Remembering Dresden (Jack Turner Suspense Series Book 2) (30 page)

Harold Vandergraf had just received a disturbing phone message from his receptionist. Apparently a detective with the Culpepper PD was on line two, insisting he needed to speak with the Senator right away on a matter of extreme importance. She had been properly trained and knew to divert all such calls to him.

He took a deep breath and pressed the button. “Hello, this is Harold Vandergraf, Senator Wagner’s aide, whom am I speaking with?”

“This is Sergeant Joe Boyd with the Culpepper PD. I told the receptionist I needed to speak with the Senator himself. I’m not sure why she connected me with you.”

Vandergraf was pretty sure he knew what this call was about. “I’m the Senator’s personal aide. I handle all his affairs. She connected us because she knows that also, and she knows the Senator is completely unavailable right now. I’m guessing since you mentioned this was of extreme importance, she didn’t want to put you off, so she directed you to me. Anything you say to me will be held in strict confidence, and I will personally deliver the message to the Senator, just as soon as that is possible.”

“Well, I guess if you’re his trusted aide then you probably already know what I’m calling about. It has to do with a young professor, Jack Turner, who teaches over at the University, who also happens to be renting a cabin from the Senator. Is this starting to ring any bells?”

“No, I’m afraid not, Sergeant.”

“Well then, how’s this? His condo was broken into yesterday. Nothing was stolen, but an elderly woman surprised the intruder, and she died of a heart attack on the spot.”

“Sergeant, that sounds like a terrible thing to happen, especially to that poor woman, but I don’t see—”

“As it turns out,” Boyd continued, “that same day, another intruder or possibly the same one broke into the cabin Jack is renting while he was gone. My hunch is, the condo was a staged break-in. The intruder was searching for something. Something he did not find in either place. Is any of this starting to connect Mr. Vandergraf?”

Vandergraf didn’t answer. His mind was scrambling for the right thing to say.

“I thought it might,” Boyd said. “The reason I’m calling is to let the Senator know that he needs to leave this young professor alone. Tell him, for me, that if any harm comes to Jack Turner, I will know he’s behind it. I will hold him personally accountable. I will come after him myself and not stop until he pays for anything he has done. Are we clear on this?”

“Crystal clear, Sergeant. But again, I have no idea what you’re talking about, and I’m sure the Senator doesn’t either. It almost sounds as if you’re making a threat. Is that your intention?”

Boyd paused. “An interesting comeback, Mr. Vandergraf. First, you deny having any knowledge of what I’m talking about, then you’re worried about whether I’m making a threat. Obviously, if you are not involved and have no idea what I’m talking about, then you have no cause to worry about anything I’ve said. But I will say it again. It’s really very simple. Leave Jack Turner alone.”

He hung up.

Vandergraf set his receiver down. Clearly, this represented an escalation. The only question was whether to involve the Senator directly or handle it himself. The standing rule of providing the Senator plausible deniability in matters like these only went so far. Vandergraf had always done his job well. And he’d always protected the Senator’s reputation.

So far.

If this matter resolved properly, everything remained intact. On the other hand, if things were beginning to unravel, Vandergraf followed an even greater, more primary rule. It was the same thing referees tell boxers just before a fight.

Protect yourself at all times
.

He pulled out a pad of paper and began writing out a number of scenarios, different ways this situation could go down. It quickly became apparent only one path kept Vandergraf’s primary rule intact.

Strickland sat in his silver sedan for almost twenty minutes waiting for Turner’s girlfriend to come back out of her apartment. He didn’t know her name. Not that it mattered very much. He expected their time together to begin and end today.

Finally, the door opened. The brunette came out pulling a small rollaway suitcase. He watched her load it up in the backseat of her bright red car, get in and back the car out. The suitcase was a good sign. Meant she was likely heading out of town. All the roads outside of Culpepper were winding country roads. Lots of trees, few houses, lots of privacy.

He slouched in the seat as she drove by then quickly turned the car on and began to follow. As soon as they turned right at the gate leaving the complex, he reached down between his legs and lifted his gun and ski mask from their hiding place. He set them down on the seat beside him.

