Bad to the Bone (40 page)

They discussed the purpose of their trip as they drove, Higgins and Tilley arguing that it should be reconnaissance only. The temptation, once they were sure they’d found Craddock, was to rush in, to get it over with. A temptation that could have deadly consequences. “What I’d like to do is get my hands on Davis Craddock,” Moodrow announced. He could see the ferry moving slowly through the fog. Fog was more common than moonlight on the eastern end of Long Island, a hundred miles out into the Atlantic Ocean.

“We know that, Stanley,” Leonora replied evenly. “You’ve said it ten times already.” She was beginning to doubt Moodrow’s stability. If nothing came of the first day’s surveillance, he would have to get back to Manhattan before the next phone call. She wasn’t sure he’d be able to leave.

“I know what I said, Leonora. But I’ve been thinking about Craddock’s setup. Assuming that somebody has to go for supplies, food or whatever, it’s probably not gonna be Craddock. Maybe we should grab the first person to come out of there.”

“What for?” Tilley asked. “What do we hope to gain by revealing ourselves?”

“If Craddock sends one of his workers on an errand and the worker doesn’t come back, why would he blame it on me? Maybe the worker just decided to take off. Maybe he got sick of Craddock’s lunacy.”

“I still don’t see what we have to gain.”

“C’mon, Jim. It’s obvious. Even if we find Craddock’s lab, how do we know Betty’s in there? Or how many sentries he’s got posted? Or where they’re posted? Craddock thinks I’m at home, pissing my pants. That’s to our advantage. But if we’re gonna get inside—if we
have
to get inside—we’ve gotta have more information.”

“That’s all very fine, Stanley,” Leonora said. “But what will you do after you get the information? Let him—or her—go? Drag him around with you? There’s no reason to presume the individual you grab has committed a crime. That makes what you want to do a kidnapping.”

“There’s a third alternative,” Moodrow said quietly.

“I’m not going to let you do that,” Leonora replied quickly. “That’s why I came. To prevent you from destroying yourself.”

“Let me ask you something, Leonora. How long will it take Craddock to figure out that Wendell Bogard’s missing? And what’s he gonna do when he does figure it out? Because I’m tellin’ you right now that I’m gonna do what I have to do and I don’t give a damn for the consequences. You invited yourself along, but if you wanna back out, I’ll understand.”

They came off the ferry and took an immediate left, following Route 114 which was little more than a country road. The widely interspersed houses were further isolated by the heavy fog. Many of them were shuttered, summer homes that would be in operation after Memorial Day when the season opened.

Route 114 was unlit, and even with the brights on, they had trouble reading the street signs. Nevertheless, they made progress, driving from one intersection to another, ignoring the horns of weekend visitors trying to make the midnight ferry on the southern end of the island. The road took a sudden sharp turn and Moodrow picked out the name of a street running off at an angle: Ram Island Road.

“We’re gonna come to another right turn about a mile from here,” he announced. “Bucks Creek Road should be right there.” But the only road they found was Cartwright Road which ran back to the northeast. “Maybe the map’s off a little bit. Keep going.”

They drove another half mile, until their lights illuminated a large sign announcing the entrance to the Mashomack Nature Preserve.

“Too far,” Moodrow announced. “Bucks Creek Road should come before the preserve.”

They came back very slowly, looking off into the darkness of the Mashomack Preserve as if the trees were highways. Just before the intersection of 114 and Cartwright, they found a dirt road leading into the dense forest. It was completely unmarked.

“Let me get out a minute,” Tilley said, opening the door. He walked to the front of the car, then signaled Moodrow to shut off the headlights. Two hundred yards down the road, the lights of a house cast a dim glow through the trees and the fog.

Tilley came back to the car. “It looks good, Stanley,” he said, closing the door. “The tire tracks on the road are fresh. It’s been used continually.”

“He couldn’t have chosen a better spot,” Leonora said. “If that’s his lab, he’s got the preserve on one side and more woods on the other. A dirt road. It’s completely private.”

“It’s good for us, too,” Moodrow said. “We can stake the place out all day and night without being seen. Too bad we didn’t bring the camouflage.”

“No problem,” Tilley said. “Just grab some mud and wipe it over your face and your coat. The coat’ll most likely come out cleaner.”

