H.J. Gaudreau - Jim Crenshaw 02 - The Collingwood Legacy (21 page)

Chapter 51

Five miles past Deer Lake, Cole Prestcott entered Boyne City. Ignoring speed limits he turned left at Division Street, a small shortcut he had learned many years ago and avoided the downtown area. Soon Cole joined Lake Shore Drive and was accelerating as he passed the town limits, oblivious to Jim’s frantic efforts to catch up. He was soon racing past the large condo buildings and summer homes of down staters who spent their summer weekend days on the lake and their nights in the bars of the vacation towns of northern Michigan.

Several miles and ten minutes later Cole approached the tiny village of Ironton. Here, the south arm of Lake Charlevoix pushes through the village and extends twelve miles south along an ancient valley cut during the last ice age to the metal working village of East Jordan.

Ironton is noteworthy for two things. Earnest Hemingway’s uncle lived here and the surrounding area became the setting for several of the famous author’s Nick Adams short stories. And, Ironton is the home of the Ironton Ferry. Famous for it’s many appearances in the work of both professional and amateur painters and photographers. It was this ferry that now stood between Cole and his beloved home and boathouse.

Jim, driving blindly as he was a full mile out of range of the dog collar entered Boyne City just as Cole had. Unfortunately, Jim was unaware of Cole’s side street short cut and was soon crawling through the tourist crowd at the center of the small town. Several minutes later Jim found himself facing the lake and a choice. He could turn left and follow the south shore or he could turn right and follow the lake on its north shore. Jim checked his GPS receiver again, and again, found it empty of the little green ball.

Frustrated, he slammed his hand onto the steering wheel, cursed and took a chance. Jim turned right, was into high gear as he passed the grocery store and sped out of the village.

A long, agonizing five minutes later Jim came to the entrance of what had been Cole’s favorite golf club. Without warning the little green dot appeared on the GPS display. Jim’s frustration again exploded, the dot was shown on the opposite side of the lake. Jim was just short of two miles from his target, unfortunately there was a large lake in-between.

A primordial scream of frustration filled the inside of the Jeep as Jim raced off on the ten mile circle around the lake. A short distance later he intercepted the highway. An angry blare of horns erupted as Jim ignored the stop sign and turned south. Several miles later he was racing through the village of Cherlovoix, not paying any attention to the picture perfect marina, storefronts or waterway.

Here he could go straight south, to Traverse City, or circle the lake back toward Boyne City. A quick glance at the GPS and he turned back to the east. Leaving town he raced past the airport, a small strip mall and then several houses. Less than five minutes later he slowed and pulled his Jeep to the side of the road. The dot had stopped moving just a quarter mile ahead.

Cole stopped his truck in front of the house, pushed the garage door opener and waited for the door to withdraw. As he waited Cole planned his next move. He would load the two women and Gerry onto his boat, sail into the middle of Lake Michigan and dump them overboard. Then, it would be time to head to Canada.

There he would find a lake side cottage for the rest of the summer. By the time winter came he figured he’d be long forgotten, then he’d come back, pay off the house and the business loans and he’d be back in business. Or maybe, maybe he would forget it all. He could move to Mexico or the Caribbean or maybe South America someplace. Cole smiled, he was back on top.

Sherrie heard the moan of the motor as the garage door opener engaged. Panic swept over her. Her legs began to shake. She was sure her hands would be shaking if they weren’t so tightly tied behind her. Desperately she tried to be calm, to think, to figure some way to fight back.

She couldn’t, her knees quaked. “Stop it! Damn-it just stop.” Sherrie had just begun to calm herself when the bedroom door opened and Cole walked in.

She sat on her knees facing the door. “Okay lady, time for you two to go for a ride.” Cole stopped, thought about that phrase and started to laugh. “That’s good, ‘Go for a ride’, sounds like in the movies, doesn’t it?” Cole laughed again.

