Reluctant Witness (6 page)

“Howdy. I’m Steve Crockett.”

“Crockett, not Johnson?” I asked, taken aback
at the unexpected change.

“Johnson’s my nickname at work, because I’m
such a fine-looking ladies man and the other guys are all jealous.”
He tossed me a wide grin and I caught the glimmer of his perfect
teeth in the glow from the dashboard.

“Ah,” I nodded, laughing for the first time
in a long while. “Of course, Crockett, Johnson, as in Don
Johnson.”

“And sometimes Nash or Bridges. What can I
say? These guys are lacking in many ways, and their petty emotions
sometimes get the better of them....”

“Single guys always have a line, Marigold.
You’d be wise to remember that with Pretty Boy here,” Jack told me
from the back of the van. “Tell her how many times you’ve been
married, Don Juan-son.”

I turned in the direction of the driver,
expectant. A shrug signaled defeat.

“Twice. I just haven’t met the right girl
yet, one who understands my need, my desire to serve and
protect.”

“Oh, brother!” the state trooper behind me
groaned. “Can somebody hand me a shovel?”

Steve turned off I-87 down near Kingston, and
drove several miles on Route 28. “What do you want me to do,
chief?”

“Let’s shoot past Route 214 and find a blind,
to see if we’ve got company.”

Just past the Phoenician Lodge, he backed the
van over the fresh snow into the deserted driveway belonging to a
dark, ramshackle cottage and shut off the lights. Jack joined us at
the front of the camper, waiting and watching in the dark. We
passed the time in easy banter. When Brutus climbed off the bench
seat in the back, restless, Jack took him out the side door for a
quick pit stop. They were back a few minutes later.

“You think we’re good?” Steve asked as his
colleague resumed his kneeling position beside us.

“Probably. Let’s do it.”

Steve started the engine and cautiously
rolled the van forward on the dirt driveway, towards the road. When
he got there, he waited about twenty seconds before he turned the
headlights on, and another twenty before he turned right on Route
28.

The van began to pick up speed as the man
beside me gave the engine some gas. Looking out the window, I
recognized some of the buildings we had already passed. A short
time later, our trusty driver made a left turn and started up the
road to Chitchester, heading north. Steve carefully steered the
Dodge along a narrow, winding road, mindful of the patches of black
ice. We passed the entrance for the Devil’s Tombstone campground,
closed at this time of year. A short time later, we came to the
intersection of County Road 23A and went left. A quick look at the
dashboard clock told me it was just after midnight. By the time we
got to Hunter, I realized all the driving had taken us on a
circuitous loop, landing us west of Tannersville.

Near the top of a hill sat a classic New York
ski chalet. It was the only house with lights on inside. Steve
turned onto the gravel driveway and the Dodge suddenly began to
shimmy and shake as the tires ran over the rough surface, a
bone-rattling experience that had my teeth knocking together. He
dropped us off at the top, by the door. Grabbing the gear, Jack and
I made our way to the chalet while Steve turned the camper around
and drove half-way down, parking beside the small wooden shed we
had passed on our way up.

“Why not just park it here by the house?” I
asked my companion.

“It’s supposed to snow tonight. Less mess to
clear if the camper’s down there.

“Ah,” I nodded. “That makes sense.”

“Especially if you’re the guy with the
shovel,” he replied seriously. His hand was on my elbow, urging me
forward.

“Why did we drive all around for so long if
we were just coming here?” I asked Jack.

“So my guys would have a chance to get into
place and keep watch. That way, we know we won’t get ambushed.”

Chapter Six

Ambushed.
The word was daunting. It wasn’t one I really
wanted to hear, and yet it reminded me that I really wasn’t safe
yet. When would I be? It seemed so long ago that I lived my life as
a normal person doing normal things. But the moment that I found
myself surrounded by emergency responders at that Windham pond, a
little part of me had started to hope that this long nightmare was
finally ending. Meeting Philomena Papadopoulos and Inspector Vidal
started the ball rolling, but Jack Cornwall’s handshake sealed the
deal. The strength of his grasp had instantly conveyed the muscle
behind his strength and training. He was determined to get the job
done and he was leaving no room for error even now as he protected
me.