Moodrow ignored the jibe. “There’s a boarded-up house fifty yards down the road. We’ll leave the car behind it. I don’t know what kind of cops they got on this island, but if one of them sees a car parked in the middle of nowhere, he’s bound to get suspicious.”

Ten minutes later, they were marching along the edge of the dirt road. They got to within twenty yards of the house, close enough to see the front door, when they heard the unmistakable sound of rifle fire back in the forest. It was early May. The leaves on the trees had only begun to sprout and the beams of several flashlights were clearly visible through the mist.

“It’s out of control,” Tilley muttered. “It’s out of control.”

Moodrow didn’t bother to respond. The situation was obvious enough. “Leonora,” he said calmly, “go back to the car. Find the local cops and get them out here. In force. Do whatever you have to do, but get them out here.” He looked into the dark forest. “Fucking woods. Gotta be Daniel Boone to get in there.”

“Stanley,” Leonora asked, “what are you going to do?”

“What do you think we’re gonna do? We’re going inside.”

“Stanley…”

“Enough, Leonora. Just do what I told you. We don’t have a lot of time here. We don’t have any time at all.”

As they began to cross the lawn, the front door opened and both men dropped into a crouch, expecting anything from 9mm handguns to fully automatic assault rifles, but the tiny, unmistakably female figure that emerged, carried no weapon at all. She looked directly at them for a moment, then took a right turn, crossed the lawn and disappeared into the woods.

“Forget about her,” Moodrow whispered.

“Why don’t we take her? Why don’t we take her and find out who’s inside?”

“Because we don’t have time for strategy. We don’t have time to plan it out. The only thing we’ve got going for us is surprise. Craddock’s got a problem out there in the woods and it doesn’t have to be Betty. It might be some of Wendell Bogard’s people. Or maybe one of his workers decided to take off with a suitcase full of merchandise. Whatever way it turns out, we’re the last thing Davis Craddock expects or needs.”

A minute later, they came through the front door into an empty parlor. The two rooms to the left and the right of the parlor, connected by archways, were also empty. The staircase to the second floor rose from the far side of the parlor. It, too, was empty. They listened for a moment, hoping against hope to hear Betty’s voice, to find a single clue to what was happening inside the building. Their hopes were answered with silence.

The house would have to be searched room by room. It would obviously go faster if they separated, but neither considered separating. They held their .38s out in front of their bodies, eyes continually sweeping the open area.

“We’ll work from the top down.” Without waiting for a response, Moodrow began to climb the staircase, silently cursing his 260 pounds as the steps groaned beneath his weight. But there was nothing to be done about it and he continued up until he had a clear view of the long hallway at the top of the stairs. It was empty.

“There are three doors on each side,” he whispered. “You take the right side and I’ll do the left. Just listen at the door. Maybe we’ll get lucky and hear Betty’s voice. Or Craddock’s. If it’s quiet, we’ll start at the back and search the rooms.”

Both men were sweating profusely by the time they reached the end of the hall. They looked at each other, but didn’t speak. Their safest course was to crash through the doors like narcs on a raid, to make use of their own adrenaline and the element of surprise, but they couldn’t afford to make any noise. Tilley stood to the right of the first door and Moodrow to the left.

Carefully, very carefully, Moodrow twisted the knob, pushed the door open, then stepped through the doorway to find Davis Craddock, his back turned to them, stuffing plastic bags filled with brightly colored capsules into a large duffel bag.

“You motherfucker.”

The words came unbidden, but they had the desired effect. Craddock froze for a moment, then slowly turned to face Moodrow and Tilley. His eyes, no longer blank, were filled with hate.

“Where’s Betty?”

“Dead, I hope.”

Moodrow put his .38 back in its holster. “I think you oughta know that I ran into your business partner back at the commune.” He spun Craddock around, then slammed him against the wall, frisking him quickly and thoroughly. He was so angry, he could barely control himself. “I killed him. Shot him dead. Now it’s your turn. If you don’t produce Betty Haluka in the next ten seconds…”

“Fuck you. And fuck that fat bitch, too.”

“Don’t lose it, Stanley.” Tilley’s voice was actually pleading.