“What are you doing? Why did you take me?” Sherrie demanded.

“’Why did I take you?’ Lady are you really that stupid? Because you’ve got my money. You were going to keep it and I found it. And I need that money to keep my house.” Cole’s eyes bore into Sherrie.

“What money? What are you talking about? WE DON’T HAVE ANY MONEY.” Sherrie screamed at Cole. Cole smiled, “Yes you do. No, I should say, ‘you did’ because I’ve got it now.” Then Cole crossed the room and stood over Sherrie. “And you’re not going to tell anyone about it.”

Before she could react Cole’s arm flashed from his side.  His fist landed just above her ear canal and it seemed as if the entire world exploded with a loud bang.  Stars filled the room and a mountain of pain erupted in her head. Then a gray curtain settled over her eyes. She slumped to the carpet, felt the fabric on her nose and watched the room spin. A moment later the floor fell away.

Gerry’s unconscious body got smaller and she felt something pushing on her stomach and ribs. Carpeted stairs appeared in the distance, and she felt herself being carried on Cole’s shoulder like a sack of potatoes. She was outside for a moment. She could see the sunlight and trees and water. Then she was dumped to the ground and dragged into a building.

Eve heard the door of the boathouse open. Quickly she hid the shepherd’s hook pry-bar in the rear of the closet. Turning back to the closet door she noticed the light coming from the hole she’d been making. Searching frantically for something to cover the hole she grabbed a bucket, turned it over, placed it on the hole and hoped.

Pausing to listen she could hear a voice several yards away. She had one more, small, moment. Eve scanned the room for something to use as a weapon. The darkness limited her choices to what she could feel. Previously she’d identified a glass jar and a metal spray can. The footsteps were only feet away; they would have to do.

She grabbed her weapons and stepped to the back of the closet. There Eve sat down and put her hands behind her back. Maybe he wouldn’t figure out that her hands were free. And if he did, well the jar and can had better find their mark.

The footsteps stopped. Involuntarily, Eve bent forward, listening. She heard a thump as something heavy was dropped to the floor. The doorknob rattled as someone fumbled with a key. Cole pushed the janitor’s closet door open and the bright sunshine filled the room. Involuntarily Eve flinched as the light hit her dark accustomed eyes.

“I brought you a little company,” Cole said, then he turned, grabbed Sherrie’s hands and dragged her through the door. Scanning his catch Cole said, “We’re going for a little boat ride in a bit. Hope you like boats.” The door slammed and Eve heard the key turn in the lock.

“I’ll be right baccckkkkk,” Cole called as he walked away.

Eve quickly went to the body on the floor. “Hey, hey,” she gently shook a shoulder in the darkness. “Are you all right?” Eve whispered.

Sherrie moaned, “That SOB hit me in the head. Where’s Gerry?” Sherrie’s head hurt but had stopped spinning. “My hands and feet, they’re tied.”

“Sherrie…oh Sherrie!” Eve tried to hug her.

“Gerry’s not here honey. But we’ve got to get out of here. That monster is coming back, and he said something about a boat ride. We can’t get on that boat. That would be bad, really bad.”

“I can barely move. My head hurts and my hands and feet are tied.”

Eve felt around in the in the darkness for Sherrie’s hands. She found an elbow, then the wrist. “Oh crap! You’re tied with plastic wire wraps. The damn things are nearly impossible to cut,” Eve moaned. Then she found Sherries leg and traced it to the ankle.

“Same on your feet. I don’t have anything to cut

them with. It’s going to be hard getting you out of here, but we have to try, we can’t stay here. You understand me? We’ve got to get out of here.”

“Your hands and feet are free?” Sherrie asked.

“Yeah. It took me forever but I sawed through the

wire wraps on a bolt over there. Listen, I’ve been trying to make a hole in the floor so I could get out. I’m nearly through…” She held the improvised pry-bar up and said, “Once I can get the wooden handles through I think I can pry up the board. I was going to drop to the water under this boathouse and…”

Sherrie rolled to her back and moaned.

