Dolled Up for Murder (21 page)

He lay motionless. Rope bound his hands. I wanted to check his pulse, but I couldn't force my fingers under the thick double-wrapped rope, so I pressed them against the side of his neck instead. I fell back on my heels, tears of relief running down my cheeks as I felt the reassuringly strong thump-thump-thump. As if on cue, the cloud cover thinned and silvery moonlight dappled the ground. I straightened his legs and head.

I had to get him to a hospital. I didn't know if I could lift him, let alone carry him to the car, and I was afraid that jostling him might make some unseen injury worse. I needed help. I ran back to the car, tripping on a knotty root, stumbled, and almost went down, but managed to right myself. I grabbed the phone from the passenger seat and punched in 9-1-1. I gave my location and the nature of the emergency, then dialed Ellis's cell phone and got him. He heard me out in silence, then said, “I'm en route.”

I turned off the engine, plunging the scene into darkness, then changed my mind and turned the motor on again. I turned the car around so the lights would be on Eric and approaching vehicles. The headlights illuminated a pie-shaped wedge of impenetrable forest. Eric hadn't moved. The dirt in front of me was crisscrossed by tire marks, and I wondered if the technicians would be able to trace the kidnapper by the tread patterns in his tires.

I stepped out and scanned the area for something I could use as a pillow. There was nothing. I sat down beside Eric, leaned back against a tree, and lifted his head, placing it in my lap. It was all I could do for him. The mud was wet and cold, saturating my dress and chilling me. The tree bark was rough and uneven and poked at me. Drops of water fell from laden leaves, adding to my overall discomfort.

“You'll be fine, Eric,” I whispered, stroking his arm. I prodded at the rope that bound his hands, trying to see a way to tackle undoing the knot. I couldn't, and I worried that my efforts might tighten, not loosen, the restraint, so I stopped. “Help is on the way. Hold on, just a little while longer.”

I closed my eyes and shivered in the now-cold night air, wishing help would come already, thinking that the kidnapper was simultaneously bold and risk-averse, that kidnapping for ransom was a reckless act, yet he'd planned every move with astonishing attention to detail. Who, I wondered, fit that description? I had no idea.

“Hold on, Eric. Help will be here soon.”

Three minutes later, the ambulance arrived. Two men, one younger than Eric and the other about my age, ran toward us.

“What happened?” the older man asked.

“He was conscious when the kidnapper released him, then he collapsed. Maybe he fainted. I don't know. His pulse seems strong. He told me he'd been hit on the head.”

As we talked, he moved his fingers slowly over and around Eric's head and neck and back. When he was done with his physical exam, they recorded Eric's vital signs, and the younger man called in a report.

“What's wrong with him?” I asked the elder of the two.

“Too soon to tell,” he said, which offered no comfort at all. To his colleague, he said, “Ready? On three.”

He counted it out, and together they lifted Eric onto a gurney they'd carried to his side and strapped him in. Ellis pulled up as they were loading Eric into the back of the ambulance. He bounced along the forest edge and pulled up next to me in the clearing.

“Are you okay?” Ellis asked me, taking in my outfit and appearance.

“Eric's alive.”

He nodded and approached the older man. I followed so I could listen in, but I learned nothing new. The EMT said he didn't know why Eric was unconscious, that they wanted to get him to the hospital ASAP.

“You, too, ma'am,” the older EMT said. “You can ride with us.”

“I don't need to go to the hospital.”

“You look cold clear through. Cold's a dangerous thing.”

“I appreciate your concern, but I need to talk to the chief. I'm their only lead.”

“I'm putting it down that you're acting against medical advice.”

“Where are you taking him?” I asked.

“Rocky Point Hospital.”

“I'll talk to her about going,” Ellis said.

The EMT nodded and jogged to the ambulance.

Ellis cocked his head and stared at my face. “I never would have recognized you,” he said.

I touched the wig and shapeless dress. “A simple disguise.”

“You okay for real?”

I felt my eyes fill, and I looked away. “No.”

He nodded, then saw me shiver. “Let's get you inside,” he said, “and warm you up. I've got the heat really pumping.”