They continued to take roads leading north away from town. In less than ten minutes, things began to look just the way they needed to. Now all Strickland needed was a nice straight stretch of road. As soon as it presented itself, he put on the ski mask, lowered the passenger window, grabbed his gun and began to pass her on the left.

When he was directly across from her, he slowed down to match her speed. She looked over at him just as he raised the gun and pointed it at her head. Her eyes open wide and a look of fear came over her face. Her car jerked, forcing Strickland to react quickly to avoid being sideswiped. She corrected, and he did the same. All the while keeping the gun aimed at her head. “Pull over,” he yelled. “Now!” He glanced forward. The road was still clear. He screamed out the same words again.

This time, she obeyed.

He pulled his car off the road in front of hers and quickly popped the latch on his trunk. Before she could react, like dial 911 on her phone, he darted out of his car and hurried to hers, holding the gun at her head. “Young lady,” he yelled, “get out of the car. Now.”

“Why? What’s going on?”

“I won’t ask you again. Out of the car now. Leave your phone.”

She did and got out, putting her hands up.

“Put your hands down. Walk over to the back of my car. Do it now.”

“Why? Why are you doing this?”

“I’ll explain later. What is your name?”

“My name? Rachel.”

“Okay, Rachel, if you do what I say, I won’t hurt you.” He lifted the trunk lid. “Get in.” She hesitated. He grabbed her neck and began to force her down.

“Okay, I’ll do it.” She got in the trunk. “Where are you taking me?”

He closed the lid, removed his ski mask and yelled, “Not far. Less than ten minutes. You’ll be fine. Stop talking. I’ll tell you more when we get where we’re going.” Putting his gun in his waistband, he headed for the front seat.

As he drove off, he could hear her crying through the backseat. Now it sounded like she was talking, too. Did she have a second phone? Her hands were definitely empty when she got into the trunk. Should he pull over? “Who are you talking to?”

“God,” she yelled back. “I’m just praying.”

“Well stop, or do it quietly.”

After a few minutes, he could barely hear her. Even her cries.

Vandergraf knocked twice on the Senator’s office door, then walked in. He’d already buzzed him to say they needed to talk. The Senator knew Vandergraf never interrupted him without good reason. Just before reaching the Senator’s desk, Vandergraf reached into his coat pocket and turned on a digital recorder. Just in case.

The Senator looked up from his iPad and swiveled in his chair to face his aide. “Okay, Harold. What’s up?”

“There have been some significant developments on this matter about retrieving your father’s journal and scrapbook.”

“By significant developments, I hope you mean you have secured these items like we discussed.”

“Not yet. The situation is proving to be a lot more complicated than we expected. Now the police are involved.”

Wagner’s face instantly became alarmed. “The police? If the police are involved, the press is next. What in the world is going on, Harold? This wasn’t a difficult assignment.”

Vandergraf took a seat and brought the Senator up to date. Nothing he said relaxed the look on his face. If anything, his scowl grew more intense.

His first reply was, “It doesn’t sound like Mr. Strickland is up for this assignment. These new complications stem from his poor judgment. I’m afraid you’re going to have to take first chair on this.”

“I was thinking the same thing, sir.”

“My sense from what this Sergeant Boyd told you is, they don’t have any hard evidence yet. If they did, he wouldn’t be calling with a warning. He’d be knocking on our door. He’s buying time. Maybe waiting for a warrant. Maybe, waiting for his evidence to build. The point is, we can’t wait any longer. You have to make this go away…today. Or no later than tonight. This has to be taken care of. I think you understand, by now, the terrible consequences both of us face if my father’s papers go public. You need to get them—now—and destroy them. If you have to, burn them. It’s not like they’re family heirlooms. In fact, I’m fine if you want to put them in the cabin and burn the whole thing down. I’ll probably get more from the insurance money than I will from selling it.”

“I’ll take care of it, Senator. Personally.”

“I’m afraid that’s only half the story,” Wagner said. “That’ll take care of our legal liability. But we have to assume at this point this professor and his girlfriend have already seen everything in the scrapbook and journal. Even if, or when, you destroy this evidence I can’t take the chance that they will go public with their allegations.”

