Corkscrew (24 page)

Fred took my hand and pulled me close to her, kissing me softly on the lips. "You're a crazy bastard, Reid Bennett, but I want you to know I'm grateful for what you did."

"Standard procedure with damsels in distress," I said. "Just don't make a habit of being abducted by bikers. It puts a lot of stress on a meaningful relationship."

"Is that what we've got?" she asked gently.

"I sure as hell hope so," I told her, and we kissed again.

After about a minute Sam came back to the car. I opened the door. "Okay, we're all clear."

I stooped down to pat Sam. "You can sleep in the kitchen tonight," I promised him.

Fred got out and closed her door with a quiet clunk. "I'm tired enough that I could do the same thing." She yawned. "Are all your days this busy?"

"No, I arranged all this to make you feel wanted."

She shivered and hugged herself, rubbing her bare arms with her hands, and I realized how scared she still was. "Let's go in," she said.

We went inside and turned on the lights, and I poured us both a brandy and then gave Sam an extra meal, kibble with an egg on it. I don't do it often, but I wanted to reward him. Then I opened all the connecting doors on the ground floor of the house and told him, "Keep." It meant nobody could get in without our knowing it, and I had my pistol with me. We were safe from the bikers for the time being. I didn't expect them to return that night, anyway, but I wondered how long their memories would be and when, if ever, I could stop worrying about them coming back to get revenge for this evening's work.

Fred went ahead of me up the stairs while I got my spare box of .38 shells from the drawer in the kitchen and reloaded my gun and the leather pouch of six spares I carry. On impulse I took the box with me upstairs.

Fred had undressed without the light, and she was already in bed. I left the light out, knowing that there was nobody outside drawing a bead on it but too jangled to take any chances at all. I even left my gun in its holster and hung the belt over the bedpost where I could reach it in a moment if I heard a noise downstairs.

I got into bed, and Freda turned toward me, her arms going around me. "Hold me, Reid," she whispered, and suddenly she was weeping, doing her best not to shake, trying not to let me know how scared she had been.

I held her and kissed her wet eyes, and she snuffled and stopped crying and after a little while went limp in my arms. I let go of her and lay with her gentle breathing warm against my skin. And I marveled at her toughness and thanked whatever forces of coincidence had brought her back into my life after a year away. The hell with her other romance. I owed the guy a debt for screwing up and setting her free to come looking for me again.

I couldn't sleep. The day's activities played themselves back through my mind, and I fitted them together, like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, trying to see what the design was. First, the boy's death. Or had the trashing of the Corbett house been first? Had the boy wandered into it and been killed? And if so, why the trashing? And why the murder? And where did his stepfather fit in? And what was in the cabinet in his house in Toronto that a gang of bikers would want? And who had stolen it? And what did Corbett's grandson have to do with it all?

That piece perplexed me. An effete boy, known to both murder victims and to the bikers and related to the man whose house had been trashed. I knew he was the key, but I couldn't find the lock he fitted.

I was still puzzling in the darkest time of the night when sleep crept up on me.

It was only moments later, I thought, that Sam's bark jolted me awake. It was his working bark. Someone was near the house. Fred sat up, and I patted her shoulder and whispered, "It's likely a raccoon outside on the garbage can. Go back to sleep."

She mumbled and lay down again, and I slipped into my pants, pulled my gun from the holster, and edged downstairs. Sam was barking against one of the side windows in the living room, and I stood behind him, looking out at the dimness outside. I could see a figure against the glass, reaching up with one hand over the face, peering in, ignoring Sam. Whoever it was, he was either deaf or bold if Sam didn't scare him. I tiptoed away in the darkness and opened the rear door, then hissed at Sam and he bounded to me. "Seek," I told him, and he ran around the house and went into his fighting bark. I paused to switch on the outside light, then ran after him, around the corner of the house, and found him pinning someone against the wall. As I approached, the figure turned, and in the half-light, shielded by the corner of the house, I could see that it was Corbett's grandson, Reg Waters.

I called Sam off and told him, "Seek," to set him searching the rest of the area while I grabbed the kid and pulled him toward the house. "Who's with you?"

