Walking After Midnight (10 page)

„Too close.“ He sounded a whole heck of a lot cooler than she felt. „Come on, let’s go.“

Summer drove on, hands clenched around the wheel as the van bumped and rocked down the rutted track. Highway 41 was left miles behind, and the woods thinned out. Another cattle crossing, another field, and they pulled out onto blacktop. Against the background of starry sky, slumbering farmhouses dotted the landscape.

Call her paranoid, but the mere act of emerging from beneath the shelter of the trees onto a real road made Summer start to sweat again. Fortunately the road appeared deserted, and, strain though she would, she could detect no trace of sound to indicate that the helicopter was nearby.

„Left,“ he directed.

Summer obeyed, then took a deep breath. A moth flew in her mouth. She gagged and spat, finally succeeding in getting it out.

„Bugs are an acquired taste, I believe,“ he said.

„Like them, do you?“ Disgusted, she wiped the moth-parts-laden spittle from her chin.

„Delicious. Especially panfried…“ He smacked his swollen lips appreciatively.

„You’re gross, do you know that?“

„I try.“ This was said with suitable modesty.

Summer didn’t deign to reply. A few minutes later, she spoke again.

„Don’t you think we ought to stop somewhere and call the police?“

He laughed.

„We could even stop at one of these farmhouses. I’m sure if we knocked, they’d let us use the phone.“

„I hate to burst your bubble, Rosencrans, but who do you think is chasing us?“

„What?“

„Yep.“

Summer sputtered. „That’s not possible. They shot at us. They were trying to kill us.“

„See why honest citizens are always bitching about police brutality?“

That wasn’t funny. „You’re joking, right?“

„Uh-uh.“

„Oh, my God!“

„My sentiments exactly.“

Summer cast him a wild-eyed glance. „There’s got to be some mistake. Sammy may have a prick for a son, but he wouldn’t let his men shoot at innocent people!“ A thought occurred to her. „All right, so maybe you’re not so innocent. He still wouldn’t let them just kill you!“

„Old Rosey may not know.“

„You mean they’re doing this without the proper authority? Then all we have to do is go straight to Sammy – I know where he lives – he’ll put a stop to – “

„Whoa, Rosencrans!“ This was said as Summer looked for a place to turn around. „Not so fast. It’s not that easy. The problem is, at this point we can’t trust anybody. Not even your esteemed father-in-law. Somebody – lots of somebodies – want me real dead. I’m just not entirely sure who, or why. But one thing I am sure of is this: Whoever it is won’t twitch a whisker at killing you, too.“

„You don’t even know why they’re shooting at you?“ Summer was aghast.

Frankenstein shook his head. „Not – exactly.“ He hesitated, and shot her a glance. „A few years ago I stumbled onto something – something big. Then – everything happened, and detective work was suddenly the last thing on my mind. But I’ve had a lot of time to think since – hell, I haven’t done much of anything else lately – and I came back to check something out. Tonight I got a little careless, and they caught me at it. And they did their level best to kill me.“

„Who?“ It was almost a moan.

„I told you, I don’t know. Not for sure. It might not be the police, exactly. Maybe just one or two rogue cops are involved. But there’s something going on, some kind of very large criminal operation. I was watching some kind of deal go down in the cemetery beside the funeral home just before I got hit over the head.“

„Oh, my God!“ Summer pictured herself scrubbing on, all unknowing, while mayhem and murder took place just yards away. Ghosts would have been preferable.

„Pull in here.“ The van had just topped a rise, and traveled about a quarter of a mile past a squat white clapboard farmhouse. The „here“ Frankenstein indicated was another rutted track, but this time Summer turned onto it with alacrity. Visions of hostile cars swarming like army ants across the region’s roadways took firm possession of her imagination. The helicopter had appeared to be following the highways, too. Under those conditions, the farm track they were bumping over suddenly seemed like a positive haven. When they once again pulled out onto blacktop, she felt her stomach clench.

„Turn left.“

They topped another rise. On the other side, down in a bowl-like valley, tall pines swayed and smooth dark water gleamed in the moonlight.

„Where are we?“ It was the first thing she had said for at least ten minutes.

He glanced at her. „Cedar Lake. Take a right at the next intersection.“

Summer did, and found herself confronting seedy civilization: a motel advertising rooms for twenty-four dollars a night, a McDonald’s, closed at this hour, another motel enticing travelers with „Free Cable!,“ a run-down outlet mall. A gas station/mini-mart at an intersection appeared to be the only establishment that was open. A single car waited in its parking lot. Next door, a grassy area with uprooted trees and idle heavy equipment spoke of ongoing construction. After that the road curved, following the contours of the lake.

„Turn in here.“ He indicated a wide, paved driveway that led up to a fenced enclosure. A double row of long, one-story warehouses made of corrugated metal was enclosed by the fence, which was at least nine feet tall and topped by a triple strand of barbed wire. The gate at the top of the driveway was equally tall and equally buttressed, and, unless he was a better climber than she was, impregnable.

„Punch in nine-one-two-eight.“

The van had stopped at the gate. At Frankenstein’s instruction, Summer glanced in the direction he pointed, to discover a black metal box on a pole. The box vaguely resembled a telephone without a receiver. Like a telephone, it had a number pad.

Rolling down her window – it seemed ridiculous to have to roll down a window when the rest of the van was open to the night, but hers was the sole survivor – Summer punched in the four digits. Faint beeps sounded as she touched each number. When she was done, she stared at the box expectandy. Nothing happened.

„What are you waiting for?“

At Frankenstein’s impatient question, Summer glanced around to discover that the seemingly impregnable gate was swinging open.

