In the Shadow of Death (25 page)

Kate hesitated by the door. “Douglas, I . . . ”

“Get the rope!”

Still, Kate hovered.

“You want me to knock your friend on the head instead?”

Kate scuttled outside and was back within minutes with the rope. But the moment Guthrie took his hands off Maggie's shoulders, she was on her feet and running for the door. She wasn't fast enough. As she fumbled with the doorknob, he delivered a blow that sent her crashing to the floor. Kate screamed.

“Should have done that in the first place,” he muttered as he tied Maggie's hands behind her back and then dragged her toward the back door.

“Where's Nat, you bastard?” Maggie demanded as he pulled her to her feet.

“Down the mine shaft. But don't worry. I'm going back up there to deal with that little problem. Open the door, Kate.”

“But, Douglas, she's . . . ” Kate began fearfully.

“I said open the door!”

Kate scuttled to comply.

“Now open the shed door,” he said, forcing Maggie in front of him. “When I get back, she's going to have a little boating accident.” He waited impatiently while Kate swung the shed door open before giving Maggie a push that sent her sprawling onto the dirt floor. The door banged shut and Maggie heard it being fastened.

“Now, what the hell am I going to do with you?” Maggie heard him say to his wife.

“I'll wait here for you, Douglas. I promise I won't let her out.”

“You must think I'm as stupid as you are. You're coming with me.”

• • •

TAKING A DEEP BREATH
, Nat put his good foot into the hole that he'd dug in the wall and reached for the top. As his hands touched the crumbling edge, he felt them slipping through the loose gravel, and his body sliding back down the wall. To stop himself from tumbling down into the main shaft, he twisted sideways as he fell and landed on the ledge in a crumpled heap. His outstretched hands touched nothing but air. He had been perilously close to following the stones clattering down the shaft. He lay still for a few moments, his body sweaty with fear.

On his feet again, he replaced his foot in the hole and reached again for the top. This time, gritting his teeth, knowing there would be excruciating pain, he launched his body upward and over the edge, desperately groping for a handhold. Digging his fingers into the piled rubble, he gradually pulled himself completely out.

“How you doing down there?” Nordstrom's mocking voice was distorted by the echo in the tunnel. Nat estimated that he could be no more than fifty feet away, but the sharp bend had cut off all light, so there was no way he could see him.

“Hope you haven't gone to sleep,” the voice taunted him again. “Pity to be asleep and miss the big bang.”
Keep talking, Nordstrom. You don't know it, but you're helping me out.
He crawled over the heaps of rubble as silently as possible until he reached the beginning of the bend, then, inching his way cautiously on hands and knees, peered around the corner. Nordstrom had given up taunting him and was sitting on a slab of granite just outside of the mine entrance. His rifle was slung across his knees. Nat watched him raise one hand to shield his eyes against the sunlight as he looked down the hill.
Waiting for his pal. And I have to get to him before that bastard gets back!

A large stone ready in his hand, Nat stood up and began moving step by step, closer and closer.
Don't turn around. Please don't turn around.
Suddenly, Nordstrom shifted his position on the slab, and Nat froze. On the path below the mine, an adventurous rabbit had run across the road and was nibbling at the grass. Idly, Nordstrom raised his rifle and trained it on the animal. By this time, Nat had reached the entrance, but Nordstrom was so intent on the rabbit that he didn't sense the danger behind him. With a sudden intake of breath, Nat raised the stone above his head. It was at that moment that the rabbit bolted into the brush, and Nordstrom, returning his attention to his prisoner, turned his head. Seeing a movement behind him, he instinctively brought up his rifle at the exact moment that Nat threw himself at the man. As the stone crashed down hard on Nordstrom's head, the gun went off. Nordstrom fell with a thud, but Nat was left looking down at the blood oozing from his own thigh, where the bullet had entered. Fighting nausea as waves of pain swept over him, he dragged Nordstrom's unconscious body back as far as he could over the piles of rubble and into the darkness of the mine.

Staggering out into the sunshine again, he realized he had to find a hiding place quickly, before the other man returned. Slipping and skidding over the shards of stone, he stumbled partway down the hill and pushed his way through a clump of broom at the side of the track. Once through, he managed to keep going another few feet into a small clearing and flung himself behind a large boulder, where he finally collapsed.

