Mistaken Identity (22 page)

Forty-One

Jake slammed down on the brakes, squealing tires as he hooked a left at the first scarf. Turning off Route 13, the patrol cars killed their lights to make their approach less obvious from a distance. Until they reached the farm, they wouldn’t know how far the abductor could and could not see.

All eyes were focused on barns, curves, dips in the road, seeking a spot of concealment where vehicles could hide and a roadblock would be effective. With cellphone and radio, they exchanged observations and made their plans. After several turns in the countryside, they reached the end of the road where the final scarf flapped from a mailbox beside a dirt drive. Jake stopped and the caravan halted behind him. They all knew what to do.

Several cars backed up to a turning point and travelled to a spot a mile away where the roadway passed between two high banks, making it easy to block off the road. Other vehicles positioned behind barns and clusters of trees to wait. Lucinda parked her car in the dirt in front of a gate with a cattle guard. She piled into the back seat of a patrol car and ducked down.

Jake pulled the red Camaro into the drive first, followed by four police vehicles, including the one carrying Lucinda. As they reached the curve in the road near the barn, they all slowed down to a near-stop. Lucinda rolled out of the back door and darted behind the outbuilding.

She checked the back of her waistband to make sure she hadn’t lost her handgun in the maneuver. If all went well, she wouldn’t need it; the high-powered rifle clutched in her right hand would do the job. The state guys hadn’t been too happy with her role in the operation – they had no faith in her shooting ability – but the local folks defended her proficiency. One even called her “Dead Eye Pierce”, then blanched and apologized. Lucinda waved him off, assuring everyone that she hadn’t taken offense. She grinned at the memory. No one had called her “Dead Eye” since she lost one eye. It almost made her feel whole again.

She dashed to the other end of the barn. From there, she could see the driveway peter out in front of the farmhouse where Jake had parked the car. Not a sound came from inside the house. The quiet made her nervous. Jake stayed in the car, an easy target for the man inside the house. She wanted to scream at him to take cover, but she knew that was not an option.

The creak of the opening screen door sent shivers through her body. She drew a bead on the emerging body. The slam of the door’s closing sent a small spasm through her legs. But the person on the porch was a woman – in all likelihood, one of the three hostages. Lucinda lowered her rifle.

The woman’s hands were tied tight behind her back. She spoke but her voice was too low to carry past the porch. A trooper put one foot out of his car and stood with a hand to his ear. The woman began again, shouting, “My name is Martha Drummond. This farm belongs to me and my husband Frank. I have instructions for you. You need to follow them or that boy or my husband will die.” She choked as a sob shredded a hole in the idyllic setting.

Martha sucked in a gulp of air. “You all must get out of your cars, take two sideways steps away from your vehicles and place your hands on top of your heads – and that includes the man in the red car.”

As the car doors opened, Lucinda thought this might be the moment of diversion she sought. She scampered to the back of the house and flattened against the wall beside the back door, clutching the rifle to her chest with both hands.

Jake did not like standing there beside the car with his hands on top of his head – it made him feel vulnerable and powerless. It was made even worse knowing that everyone in the back-up cars stood in the same position. He could only hope that Lucinda found the right moment to get into position.

Martha told them she had to inspect their vehicles and she travelled to them one by one, looking in the back seats and in the trunks. She returned to the porch, turned and faced them. “Thank you. I’m sorry.”

A shout from the house drew her eyes to the front door. She cringed and scampered inside, the wooden screen door slamming shut behind her. Again, they waited.

Lucinda eased open the back door just enough to listen. She heard voices coming from the front of the house. One, a female voice tinged with fear, must be Martha. The other, a male voice, snarled out orders. Without seeing what was happening, the terse words made little sense to her.

Praying the door wouldn’t make a noise and betray her presence, Lucinda opened it a little bit further to slide inside. She stood in a kitchen that brought waves of nostalgia rushing through her thoughts, transporting her for a moment back to Hank and Connie’s farmhouse. She shook her head and snapped back to the here and now.

Indentations on the vinyl floor indicated where the dining table once sat – it was now shoved against the wall. One window sported a jagged hole and small slivers of glass gleamed in the sunlight. Three chairs, side by side, occupied the middle of the room. From each one, rope hung from the backs and puddled on the floor by the front legs. Debris cluttered the floor – an egg beater here, a grater there – and everywhere shattered glass and porcelain. Lucinda didn’t want to think about the terror this destruction had caused.

