Harsens Island (11 page)

The old man’s eyes bored into hers.

“Blood will have blood.”

“Huh. That’s kind of poetic, Steve.”

The corners of his mouth rose, a hint of pride.

“Shakespeare,” he said. “Macbeth.”

“I’ve got one for you,” she said. “‘If I show up at your door, chances are you did something to bring me there.’”

“What’s it from?”

“Grosse Pointe Blank.”

“What’s that?’

“A movie.”

“Never heard of it, missy. And do me a favor, will ya?”

“Name it, Steve.”

“Quit calling me Steve.”

She smiled.

“Whatever you say, Steve,” she said. “Whatever you say.”

Sam photographed the bloodstained door and steps with her iPad; she captured the trodden grass, the leftover knots and fluttering ribbons of the yellow police tape. She repeated the process inside the house, capturing every room.

Finally, she went to the hall linen closet. She swung the door open, reached in, removed a stack of towels and set them on the floor. Then she slid a thin wood panel to the left, exposing a hidden storage space her father had installed. It was here she had placed $25,000 in cash when she arrived on the island – stacks of twenty, fifty, and hundred dollar bills. She had spent roughly half.

The other half was now missing.

She stood in the living room for several minutes, thinking about the theft, running through likely scenarios, and finally settled on a solution that was logical but disturbing.

She disliked her conclusion, physically shook her head as if waking from a bad dream, and left the house. The thought stayed with her as she walked to the garage. She vacillated between anger and sadness.

The garage door and entry door were open. As she approached the barn-like structure, she saw the Bronco’s dome light was on.

She flipped the garage lights on – a trio of evenly spaced, cone-covered lights at the apex of the frame. She scanned the dusty, spidered rafters that served as home for scrap wood, ladders, cans of old paint, and mice. It didn’t appear that anything had been disturbed.

She walked around the truck, opening and closing doors until she realized they’d activated the truck’s dome light but neglected to turn it off.

She lit a bank of fluorescent lamps over the benches. The Craftsman toolbox trays were askew and the bench tops had been disturbed as if the tools and canisters of oil and lubricant were chess pieces: pipe wrench to Pennzoil, checkmate. In the white light it was obvious any tool with heft or mass had been examined – pipe wrenches, rubber and wood mallets, the claw and ball peen hammers – instruments that could crack a skull, shatter a thorax, or fragment a kneecap.

She leaned against a bench, crossed her ankles. Her eyes absorbed the color and contrast of late afternoon light and shadow. She distractedly wondered where her life was leading, and what she would do once the stage was struck on this bizarre drama. She had been forced from one life but wasn’t going to be forced from this one. This was where she would stay. This was her home.

In this calm, she detected a feeble scent of sweat and cologne.

“Snake,” she said, not heeding Redsky’s advice regarding his name, “it’s safe. They’re gone.”

She heard him catch his breath: a distinct, sudden inhalation mixed with fright.

“I know you’re under the truck.”

She heard a sigh.

“Your death is your business,” she said. “But I don’t want you dying on my property.”

He was lanky, the truck rode high, and he had scant wiggle room. She heard him moving, sliding, his feet pushing. The fingers of his left hand peeked at the base of the passenger door. It meant the top of his head was facing the garage door. When his wrist appeared, she gently stepped on it, causing the hand to open.

“Where’s the gun?”

There was another sigh.

“Give it to me,” she said.

Seconds later, it slid from under the truck and came to rest at her feet.

“Stay put,” she said.

It was a 9mm Glock, its safety was on, and it was missing a single bullet.

“Okay,” she said. “All the way out.”

He gripped the bottom of the truck and sidled to her, propelling himself on his back with his shoulders, elbows, and legs.

“Please don’t shoot me,” he said. “I am unarmed.”

“Lie still.”

He was completely visible now. His chest rose and fell evenly.

“Where were you hit?”

“I do not understand,” he said.

“Where’s the wound? Where were you shot?”