“Don’t lose it, Stanley,” Craddock mimicked. “Try to control yourself, Stanley. You know what I did before you got here, Stanley? You know what I did ten minutes before you got here? I tied your fat bitch to the bed and fucked her in the ass. She loved it.”

Moodrow’s open palm cracked against the side of Craddock’s face. “You wanna fight back, Davis? I hope you wanna fight back.”

Craddock raised his hands to protect his face, but made no effort to defend himself. Looking up at Moodrow was like staring at an avalanche rushing down the side of a mountain. With the other cop standing in the doorway and his guards out in the woods chasing Betty Haluka, he knew he was finished. His best move was to surrender, to cooperate and try to call off his men before they killed Betty, but somehow he couldn’t bring himself to follow his own good advice. Life had to have its little consolations or it wasn’t worth living. For instance, wouldn’t it be pleasant if he held Moodrow’s attention until
after
his boys killed Betty? And wouldn’t it be even more pleasant if he took care of Moodrow at the same time? The blue syringe, filled with a deadly poison that had once been the ultimate narcotic, lay behind the lamp on the nightstand. He’d prepared it for little Blossom, because only Blossom could have opened that door, but Blossom had disappeared and Moodrow was right in front of him.

“I have to thank you for one thing, Stanley, even though you’ve caused me a lot of trouble. Betty’s ass was sweet and open, so I figure you put some time into loosening it up for me. Thanks, Stanley.”

The fist that crashed into his chest sent him sprawling backward. Unfortunately, it took him away from the nightstand and into the wall. The impact took his breath away and he had to force himself back onto his feet.

“Where’s Betty?”

Craddock took three steps to his right. He stopped when he stood directly between Moodrow and the nightstand. “I don’t know why you’re so angry, Stanley. Look at what you’ve accomplished. First, you’ve taken care of me, which means that you’ll collect the bounty you spoke about in my office. Second, you’re going to be rid of that fat, ugly bitch you call a girlfriend. I tell you, Stanley, even on her knees facing away from me, she was so ugly I could barely look at her. In fact, if she hadn’t been so eager, I doubt whether I could have maintained my erection long enough to…”

This time Moodrow’s fist sent him directly into the nightstand which obligingly turned over. The lamp went flying, but the small syringe ended up beneath his body. He palmed it carefully, his thumb on the plunger, then slowly stood up. When he turned around, Moodrow was standing a few feet away, his balled fists at his sides, his face a mask of boiling anger.

“Stanley,” Craddock said, “if you could see what your emotions are doing to your face, you’d be horrified. What you need to do is calm down.” He jumped at Moodrow without warning, the tip of the syringe flashing in the light before it sunk into the left side of Moodrow’s neck. The last thing Moodrow saw, before his legs deserted him and he lost consciousness, was Jim Tilley firing shot after shot into Craddock’s body.

The phrase “nature preserve” may evoke images of Bambi and Thumper at play in a verdant meadow, but the Mashomack Preserve, covering a third of Shelter Island, is a typical lowland eastern forest. The water table, only a few feet below the surface, keeps much of it swampy even in summer. Hardwoods predominate: maple, cherry, white and scarlet oak, beech, hickory and chestnut. Decaying leaves beneath the trees provide the fertilizer for a thick ground cover. Northern bayberry, highland blueberry, huckleberry, blackberry, sweet pepperbush, catbriar and a dozen other species offer superb cover to the small animals and birds living in the preserve. It’s a wonderful place for a chipmunk.

For human beings in headlong, panicked flight, on the other hand, the lush undergrowth, especially the aptly named catbriar with its long green stems and sharp thorns, is far closer to the visions of Stephen King than Walt Disney. Even protected by PURE’s anesthetic properties, Betty had to fight back an urge to cry out in pain. Nevertheless, pushed along by a fear that cut through every consideration, she stumbled over the fallen branches, Michael Alamare clutched to her chest, until her breath deserted her.

“I have to put you down for a minute,” she whispered. “And we have to be quiet. Only talk if it’s very important.” She looked back for signs of pursuit, noting, without surprise, the flashlight beams cutting back and forth through the fog. Well, if the deep, dark forest was a torment, it was also cover. If they could escape the first efforts of their pursuers, even if they didn’t find another house, they could hide until daylight.

“Mikey, we have to get moving again. But I can’t carry you anymore.”