"Nobody," he jabbered. "Nobody, honest. I came on my own. They don't know I got away."

"Got away? Don't give me that. You're one of the gang."

"No, I'm not, honestly. I'm not. I run with them sometimes, but I'm not one of them." His voice was light and breathless, frightened. I gave him another tug, and he came without resisting into the back door of the house. I switched on the hall light and looked at him. His face was puffy with mosquito bites, and there was a scratch down one cheek, and his blond hair had twigs caught in it. He had run through the bush.

"Where've you come from? Where's the gang hiding out?"

"They're at a house that's owned by a friend of Grandpa Corbett's. I'll take you there. You've got to come; they're hurting him."

"Hurting your grandfather?"

He shook his head impatiently. "No, not him, Andy. They're hurting Andy. They say he let the women go before they got the cabinet, and one of them says he let you get away on his machine."

This made sense. They figured to be angry, and bikers don't sit around getting mad; they get even. But that didn't explain why the kid had come to see me. This was too pat. They were trying to get me back so they could take out their anger on me.

"You're lying."

"No, I'm not." He almost stamped his foot in vexation. "No. Why do you think I've come to see you? He needs help. Andy needs help. They'll kill him."

"Why should I worry about what happens to a biker? Especially a biker who reported me on a phony violence charge and cost me my job?"

He clenched his hands together desperately. "No, it's not like that. He isn't a biker. He's a policeman."

"Sure," I said, and laughed. It was an act on my part. I had half expected the news, but not from this boy, not this way. Maybe it would come out in six months when whatever case Andy was investigating came to court. Then we would hear about his exploits, but he wouldn't have told this kid in the middle of a hectic night.

"It's true." The boy's eyes were bright with tears. "Why don't you believe me?"

"Because that gang is anxious to get hold of a certain file cabinet, and failing that, to get hold of me. This could all be a story to get me dashing off into a rendezvous where they could work me over."

Suddenly the boy shook his head. "No, it's real. I just remembered. Andy told me to tell you 'Corkscrew.'"

"Corkscrew? What the hell does that mean?"

I heard the stairs creak behind me and turned to see Freda coming down, wearing a dressing gown my ex-wife had given me once for Christmas. She looked gorgeous, and the boy smiled at her and said, "Hello. I'm sorry to disturb you."

"You," she said. Then to me, "He's one of them, Reid. He was there."

"I'm not one of them," he said. "Didn't I make you a cup of coffee? Wasn't I polite all the time?"

"Angelic," she said.

Sam came up to the back door and barked once. I let him in. He had checked all around, and the area was clear. That meant the boy had come alone. But it didn't mean he wasn't trying to trap me. I ushered him into the kitchen and pointed to a chair. "Sit there," I told him, and picked up the phone.

The OPP officer at the post in Parry Sound answered on the first ring. "Hi, Corporal. It's Reid Bennett at Murphy's Harbour. I have to talk to the senior officer on duty. Who is it?"

"That'd be Inspector Anderson," he said, and I groaned. "Doesn't the sonofabitch ever go home? He was here last night to have me suspended."

"It's his quick changeover. He went from day shift to nights. Sorry about that. And sorry about your suspension. Buncha crap if y'ask me."

"Thanks. Well, I guess you'd better put me through, please."

He told me to hold the line and it rang and Anderson picked it up. "Inspector Anderson."

"Inspector, this is Reid Bennett. I've had a communication from the gang of bikers in the area."

"Ah, Bennett. Yes, I've heard all about your exploits from Sergeant Kennedy. You've been warned, you know. You're suspended. You had no right to go interfering with those people."

There was going to be more, but I cut him off. "I know all that. I'm ringing you to confirm what I believe to be a code word. It came from a biker who calls himself Andy. He wants me to go and help him. He's in trouble, and he sent the message 'Corkscrew.' I'm calling to ask you if that's a code word to identify a policeman."

"That's official business," Anderson said. "You're not a policeman, you're a civilian. Can't you get that into your head?"