“I am not wounded,” Snake said.

His elbows bent back and his palms were face up at shoulder height.

She shoved the Glock into her waistband. She lifted a rubber mallet from the bench and casually twirled it in her hand.

His eyes flickered from the mallet to her eyes.

She said, “There’s blood on my door and the house alarm has been tripped.”

His breathing remained steady.

“It is not my blood.”

“Whose is it?”

“I do not know,” he said.

“I don’t believe you,” she said.

He was in his work uniform and there was no sign of blood on his clothes or on the floor. She didn’t detect blood on his arms or hands, neck or face; there were no visible cuts or contusions.

“Roll over, head and stomach down. Extend your arms, palms flat, fingers spread, and spread your legs and splay your feet.”

He did exactly as she instructed.

She checked him for weapons; he was clean.

“Sit up.”

He pushed off the floor.

“Fold your legs and feet underneath and place your palms on your knees.”

“Yes,” he said, “I will,” and again obeyed.

She set the mallet on the bench. She shifted the gun from her hip to her hand. Snake settled into his yoga position.

“Let’s start with the basics,” she said. “Are you with Homeland Security?”

“No.”

“But you’ve claimed you are?”

“This is true. I have done so consciously and willingly, knowing it is illegal to make such a claim.”

“Why the rehearsed line?”

“I do not understand.”

“Yeah, you do. Who do you work for?”

“I cannot reveal that.”

“Nonsense.”

“I am afraid I am not able to provide you all the answers you seek. And if my employer was revealed I fear I would no longer be an asset to anyone.”

“Uh huh,” she said, smiling, watching his eyes.

“I’m sure you understand.”

“No. I don’t. You’ve said nothing. But before we’re done, you’re going to talk in a straight line instead of a circle. And whether it’s to me or to a jury is immaterial.”

“I am not allowed to discuss my activities under any circumstances – not until our business is concluded.”

“Where and why did Hunter pick you up?”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

Sam spoke harshly, precisely, conveying her irritation with sharp gestures, her eyes steadfast on the man at her feet.

“My lawyer was murdered and tossed into the river like trash. There’s blood on my door and steps. Your car was idling right outside, its door flung open with Hunter’s computer case on the passenger floor. Right now Haberski’s crew is dusting everything for prints, firing infrared over the upholstery, and combing for any traces Hunter was in it. You rode in with her in a rental car which is missing and which I assume you’ve had chopped. The dots are there and Haberski and Rowland are connecting them. I’ll tell you what I told Hannibal – I want to know what happened to Hunter. The faster you confess what you know of her death the faster you can go back to fantasizing you’re Snake Plissken. I’m giving you one chance to tell me what you know. If you don’t, I’ll hand you over to Haberski and Rowland. It’s that simple.”

He beseeched her with sullen eyes.

“I cannot, Sam.”

“You met her in Algonac and came over on the ferry with her.”

“No, I did not.”

“Then how did you get the computer case?”

“I stole it.”

“No doubt you did. From where?”

“An abandoned car near the air strip.”

“What was in the case?”

“Nothing. It was empty.”

Sam shook her head.

“More lies. Tell me about that bug you planted in my purse the night Hunter was murdered. What was the point of that?”

Snake looked from her eyes to the floor.

“A bug,” he said distractedly. “What bug?”

His eyes rolled to hers. 

She motioned with the weapon.

“I’m done with this,” she said abruptly. “Lay down, face down, and put your hands together. Understand?”

Sam restrained his wrists with a plastic tie-wrap; she did not secure his ankles. With a few persuasive words she convinced him to climb into the rear of the truck, face pointed to the backseat. She covered him with the truck’s tarp without totally obscuring his face.

“Where are we going?”

“Redsky’s place. You can guide me.”

“I am not welcome there.”

“We’ll see about that.”

“Why don’t you secure my feet?”

“If I get in an accident I want you to be able to escape.”

“It is very generous of you.”