• • •

SAWASKY COULD SEE
by the heavy equipment that the waitress had been right: the road was in the process of being paved, but luckily for him, the crews had only just started the work of spreading and rolling the crushed stone. Covered in grey dust, his battered 1948 Ford rattled through Lac la Hache less than an hour after leaving 100 Mile House. The lake, shrouded in mist, beckoned invitingly, but promising himself a return visit one day, he drove non-stop for another hour and a half, until he came to the turnoff to Horsefly. Unfortunately, there was also a sign pointing straight on to Williams Lake, and Sawasky was reminded that protocol demanded he report first to the local constabulary. Reluctantly, he continued north. In his rear-view mirror, he saw the Chrysler that had been following at a safe distance behind him turn toward Horsefly.

Brossard was not pleased to see Sawasky. “I don't understand why you're here,” he said scathingly. “I called into the ranch yesterday and spoke to Guthrie's son. An old friend of the family had brought him up.”

“But I told you over the phone that Margaret Spencer got a message to me.” Sawasky found himself raising his voice.

“Jamie Guthrie told me his father had been in contact and he was sorry that he'd caused so much trouble, but he'd just wanted to get away on his own for a bit.”

“Did he say why?”

“I gather there had been some domestic problems.”

“And the deaths of Sarazine and Chandler?”

“Sarazine was killed, but Chandler's death could've been suicide.”

Sawasky didn't know how to keep his temper. “Don't you understand that Guthrie and his friends were most probably mixed up in the Smith abduction?”

“We've no proof . . . ”

“Maggie Spencer came to you with proof and for help. If anything happens to either of them . . . ” Disgusted, he turned and stormed to the door. “I'm going to Shadow Lake, and I hope to God that I'm not too late.” He slammed the door and ran to his car.

“Wait,” he heard Brossard call. “I'll come with you.”

Sawasky stopped dead in his tracks. “You will? Come on, then.”

Except for giving directions, Brossard said nothing until they were on Horsefly Road. “You think a lot of those two, don't you?”

“Nat's not only a friend, but he's a damn good detective,” Sawasky answered. “And he's trained Maggie into one helluva good assistant. And if she says they're in trouble—then they are.” He drove on, trying to miss the potholes. “Why do you think I've come all this way?”

The road to Horsefly was murder on Sawasky's beloved Ford, and he had to hold grimly onto the steering wheel as they bounced and swerved on the loose gravel. The whole area had an abandoned feeling to it, but this was partly due to the many crumbling, empty shacks and barns along the way. It was close to mid-morning when they stopped at the gas station in Horsefly.

“Hi Sam,” Brossard greeted the mechanic. “Did a woman driving a Jeep come through this way lately?”

“Oh, it's you, Corporal,” he replied. “This ain't your vehicle.” He bent down to fit the nozzle into the tank. “Came through yesterday. Her Jeep broke down. Fixed it and she drove on. What's she done?”

“Nothing. Did she say where she was heading?”

“Heard tell it was Shadow Lake. Old Perce down at Annie's told her it'd be rough going, but she sure was determined to go.”

“I can see what old Perce meant,” Sawasky said, as they bumped and slid on the washboard road surface. “I don't know how Maggie made it this far.”

“Well,” Brossard said, dryly, “any old Jeep would hold the road better than this crate.” With a jolt, Sawasky realized that Brossard was hiding a sense of humour beneath his official shell.

M
aggie was struggling to her feet when she heard the faint sound of the truck starting up.
Got to get out of here!
There was little time to lose, and here she was locked in a shed with her hands tied behind her back. There was only one dusty hinged window about five feet off the floor, with a stack of small logs piled underneath it. Standing on tiptoe, she could see that the window, had been nailed shut in each bottom corner. Against intruders, she supposed. But her first priority was to get her hands free. There were plenty of hammers and screwdrivers hanging in wall racks above a makeshift workbench, but none seemed of any use to cut the cord binding her wrists. Then, stilling her panic, she looked more closely and spotted an axe hanging just out of reach. A yard broom leaned nearby, and turning her back, she twisted her fingers until she could grasp its handle and lift it. Then, with her back to the wall, she looked over her shoulder until she located the axe with the broom handle. With each determined push, it began to swing. “Come on! Fall, damn you!” Then, “Got you!” she shouted in triumph, jumping out of the way as it came crashing down.

