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Chapter 6: "Wild Card"Daria and "Donna" ascended the stairs from the basement of the lighthouse keeper's cottage. Though "Donna" showed no effects from the job they had just performed, aside from an unconcealed disgust, Daria was perspiring and winded. She reached the top step and sagged back against the doorframe. "All done in over that?" queried "Donna". "I don't specialize in manual labor," Daria replied, a trace of annoyance seeping through her usual laconic attitude. "That's why they have temporary agencies." The pair had just finished wrapping the body of the recently deceased Joshua Halberstam in plastic garbage bags, then dragging the two hundred and forty pound body down a flight of stairs, across a cement basement floor, and then hoisting it up into an old meat freezer left by the Coast Guard when the lighthouse and the adjoining cottage were decommissioned. "Now what?" the blonde asked her. "Now I contact the head. No sense putting it off," Daria replied. "It's bad enough we're probably going to have to help unload tonight's shipment. The sooner we get someone in here with muscles to flex, the better." Daria walked to the kitchen and retrieved a bottled tea. As she popped the top, her mind considered other things, namely Dennis Flynn. It had been a mistake to include him in this operation. It was also a mistake she hadn't made, but one she would have to deal with. It was what she got paid to do, provided those above her allowed her. If it was decided Flynn was out, she wouldn't shed any tears. Plugging a laptop computer into the phone jack, she booted up and engaged its videophone software. If she was overruled, though, and forced to keep him on, the entire operation was destined to fail. In which case Daria might have to start preparing a golden parachute. Daria donned the headset. The software blinked at her as it rang up the party on the other end. Seconds later, her employer's face appeared on the laptop's screen. "What do you have for me, Ms. Morgan?" he asked. "Two problems, sir," Daria replied. "The first problem is we need another man sent up here as soon as possible." "What happened to the two you have?" "That's the other problem. Halberstam was strangled by Flynn. It appears they had a disagreement." "Take charge type," replied the voice. "I knew there was something about Flynn I liked." "He might be take charge, sir," replied Daria neutrally, "but he's also reckless. His actions are attracting the attention of the local police and possibly international agencies as well. If he continues on this mission, he's going to compromise it." "I see." There was a long pause. Daria waited patiently. "Ms. Morgan, I have every confidence in your judgment. I'm sure you realize how important the success of this venture is to me. Therefore, I am trusting you to make this work. I don't care how you make it work, so long as you make it work. Any means necessary, Ms. Morgan." "Thank you, sir," Daria replied. "In that case, I'm going to need two replacements." She shut down the laptop, pulled the headset off and turned. "Donna" was in the doorway, looking hopeful. Daria nodded. Her partner sprouted a wide grin and gave her a thumbs up sign. "Ye mean there are no places in this village that does one hour picture processing?" gaped Faith. She walked down the sidewalk with Loharo, ignoring the curious stares of the locals who pegged her as a stranger. "We're a little primitive in some respects here in Skeffington's Harbor," smiled Loharo. "That's why I have developing equipment in my apartment. The EPA can't always afford to wait until Winchester's Pharmacy gets their photos back from the lab." "Still, it's a minor inconvenience I suppose, given the charm of this place. After a fashion, it resembles some of the small villages in Ireland." "Remind you of better days?" asked Loharo. "Och, no," Faith grinned. "I'm a city girl, born and bred. I wouldn't know which end of a sheep to feed, let alone raise them. Does it bring back memories of yer wee years, then?" "Sorry, I'm a city girl, too. Northern Virginia, just outside the beltway." "I'm not familiar." "Sorry. Just outside of Washington, DC. Daddy was attached to the State Department, in the diplomatic corps. We lived outside the beltway because Daddy didn't want us being 'corrupted by all of those infernal politicians'." Loharo beamed at the memory. "That's how he met my mother." "Was she an 'infernal politician'?" "She was the daughter of the head of the diplomatic mission to the United States from Nigeria," Loharo said proudly. "She came over here with her father and mother, met Daddy and never left." "Sounds as if yer fairly important," said Faith. "I don't know about that," Loharo replied. "How about you? Come from a long line of Irish cops?" "Not hardly. Me father was a laborer. Me mother raised four children on his pay in the working class neighborhoods of Londonderry and managed to keep the four of us out of trouble." Faith sighed. "Me Dad was so proud when I became a policeman. Dunno who I let down more, him or Mary." The pair walked along in silence until they reached Loharo's apartment house. On the walk up, they met Martha Hampton. The round, permanently rosy-cheeked elderly woman instantly moved to Loharo. "My dear," gasped the woman, her New England accent thick as an October fog, "I heard about what happened last night! Are you all right?" "Fine, Mrs. Hampton," Loharo said. "Fortunately someone intervened before he could hurt me too badly." She shot a grateful sidelong glance at Faith. "Honestly, I don't know what the world is coming to," clucked Martha. "Folks just walking in and hurting innocent people. It's terrible. The minute I heard, I called my Charles and had him install