Torque (29 page)

Eileen and Larry Tillart were sitting on
their back porch watching him. They were nice folk. Reis had
claimed they’d attacked her with bees, but Mr. Tillart showed him
where Reis’s BMW had crashed into one of the hives they kept on the
property. If she’d been swarmed, it was her own fault. Apart from
that, the only thing he’d got out of the suspect was a demand for
legal representation.

“Okay, Frank, what’s so important that you
had to interrupt my being burned at the stake?” Lareault sounded as
if he could use some good news so Bloomfield got right to it.

“I’ve got Reis, and possibly the murder
weapon. I’ve also got a lead on the Klassen kidnapping, and you
know what that means.”

“You’ve got Reis? Great work, Frank. Now,
tell me about Klaasen.”

“One of the guys who allegedly helped Miss
Klassen escape from the funeral home is called Charleton Fenn.
Klaasen’s kidnapping is the result of a deal gone sour between Reis
and Fenn. Fenn helped the Tillarts restrain Reis and is now on his
way to a country retreat near Port Severn where he believes the
funeral home employees have taken Miss Klaasen. If this information
stands up, Operation Second Life just might get one.”

“Yeah. About that. We were apparently on the
verge of nailing a West Coast crime boss. Nicolas Wray landed in
Hamilton yesterday and we’ve got him on camera leaving John C.
Munroe Airport. The intel is that his schedule included a meeting
at the funeral home. Not sure if we’ll get another go at that.”

“Don’t sweat it, Evan. We’ve been spinning a
lot of plates, lately. Let’s take the pieces we’ve got and see how
they fit together.” Bloomfield waved to a patrol car that had
stopped at the bottom of the driveway. “It looks like my backup has
arrived, so I’ll let you get back to your press conference.”

“That can wait. I need all information on the
kidnapping as soon as possible. Then, we’ve got to get the
Emergency Task Force up to Muskoka. Have you ever been in a
helicopter, Frank?”

CHAPTER
41

With its wide profile tires and heavy-duty
shocks the Challenger swept around curves as if it were on rails.
Fenn powered up the hills and got that pit of the stomach drop on
the way down as he crossed lines to straighten bends and relied on
reflexes to avoid potholes. The trees were a blur of red, yellow
and orange yet his speed left no margin for admiring the view.

He dropped into second gear and turned right
onto Little Chute Road. There were property numbers on posts at the
end of unpaved lanes. The last two had gone down from 24 to 20. As
the next one appeared he downshifted to first and rolled slowly by.
A few paces in from the road the access was barred by two wrought
iron gates. Each had a circle with the number 16 in the center like
a cattle brand, and each had a security camera perched on the hinge
post; one facing the road, the other facing along the drive into
the property.

Fenn continued past. He went about a
kilometre and found a lay-by to park in. There was a fair bit of
exposed rock where the road had been blasted through a small
glacial deposit. The grey primer on the Challenger’s body panels
would help the car blend in with the surroundings. Not exactly
camouflage, but not immediately noticeable to a passing glance.

He opened the trunk. Along with the attaché
case were his backpack, a tightly rolled fleece blanket, and Kim’s
boots. The blanket fit into a net pocket on the side of the pack.
The boots he laced together and hung from a snap clip on the back.
He pulled a compass from a compartment, took a quick bearing, then
put it in the breast pocket of his denim jacket.

He’d made good time. Even though the sky was
overcast there was perhaps an hour of daylight left. He shouldered
the pack and entered the woods. The underbrush was thick but this
was his kind of environment and within minutes he felt a resurgence
of energy. Twenty metres in and he could no longer see the road. A
quarter kilometre in and he came across a deer trail.

C’est tres bon
.

== == ==

Jenner had tied Kim’s wrists to the metal
arms of the office chair by wrapping the phone wire over the cuffs
of her raincoat. A rush job, tight enough to restrain, but with the
sleeves of her sweater cushioning the cord she was able to swivel
her arms if not actually slip free. She was in darkness just long
enough for her tear tracks to dry when the door re-opened and the
light was flicked on.