She didn’t see a spot where she could look into the front room without revealing her presence. She considered bursting in with her rifle up and ready to fire but knew she couldn’t risk it without knowing the position of the hostages. She strained to think of alternatives.

An odd noise came from the room, a shuffling sound that reminded her of a line of shackled prisoners entering a courtroom but without the jangle of the leg restraints and chains. She risked a peek around the corner and froze at the sight of a pair of eyes looking in her direction. In a split second, she realized she had nothing to fear. The duct tape across his mouth made it obvious – it was the male hostage. He gave her a tiny, tight nod and fixed her with a pleading stare. He was tied to the kidnapper’s back, making it impossible for Lucinda to see Jason King/John Kidd’s head.

Damn. He thinks of everything.
Lucinda refused to entertain that thought a moment longer.
He will make a mistake. A big mistake. And when he does, I will be ready.

The front door opened, the screen door creaked and the tight group shuffled out on to the porch. As soon as it slammed behind them, Lucinda crept into the room and stopped. She waited for the four pairs of feet to make it down the porch steps, before getting into position and aiming her rifle at the most likely location of the killer’s hidden head.

An ache burned in Jake’s shoulders. The stress of the situation made it doubly difficult to keep his arms raised over his head. A sign of movement at the front door gave him hope that this part of the ordeal would soon be over. He hoped Lucinda was in place ready to take the shot that would bring it all to a quick end.

He groaned when he saw how they emerged from the house, the abductor’s left arm wrapped around Freddy’s throat. His right hand held a gun to the side of the boy’s head. On his right side, Martha had her left arm tethered backwards. Jake couldn’t tell from his position where it was attached. It could be to her captor – it could be to her husband. Frank was tied back to back with Jason King/John Kidd, making it impossible for Lucinda to get a clear sight of the kidnapper’s head.
This pretty much sucks. Damn it.

Kidd turned to Martha and whispered in her ear. She shouted out, “You – next to the red car – step away from the vehicle but keep your hands on your head.”

Jake took two steps away. Kidd whispered again. Martha said, “He says that’s not far enough, go over by the barn.”

Jake brought his hands down without thinking. Kidd dug the muzzle into Freddy’s head making the boy cry out. “Hands on your head!” he screamed.

“But you wanted a driver. I’m your driver.”

“I changed my mind. Move!”

Jake backed away, fever burning in his eyes. He cast a glance toward the house but could see nothing in the gloom of the unlit rooms. He prayed the perfect opportunity would come for Lucinda who was ready and waiting to take the shot.

Lucinda knew that as long as Frank was attached to Kidd’s back, there was no chance she could pick off Kidd without killing Frank, too. She waited, breathing deeply and purposefully – preparing for the moment when that might change.

Kidd stopped his bound entourage by the side of the Camaro and, grinning, looked down the line of officers standing in that humiliating pose. “Ms. Martha, untie your wrist from the rope attached to my waist and then go behind me and untie your husband. Frank, don’t you move until I tell you to do so.”

Anger threatened to disrupt the peace and calm Lucinda knew she needed in order to do what had to be done. She forced herself to concentrate on her breathing to focus her mind and level her emotions.

Martha muttered and Kidd said, “Good. Now, I want Frank to ease to one side and Martha, you get in his place but do it facing me and place one hand on each of my shoulders.” Once they’d exchanged places, Kidd said, “Frank, back up a few steps. A few more.”

Lucinda beaded her gun sight on the top of Kidd’s head but knew there was too little room for error – Martha was shorter but not by much. Kidd pulled open the driver’s door and turned around. As he did, he hoisted Freddy up with a firm grip around his waist. The boy’s new position blocked Kidd’s head. Lucinda cursed him for being too smooth.

“Take your hands off my shoulders, Martha and slide behind the wheel. Start the car and shut the door. And don’t forget, I still have a gun to the little boy’s head.” With his back to the vehicle, he walked around it with Freddy held high. He shouted to Martha to open the passenger door. Over his shoulder, he said, “Frank, your job is to make sure none of these fine officers move until I reach the end of the driveway. You got it?”

Frank nodded.

