Dead Asleep (24 page)

Chapter 42

K
emmer stared out the Jeep's window and tried to focus. He felt light-headed and his arm was once again bleeding.

“I need a doctor,” he said. “Why the hell aren't we going to the Acute Care Center?” Carrow pulled into the driveway of a two story villa, modest by Terra Cay standards, and killed the engine.

“He didn't answer the phone so I assume he wasn't there. This is his house. Let's go,” Carrow said. Oz helped Kemmer out of the car and dragged him to the front door. The rain made Kemmer squint as it hit his face. He was thankful for the support of Carrow and Oz, as he wasn't sure he could walk on his own. They reached the door and pounded on it. No sound came from within. Carrow grasped the knob and turned. It swung open, revealing an empty hallway.

“Dr. Zander, you there?” Carrow called down the hall. No response. “There's a small office in the back of the house with supplies. He sometimes takes patients there, let's go.” They helped drag Kemmer through the house to the back. Kemmer hated the silence and the emptiness.

“The guy isn't here,” he said. They opened the office door and switched on the light. Kemmer blinked to adjust his vision, which was swerving in and out of focus. A man slept on an examination table, his white coat fallen open to reveal a polo shirt underneath and khaki pants.

“So much for the doctor,” Carrow said.

“I need stitches. Bad,” Kemmer said.

Carrow looked at Oz. “Can you do it?”

Oz shook his head. “I would rather not. You?”

Carrow sighed. “No, but it may be time to change the bandage. Let's move Zander into his own bed and shift Kemmer onto the table.”

Twenty minutes later Kemmer watched with dread as Carrow began to unwind the field dressing that Emma had fashioned. The edges of the bandage stuck to the wound and Kemmer hissed in pain as Carrow pulled on it.

“Oz, can you find any scissors in the cabinets? I'll cut it off rather than pull it off,” he said.

Oz started rooting through the cabinets and removed a pair of doctor's shears.

“Want me to sterilize them?” he asked.

“Good idea. Dump some alcohol on them,” Carrow said. Oz took a bottle from a nearby counter and held the shears over a sink as he poured the alcohol. He handed them to Carrow, who clipped at the stuck portions of field dressing. “That's done. Get ready, because I'm going to pour alcohol on it and it's going to sting like a bitch.” He handed Kemmer a bottle with an elaborate label.

Kemmer looked at it in disbelief. “Port? What kind of sissy drink is this? You're going to burn me up with alcohol and all you got to give me is port?” He shoved it back at Carrow. “Forget it. Get me some morphine.”

“I doubt that the doctor keeps morphine in his home. It's a controlled substance, so likely under lock and key back at the Acute Care Center.”

“Then take me the hell there.” A crack of lightning lit the room.

“I don't have the combination for the safe.”

“Then get me some from your villa. Everyone knows that rock stars have the best drugs.”

Carrow snorted. “By now every line's been inhaled, I can assure you. Best I can offer is this port or a drive up the hill for some mandrake powder. Which is iffy, for a lot of reasons. It hurt my drummer, but helped my bass player. You're welcome to take a long, bumpy ride up to the West Hill to get it, but I can't guarantee that you'll survive the trip. You've lost a lot of blood.”

Kemmer put a hand out. “Give it to me.” Carrow handed over the bottle and Kemmer drank a deep sip. He lowered the bottle and started to cough. “Damn, that's nasty.” He waved Carrow over. “Get it done.”

Carrow nodded and bent to the task of pouring alcohol on the wound. Kemmer stayed sitting and averted his eyes. He groaned when Carrow started, but kept the port bottle at his lips and drank. When it was empty he tossed it into a nearby sink situated under a cabinet of supplies. It hit the ceramic with a loud clanging noise. He leaned back on his good arm while Carrow continued.

Carrow was applying a fresh piece of gauze when Kemmer's eyes went out of focus and he felt himself wobbling on the one arm that held him upright. He turned his head to look over Carrow's shoulder, out the opposite window. From the darkness he saw a face form in the window, and before he could scream Joseph used the handle of his gun to smash the glass.

Tiny glass shards flew in all directions. Carrow stumbled backward and Kemmer rolled off the examination table, dragging the replacement gauze roll with him. He dropped the three feet down to the floor. Staying low, he scrambled on all fours to the open door. Bigger pieces of glass rained down on him as Joseph kicked the rest of the window out of the frame.