Kim kept her head down, immobile, just
another object to be ignored. Listening, she counted the footsteps.
Two. Three. Four. They stopped and then continued past her. Not too
close. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. To the back corner of the
garage.

She risked a peek and saw an Asian man in
janitorial garb reach behind the furnace and pull, or turn,
something. He knelt down and slid open a flap then poked the tip of
a barbeque lighter inside. Some muttering, another pull or turn
behind the furnace then he retried the lighter. A couple more
seconds on all fours then, with a nod, he closed the flap and stood
up.

Kim resumed her fake sleep.

“Chico!” called a voice from outside. “Did
you get that furnace lit?”

“Not yet.”

Yes, you did, thought Kim. Why the lie?

From the furnace the footsteps went to the
other back corner of the garage, down the far side, and then past
the three double doors along the front. They exited and Kim heard
the door shut, but the light was left on. She began to test her
bonds.

The wire at her ankles had enough slack to
allow her soles off the cold chrome of the caster supports. Her
wrists were tethered more securely. When she jerked against the
wire the arm of the chair rattled. She tried that again. The rattle
was a loose screw. She began to work on that arm in earnest,
jerking her fist from side to side, gradually getting the armrest
loose from the tubular support. It was hard work for incremental
gains and she stopped for a break. Her timing was perfect. The door
reopened and this time the footsteps came directly toward her.

Resting to regain her energy Kim had her head
back so there was no faking sleep. It was the Asian again. He came
around to stand in front of her, a green bottle of mineral water in
his hand. He removed the cap.

“Thirsty, Miss?” He tilted the bottle toward
her mouth. She looked him steadily in the eyes but kept her parched
lips together.

“S’okay. Water. Drink.”

She opened her mouth and he tipped the bottle
to her lips. The water was cool, and so good. She took several
swallows then stopped to catch her breath. She could feel the fluid
running down inside, restoring her.

“More?”

She nodded and had just about drained the
bottle when a different voice said, “I was wondering where you’d
got to.”

Chico moved away. Certain that it was she
who’d been addressed, Kim twisted round to see the newcomer. In the
doorway was the sentry from the funeral home. The guy Fenn had
clobbered with the fire extinguisher.

“So glad to see you again, Sunshine,” he
said, almost beaming at her.

“How’s the head, Dickweed?” Her voice was
hoarse in spite of the water. The sentry’s grin faded, but before
he could decide on either a verbal or physical response Chico
ushered him outside. “I need your help.”

Alone again, Kim wrestled with the loose
chair arm. The screw hung tantalizingly from the tube yet wouldn’t
drop. Out of frustration, Kim launched herself up from the chair
and managed to bang the rear casters on the floor. The screw fell
and the arm pivoted under her elbow. Thank God! She glanced down at
her chest. Her little gold cross on a chain had popped out of her
sweater. It was a good sign.

== == ==

The deer trail was a narrow path of lightly
compressed foliage that wound through the undergrowth. Animals
always follow the lane of least resistance and after only ten
minutes of picking his way through the rocks and trees Fenn found
himself on a well-worn man-made thoroughfare. He took a few steps
then stopped and looked back. It was almost impossible to discern
the point at which he’d left the deer trail and stepped onto this
new thruway. No matter. Getting to The Retreat was his main
concern. He’d deal with how to get out when the time came.

He took another reading from the compass. He
was now heading south but just ahead, where a tree had been marked
with blue paint, the trail turned west. That was the general
direction he wanted to go, an assumption confirmed by the raucous
buzz of a chainsaw echoing through the woods.

The trees here were mostly evergreens though
enough deciduous varieties existed to leave a thin carpet of leaves
on the ground. The trail undulated naturally with the land yet
there was a distinct downgrade in the direction Fenn traveled. The
chainsaw’s whine had been replaced by the slow-paced
thump
of a person splitting logs with an axe. There were no other sounds
save for the faint tick of leaves landing near him as they dropped
from above like discarded show tickets.