9

The boatyard hadn’t changed. As far as Steve could tell, not so much as a tossed Coke can had been moved in three years. The rusted-out pickup loaded with odds and ends parked alongside the aged Winnebago that its owner still hadn’t found time to restore, the oceans of old rubber tires that somebody meant to use someday for something, the seen-better-days boats with hopeful
FOR SALE
signs in the windows were the same, or the originals’ twins. As always, a few cars belonging to weekend boaters were parked beside the warehouses. Acres of rusty barrels still stood sentinel along the fence. As the van rolled through the gates and up the incline toward where the ground leveled off at the back, Steve was struck by such a strong sense of deja vu that he was dizzy.

It was as if the world had suddenly spun many revolutions backward, and everything was as it had been before. Before Deedee had killed herself, and pretty much ended his life, too. When Deedee died, he lost not only her but his job, his wife, his daughter, and his best friend all in one dreadful stroke. He broke his parents’ hearts; his father died of a heart attack six months later. He lost the respect of nearly everyone who knew him. He lost his own self-respect. Then, in trying to eradicate the pain with booze, he almost lost himself.

Deedee had been blond and pretty and about as big as a mosquito, and he had known her since she was thirteen. He and Mitch had met her at the same time, at the Dairy Queen where all the kids hung out. Since the place was crowded, choice of seating had been limited. He and Mitch had spotted a couple of empty stools at the counter, and he had sat down with scarcely a glance at the frizzy-haired blonde on the next stool. Her ice-cream sundae – hot fudge, his favorite – was served just as he sat, and that was what caught his attention. He must have been eyeing the confection hungrily, because she glanced up at him, smiled, and offered him a bite on a spoon. Surprised to find himself staring into a pretty elfin face with cerulean eyes and a wicked smile, he barely was able to summon the presence of mind to open his mouth. Deedee popped the ice cream in – and looked past him at Mitch. In that instant he lost her to his best friend.

Not that it was any big surprise. Every girl they ever met immediately looked past him at Mitch. Mitch was taller, leaner, smoother, handsomer. Girls were bowled over by him. Steve had gotten used to that by the end of first grade.

But there’d been something about Deedee – he’d minded, sort of, about Deedee. He never had been able to figure out why. There’d been prettier girls. And a whole heck of a lot of „nicer“ ones. Deedee had liked to party, and when she drank she got even wilder than she was by nature. Maybe that was what had appealed to him so about her: her wildness. Fear was as foreign as Shanghai to Deedee, while his own natural disposition was about as far from wild as it was possible to get.

„Good old Steve,“ Mitch had always called him, with a clap on the shoulder and a hint of affectionate contempt. Good old Steve: that was him, all right. Always keeping doggedly to the path, always doing what was right and expected, always uncomplainingly pulling Mitch out of the frequent peccadilloes he fell into. Who had almost gotten caught replacing the American flag Mitch had stolen from atop the high school when they were teenagers? Good old Steve. Who had spent countless Sundays completing due-on-Monday assignments for both of them when Mitch had been too hung over from partying the night before to get out of bed? Good old Steve. Who had covered for Mitch with Deedee when Mitch had sneaked out with other girls behind her back, even after Mitch and Deedee were married? Good old Steve.

When he had joined the marines, he had taken their motto to heart:
Semper fidelis.
Always faithful. In his friendships, in his work, in his marriage. That was him. Good old Steve.

Until one day he wasn’t faithful anymore. One day he succumbed to the lure of cheap booze and his best friend’s unhappy wife and balled Deedee’s brains out. That had been the beginning of the end.

Or maybe the end of the beginning. Because now he was back, like a risen Lazarus, to try to reassemble the pieces of his shattered life.

It had taken him three years, but he had finally seen it: the flaw in the scenario investigators had painted of the way Deedee had died.

She’d hanged herself in his office early one Sunday morning. His office, which he locked each night as faithfully as he did everything else. His office, to which Deedee had not had a key.

How had she gotten in?

„What is this place?“ The question jolted Steve out of his reverie. Glancing over at the woman beside him, he was instantly reminded of the deadly turn his life had taken. Thanks to the double vision resulting from the beating they’d given him, he saw two of her, two blurry images that swayed apart and then together, threatened to merge and then split again. Two hazel-eyed, brown-haired, big-titted women whose features he had not yet managed to get a real good fix on. Two innocent bystanders who might still die tonight because of him. Or two supremely clever liars. He still hadn’t one hundred percent made up his mind which.

Though no crook he had ever run into had yakked that much.

While one small, objective part of his brain hoped he didn’t have a concussion, the rest of his intellect (which admittedly was not quite firing on all cylinders right at that moment) wrestled with what to do. There were options, he knew there had to be, but he couldn’t think straight with his head pounding and the swelling that had once been his face throbbing and every muscle in his body feeling like it had been worked over with a tire iron – which wasn’t particularly surprising considering that most of them had. The only solution that occurred to him was classic in its simplicity: Get the hell out of Dodge.

„I asked you, what is this place?“

For a moment there, Steve had almost forgotten his companion. „Boat warehouse.“

„Boat
warehouse? What the heck is a boat warehouse?“

The woman was a
talker.
Practically the only time she had shut up all night was when she’d been unconscious. If she wasn’t careful, the thought just might give him ideas.

„A warehouse where they keep boats.“ If it hadn’t hurt so much to wrinkle his forehead, he would have scowled at her.

„Oh, thanks. That tells me a lot.“

Steve gave up. Clearly he was not going to be able to intimidate her with his facial expressions – a technique he had used before with good results – when he couldn’t even move his face. „It’s used for off-season storage. For people who don’t want to keep their boats in the water year-round. It should be pretty much deserted this time of year.“

„Do you keep a boat here?“

„A friend does. In winter. Right now, he’s probably got it docked in front of his cabin on Cedar Lake.“

„Is that where you’re headed? To your friend’s?“