“Yeah,” she said, “I’m a regular saint,” and closed the rear door.

The Bronco kicked over with the second twist of the key. She pulled the truck from its stall, parked, letting it idle, and closed the garage doors. She examined the garage’s front exterior. Its wood was so weathered that any evidence of a bullet was impossible to detect.

Next, she went to the rear door of the cottage. She examined its frame and the door itself. Hands on her hips, she craned her neck and scanned at the awning. There were no signs of splintered wood or other disturbances to indicate the final destination of a 9mm bullet.

She went in the house, retrieved her purse and passport. She set the house alarm, giving herself thirty seconds to exit. Then she went to the bathroom and slanted the sink’s cold water faucet backward, opening it so its sound could be heard through the entire house. She paused at the back door, heard the water, and then she stepped out, locking the door behind her.

She got in the idling truck, rolled its windows down, adjusted the radio to an AM talk program, and pulled into traffic, which was heavier due to the holiday. Another small plane buzzed overhead; a freighter, one of the largest she’d ever seen, floated south.

**********

She boarded the Algonac ferry. Mule was on the bridge, eyes steadfast on the open water. She smiled as the blue-eyed girl approached her to collect the fare; the girl had a wide, pretty smile. Although Mule had said he would spread the word on providing a discount or a free ride she was prepared to pay – Mule had struck her as a man that lived in the moment.

“Cool wheels,” the girl said. “My first boyfriend had one of these.” The girl tilted on the balls of her feet and laughing said, “Yup, Ford makes a big, comfy back seat!”

Sam laughed as the girl accepted the fare.

“What’s your name?”

Their hands met.

“Flora. And you’re Sam?”

“That’s me.”

Flora pressed against the door and in a hushed voice said, “I heard about your dustup with Mickey. He’s
pissed
so be careful where you park, ya know? He might key this.” She tapped the door twice with both hands.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah,” she said with a sigh. “Dumb ass stunts like the one he tried on you is why we call him Mickey. He thinks he’s Don Juan but really he’s more like Mickey Mouse. Know what I’m saying? All hands?”

“Thanks for the tip.”

The ferry engines reversed and the boat slowed and pulled to the dock, landing with a soft bump.

“I hear you’re gonna have a house-warming party? Can I get an invite?”

Sam answered with a puzzled, “How’s that?”

“I heard a couple of Indians at the bar last night, talking to this third Indian fella, and the two said to the one there’s a party at your house tonight.”

A car horn blared.

“Better get moving!” Flora said.

“How do you know they were talking about me?”

“I heard one say ‘that Johnny Cash girl’. You know the ditty?”

“A Boy Named Sue?”

“Yeah, exactly. A girl named Sam!”

“Sorry, Flora, but you heard wrong.”

Sam saluted her with two fingers and slipped her sunglasses off her head to her nose. Once they were safely through Algonac, and a few minutes before they boarded the Walpole Ferry, Sam adjusted her rearview mirror and focused it on the tarp behind the backseat.

“You alive back there?”

Snake’s voice was muffled but distinct.

“As reasonably alive as anyone can be in these circumstances.”

She readjusted the mirror and fixed her eyes on the road.

“I’m curious, Snake. Would your namesake say all that or would he just say ‘yes’ or ‘no’?”

She heard him exhale.

“The less said the better, don’t you think?”

He didn’t answer.

“Exactly,” she said. “Listen, we’re almost there. Once we’re clear you can kick off the tarp.”

“Yes,” he said.

They arrived at the ferry. There were fifteen cars in line; more joined them as they waited. 

“Do not act suspiciously or they will search the vehicle,” her passenger said.

“Snake. Do us both a favor and shut up.”

“You will have difficulty explaining my restraints.”

“I bet they won’t believe a word you say if they call Rowland.”

The man at the border checkpoint examined her passport. He asked the standard questions regarding the purpose of her business, and inquired if she was carrying any fruits or vegetables. He asked if she was transporting any weapons or explosives.