“Can’t hear you, Frank.”

Frank mumbled through the duct tape. His words were not clear but Kidd accepted it as affirmation. Kidd crouched down, hiding behind Freddy as he set him on the ground. “Now, little man, I’m going to remove my arm for a moment but the gun’s still at your head, so don’t try anything smart.” Kidd lifted up the lever on the side of the front seat, leaning it forward. He grabbed the boy by the waist again, using him for cover as he slid into the back seat.

“I’m going to let go of you, little man. You try to run for it and this lady is dead. I just want you to get into the front seat and shut the door.”

Freddy did as he was told. He reached for his seat belt and felt a finger brush his hand. He looked at Ms. Martha and she gave her head a little shake.

“Move it, old lady,” Kidd shouted from the back seat.

Martha eased the car down the driveway, tires crunching over gravel. As soon as the Camaro curved around the barn and out of sight, Lucinda sprinted out the front door. Frank turned toward her, shaking his head. A patrolman slipped up behind him and cut the restraints on his arms. “It’s okay, sir. He can’t see us from down there.”

Lucinda laid a hand on his arms and said, “Frank, you go in the house and wait. We’ll be back as soon as we can.”

Frank shook out his arms and tried to ease the tape off his face. He grew impatient and pulled it off fast, sending shrieks of pain up through his nerves and into his brain. He watched the patrol cars pull away but he didn’t go inside. He stood sentry waiting for Martha’s return. He prayed for good news but feared the worst.

Forty-Two

In the passenger side of the first patrol car in the pack, Lucinda grabbed the radio. “Dismantle the roadblock. Get your vehicles out of sight. Now. He’s travelling with two hostages.”

She dropped the device, picked up her cell and called Jake. “I didn’t take my eyes off of him for a moment. I never saw a chance. I don’t think I missed a moment of opportunity but I don’t know.”

“Trust me, Lucinda, you didn’t have a chance. We’re not dealing with your typically stupid felon.”

“But still, shit! I don’t want to follow him all the way to Norfolk before we have another shot at him. Damn it, Jake, I should have tried.”

“No. Your instincts were right. We can’t risk killing hostages to get to the bad guy. We’ll be looking for opportunities along the way. Something will happen.”

“I sure hope you’re right. And I hope we know it when we see it.” She clicked off and leaned forward in her seat.

Freddy wasn’t sure what was going on. He knew Miss Martha had something in mind but didn’t know what. He reached again for his seat belt but she hissed, “No!”

Kidd kicked the back of his seat and said, “You listen to her, little man, and don’t try anything cute. Even if you get away, I’ll put a bullet in the old lady’s head and you’ll have to live with that blood on your hands for the rest of your miserable life.”

“Where are we going?” Freddy asked.

“We’re going to a boat and then to Cuba. Remember, you found that for me, little man.”

“I don’t want to go to Cuba,” Freddy objected.

“Don’t be a cry-baby. As soon as I get there, you can come back.”

Freddy knew enough about current events to know that wouldn’t be happening but he didn’t respond. He focused instead on Martha who kept glancing at him, jerking her eyes towards her door. Finally, Freddy saw that her left hand hovered over the door handle. He slipped his right hand over to his. Martha slowed the car.

“What are you doing? Get moving,” Kidd shouted.

“There’s a nasty curve up ahead and a one-lane bridge. Take it too fast and I could run head on into a police car,” she said.

“Once you’re past the bridge, pick up the pace.”

As soon as the car was moving as slowly as Martha dared, she shouted, “Now!”

Freddy and Martha both pushed down on the door handles and plunged out of their seats, tumbling on to the road and rolling into the ditches along either side. Two shots rang out and the windows on the open doors shattered as the car drifted toward the side of the small bridge. The side of the Camaro scraped against the concrete and then swerved back into the center of the road. The driver’s side door slammed shut and the car pulled away fast, the passenger door slapping back and forth in every curve.

Lucinda grabbed the radio and screamed, “Get the roadblock back in place. Hurry. Now. Cut off the road. The hostages are out of the car. Repeat – the hostages are clear. Stop that car.”

The two vehicles transporting Lucinda and Jake zoomed forward. The two cars behind them fell out to locate and give assistance to the hostages. Lucinda switched to another channel on the radio and screamed for an ambulance.