“I'm a mess. I'll ruin your seats.”

“Removable seat covers. Not that it would matter.”

I climbed into the cab.

“We'll leave in about ten minutes,” he told me, “and get you a look-see en route to the station. I just need to get the techs squared away.”

“Can I borrow a phone or use the one the kidnapper gave me? I want to call Grace.”

“Sure,” he said, scrolling through his BlackBerry to find her number and handing me the unit. “Use mine.”

“Grace,” I said, when I had her. “Eric's alive. He's en route to the hospital.”

She screeched and dropped the phone.

“What? Who is this?” a man's voice demanded.

“This is Josie. Josie Prescott.”

I could hear Grace howling in the background.

“Josie! This is Jim. Grace's brother. What's going on?”

“It's over. Eric is alive.”

He asked question after question I couldn't answer until finally I interrupted him.

“I don't know anything more than I've told you, Jim. What you ought to do now is take Grace to the hospital.”

“We'll leave right away.”

“Do you want me to call his mom or will Grace want to?”

“Let me ask her,” he said. The shrieks had stopped. I heard muffled voices. “She will, if that's all right with you.”

“Absolutely,” I said. “Call me if there's any news, okay? Anything. Call anytime. Use my office phone number for now. I'll check voice mail there. I don't have my cell phone with me.” I gave him the number, and he promised that he'd call with updates.

Ellis's SUV was warm, hot really, but not too hot. I felt chilled clear through, the kind of cold that took more than heat to warm. I looked out the window. Ellis stood off to the side, his flashlight illuminating the road. I called Ty, and as soon as I heard his voice, I began to cry.

“What's wrong?” he asked.

I couldn't speak. A line of vehicles arrived, and Ellis walked to meet them.

“Is it Eric?” Ty asked.

“Yes,” I whispered and managed to add, “he's alive.”

“Injured?”

“I don't know.” I gulped and forced myself to stop crying. I needed to talk more than I needed to cry. “I don't know what's wrong with him.” I told him where I was and what had happened. “I'm freezing even though the heat is on high, and I'm tired, scared, and mad, all at once.” Ellis opened the driver's door. “Ellis is here. I have to go.”

Ty told me he loved me and that he'd call me later, and we hung up.

“You okay with a quick stop at the hospital?” Ellis asked. “As the man said, cold's a dangerous thing.”

“Sure,” I said.

I pulled off my wig and skullcap, ruffled my flattened hair, and leaned back with my eyes closed the whole drive to the hospital.

*   *   *

After I got an all clear at the hospital and changed into fresh clothes I borrowed from a stash the police kept, I gave my statement and answered scores of questions. By the end, I was so tired I felt as if I might topple over.

I trudged into my house at 3:00
A.M.
, beyond tired, beyond thinking. Ellis had directed an officer to retrieve my clothes and car, and after the technicians confirmed that no one but me had touched anything, it was all returned to me. I left everything except my tote bag in the car.

Ty had texted me at eleven that he was going to sleep, asking that I call when I got home, whenever that was, but I didn't. There was no point in waking him. I'd needed to hear his voice before, but I didn't now. Now I needed a hot bath. I started the water in the tub, and with the steam pouring from the faucet, encircling me, helping loosen my rock-hard muscles, I e-mailed him that I was home and safe and about to step into a bath. I told him that I'd gotten an all clear from the medical team and had given a detailed statement to Ellis. I added what Ellis had learned in a phone call from a doctor around midnight, that Eric had been drugged with they didn't yet know what. He was regaining consciousness, and all indicators pointed to his making a full recovery.

While waiting for the tub to fill, I sat on its edge and scanned my messages. Wes had called three times wanting to know what was up and offering to help. He'd texted twice and sent an e-mail, too. Jim, Grace's brother, had left a voice mail saying he had no hard news, but the doctors were optimistic. I texted Gretchen, Cara, Sasha, and Fred the good news about Eric, adding that they should feel free to tell everyone and anyone, and that I didn't know when I'd get into work. Done for the night, I tossed my BlackBerry into my tote bag and slipped into the soothingly hot water.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

I rolled over to see my alarm clock. It was nine fifty-seven. I closed my eyes and tried to go back to sleep but couldn't. I sat up in bed and called the hospital. The woman at the patient information desk would only tell me Eric was in good condition, so I asked to be transferred to his room. Grace answered. Eric, she reported, was awake and eating. He was feeling tired but fine.

