, you'd never believe how many bad things I've seen.

He grinned sheepishly at her. "Well, I guess I was being a little careless. I was thinking about the good fishing back there in those streams. I really appreciate your stopping. I was afraid no one was going to pull over."

"Normally I wouldn't. I never pick up hitchhikers. Most of them are jailbirds. But you look like my brother Homer's grandson, Peter Hobbs. You don't know Peter, do you?"

"No, ma'am." They continued driving and talking for another hour. Joe couldn't believe he was sitting there making small talk with this woman. But at least she was driving the speed limit, and by some rare bit of luck she was headed to Bayport also.

"Decided to go live in the city, he did," she said, picking up the thread of conversation she had dropped an hour earlier. "Said he could get a job in New York. Don't know why anyone'd want to live in the city, though. Peter took a job as a policeman," the old woman continued. "Don't know why anyone would want to be a policeman."

Police! Joe groaned. His appointment with the Bayport police.

"Are you hurting?" the woman asked when she heard Joe's groan. "Should I take you to a hospital?"

"No, ma'am. I'll be all right. I just remembered something. What time is it?"

"Near nine o'clock. I've got plenty of time. My dentist appointment's at ten right here in Bayport, and then I thought I'd do some shopping at the Bayport mall. Maybe take in a movie. Not too many movies I like to see these days, but I do like a good cry or a love story."

"I don't suppose you'd have time to drop me at High Street and Elm, would you, ma'am?" Joe interrupted gently.

"Why, that's very near my dentist. Maybe your luck is changing." The woman laughed softly, and a pleased look came onto her face.

Joe certainly needed a change in luck. "Yes, ma'am, I hope so. I'm lucky you weren't afraid to pick me up."

"That's right," she agreed, and slowed up to pull up against the curb. "This close enough to where you need to go?"

"Sure is, ma'am." Joe unlatched the car door. "And thanks again."

"You're welcome. Maybe you should see a doctor."

"I will." Joe slammed the door and waved. He limped until she drove out of sight, then tossed his crutch into a nearby trash basket and sprinted home.

With any more of the luck his rescuer mentioned he could get home, shower, call a cab, and get to the police station in plenty of time. What he had to decide before he got there was how much of this story to tell Officer O'Hara. Would she believe any of it? Could the police find Annie any sooner than he could?

Nearing the Hardy home, Joe pulled up short. His luck must have run out. Stopping on a lawn two doors from his house, he stared.

A police car was parking in front of his place. It looked like Officer O'Hara in the driver's seat. What had happened to bring her here instead of waiting for Joe at the station? And what would she do when she found Joe gone?

Frank Hardy stood in the doorway of his house trying to make a decision. He knew Joe wasn't home, and he didn't know how long he could cover for him.

"Good morning, Officer O'Hara. Officer Riley," he said, trying to be pleasant. It was good Con was there, maybe he could defuse any unpleasantness. "What brings you here so early?"

"This is not a social call, Mr. Hardy." Officer O'Hara was all business. "I suspect you know that. I'm here to see your brother."

"He had a bad night." Frank stalled, wondering where Joe could be. He knew that his taking off with Annie was a bad idea. But his appointment with the police wasn't until ten. "I knew his appointment wasn't until ten so I didn't wake him. Is something wrong?"

"That's what I'm here to find out. We got a call at the station telling us Joe had left town. Was he skipping out on his bail?" "Who told you that?" Frank asked. "The call was anonymous. But I decided it was worth following up." Officer O'Hara was growing impatient.

"Joe is innocent, Officer O'Hara, and he's cooperated with you from the beginning. Why would he have any reason to skip out?" "That's what I want to find out." Frank took the risk of being blunt even though he didn't want to annoy Officer O'Hara any further. She already believed that Joe was a murderer.

"Excuse me for saying so, Officer, but I think your time could be better spent finding the people who are really responsible for Phil Sidler's death. The jewel thieves. It's obvious there's a connection there."

"Are you telling me how to do my job now?" O'Hara started past Frank into the foyer.

Officer Con Riley followed her in with an apologetic shrug and a rueful smile for Frank. Frank read the gestures to say he'd better produce Joe and satisfy the young officer's curiosity.

"Do you have a search warrant, Officer O'Hara?" Frank asked, politely but firmly blocking her entry into the living room.

"Do I need one, Mr. Hardy?" O'Hara asked back.

Frank finally gave in and sighed. He'd protected Joe as long as he could. "Joe's room is upstairs." He followed O'Hara, however, prepared to keep talking.

Officer O'Hara marched briskly up the stairway and down the hall. She knocked sharply on the door Frank indicated and smiled grimly when she got no answer. Twisting the knob, she strode in. Frank was shocked to see Joe's bed a jumble of blankets and the spread in a pile on the floor.

He didn't even try to hide a relieved grin as the bathroom door opened.

"Officer O'Hara," Joe Hardy said, his face a picture of surprised innocence. "I thought my appointment was at ten. Got anxious to see me?" Joe's timing was perfect, his entrance suspiciously well planned. He strolled in from his bathroom, wrapped only in a long towel, hair wet and tousled. He was perfectly decent, but he wasn't dressed for greeting guests. He held another towel to hide his scraped wrists.

Officer O'Hara stepped back, completely flustered. "Oh — I — " she stammered. Then she regained her composure. "Excuse me, Mr. Hardy, there was no answer to my knock on your door, and I had been led to believe — "