“Ohhhh….ouch, my head is spinning again. Eve, listen to me. You’re going to have to get help.”

“I know, but I can’t leave you. Maybe we can…”

“You have to Eve. I can barely move, and when I do my head spins. Get help. It’s our only chance.” Their eyes met. Eve reached out and hugged her sister-in-law. “Alright, I will. Remember I love you,” she whispered.

Eve picked up her pry-bar and began working to remove the offending board.

Chapter 52

Cole backed down the staircase dragging the semiconscious Gerry behind him. Gerry’s feet bounced off each step and with each new bounce a low moan emitted from his dry throat. Gerry tried to make sense of what was happening and, try as he might, he was failing miserably.

He remembered lunch or was it breakfast? Then a scream, after that, time stopped. It restarted a few moments ago with his feet bouncing on a carpeted staircase. From someplace far away a voice said, “Gerry I didn’t think you were this damned heavy.”

Who’s voice was that? What was hitting his feet? Nothing made sense. Who was talking? He was tired. Maybe he’d just take a nap; he’d figure this all out later. Gerry closed his eyes, his head hurt, he couldn’t sleep. What kept hitting his feet?

Cole reached the bottom of the staircase. Gerry was heavy and the effort was making Cole angry. He flung Gerry’s arms to the floor. “Owwww…..” Gerry moaned.

“I’d shoot you right here you thieving son of a bitch…” Cole didn’t finish his sentence, he was looking for something to carry Gerry with. He had to get him out of the house and onto the boat. Cole had seen plenty of cop shows. He knew they used a spray that made blood shine with a black light, and they had other tricks that could even show who it was that was shot, or maybe it was their blood or DNA or something like that. It didn’t matter, they were all going for a boat ride. But first Cole had to get Gerry onto the boat.

He thought about that for a moment. Then smiled, “What do you haul trash in Gerry?” Cole asked. “What? Can’t come up with an answer? C’mon buddy, it ain’t that hard. A wheelbarrow! I’ll be right back, don’t go anywhere!” Cole headed for the garage laughing as he walked through the empty house. “Don’t go anywhere, that’s a good one.”

Gerry knew he had to escape. Opening one eye he watched Cole cross an empty room and disappear through a door on the opposite side. Then Gerry tried to place his left hand on the floor and push his head and shoulders up. He pushed, then pushed again. He couldn’t do it, his head spun, stars swirled across his vision and a buzz filled his ears. Gerry’s arm felt like it weighed five hundred pounds, he let it fall to the floor. He was so tired, all he needed was five minutes.  He….just….wanted….to….sleep.

Soon Cole returned pushing an empty wheelbarrow and whistling. He loaded Gerry into the wheelbarrow and headed across the grass. In a moment he was on the dock and next to his sailboat. Lifting Gerry to his feet he pushed the semiconscious figure over the rail and to the deck of the boat. Gerry hit the floor like a laundry bag. Cole giggled.

Gerry lay there a moment, groaned, attempted to stand and fell back to the deck. Cole boarded the boat and began pulling Gerry’s body into the forward cabin. Gerry gave Cole a weak half-hearted shove, received a punch in the stomach in return and laid back on the cabin floor.

The dot was barely moving. The quarry had stopped running. He wondered how much time Eve had, what would the madman do now? Jim slowly drove past the house, a large log structure straight from a magazine.

Nothing. No guards, no vehicles, no one waving a sign that said ‘help’. He wasn’t sure. Was it this big house? He checked the GPS again. It had to be.

Jim parked the Jeep in a stand of blue spruce some fifty yards past the driveway. He was certain this was it.

This place held the dog collar and therefore the man, or men, he reminded himself, that he was after. Exiting the vehicle he pushed the the pistol between his belt and his jeans. He closed his eyes and whispered, “God forgive me for what I’m about to do,” then went to the back of the Jeep.