“Do you know when he'll be released?” I asked.

“Maybe as soon as today,” she said. I could hear the smile in her voice, then a man's voice in the background, the words indistinct. “He wants to talk to you.”

“Eric,” I said when he was on the line. “Grace tells me you're not feeling too bad.”

“Yeah. A little woozy still. I got a concussion. And I was drugged.”

“A concussion!”

“Yeah. He whacked me a good one, maybe with a gun, I'm not sure. The doctor tells me the dizziness is from the drugs, though, not the concussion.”

“God, Eric. It's just horrific. Terrifying. Who attacked you, do you know?”

“No. Some guy ran me off the road, can you believe it? At first I thought it was a hot-rod guy trying to pass me, you know, who messed up. He swerved in front of me and jerked to a stop. I nearly crashed into him. When he didn't take off again, I thought he was having car trouble. I stepped out to see if I could help him, but he got out of his car before I reached him, and I guess he circled around the van, 'cause I was looking one way when bam out of nowhere he hit me, and down I went. Next thing I know, I'm tied up like a pork roast, lying on a cot in a log cabin somewhere. After that, I only saw him wearing a Spider-Man mask. Except when he was driving.”

“Oh, Eric. It's just awful to think of what you've been through.”

“It's okay. I mean, I'm okay, you know?”

I did know. It's hard to remember the sharpness of pain or heart-pounding fear. Once you've endured an agonizing or petrifying episode and come out the other side intact, most of what you feel is relief. When you think back, you recall that you felt pain or fear, but it's an intellectual, not a literal, recollection.

“I know you are … and thank goodness for that! Are you all right answering a few more questions?”

“I guess. The police were here already asking a lot of stuff. I couldn't tell them much. I don't know much.”

“What did he look like? You saw him without his mask twice, right? When he ran you off the road and when he drove you to the exchange.”

“Yeah, but I think he was disguised. He had red shaggy hair, and even at the time I thought it was a wig, you know, the kind you'd wear on Halloween if you were going as a clown. He wore aviator sunglasses. He had a little mole next to his mouth, but maybe that was paint or makeup. All I know for sure is that he was white and thin, or at least not fat. I don't know how tall he was, but I figure he must have been somewhere in the normal range or I would have noticed.”

“It's amazing, isn't it, how effective a simple disguise can be? You change one or two things, and everything changes.” I paused for a moment. “When he drove you away from the log cabin, were you able to see where you were?”

“No. He had me drugged up by then. I wasn't noticing anything. I was in the back, lying down and blindfolded. I'm sorry I can't be more helpful.”

“It doesn't matter, Eric. All that matters is you're safe and well. Grace tells me you're eating. Did he give you any food?”

“Yeah. He let my hands loose sometimes and let me eat out of a box of Cheerios. I had bottles of water, too. I guess he knew I wasn't any danger to him, not with all the drugs he gave me. Grace says that I have about a million calories to make up, which is why even dizzy, I'm hungry.”

“I'll tell Cara to make some gingersnaps. I know those are your favorites.”

“Great! I hope they let me out of here soon.”

“Don't hurry too much. You need rest.”

“Yeah, and warm socks. I almost got frostbite. There was no heat in the cabin, and the nights were cold. Lucky for me it's May, not January.”

We chatted awhile longer, and then I asked to speak to Grace.

“I know he's going to want to come into work over the weekend. Don't let him, okay?”

“If I can stop him. You know Eric.”

“True. How are you doing, Grace?”

“Better. Thank you for everything, Josie.”

“What about his mom? Is she all right?”

“Kind of.”

“Is she there in the room with you?”

“Exactly.”

I left it at that. Eric's mom was never happy, never relaxed, never kind. She wasn't evil. She was just sour, pickled in the brine of her bitterness.