another lock on my door. You'd be wise to do the same." "Yes, ma'am," Loharo replied patiently. At once, Martha noticed that Loharo's companion was someone she didn't know. "Are you one of Loharo's friends?" Martha inquired with an ingratiating smile and suspicious eyes. "We've only just met recently," Faith said with guarded politeness. "She and I are ... working on a project together." "Mind you be careful. It's not safe . . ." Martha stopped when she noticed the ugly bruising around Faith's throat. "Gracious, what happened to you?" "Had an accident," Faith replied, her hand going to her throat out of reflex. "Well, we need to get to work, Mrs. Hampton," Loharo quickly interjected. "If you'll excuse us?" "Of course, dear. I'll be around later with some strawberry tarts." The pair walked up to the apartment and paused while Loharo undid the lock. "Strawberry tarts?" mused Faith. "I might just have to stay fer that." "You obviously haven't tasted her tarts," smirked Loharo. The gift shop actually had a pair of customers when Dennis eased back into the lighthouse. As such, the man lingered in the shadow of the hallway until he could take stock of them. They were two women, college age. From their dress and actions, they were probably down for the weekend, possibly from New Brunswick or up from Machias and the University of Maine satellite campus. They giggled and gaped at the souvenirs for sale, oblivious to everything else in the world. A smile began to curl Dennis's lips. He emerged from the shadow into the doorway. "Donna" noticed him and shot him a stern, silent warning. He ignored her. These young things had to be squired around this primitive little sinkhole and who better to do it than Dennis Flynn? And they'd be oh, so grateful. "Did you manage to find your way back without bringing the FBI behind you?" asked Daria in a low voice. Flynn looked annoyed at her, because she was interrupting his fun and because she wasn't respecting him again. "Obviously me little demonstration earlier didn't penetrate," he growled. "Obviously our little discussion didn't penetrate, either," Daria replied. "If you're still working for this little venture, I've got an assignment that's right up your alley." "And what if I tell ye to sod off?" scowled Dennis. "Doesn't matter to me. It's your paycheck. But if you're not working here any longer, you can leave before I call a cop." "Aye, and wouldn't the police love to hear what's stored in this little shanty." "Given the warrants on you, I doubt they'd much care what you had to say. But even if they did, who says they'd find anything." With that, Dennis saw the faintest hint of a smile curl on Daria's normally deadpan face. It was almost an unnatural act and Dennis suddenly got the impression of what a mouse felt when it turned and saw a cat towering over it. "What's the assignment?" he asked sullenly. "The Reeves woman is getting too close," Daria said, expressionless. "You need to take her out." "If ye'd have let me do that in the first place, none of this would have happened." "If you had followed instructions, none of this would have happened. Now we need to cut her off before it becomes worse." "Leave it to me," Dennis nodded. "She and I've got some unfinished business between us." "That's nice. And Dennis," Daria added, "try to do it without half the town catching you in the act." Daria turned and walked away, two eyes burning holes in her back. Dennis clenched and unclenched his jaw, then decided to exorcise his rage on his assignment. "Donna" and the two coeds forgotten, he slipped out the door and headed for town. Constable Harrington entered the Constable's Office with a day's fatigue weighing on his step and a desire to go home etched on his face. Spending the past hour arguing with Sarah LaPoint about why she should take responsibility for the pane of glass her son threw a rock through only added to the desire. Anne McDougald caught the look and sympathized, but knew he'd want to know what she knew. "Telex from Scotland Yard, Chief," Anne said no sooner than the door closed behind him. "They got a positive on that print." "Already?" marveled Harrington. "It's the computer age," Anne shrugged. "Anyway, you better get a look at what they sent us." Harrington took the telex sheet and read it. As he read, he grew more interested. "Nice guy, huh?" Anne replied to his unspoken amazement. "So what's this Dennis Flynn doing here?" Harrington mused. "And why is he trying to kill Loharo Reeves?" Anne added. "Is she just a random victim or is her story about Donna Young all of a sudden not so crazy?" "Let's not jump to any conclusions just yet, Anne. There are answers out there, and this Dennis Flynn character is better equipped to provide them than idle speculation." "So what do we do?" "Pass this along to the deputies, along with another copy of the description Miss Reeves gave us, before you head home. Oh, and contact the FBI. Let them know we're sitting on an international fugitive up here and we may need some of their firepower." "Do you want the FBI crawling around here?" Anne asked. "Not particularly," Harrington said, heading for the door. "But I want this guy off my streets more. I think I'll check on Miss Reeves on my way home." The phone rang. Anne answered it. "Chief!" she said just as Harrington was reaching for the knob. "Phone call for you. It's Donna Young." "I don't know her," Faith said, shaking her head as she gazed at the print. The print was an eight by ten blow up of Daria Morgan talking to "Donna Young". "Ye say she's involved?" "She doesn't live here and she seems to know this fake Donna real well," replied Loharo. "Maybe she's behind all of this." "And maybe she's an old school mate up for a visit," Faith countered. Loharo glared at her. "I'm