Opening the back door of the Jeep Jim took an additional pistol magazine from the ammunition bag on the seat. He stuffed this into his back jean’s pocket. Then he lifted the shotgun from the floor. He shook out several shells from a box of single ought buckshot and loaded four shells into the tubular magazine. Pushing a small lever next to the trigger guard he released the forestock and pumped a round into the chamber. Then Jim pushed a fifth shell into the magazine. Emptying the box on the seat Jim grabbed a handful of additional shells and stuffed them into his pants pocket. He was ready.

Glancing up and down the road Jim assured himself that he was alone, then sprinted across the two-lane road. A second look around, only this time looking for more detail, and Jim was jogging toward the pretentious log mini-mansion. Once there, Jim crouched behind a large downy serviceberry bush and removed the GPS from his pocket. Switching the unit to its highest sensitivity the screen went black then glowed bright green and settled into a display that looked like a radar screen. In a moment the dot appeared, it was just thirty yards to the north.

He studied the house for a moment, then the GPS. The dot was behind the house. There was only water behind this house. That didn’t make sense. What would they be doing in the backyard. Then the reality of the situation burst over Jim, someone was getting a boat ready.

If Eve, and his sister and Gerry were put on a boat he’d loose them all before help arrived. But, what if others were in the house? He couldn’t move past the house without making sure no one was inside to spring a trap. An old Air Force saying popped into his head, “Check six,” he whispered to himself then glanced around and headed for the house. Jim was not going to be ambushed from behind.

A carved set of double front doors stood at the top of five stone steps. The door on the left was open just an inch or two. He pushed it fully open with the shotgun muzzle and carefully scanned the home’s front room.

There wasn’t a single piece of furniture. It was empty. Then, expecting bad news with each step, Jim sprinted across the room and began clearing the remaining downstairs rooms. They were all empty of people and furniture.

With the shotgun barrel leading the way, his heart pounding and hands sweaty, Jim approached the staircase. He took a deep breath, then began to carefully climb the stairs to the second floor. Three minutes later Jim was sure no one was home.

Now Jim found a window overlooking the back of the property. He removed the GPS from his pocket and got a new fix on the dot. It was still there. Only now Jim could see the building he was certain held a madman, and his wife.

A line of azalea bushes ran along the side of the property to the lake’s shoreline, suggesting a borderline with both neighbors. A fieldstone sidewalk, beginning off the deck attached to the back of the house, led across the manicured backyard to the massive boathouse. Extending out from the shore, and immediately next to the boathouse was a long dock. Maybe five feet wide and made of white painted wood, the dock extended nearly the full length of the building. At its end the dock turned ninety degrees left and five feet later ended at the foot of a brown windowless door.

A large sailboat was moored to the dock; its stern flush with the end of the dock; its bowlines strung to cleats placed every twenty feet on the open waterside of the structure. The boathouse itself was made of massive logs, with what appeared to be large floor to ceiling windows on both sides.

Carefully Jim descended the stairs, crossed the empty living room, and stepped out of the wide, double front doors. He jogged to the corner of the garage, peeked around and seeing no one he walked to the waterside of the building. Here he could see the entire backyard and the boathouse.

The windows of the building were a problem, anyone inside the boathouse could see him, but he couldn’t see inside the building. He studied the front of the building. A large wooden double door was centered in the glass paneled front. To reach the double doors would require Jim to cross the open backyard, once again, anyone inside the building would see Jim’s approach.

Jim carefully worked his way along the line of azaleas until he was kneeling behind the last bush. Here he had an even better view of the building. The front windows were clear, but the side windows were covered with a solid sun screen. He opted for the dock and the door at its end.

Swallowing hard he checked the shotgun, flipped the safety off and hurried to the dock. Carefully he scanned the boathouse and sailboat for any movement. Nothing. Then, gun at the ready, he slowly made his way along the dock.