Reluctant Witness

Reluctant Witness

By Sara M. Barton

This book is a work of fiction. Names,
characters, places, incidents, and events are the product of the
author’s imagination or are used fictitiously in the context of the
story. They are in no way representative of real life and any
resemblance is purely coincidental.

Copyright © 2014 Sara M. Barton

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved. This book or any portion
thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever
without the express written permission of the authorized publisher,
Sara M. Barton, except for the use of brief quotations in a book
review.

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you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not
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purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of
this author.

Dedication

To the birds, the bees, the butterflies --
our winged friends who work their magic on the ground and in the
air.

Without them, there would be no coffee to
awaken our senses, no chocolate to sweeten our days, no cinnamon to
spice up our lives. The world would indeed be a poor place to
be....

Acknowledgments

F. Rue “Gull” McDougall’s publishing
assistance was invaluable in bringing this tale to life. Jayne E.
Austin’s grammatical governance was inspirational for this author.
Dino Marino’s constant revisions to my manuscript kept me on my
toes. I thank you all.

Part One: On The Run From
Contract Killers In The Catskills

Bicknell’s Thrush (Catharus bicknelli) was
discovered on Slide Mountain in the Catskills in the late 19th
century by Eugene Bicknell. A rare, secretive songbird endangered
by the loss of its native habitat, it appears to adapt well to
commercial reforestation efforts, which may encourage breeding and
survival of the species.

Chapter One

“Wait here.”

Those two words were the only ones spoken to
me as I shivered in the frozen night air, standing coatless and
terrified. Even as the emergency responders poured into the park,
they weren’t interested in me. They were trying to rescue the woman
in the submerged car, the one who didn’t escape. They worked
frantically to free her from her metal prison, but as the minutes
ticked on, I knew it was useless.

“Put this on,” said a passing firefighter,
handing me a jacket, dark and stiff, made of nylon. Hurriedly, I
slipped my arms into the sleeves and pulled it around me. It came
only to my knees and did little to protect my stocking-covered
legs. My long, wet hair was heavy on my shoulders, and I was torn
between keeping it under the coat and leaving it exposed to the
cold night. I sighed heavily as I watched him run, a man on a
mission. I could have told him he was too late. I could have saved
him that cold trip into the frigid water. After all, I had been
locked in that car for the last three hours.

“Pull it up!” shouted a voice from behind the
monstrous emergency vehicle at the edge of that all-to-real
nightmare on the shore. I could hear the rattle of a chain as it
clanged against the gears on the motorized pulley, fighting the
weight of the Toyota Corolla. The icy surface of the pond broke
apart once more as the vehicle was yanked out. Huge chunks of ice
thumped and thudded against one another. “Get the jaws!”

Frantically, the army of rescuers got into
position and began to saw away the twisted metal. I pulled the
borrowed jacket closer as I watched, stomping my feet in a feeble
attempt to prevent frostbitten toes. A moment later, they had the
body free and they loaded it onto the stretcher. The crowd fell
away, until there were only four figures working fiercely in the
narrow beam of light to revive the limp, lifeless form. The pallet
was carefully carried to the waiting ambulance, one man still
pumping hard with chest compressions as the others maneuvered it
into the vehicle. The engine roared to life the second the heavy
doors slammed shut, and with a rumble and loud beeps, the emergency
vehicle backed up. The driver pulled a u-turn before steering it
onto the road out of the park. A moment later, the siren split the
night with an ear-deafening warning as the medical truck headed for
the highway.

“Ma’am?” A hand touched my elbow and I
jumped, startled by the unexpected contact. “Come with me. Let me
drive you to the station for your statement.”

I couldn’t see the man’s face, although I saw
the glint of wire-rimmed glasses in the dim light. He was taller
than me by a foot or so. From the sound of his voice, I guessed he
was in his forties. Why did he make me nervous?

“Ma’am?” He said the word again as I felt
those fingers on my elbow, but this time he didn’t let go, even
when I tried to shrug him off.

“Don’t touch me,” I told him, recoiling in
fear.

“I’m trying to help you,” he insisted, his
voice silky smooth, and I almost believed him, until he wrenched my
arm behind my back.

“Let me go!” I screamed. “Let me go!”

“What’s going on?” I heard a distant voice
shout.

“Help!”

“Hey!” another voice called out. “Stop right
there!”

“Nothing to worry about, fellows,” said the
man in a confident tone. “I’m a cop!”

“So am I...New York State Police. Let’s see
your badge,” demanded a man behind us. “Nice and easy, pal.”

“How about a little professional courtesy?”
the stranger asked as powerful spotlight split the darkness with a
beam of white light and landed on us. He winced, hand to his face.
For a moment, I thought he was trying to hide from his fellow law
enforcement officer. “Take my word for it. I’m a cop.”

“I have a better idea,” the uniformed trooper
with the flashlight announced. “You show me yours and I’ll show you
mine. Here’s mine.”

He pointed to the badge pinned on his chest,
but I thought it unnecessary. After all, I could see the New York
State Police cruiser some fifty feet away. “Number 143. Where’s
yours?”

“I don’t want to release my prisoner,” my
plain clothes captor informed him warily. “She might try to
flee.”

Prisoner? That didn’t sound good to me,
especially since I couldn’t recall breaking any laws. If anything,
I was the victim, given that I had just kicked my way out of the
trunk of that Toyota. Do you know how hard it is to find the
release switch in the darkness, as the icy water begins to creep in
through the crack between sedan body and trunk? Trust me, it’s
maddening, especially when your fingers are numb and your blood is
almost the consistency of a Slurpee.

