Harmful Intent (47 page)

“What should I do?” Vinnie had asked. He was driving.

“What the hell do you think they are doing?” Frank had asked.

“Looks like they're digging somebody up,” Vinnie had answered with a macabre laugh. “Like in a horror movie.”

“I don't like this,” Frank had said. “First Devlin shows up at the Esplanade, now this doctor is in a cemetery at night, digging up dead people. This doesn't feel right. Besides, it gives me the creeps.”

Frank had had Vinnie drive around the cemetery a second time while he thought about what to do. It had been a good decision. From the opposite side they'd been able to see that there were two more people, down in the open grave. Finally Frank had said: “Let's get it over with. Kill the lights and drive in halfway. Then we'll walk.”

 

Devlin hadn't had much better luck than Frank. He'd flown commercial and had spent most of the time sitting on the runway in Boston. Even once they'd gotten going, the plane had made a stop in Hyannis that lasted forty minutes. Devlin hadn't reached the Vineyard until after seven. Once there he'd had to wait for his gun, which airport security had prevented him from carrying on the plane. By the time he got to the Charlotte Inn, it was almost nine.

“Excuse me,” he said to the woman at the front desk. She'd been reading by the light of an antique brass lamp.

Devlin knew he looked worse than usual with the large, sutured incision. With all the hair they'd cut off, he'd been unable to form his usual ponytail. Instead he'd tried to comb the hair from the other side of his head over the suture site. He had to admit the result was startling at best.

The woman looked up and did a double-take when she saw
Devlin. On top of everything else, Devlin guessed that not too many guests at the Charlotte Inn sported a Maltese cross earring.

“I'd like to inquire about several of your guests,” Devlin began. “Unfortunately, they may be using aliases. But one's a young woman named Kelly Everson.” Devlin described her. “The other is a man about forty years of age. His name is Jeffrey Rhodes. He's a doctor.”

“I'm sorry, but we don't give out information about our guests,” the woman curtly replied. She'd gotten up from her chair and had taken a step back as if she'd expected Devlin to grab her and shake the information from her.

“That's unfortunate,” Devlin said. “But maybe you could tell me if a large, rather overweight man with dark hair and puffy, deeply set eyes was here inquiring about the same couple. His name is Frank Feranno, but he's not choosy about what name he goes by when he's working.”

“Maybe you should talk to the manager,” the woman said.

“That's okay,” Devlin said. “You'll do fine. Was this gentleman in here? He's about this high.” Devlin held his hand out to show about five-ten.

The woman was clearly flustered, and she relented, hoping that if she did, Devlin would go away. “A Frank Everson, a cousin of Mrs. Everson's, was here,” she said. “But no Frank Feranno. At least not while I've been at the desk.”

“And what did you tell this purported cousin?” Devlin said. “That wouldn't be telling me anything about a guest, now would it?”

“I told him that the Eversons were most likely over at the cemetery.”

Devlin blinked. He studied the woman's face for a moment to see if she'd waver with her story, but she held his gaze. The cemetery? Devlin didn't think the woman was lying. Was this yet another bizarre twist to this already strange case?

“What's the quickest way to the cemetery?” Devlin demanded. Whatever was happening, he had the feeling he didn't have a lot of time.

“Just go down the street and take the first right,” the woman said. “You can't miss it.”

Devlin thanked the woman and ran out to his car as fast as his bandaged arm would allow.

* * *

Jeffrey watched Seibert balance Henry Noble's liver in his left hand. Holding it at an arm's length so that the embalming fluid wouldn't drip on his clothes, he opened the plastic bag containing the rest of Henry Noble's decomposing internal organs. Jeffrey winced as Seibert unceremoniously dropped the liver back into the sack and cinched the top of the bag so no fluid would escape.

Seibert was about to return the bag to its place in Henry Noble's body when a voice said, “What the hell is going on here?”

Along with everybody else, Jeffrey looked up in the direction the voice had come from. A man stepped into the circle of light. He was dressed in dark slacks, white shirt, sweater, and dark windbreaker. In his hand was a gun.

“My God!” Frank said with revulsion. He was transfixed by the gruesome sight of the open grave. The nausea he'd suffered earlier returned with a vengeance.