Up ahead, one car was in place blocking most of the road. Kidd swerved, the tires on the left side tearing through the dirt. But he didn’t turn the wheels sharply enough. The flapping passenger door collided with the front end of the marked vehicle, tearing it off in a deafening shriek of metal against metal.

The Camaro shuddered and barreled forward, running straight for the officers with drawn guns. They shot at the windshield, jumped to the side and continued firing into the side of the car. One bullet hit a tire, blowing it out, rubber flapping and metal rim digging furrows into the road surface, throwing sparks. Still Kidd surged forward.

Another roadblock was now in place at the intersection with Route 13. Kidd saw it moments before he reached the barricade. He swerved off the road in an attempt to cut the corner and escape behind the police line. The bare rim bit down into the dirt, jerking the car to a halt. Kidd’s head flew forward in the sudden stop, crashing into the steering wheel and the horn, sending out a lonely, non-stop blare.

An ambulance turned the corner and slowed. “Not here. Down the road,” a patrolman shouted and the emergency vehicle sped off.

Lucinda and Jake, guns drawn, reached the side of the Camaro first. They waited for a ring of uniforms to surround the car before moving closer. As they stepped towards him, Kidd raised his head. Jake and Lucinda froze. “Put your fingers on the butt of the gun and toss it out the window,” Jake ordered.

Kidd paused, looking around the car, assessing the flight or fight probabilities and realizing the odds were not in his favor. He shrugged, reached down and raised one hand in an exaggerated move with the gun dangling from his fingertips. He moved his arm slowly to the window frame where some of the glass remained shattered into little chunks around the edges. Sticking his arm outside of the vehicle, he released his fingers and the weapon fell to the ground.

Jake reached in, grabbed him by the collar and jerked him out of the car. He threw the suspect face down into the ground, put a knee in his back, wrenched his arms behind him and slapped on the cuffs. Grabbing the chain between Kidd’s wrists, Jake stood, yanking the cuffed man to his feet as he did.

“Hey, man, easy. I’m bleeding.”

Jake spun him around and saw a cut on his forehead turning his face into a bloody mess. He shouted to another officer who pulled a towel out of his trunk and rushed over to hold it on Kidd’s wound.

When the ambulance returned up the road, Lucinda waved it down. “How is everybody?”

“Looks like the lady fractured her ulna – we splinted her arm. The boy appears to have nothing more than abrasions and contusions – we cleaned up his cuts – and the older guy is delirious with joy that his wife is alive but concerned about her injury. The doc will give them a closer examination when we get them to the emergency room. You want us to take that guy, too?”

“Hell, no. But will the others be okay if you take a little time to bandage the cut on his head?”

“Sure, no problem,” the EMT said, grabbing a bag and sprinting over to Kidd. When the medical technician had finished patching up Kidd, Jake shoved the kidnapper into the back of a state car and sent them off to a nearby Trooper station.

Lucinda found a sorrowful Jake, hands on his hips, staring down at the damage to the Camaro. “Damn,” he said. “She once was a beauty.”

“Borrowed, not bought, right?”

“Yeah, ’fraid so. I hope I can find someone who can repair the damage and restore it back to the original. I could have done with a little less unpredictability today.”

“Yeah, but you gotta admire one of the unexpected turns of events. I am still amazed at Martha and Freddy. I didn’t think either one of them had it in ’em. But thank God they did. It saved us a long, strained trip to the boat slip.”

“What?” Jake grinned. “You didn’t want a paid trip to the coast?”

Lucinda snorted in response.

“How about a ride on the Skyline Drive to the Blue Ridge Parkway and down into the Great Smoky Mountains – all with the top down feeling the mountain breeze – as soon as we wrap this up.”

“No can do, Jake, I have to go in for another surgery as soon as we close this case. I’ll be out of commission for a few weeks.”

“That’s even better. We’ll go in mid October when the autumn colors are at their peak at the higher elevation.”

Lucinda felt a thrill coursing through her nervous system, threatening to flood out cogent thought. She didn’t know what to say – she wanted to set a date right there, right then. But she was afraid. It would change the dynamic between her and Jake and she didn’t know if she was ready to take that risk. Ducking her head and heading to her car, she said, “Let’s talk about that later, Jake. Right now, we’ve got a suspect who needs our total attention.”