Apparently, the cop wasn’t buying the
stranger’s story either. In the light of a fellow officer’s torch,
I could see a determined expression on his face.

“I’m going to have to insist, since you
identified yourself as a law enforcement officer.”

My captor must have recognized the look. As
Badge Number 143 took two steps towards us, I felt that stranger’s
hand pull me back two steps, as if prepared for flight. He
spoke.

“Fine. Let me get it out,”
was the gruff response. The moment I felt the man’s grip loosen, I
yanked my arm away and tried to rub the pain from my muscles, but
the danger wasn’t over. A second later, his fist struck the middle
of my back with such brute force it propelled me forward, and as I
stumbled into the trooper, chaos ensued. Three shots rang
out.
Bang, bang, bang.
I felt something strike my ear, a
thwack
that stung like a hornet. Hands
pushed me down as feet scrambled past me. I felt myself slipping on
the slick, frosted surface, and down the incline I went, my
stocking-covered legs exposed, my skirt drawn up to my
crotch.

“Police! Stop!”

“Drop your weapon!”

More shots followed as I hugged the ground
with my tobogganing body. Unable to control the wild trajectory as
I picked up speed, I careened on a path that would surely send me
into that broken hole on the frozen surface. All I could think of
was how long it had taken me to climb up the hill, and in less than
thirty seconds, it had all come undone. I was headed back into that
horrifying hell. Hoping to hit the water feet first, I tried to
twist myself onto my back and turn around, wildly flapping my arms
like a demented snow angel. If only I could fly.

Unexpectedly, a dark figure stepped into my
path, planted his feet firmly into the snow crust, and spread his
legs apart. He bent over, hands extended in my direction, ready and
waiting. I closed my eyes, prepared to go through that human
croquet wicket at full speed, hoping I didn’t take him with me into
the black water beyond, but something banged against my shoulder
and then my leg. My body jerked sideways. Seconds later, his
fingers tightened around the collar of my borrowed jacket as the
man stood his ground and I skidded to a stop. “There you go. Let me
help you up.”

Strong hands lifted me to my feet and then
released me. I wobbled, still reeling from the dizzying ride. He
glanced at my feet and his eyes grew wide, and then he pointed a
finger in my direction. “You’re bleeding.”

“Am I?” I looked down. Red droplets spread
across the snow. My frozen fingers touched my cheek. It was warm
and sticky. And then I remembered that stinging sensation and
reached for my right ear. “Ouch!”

“I have an injury here!” shouted my rescuer.
Moments later, there was a crowd gathering around me.

“He got away,” said one cop. “Had a car in
the parking lot. We’ve got an APB out.”

“Okay. She’s been shot. Put some light on
it.”

“Shot?” I uttered. My head felt like it was
detaching from my body. Was it shock or loss of blood? How bad was
it? Someone turned my head, trying to examine the wound, and I gave
up an involuntary gasp. The pain was excruciating.

“Superficial. Nothing that a couple of
stitches won’t fix,” someone decided.

“Want me to run her to the hospital?” asked
Badge Number 143, as someone ripped open a gauze pad and taped it
to my face.

“I haven’t had a chance to question her yet,”
said my rescuer. “I’ll ride along.”

“Great. I want to pop into the Quickie Mart
for a snack. I pulled a double today and I’m wiped out.”

“No problem. Miss, you think you can walk to
the car?” he asked. I took me a few moments to realize he was
talking to me. I was too busy trying to keep my head on straight,
even as it seemed to roll forward.

“Oh, geez! I don’t think she’s hearing us.
Her eyes aren’t quite focused.” That sounded like Badge 143
talking.

“She’s all wet. It’s probably hypothermia.
Anyone got a blanket?”

“How’d she get wet? I thought she was just a
witness. Someone told me she called it into the station.”

“Maybe she went in trying to rescue the woman
in the car,” someone suggested. ‘Gutsy move, if you ask me.”

“You got a purse, miss?” More men crowded
around me, and the din from the clamoring voices made my head hurt
so much, I thought it would split in two. “Is your car here?”

“Did you drop your phone? Maybe we can get
your personal info off of that.”

“I don’t see a purse anywhere.”

“Was she with the guy who got away?”

All these questions just seemed to catch in
my brain, like a thousand fireflies trapped in a nylon net,
swirling around and glowing, even as I lost consciousness. One
minute there was so much noise and the next, nothing.

I woke up under fluorescent lights inside the
ambulance. I don’t know how long I was out, but the first thing I
noticed was a warm sensation on my belly that was delightful. To my
horror, I soon discovered a foil blanket was the only thing that
covered my now-naked body. Three men leaned forward on the bench
seat beside me, observing. I clutched the Mylar, trying to rise.
Heat packs, tucked into my arm pits, dropped down, bounced off the
stretcher, and fell to the floor below.

“Don’t move,” warned the paramedic, as he
lifted the blanket to replace them. “It can cause a heart attack.
Just lay back down and rest. We’re trying to get your body
temperature to rise safely.”

Even as he said that, he was checking my
heart with a cold stethoscope. I shivered in the sudden draft, but
a moment later, that delicious warmth found me again, when he added
another couple of Insta-Hot packs, this time on top of a cotton
blanket.

“We don’t want to burn you,” he smiled,
patting my covered shoulder. “Sorry, but we had to take off your
wet clothes. Can you tell me your name?”