sorry if it's not what ye want to hear, but I do know a wee bit about establishing evidential links. What ye've got here is a clue. It's not proof of anything save that this Donna person has a visitor." "Damn it!" spat Loharo. "I thought I had her!" "The obvious next step would be to get this mystery person identified. Perhaps ye could take these to the Constable?" "He wouldn't do anything," sighed Loharo angrily. "He still thinks I'm hallucinating from female problems." "Well, I can't say I've never run into that before. If I was still on the force, I could try to get her identified. Perhaps ye could ask Donna?" "She's not going to say anything. But the key's in that Lighthouse or the cottage next to it. It has to be." Faith put her hand on Loharo's shoulder. "Why don't ye try to get some sleep," Faith said. "I'll go over there and look around. Perhaps I'll spot something." "I'll go with you." "Ye'd best leave it to me," cautioned Faith. "It could get dangerous." "What are you planning to do?" asked Loharo. "Well," Faith hesitated, "I might run into trouble." "I'm not going to let you face that alone!" Loharo protested. "And just what use would ye be?" snapped Faith. "Do ye know how t'use a gun? Have ye ever fired one in yer life?" Loharo couldn't answer. "Leave it to someone with experience in this area. Besides, I might be doing something slightly illegal." "Like what?" Faith smiled. "A mate of mine from the force once said police officers make the best burglars, because they know all the tricks of the trade. I'll see what I can find." "All right," Loharo said reluctantly. "But be careful! How about I meet you at Irma's at eight for breakfast and you can fill me in." "I'll be there," Faith said, then disappeared out the door. Outside, she pulled up the collar of her blouse against the cold September evening and headed for her room at the local bed and breakfast to retrieve a jacket in addition to her spare gun. At once, she stopped and looked back, searching the night for something that had irritated a nerve in her mind. Finding nothing, Faith continued on. Dennis Flynn stepped out of the shadows. He thought about following the Connally woman and putting an end to her interference for good. That, he reasoned, could wait. His intended prey was once more alone and waiting for him. He paused outside her apartment door and looked around cautiously for nosy neighbors. In his professional judgment, Loharo was a smart woman and wouldn't fall for the "knock on the door" trick twice. Fortunately for him, it was a small town and didn't arm itself against crime very well. The doors were old because the buildings were old, and these old doors had old locks that were easily forced. With practiced calm, Dennis shoved a screwdriver between the knob housing and the doorjamb. One sharp shove on the screwdriver popped the door open with a minimum of noise. Inside, Loharo emerged from her kitchen with a plate of food, intent upon catching up on the day's events on CNN. As she entered the room, an unseen forced blindsided her. Her vision clouded over white and she could feel herself tumbling to the floor before she lost consciousness. Loharo awoke to pounding in her head. She wanted to open her eyes, but the pain in her skull wouldn't let her for several moments. A general nausea seemed to grip her body and the woman waited for it to subside before she forced her eyes opened. She didn't like what she saw. Loharo found herself laying face up on her bed. She had been stripped down to her bra and panties and spread-eagled on the bed, her wrists and ankles tied to the four posts of the bed with what looked like the cord from her draperies. One of her terry cloth washcloths had been jammed into her mouth and tied in place with another strip. The room was dark, so it must have been after nine, at least. Her first act was to pull at the restraints around her wrists. It was no good. Her height in this case acted against her, as it allowed her wrists to actually be lashed to the posts, not strung to them as her ankles were. There was no give in the cords and no play in slipping them. Trying to will her breathing back to a normal pace, Loharo looked around for something that could help her. Nothing on her nightstand was in reach. She tried to swallow and found the act increasingly difficult. Already her jaw was aching and her hands were beginning to tingle. As she struggled to keep calm and try to puzzle her way out of this predicament, Loharo kept repeating a silent prayer in the back of her mind that whoever did this wasn't the one she was afraid did this. The woman could feel the icy fingers of fear begin to clutch her heart and she savagely beat them back. "Evening, luv," Dennis said, ambling in as if he had all the time in the world. "We just keep running into each other, don't we?" Loharo stared at him over her heaving chest, trying valiantly not to succumb to panic. She didn't need her experiences over the last two days to tell her she was in dire straits, but her experiences did tell her exactly how dire they were. "Ye've been a bad girl," Dennis said, his feigned calm a stark counterpoint to the pistol that dangled in his right hand. "Was it not just last night that I was in this very flat warning ye about sticking yer nose in things that don't concern ye?" Loharo's eyes darted from the gun to Dennis's mouth and back again. Her deep brown skin glistened in the low light from the sweat that had broken out on it. "It truly pains me to do this," Dennis said, bringing the gun up casually and pointing it at a rigid, wide-eyed Loharo. "I think the two of us could have had something quite meaningful between us. But ye didn't do what ye were told, and now it's time to pay the piper." Story is (c)2000 by Bill Kropfhauser |