The trail curved sharply, almost making a
U-turn to the east. At the apex it was joined by another path that
continued west. This path was a more recent addition to the
network. Covered with a layer of wood chips it was wide enough to
allow snowmobiles to pass each other and Fenn had no doubt as to
where it led. He took a mental inventory of what was in his
backpack. Apart from a Swiss Army knife and Kim’s boots he could
think of nothing he needed to carry from here. He dropped the pack
from his shoulders and stashed it behind a tree where the trails
met.

Fenn peered upward through the limbs and
tried to judge how long until nightfall. The cloud cover had broken
up a bit and what he could see of the sun was quickly sinking to
the horizon. He picked up the pace and stayed alert for oncomers,
though he didn’t expect to meet any. If Jenner’s bunch had a reason
to be up here it wouldn’t be to frolic in the woods. The light was
brighter ahead suggesting an open area. Fenn stayed close to one
side of the path and continued on. Soon he could discern the
outline of a building and he crept up to the base of a tree; one of
two large maples that flanked the entrance/exit of the trail.

He was on the outer edge of a fair sized
clearing that had been graded and graveled and surrounded by
granite blocks. The Retreat represented several thousand square
feet of custom design with the grounds landscaped in a minimalist
style with shrubs and grasses in beds of potato stone. There were
three vehicles parked out front. The white van and limousine that
he’d last seen leaving Harrowport & Dynes, and a grey Chevrolet
sedan that might also have been at the funeral home.

He couldn’t see any people but a sudden waft
of cigarette smoke made him hug the tree a little closer. He peeked
carefully around, looking for movement. And found it. The limo had
been parked to face up the driveway. Behind the wheel, with the
windows down, was Jenner. The passenger door was on Fenn’s side,
fifteen metres away. He sat back against the tree to consider the
options.

He could take Jenner by surprise but it would
be hard to assault the guy while he sat in the car. There’d be a
struggle, more goons would come, and that would be that. Besides,
he didn’t need Jenner in order to find Kim. He was certain she was
in the building, somewhere, so dealing with Jenner would be more
hindrance than help.

He could offer to trade himself and the disc
as a condition of Kim’s release. After all, the disc with the
formula was the reason why Kim had been kidnapped. And if Jenner
wasn’t interested in the disc, then there was always the money. The
main flaw of that idea, however, was that he couldn’t pull it off
by himself. He needed a partner to receive Kim and get her off the
property if Jenner agreed to the swap.

Another option was to simply maintain
surveillance and wait for the police. And while he waited Kim would
still be a captive and still at risk. If Jenner discovered that
Reis had been arrested he might decide that Kim was expendable.
Disposing of a body in this rugged backcountry would be such a
simple matter there’d be little to dissuade Jenner that killing Kim
was a bad idea. Even if the cops showed up, before that happened,
she would certainly become a hostage and Fenn had seen enough news
broadcasts to know that ‘hostage’ is often used in the same
sentence with ‘collateral damage’.

There had to be another way. He hadn’t come
this far to sit on his hands. Fenn thought back to the previous
rescue and wondered if a similar ruse would work again. He had
matches in his pack. He could distract the kidnappers with a real
fire in the garage while he searched the house.

Or, he could get up and chase after the woman
that had just run past him and into the woods.

CHAPTER
42

Kim figured that Jenner must have liked the
view when he knelt to tie her ankles because that last knot was a
bugger. Her other foot was free so she rode the chair on its
casters to the workbench and grabbed the same snips that he’d used
to cut the wire.

Free of her bonds she pushed the chair away.
Did it ever feel good to stand and stretch. It would also feel good
to relieve herself—she felt about ready to burst. There was a drain
in the middle of the floor but she didn’t trust her aim to keep her
socks dry. Beneath the workbench was a plastic five-gallon pail.
She took it to the far corner of the garage where the boat would
shield her from anyone who might come in. If they were going to
find her now, they weren’t going to find her pissing in a
bucket.

She finished, pulled up her knickers, and
adjusted the kilt around her waist. There was about a half litre of
fluid in the pail and it was quite dark. She didn’t think it was
blood dark since all her injuries seemed to be external. Chico had
provided her only drink of the day so the discolouration was likely
from dehydration. She considered leaving the pail on the chair as a
parting gesture, then had a better idea and emptied the contents
into the gas tank of the ATV.