I’m not sure what I expected to find when the
camper finally stopped, but it wasn’t this charmingly rustic
hillside home in a pleasant neighborhood. Shouldn’t we have gone
into the forest, away from people, roads, and the trappings of
civilization, especially since we could live fairly comfortably
inside the tiny house on wheels? And yet, gazing around at the vast
landscape below, I had to admit that it was oddly comforting to
look out on the vista and see the lights of the nearby ski slopes.
We were still close to town and, if need be, rescue services.

Two men leaned over the balcony railing,
shotguns in hand, and hailed us before going back to their
surveillances. Were those the “big rods” Jack told them to bring
for some night fishing?

“Let’s not dawdle out here,” Jack advised,
steering me to the ground floor entrance. We walked into a foyer
lined with lockers for ski gear on one wall and a rustic wooden
bench on the other.

“This looks like the real deal, a Catskill
ski haus,” I remarked.

“It is,” he smiled briefly. “My parents own
it. It’s where we have all the family gatherings when they’re in
town.”

A flight of stairs brought us up to the main
living quarters. Depositing the gear on a dining table by the
kitchen, I inspected my temporary quarters. The inside of the
chalet was clean and comfortable, casually decorated in a family
lodge style, with practical furnishings and finishes. I could
imagine children playing on the floor and dogs welcome by the stone
fireplace. I wandered around the great room as Jack poured Brutus a
bowl of water and placed it on the floor in the kitchen area. The
thirsty dog lapped it up with enthusiasm. When he was done, he sat
patiently as Jack poured some kibble from a large red plastic scoop
into the dish on the floor.

“Okay,” said the K-9 trooper. “Barring any
unforeseen circumstances, Marigold, you’ll have the bedroom to the
right. Hope you don’t mind sleeping in your clothes tonight. It’s
just easier if you do.”

“Sure.” The last thing I wanted was to be
rudely awakened from a sound sleep and have to run naked from the
house.

“Brutus will be sleeping with you tonight. I
should probably warn you that he has a tendency to snore.”

“That’s fine,” I smiled. “I probably do,
too.”

“Marigold, can I just ask you one more
question? I’m not trying to pry into a case involving the marshals,
but I just keep coming back to one thing. You said Tovar’s partner
went on maternity leave at the same time the boss retired.”

“Emergency leave,” I corrected him, as he led
me over to the plaid sectional and we sat down. It was true, I
explained. Eve wasn’t due for another six weeks, but she suddenly
went into labor after the office holiday party.

“And the boss had planned his retirement for
some time?”

“Actually, he was planning on stepping down
at the end of March, but his wife was in a car accident, and she
needed him.”

“That’s a lot of unusual coincidences, don’t
you think?” Jack’s direct gaze held fast, not letting go. He was
serious. “Was Shaun’s wife at fault in the car accident?”

“No. It was a hit-and-run,”
I informed him. Watching his reaction, I found myself unexpectedly
disconcerted when I realized he wasn’t happy with the answer. To
him, it meant trouble. A cold, icy chill gripped my soul, and with
it came a dreadful thought.
What if someone
made all these terrible things happen on purpose?

“Did Eve have any problems at the office
gathering?”

“She...um....” I paused, trying to remember.
Something had happened. What was it? And then it all came back to
me, filling me with inescapable dread. “...felt a sudden stinging
sensation in the back of her leg, lost her footing, and fell down
the stairs in the parking garage. Tovar said she was feeling okay
when she first got back. She just had some bruises, but then she
started having abdominal pain and went into labor.”

“When’s your case coming up for trial?” he
wanted to know.

“Late spring. The district attorney tried to
make a deal with another witness, but he balked after he was
threatened, so everything else got pushed back and they reopened
their investigation, trying to develop new leads.”

“Any other witnesses have trouble?”

“Just Joe DiMarco. He was my downstairs
neighbor when I lived in Rhode Island.” Poor Joe was found
unconscious in the walk-in freezer of his Newport restaurant. If
his son, Vinnie, hadn’t shown up when he did with the frozen gelato
dessert, my favorite caterer would have been a human Popsicle. “He
had been with me when we found Jared’s body.”