J
oseph fired a shot without aiming, mostly to prove a point to those inside. He wouldn't put it past Kemmer to have a weapon on him. Hauling himself through the opening, he led with the gun hand first. A young man with hair to his shoulders was slumped in the corner next to the door, unconscious. Kemmer had disappeared through the open door. Joseph was surprised that the man had survived, but for the moment he didn't care about him. All he wanted was his money, and that would require recovering the minerals and killing the chemist, in that order. He pointed the gun at Carrow.

“Give me the minerals from the blue holes and you'll live,” he said.

“I don't have them, mate,” Carrow replied.

“Where is she?” Carrow looked at the gun in Joseph's hand. Joseph watched him struggle to decide what to say and thought he needed an additional incentive. “Tell the truth or I'll blow you away.”

“She's at Island Security.”

Joseph paused. He recognized Carrow now, and for all his hubris back at the villa and his claims that he'd kill everyone in his path, he didn't think killing a well-known celebrity was a good idea. It would bring a shit storm of trouble his way. For sure he'd never get another job once his face was plastered on an Interpol most wanted list. The people who hired him expected discretion. “That your Jeep outside?”

“Yes.”

“Then take me there.” Joseph aimed at the man in the corner. “Who's the pretty boy?”

“That's my bass player,” Carrow said. “Known the world over. You kill him and every police officer in the universe will be hunting you.”

“Shut up. You think I care?” Joseph wanted to shoot the man just to prove to Carrow that he was capable of it. He gave the man in the corner another glance. He couldn't recall the faces of the other band members, but the man looked the part of a rock musician, with his long hair and pretty face. His unconscious state puzzled Joseph. He appeared to be out cold, and that seemed odd. His initial bullets hadn't hit him as far as he could tell. He gave a mental shrug. Another one he could deal with later. “Let's go.”

He followed Carrow out of the house. Wind-driven rain bit at his face the moment he cleared the entranceway. Carrow's hair worked its way out of a ponytail and started whipping around his head. Joseph winced against the storm's onslaught and kept his gun pointed at the singer's back. Carrow stepped farther out and stopped. There was no Jeep in the drive.

“It's gone,” Carrow said. Kemmer, Joseph thought. He swore.

“Back in the house.” Joseph herded Carrow back inside. A small table near the door held a charging station and three phones, along with a wallet and a set of keys. Joseph reached out and scooped up the keys. One of them carried a Ford logo. “To the garage.”

The wind worked at them again as they struggled their way to the garage. Joseph hit a button on the keychain and the door slowly began to lift. Inside they found a small blue Ford Focus. Joseph held the keys out to Carrow. “You drive.”

“To Island Security?”

Joseph shook his head. “No. To the villa called the Blue Heron.”

Chapter 43

T
he phone rang again and Emma hated to have to answer it. Her reluctance must have shown on her face, because Sumner said, “Want me to get it?” She picked it up.

“Joseph just broke into the doctor's house and kidnapped Carrow,” Oz told her. “He wants the minerals and you. Carrow said you were at Island Security, but I just called and no one answered. I figured you were back at the villa. Get the hell out of there.”

“Are you safe?” Emma asked.

“Yes. I played dead. And Kemmer took off. He's in bad shape, but Carrow switched up the bandage on his wound. I don't trust that guy. I think it's fifty-fifty that he throws in with Joseph and his crew.”

“I agree, he's not to be trusted. Sumner's here with me and he has a gun. You stay safe.” She slammed the phone down.

“The killer made it to the island,” she told Sumner. “He's headed to Island Security, but when he discovers that I'm not there he'll come here. I have a gun in the bedroom.” Emma hurried to her room and grabbed her weapon. Sumner was right behind her, holding his gun.

“We need to get out of here,” he said. “There are too many windows and too many entrances. We can't cover them all.”

“Okay, but where?”

“Where will he go if he can't find you here?”

Emma thought a moment. “To Carrow's. The West Hill. It's the logical next place because he knows that Carrow was with me on the boat.”

“Then we'd better get there before he does. He'll take anyone left in the villa hostage and use them as bait to get you to do what he wants.”

Emma was heading back to the front door as Sumner spoke.

“God forbid he does, because it will work. I won't let them die to save my own skin. He can have the minerals, for all I care.”

“I doubt that's all he wants. I think he wants you and me dead. We need to warn the others and then get off this island,” Sumner said. Emma threw on the rain slicker she'd taken from the boat and slipped back into the Wellington boots. She checked her gun's magazine.

“Do you have any more ammunition?” Sumner had his own coat back on.

“No. I've got seventeen rounds. You?”

“Thirteen. This isn't my weapon, it's the owner's, and I don't know where he keeps his extra ammunition.”