Using her feet, she pushed the axe close to the generator and then concentrated on tipping the blade upward. Next, she sat with her back to the axe, forced the blade between her wrists, and began sawing at the rope. It seemed that hours had passed instead of minutes before the strands began to give way. Although her shoulders were aching with the strain, and her fingers sticky with blood, she continued to saw until she felt the last strand part.

Now how the hell do I get out of here?
She tried the door first, but it was unyielding to her frantic launches against it.
It has to be that window! I'll need a pry bar.
And unhooking one from the wall, she climbed up the log pile and forced the bar into the small gap between the sill and the window frame, close to one of the nails. Leaning heavily on the tool, she began levering, but nothing happened. “Well, there's more than one way to skin a cat!” And she swung the pry bar at the glass. A moment later, she was bashing away at the glass fragments still imbedded in the lower sash. When enough had been cleared away that she figured she could climb out without cutting herself to ribbons, she returned to the floor, pulled the dinghy over to lean it against the pile, climbed back onto the pile, and—even though she felt the top logs shifting beneath her weight—perched on the squareended bow of the dinghy. Then, grasping the sill, she lifted one leg through the opening, then the other, and a moment later, she was lowering herself to fall into the weeds below. Not waiting to see what damage the glass fragments had done to her hands and legs, she ran up the path. The Jeep was where she had left it, and she pulled the ignition key from her pocket and jumped in. Guthrie and Kate were now a good half-hour ahead of her.
Just let me get there in time!

• • •

“
NORDSTROM
! Where the hell are you?”

He's back!
Nat lay on his stomach to peer through the bushes.
And that's Kate he's got with him!
As usual, she was crying.

“Nordstrom!” the man yelled again. “I'll kill that son of a bitch if he's gone wandering off.” He turned on Kate angrily. “Oh, for Chrissake, shut up!” And he disappeared from Nat's view.
Just don't come looking for Nordstrom over this way.
Nat dragged himself further back into the undergrowth.

“He's not by the stream,” Nat heard the man say when he returned.

“Please, Douglas, please tell me what's going on?” Kate bawled.

Douglas? My God! How stupid could I be? Of course, that man is Guthrie!
It was all beginning to make sense.
No wonder Kate went with him!

“I'm going back to the truck. Stay here until Nordstrom shows up, and tell him to stay put!”

“Please don't leave me here!” Kate was crying again.

“I'm going to get the dynamite.”

“You're not really going to . . . ” There was no answer from Guthrie, but Nat heard his feet crunching past him down the hill.

Do I crawl back through the damned bushes and try to get Kate's attention?
On second thought, Nat decided he didn't need a bawling Kate on his hands.
Guthrie is bound to go into the mine to look for Nordstrom, and then the hunt will be on. They'll find me in no time flat.
He began wriggling backwards down the hill.

“Nordstrom not back?”

Nat realized that Guthrie had returned.

“Maybe he went into the mine,” Kate said.

“Not without a light. Probably got chicken,” he continued, but Nat saw him walk partway into the mine entrance and play his flashlight over the rubble. “Nordstrom!” he bellowed, then stood for a moment, waiting for a reply. When he came out, he told Kate, “If he doesn't turn up, you'll have to help me set the charges.”

“Oh please, no, Douglas!” and she picked her way past him and walked into the mine. “Albert!” she called. “Albert!” Guthrie followed her, their flashlights dancing little circles over the rubble in front of them.

• • •

MAGGIE DROVE UP
the mine road, stopping the Jeep where the road began to peter out. A glint of red among the foliage fifty feet ahead told her the flatbed was parked there, so the mine couldn't be much further up the hill. Keeping her fingers crossed that Guthrie had not heard the Jeep's engine over the sound of the rushing stream, she climbed out, sidled past the red truck and started up the hill. Avoiding walking out in the open, she used the scrub elder, broom and blackberry bushes as cover, pausing only once to hold her breath when she heard Guthrie's voice.