“And you. You definitely had trouble,” the
state trooper pointed out. It was true. Ever since I got caught up
in the investigation, my life had turned upside down.

“And me,” I acknowledged, defeated.

“That sounds like someone is very determined
to intimidate witnesses, to prevent them from cooperating with
prosecutors. No witnesses, no trial. Is that what you meant when
you said you should have heeded the warning before Jared was
shot?”

“Yes. I got a call and just thought it was
some creep trying to scare me. I should have known the man on the
phone meant business. It never occurred to me the man would murder
Jared.”

“Who is he, Marigold?”

“I...I don’t know his name. I never even saw
him. But he seemed to know everything about me, right down to the
names of my business clients, where I did my grocery shopping, and
even how much money I had in my bank account.”

“It’s interesting that he went after the
other witnesses as a means of intimidating you. He took some time
to stalk you.” Jack seemed lost in thought for a moment, as if he
were tallying up the clues. “It’s almost like he enjoyed tormenting
you. That makes it sound personal.”

“That’s how it felt to me.”

“
And then he apparently went
after your handlers at the Marshals Service. Eve’s fall probably
wasn’t an accident. We know Tovar’s shooting was deliberate. And
what happened to Shaun...well, why go after a retired marshal,
someone who’s already out of the game, and beat him to a bloody
pulp? This guy is not out to kidnap marshals to get the information
from them. Maybe he needs them out of the picture for a reason,
because they know something that would help investigators to
identify him and that makes them dangerous to him.”

“All I know is that the people who looked
after me all got hurt and I have to start all over with a new
WitSec team.”

Jack studied me, his alert eyes intent. I
didn’t really think I had much to offer him, given my physical
exhaustion, my injured ear, and my sense of defeat. I had never
been in trouble with the law. I ran a respectable business. I
handled arrangements for flowers, cakes, and elegant dinners, not
killers. There was nothing sinister about it.

“Tell me about your fiancé.”

How much should I tell him? How much could I
tell him? Was it relevant to keeping me alive now? Part of me
thought so, but part of me just wanted to stop thinking all
together. I longed to curl up into a ball and just wait until the
trial was over. Right now, the last thing I wanted to do was
testify about Jared’s murder. How many more people had to die
because of me and my secret past?

“Jared?” I sighed. Jared. How I dreaded
remembering him. The moment the memory began to creep back into my
mind, it felt like an elephant was sitting on my chest, squeezing
the life out of me. I wanted to push the beast off of me and take a
deep breath, but I didn’t have the strength. So much time had
passed and yet nothing changed. I seemed to be dangling in
semi-permanent limbo, waiting for the case to develop, but not
seeing any real progress. The odd thing was that the FBI hadn’t
identified a suspect yet. All their inquiries seemed to go nowhere,
their leads evaporate as the months wore on, even as my handlers
started to drop like flies swatted down by some invisible hand of
evil.

“What did he do for work?”

I started to compose my answer, but only got
as far as opening my mouth. It was a relief when the state
trooper’s phone rang and he dug into his pocket to retrieve it.
“Hold that thought, Marigold.”

“Sure,” I promised, even though I was hoping
he would forget about it while he was on the phone.

“Cornwall. When? How many? Right. That’s the
plan,” he told the caller, his tone clipped and concise. It wasn’t
hard to figure out something was wrong. One look at Jack’s face
made that clear. But I wasn’t expecting him to leap to his feet and
grab me.

“Come on!” His hand took hold of my elbow and
he gave me the bum’s rush up the stairs to the open loft. We
hurriedly crossed the carpeted space to a small door under the
steep eave. The determined man yanked it open and looked at me with
an intensity that was riveting. “Are you claustrophobic?”

“What? No,” I replied. Barely had those words
passed my lips when he gave me a good push and I tumbled into that
square black opening, like Alice through the Looking Glass. My
hands found the carpeting continued here, soft under my palms, as I
crawled further inside. My tote bag was tossed in beside me.