Jeffrey recognized the man instantly from the Esplanade and the doors of the Church of the Advent. How had he tracked them? And what did he want?

Jeffrey wished he had a weapon, any means of defending himself. Last time they'd gone to extraordinary lengths to drug him.

Frank retched from the horrid sight and offensive smell. He clasped his free hand to his mouth and turned to face Kelly, Chester, and Martin. With a wave of his gun he ordered Jeffrey and Seibert out of the grave.

Seibert scrambled out of the vault, wondering if this intruder was related to Henry Noble. “I'm the Medical Examiner,” he said, hoping to sound official and take charge of the situation. Seibert had dealt with irate family members before. Nobody was keen on autopsies, especially relatives. He stepped between Frank and the others.

Jeffrey had noticed Frank's reaction to having seen Henry Noble and he saw him turn his head. Reaching forward, he grasped the plastic bag containing Noble's organs. It had to weigh thirty-five to forty pounds. Climbing out of the vault and up onto the grass, he held the bag to his side and slightly behind.

“I'm not interested in you,” Frank said to Warren, giving him a rough shove to the side. “Get over here, Dr. Rhodes.”

Frank put his gun into his other hand, then dug in his pocket until he came up with the syringe. “Turn around!” he ordered Jeffrey. “Vinnie, you cover . . .”

Jeffrey swung the plastic bag with both hands, bringing it over
his head and down on top of Frank's with as much force as he could muster. The bag burst on impact, knocking Frank to his hands and knees. The syringe flipped into the pile of dirt; the gun skidded into the grave, falling with a clank into the vault and landing in the coffin.

At first Frank was dazed and unsure of what had hit him. Then he looked with horror at what was smeared over him and all around him on the ground. Recognizing the brain and the blackened loops of intestines, he threw up wildly. In between retching fits, he tried to brush the gore off his shoulders and head.

Jeffrey was still holding the empty plastic bag when Vinnie dashed forward into the sphere of light from the darkened periphery. Tense and nervous, he was holding his gun with both hands. “Nobody move!” he shouted. “Anybody moves, they're dead!” He rotated his gun in jerky arcs from one person to the other.

Jeffrey hadn't seen Frank's accomplice. If he had, he probably wouldn't have risked hitting Frank.

Keeping his gun trained on the group, Vinnie stepped over to Frank, who had gotten shakily to his feet. He was standing with his arms outstretched, shaking fluid from his hands.

“You all right, Frank?” Vinnie asked.

“Where the hell's my gun?” was all Frank said by way of an answer.

“It went into the grave,” Vinnie said.

“Get it!” Frank ordered. He unzipped his jacket and carefully pulled it off, then threw it on the ground.

Vinnie stepped over to the grave and nervously peered down, trying to spot the gun. It was in plain view, between the corpse's knees. Henry Noble seemed to be looking up at him.

“I've never been in a grave before,” Vinnie said.

“Get the gun!” Frank shouted. He glared at Jeffrey and said: “You bastard. You think I'm going to let you get away with that little trick?”

“Nobody move,” Vinnie said. He stepped down to the edge of the grave. Looking away for just a moment, he jumped down. Instantly he looked back. His head was still above the level of the ground. Vinnie's gun was pointed directly at Chester, who stood weak-kneed between Kelly and Martin. Harvey was to Martin's left. Jeffrey was closer to Frank, and Seibert was between Frank and the others.

When Vinnie bent down to grab the gun, Jeffrey gambled on
two things: one, that he could get away into the darkness fast enough to evade Vinnie, and two, since he was the one they were really after, both would come after him and leave the others alone. He was right only on the first count.

As Jeffrey ran along the cemetery road into the darkness, he heard Frank yell, “Toss me the gun, you ass!”

Leaving the circle of light, Jeffrey was immediately enveloped in darkness. It took a few moments for his eyes to adjust. When they did, he realized it wasn't quite as dark as he'd believed. Reflections from the lights of the surrounding town shimmered off the moist grass. The silhouettes of tombstones served as an eerie reminder that this was the home of the dead.