A late lunch with a friend, no, and no.

Thanks and Welcome to Canada.

“Goodness,” Snake exclaimed as he pushed against the tarp. This is certainly not a preferable method of conveyance.”

“I’m serving snacks and beverages before the movie. How are your wrists?”

“I am sorry to say they are severely chaffed.”

She had never been on Walpole; Snake relayed directions from the rumble seat. They traveled south on River Road and drove east on Tecumseh.

“How far?” she asked.

“Perhaps two or three miles. Her home will be on the right. You will pass a number of properties until you come to a string of uniform trees. Then you will view an open, plowed field. Next, a driveway leading to a two story home, and then a second open, plowed field. The house is rather like an island itself.”

“Open land around the house?”

“Yes. Exactly as I described. A garage is separated from the house.”

“What color’s the house?”

“The house is a shade of yellow and the garage is white.”

Another minute passed.

“We’re driving by it now,” Sam said.

“Excellent.”

They continued driving.

“When are you turning around?”

“Creek Road,” she announced. “And over to our left you can see the scenic Grand Canyon.”

“We have definitely passed it.”

She slowed down at Chiefs Road but maintained as much speed as possible before heading south a second time.

Her ruse was short-lived.

“We should turn back.”

She said nothing. She heard him moving; she tilted the rearview and saw him kicking the tarp again, not quite succeeding in its removal.

“Where are you taking me?”

She remained silent. She kicked the speed to 70.

She burrowed deep into the island, passing the occasional barn and home. The roads were empty. A spiral of dust and dirt to the east was the one sign of life, a harvester perhaps. She had grown up in country like this. Except for the frightened man in the rear, it was a beautiful, peaceful drive.

When she sensed she had gone far enough she slowed and drove off the road, bringing them to a stop in a grove, parking under sheltering limbs. She let the engine run, went to the rear, and opened the hatch.

“Time to set you free,” she said.

His eyes were calm; he spoke flatly.

“I did not think you capable of murdering an innocent man.”

“Come on, get out. You’ll want to get moving before the sun sets.”

His voice was defiant.

“If you kill me, my blood will be everywhere along with the evidence of my struggle.”

“For god’s sake,” she said.

She placed his gun on top of the right, rear tire; she reached in, and gripping his belt dragged him forward, forcing him to the ground.

“Samantha, no!”

“Quit screwing around,” she said. “Lay down, face down.”

Although he did exactly as he was told, he continued to beseech her.

“Do not kill me! My death will change nothing of what will happen!”

“Now why would you say something like that?”

She pulled a tool kit forward, opened it, and removed a box cutter.

“I am very frightened,” he said.

She placed a knee in his back, cut the wristband, tossed it into tall grass, and backed away from him.

“I suppose I am very, very frightened.”

She returned the cutter to the kit and closed the truck’s door.

“Nonsense,” she said. “Stay down.”

She showed him the gun.

“I’m keeping this.”

His eyes shifted uneasily between the gun and her eyes.

“You are not killing me?”

“Jesus, that again?”

“I do not understand,” he said.

“I don’t murder people. I defend myself. If you behave like a good boy, you get to keep breathing. If you try to harm me it won’t turn out well for you – or maybe either of us.” 

“That is a very noble sentiment.”

Sam groaned.

“Listen. I don’t need you in the middle of whatever this is. You’re too confusing and improbable. If you’re in danger, you’re better off missing. And if you’re a danger to me or anyone else, dumping you buys me time. So be smart and lay low until whatever this is has blown over.”

“You cannot leave me here! I am nowhere!”

“You’re on an
island
,” she said irritably. She gestured. “North, south, east, west.”

She went to the driver’s door.

“Samantha!”

His every word – no matter how big a lie or how great a truth – would be an enticement, a seduction of time.

“Samantha! Do not leave me, Samantha!”

She put the gun in the glove box and drove away quickly. In her rearview mirror, she saw the little man doing jumping jacks.