"Listen, Inspector Anderson," I said slowly, "we can sort out our personal problems at a later time. Right now I am informing you, officially, in the presence of witnesses at this end, that I have received a message from a man I believe to be a cop and I know to be in deep trouble. He has given me the word 'Corkscrew.' All I want from you is confirmation if that is a code word being used currently in a biker investigation."

I thought that would reach him, but instead he just raised his voice a notch and started repeating himself. I was not a policeman, and he couldn't discuss police business with me. I hung up on him and dialed the OPP number again. The same corporal answered.

"Bennett here again," I told him. "I had no cooperation from your inspector. Get me the head of the biker squad. It's an emergency. I don't care if you have to get him out of the attorney general's office, the hospital, or an early grave, get him, it's vital."

"Jesus, Reid. I'll do my best. Can I call you back?"

"Call back to the police station here in five minutes. I'm heading down there. And thanks."

Fred was staring at me, wide-eyed. "You're not going out again, surely to God?"

"I have to. I'm sorry. Can you get dressed, please, honey. I want you down at the station while I'm out. You can't stay on your own."

"Damn you," she said. "Damn you, Reid. Can't you ever stop? Can't you say you've done your job and quit?"

"The job's not done. I'm sure this guy Andy is an undercover man, and if he is, they could kill him. And I owe him."

"You owe him?" She put both hands on her hips, and the housecoat yawned at the thigh. The blond kid looked away, going red. "You owe him? Why's that, because he looked after your property, me?"

"I don't have time for semantics, and I don't want to fight. You're not safe here with me gone. I'm asking you, please, come with us to the police station."

She took down her fists from her sides. "And what if I say no?"

"Don't do that, please, Fred. This is vital and time is important." I stood and waited, and after a few seconds she turned and walked back upstairs, planting her bare feet solidly on every tread.

"You stay here," I told the boy. Then I told Sam, "Keep," just for insurance and followed Fred upstairs. She was dressing in blue jeans and a sweater. She had her bag on the bed, and as I dressed, she picked up her other clothes and stuffed them all inside. So she was leaving. I was sad to see it, but this was not the time for discussions. When I was dressed, I stuck the box of .38 shells in my pocket and reached for her bag. She held on to it angrily, and I held up my hands in surrender.

I led the way downstairs and told Sam, "Easy," then said, "Okay, son, let's go." Fred's key ring was lying on the countertop in the kitchen, and I picked it up. "Come back for your car at daylight. That's only a couple of hours off," I told her, and she dropped her bag on the floor and glared at me.

"Where do you get off thinking you can order me around?"

"It's not an order; it's a precaution. They're out there on the highway. They could see your car leaving and follow you, and it's fifty miles down the highway to the first OPP post. You'd be at their mercy. Please. I know you're a feminist, but you're in danger."

"It's me in danger, not you," she said.

"If you're in danger, I'm in danger," I said, so softly that the kid didn't hear me. "Please, I'm begging you, wait at the station until daylight."

She looked at me, and the anger dwindled in her face.

"All right. Daylight."

We drove to the station in my car, and I took them both inside. The uniformed man was on the telephone. He held it out to me without speaking, and I took it. "Reid Bennett."

"Bennett, Positano here. You say you've got a code word?"

"Yes, I think so. It comes from the kid who was running with the gang. He says they're working over a guy called Andy who helped the two women hostages. He told the kid to tell me 'Corkscrew.'"

"Does the kid say where they are?"

"It's a cottage near here. It belongs to a friend of his grandfather. That's the guy I was telling you about, the man whose place was trashed. It was his boat used to dump the body of the victim."

"How reliable is the kid?"

"I don't know. He's young and he's flaky, but he came on his own, and he looks like he ran through the bush to get to me. What's this about?"

He didn't answer for a long moment. Then he said, "You're right. It's a code word. It means worm your way in and pull the plug. That's not a biker, that's a Mountie from British Columbia."

Chapter Nineteen

"Well, the kid says he's in trouble. Here, speak to the boy yourself. His name is Reg Waters." I handed the phone over to the boy, and he took it, looking at me nervously. "That's Sergeant Positano of the OPP. Tell him what you know."