“Or,” Vandergraf added, “that they haven’t made copies.”

“Exactly. So you know where I’m going with this?”

“I do, sir. You want me to take them out. What about Mr. Strickland?”

“Same thing. I’d say he’s outlived his usefulness to us, wouldn’t you agree?”

“I would.”

“Then take care of that also.”

Strickland turned off the main road onto the dirt road leading to the shack and cabin. He hadn’t heard a peep from his guest in the trunk for the last five minutes. Soon he came to the left turn that went to the shack. He drove for about a block in between tall rows of trees, then the lake came into view. The sky overhead was a dull gray. When he came to the clearing, he pulled his car as close to the edge of the woods as possible.

Before getting out, he put the ski mask back on. He held the gun in one hand as he opened the trunk. “We’re here. You can get out.”

She did. As she stood, she looked around. “Where is this?”

“Someplace safe,” he said. “Safe and quiet. Turn around and pick up that roll of duct tape in the trunk. It’s there on the right.” She did. “Rip off a piece about six inches long.” She did that. He took the tape from her and put it across her eyes, pushed it in nice and tight. He could tell it frightened her. “I’m only doing this for your own good. You see my face, and you have to die. Simple as that.” Oddly, that seemed to calm her down.

After pulling off his ski mask, he said, “I’m going to lead you into that shack. I’m sure you saw it when you got out of the trunk. Then I’m gonna tape your hands and your feet so you can’t go anywhere. If you scream or make any noise, I’ll tape your mouth, too. Understand?”

She nodded her head. “But why are you doing this?”

“You and your boyfriend, the professor that teaches at the college, you both took something that doesn’t belong to you. My job is to get it back. I’ve been trying to do that without involving you. That became impossible. Simple as that. You’re my leverage. Your boyfriend gives me what I want, you go free. He doesn’t? Well, let’s don’t think about that. Don’t ask me any more questions. That’s all I’m gonna say.”

His phone rang. He looked at the screen. It was Vandergraf. Finally, he would have something positive to tell him. “Come on,” he said to Rachel as he led her toward the shack. After a few steps, he answered the phone. “Hey, good timing. Well, almost. Can I call you back in about two minutes? I’ve made some real progress.”

Vandergraf said fine and hung up.

He opened the door. It was really clouding up outside. Just in the last few minutes, some dark clouds had started showing up off to the west. Made the cabin even darker. He found the chain hanging from the single bulb in the center and pulled it. Looking around, he noticed an old armchair and a narrow cot against the wall. He told Rachel about them and asked her which one she wanted to sit in.

“The chair, please.”

“Fine with me.” He moved her into place. “It’s right behind you. So sit.” He quickly taped up her feet. For good measure, he taped her arms to the arm rests. “You stay put while I call this guy back.”

Making sure he was far enough away, he picked up his cell and called Vandergraf back.

“So what’s this new progress you’ve made?” Vandergraf said.

Strickland explained the situation. When he finished, he waited for something positive coming from Vandergraf. But all he got was silence. “Nothing? You’ve got nothing to say? I got this thing halfway wrapped up. There’s no way this guy Turner doesn’t make the exchange. I saw them together back in his apartment. He loves this chick. I bet he comes right over as soon as I make the call.”

“I’m sorry, Strickland. I’m just a little distracted. You have made real progress. And you’re sure she can’t ID you?”

“Totally.”

“You can call Turner, let him know you have her. In fact, that would be a good idea, make sure he doesn’t turn the journal and scrapbook over to the cops. But don’t set up the exchange just yet. We have a little time.”

“But why do we need a little time?”

“Well, for one thing. It would make a lot more sense and be more to your advantage to make the exchange once it starts getting dark. There’s a reason why the majority of crimes are committed in the dark. Harder for the bad guys to be seen. Easier to get away. All kinds of reasons.”

“Yeah, I suppose.”

“I’m not talking the middle of the night,” Vandergraf said. “But you don’t want to do something like this in broad daylight. Besides, you won’t have to wait long. There’s a big storm coming in from the west. It’s been on the news. It’ll probably be plenty dark by sundown.”