A parked, dark car suddenly loomed in front of Jeffrey. He paused long enough to check for keys in the ignition, but none were there. Looking back toward the point of light over Henry Noble's grave, Jeffrey could make out Frank's lumbering bulk heading in his direction. Vinnie remained behind, keeping watch on the others.

Jeffrey sprinted past the car, heading into the night. He remembered that Frank's girth was deceptive and that he was surprisingly agile and fast. Jeffrey was not confident that he could merely outrun Frank. He had to think of something. A plan. Could he make it to the center of town? On a Saturday night Edgartown should have some activity, even though it was not yet tourist season.

Behind him, Jeffrey heard the deadly crack of a gunshot. Frank had fired at him. Jeffrey heard a bullet hiss by his head. He veered in the other direction, to the left and off the cemetery road.

Crouching low to the ground, Jeffrey began to weave among the headstones. He did not want to be an easy target. He had the sickening feeling that Frank was no longer so concerned about taking him alive. Now that he was off the road, the footing wasn't as sure. Rocks and flat grave markers slowed Jeffrey's progress. He tripped at one point and staggered. He stayed on his feet only by grabbing a granite obelisk in a bear hug. The obelisk teetered on its plinth, threatening to topple. That was when Frank fired the second time.

The bullet struck the side of the obelisk just below Jeffrey's arm. Jeffrey backed up a step. Looking in the direction of the muzzle flash, he could just make out Frank coming in his direction. He was gaining on him!

Jeffrey raced on, his panic increasing. He was breathing
heavily and felt a stitch in his side. He was lost among the graves. He didn't know in which direction he should head. He wasn't sure that he was still heading for town.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jeffrey saw the silhouettes of a cluster of single-story buildings which he guessed were mausoleums. He decided to head there. Veering in their direction, he stumbled onto another of the cemetery's several gravel roads. Once he reached the row of mausoleums, Jeffrey ducked between the first two. Edging behind them, he moved down the row, then turned back toward the road. Peering around a corner, he looked for Frank.

The man wasn't fifty feet away. He'd pulled up short in front of the first mausoleum. He hesitated a moment, then started walking in Jeffrey's direction. Jeffrey was about to turn when Frank suddenly stepped between two of the tombs and disappeared from Jeffrey's line of sight.

Jeffrey tried to think what to do. One wrong move and he would be at Frank's mercy. Remembering Frank's expression after he'd hit him with the bag of decomposing organs, Jeffrey didn't think Frank would have much mercy.

Directly across from where Jeffrey was standing was a marble mausoleum that appeared older than the others. Even in the darkness, Jeffrey could tell that its iron door was slightly ajar.

After checking the road again for any sign of Frank, Jeffrey dashed to the open door. He pushed it open enough to slip into the mausoleum's cool interior. He tried to close it behind him, but when he pushed, the door grated on the floor. Jeffrey stopped immediately. He wouldn't risk making any more noise. The door was still open about three inches, slightly less than it had been when Jeffrey first spotted it.

Surveying the interior of his narrow cell, Jeffrey saw that the only light came from a small, elliptical window set high in the mausoleum's rear wall.

Jeffrey groped toward the window's dim light, inching ahead with his right foot and bringing his left up with each step. He could feel square depressions in the wall and realized they were for coffins.

When he reached the back wall, he squatted in the corner. As his eyes adjusted to the deeper darkness, he was able to make out the thin strip of vertical light that came in through the open door.

He waited. There wasn't a sound. After what he guessed was
five minutes, he began to think about how long he would wait until venturing back out.

Then, with an agonizing screech of metal scraping rock, the ancient door to the mausoleum was shoved open. It clanged against the stone wall. Jeffrey leaped to his feet.

A cigarette lighter flared and illuminated Frank's fleshy face. He held the light out at arm's length. Jeffrey could see Frank squint, then smile. “Well, well,” Frank said. “Isn't this convenient? You're already in a crypt.” His shirt was stained and his hair was matted from the embalming fluid. Frank's sardonic smile changed to a sneer. He sauntered into the mausoleum, gun in one hand, cigarette lighter in the other.

When he was about six feet away, Frank stopped. He aimed his gun at Jeffrey's face. In the light of the small flame, Frank's features were grotesque. His deep eye sockets looked empty. His teeth appeared yellow.