Emma waved Sumner to the back of the house. She was halfway through the villa when she heard the sound of an engine revving in the distance. It accelerated and stayed at that intensity before reducing.

“Sounds like they're stuck.”

“With any luck, they are.”

The noise of the struggling auto diminished as they reached the back of the villa. They ran past Johnson's closed door and Emma said a small prayer that the killer would leave her alone. They stepped into the kitchen.

The lights were off, but a crack of lightning illuminated the room. Emma gasped when she saw that the bokor priestess stood in the center of the kitchen with both palms out flat in front of her face. Emma felt rather than saw Sumner directly behind her.

“Duck,” Emma said as the woman blew on her hands. A fine white powder flew outward and settled on Emma's face, while a portion of it hit Sumner. Too late, Emma thought. She heard Sumner cough. He stepped past Emma, grabbed the woman by one arm, spun her around, cranked her wrist into the middle of her back and pushed her forward. The priestess stumbled into the far wall next to the French doors. She cackled loudly. Her laugh sounded mad.

“Devil's Breath hit you. You be mine now,” she said. She cackled again. Sumner pressed her face-first into the wall and looked back at Emma.

“What was it?” he asked.

“Probably scopolamine,” she said.

“Burundanga,” the woman said.

“Burundanga is the native name for it,” Emma said.

“What does it do?”

Emma moved back in line with the hall that led from the kitchen to the front door and checked for intruders. The rest of the house stayed dark. In a few long strides she was once again at Sumner's side by the wall.

“It's an anticholinergic. Hallucinations and delirium along with amnesia afterward.” She could smell the strong scent of the woman's patchouli oil perfume and hear her heavy, erratic breathing.

“She sounds like she's on some sort of drug herself.” Emma leaned over to look out the glass panel and checked the backyard. She heard the sound of a car door slamming.

“They coming for you,” the woman said. “Now they kill you.”

Sumner let go of her arm and shoved her aside. Emma hauled open the French door and ran onto the terrace. It was three steps down to the lawn, which had turned into a sea of mud with two inches of water rushing past. She placed her gun in her coat pocket to keep it dry and splashed into the streaming flow while working her way to the garage. It was still closed and the Jeep still parked in front. Water formed deeper pools on either side of the asphalt drive, but the vehicle's high clearance kept the bulk of it dry. Sumner, who had followed her, crawled into the passenger side while she got behind the wheel.

Headlights from another vehicle illuminated the edge of the property. Emma fired up the engine and hit the gas, turning the Jeep in the opposite direction from the house. She flipped the transmission into four-wheel drive.

“I'm going to drive over the lawn and through the trees to the access road. It's made of dirt, but hopefully four-wheel drive will be enough to get us out of here.” Sumner leaned between the seats while he watched out the back of the car.

“Go,” he said.

Lightning cracked through the sky, illuminating the lawn to Emma's immediate left and the pool farther left of that. She hit the gas again and they moved out. The Jeep slowed as it transitioned from the asphalt to the grass, but only for a moment. It sank a bit lower in the water-sogged lawn but to Emma's relief kept moving forward. She drove past the pool and toward the trees in the dark, using the wipers but keeping the lights off. The car slipped sideways a couple of feet but corrected when she eased off the gas.

“How long before the drug kicks in?” Sumner asked. He kept his eyes on the area behind them.

“With any luck it won't. Scope inhaled in powder form is a weak way to administer it.”

“I got some in my mouth and swallowed it,” Sumner said.

“Oral ingestion is a much more efficient form of dosing.”

“Well that's just great,” he said. “And if it does work?”

“You'll feel it in half an hour, maybe forty minutes.” The rear tires slipped a little lower when they hit a depression in the lawn and the car shifted its weight to the back.

“You think she told the truth? About what it was?” Sumner asked.

“I hope so, because the alternatives are much, much worse.”

“What else could it be?”

Emma didn't want to think about that, but she kept her eyes on the approaching tree line while she answered.

“You mean what poisons are available to her on a tropical island?”

“Yes.”

Emma inhaled. “Any number of deadly plants and animals grow in a tropical environment. One of the worst would be a tetrodotoxin. It's the poison in a puffer fish.” The car slid to the left when it hit another depression. Emma pressed on the gas and mud flew in all directions.

“Hallucinations?” Sumner asked.

“Not really. More like paralysis and deep coma. Depending on the amount, death.”

“Well let's hope the amount was low.”

“Let's hope she told the truth and it was Devil's Breath. That's bad enough.”

She heard the first gunshot as she entered the tree line.

“They're here,” Sumner said.