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Chapter 9: "A Confluence of Evil"It was the last thing in the world Loharo had expected to hear. Donna had always been considered missing in her mind; never dead. She'd never even entertained the possibility. "Are you sure?" Loharo squeaked. Her voice hadn't hit that high a pitch since she'd turned five. "That's part of why we've been trying to call you," Harrington said. "I really hate to put you through this. Hell, I can see it's Donna Young. But I'm required to get independent confirmation of identity. I, um, need you to come down and, well, identify the body." The room swirled and Loharo choked back the urge to vomit. Ann McDougal was next to her, supporting her in case she did swoon. Loharo released a shuddered breath. "Where?" she asked, knowing she'd burst into tears if she said more. "The woods out back of the lighthouse," Harrington told her. Suddenly she knew who did it. "Stay there. I'll send Ken to pick you up." This was not good. Seeing this sudden upswing in concentrated naked violence in a sleepy little hamlet like Skeffington's Harbor was ominous. Now it had finally spilled over into murder, as it always did left unchecked. Harrington took one last photo of the poor young woman dangling by her wrists in a semi-crouch from the sapling, then stuffed the camera back in the van and pulled out the stretcher. Skeffington's Harbor had no coroner and no EMS service. Dead bodies were transported by the Constable's office in a sport utility vehicle. Usually the body was an elderly person who had passed away. It was never a murder victim. Ken Ryan, the deputy who'd brought the SUV, had never seen a murder victim before. He'd taken one look at the crime scene and nearly fainted. Harrington hadn't seen one since Augusta. He'd hoped Augusta had been the last time he ever would see it. Producing a knife from his pocket, Harrington cut the rope around the body's wrists. She still hung from the tree trunk, held by wrists locked behind her back in rigor mortis. Harrington swore softly. Pushing away his disgust, he wrapped his arms around the body's chest and pulled her away from the tree. Her skin was cold and felt unearthly to him. He eased her dead weight down onto the stretcher, then walked over to the SUV and breathed in and out until his skin stopped crawling. Just after he got the sheet fixed over the body, Ken drove up with Loharo. Harrington's heart broke when he saw her. That beautiful face he noticed from time to time in town was gone. An ugly bruise squatted on her chin. Her eyes were red and lined from stress and had a haunted look. These were the times he despised being a cop. It was part of what drove him out of Augusta. Loharo approached the stretcher tentatively. Harrington gave her credit for her courage. The sheet pulled back. "Ohhhhh," whimpered Loharo and the tears broke loose. Yet, through it all, she remained dignified. She didn't break out in hysterics or loud wailing; this woman could even cry with dignity. But cry she did, long and hard for her friend. Harrington replaced the shroud and Loharo turned from him, her shoulders shuddering with silent sobs. Finally, after a few minutes, she found her voice. "What happened?" "She was tied to that tree," Harrington said softly. "She has one gunshot wound to the chest. It looks like she was executed." "Flynn?" "I don't have any hard evidence yet," Harrington sighed in fatigue and frustration, "but he'd be on the top of my list." "What happens now?" "I take the . . . her . . . to Doc Englehart for an official post mortem, then release her to a funeral home. The town generally uses Cavanaugh And Sons out of Machias unless the family prefers other arrangements. Did she have any family?" Loharo didn't answer. She seemed in shock. "Miss Reeves?" "What if it's not her?" Loharo whispered. "Come again?" "What if it's the other one? The impostor?" Harrington felt a headache forming. "I know you still don't believe me about that, but you've got to check! Please! If that's the impostor, that means Donna's still out there somewhere! Please, you have to check!" Harrington felt on the spot. Personally, he felt it was a waste of time, but he didn't want to refuse outright. In her state, it could be more bad news she didn't need to cope with. Besides, they'd just managed to get by the rancor of two days past. And a good cop would try to be thorough. "All right," he sighed. "When Carol does the post mortem, I'll take some fingerprints - - if we can get her fists pried open. Then I'll send them out and see if anything comes back. You do know that if Donna's never been fingerprinted, nothing will come back?" "I understand," Loharo nodded. He could see she was clinging to what he saw as an unreasonable hope. "I just think they'll come back as someone else." The constable climbed into the SUV while Ken drove his car back. Loharo got in the SUV beside him and Harrington let it go as not worth debating. As he drove, he called Anne, asking her to let Dr. Englehart know they were coming. The ride into town was tense. "Chief," squawked the radio in the SUV. "No one's answering at Doc Englehart's." "That's odd," Harrington mused. "It's after nine. She should be there. Roger that, Central." "Maybe she slept in," offered Loharo. "She was out pretty late last night." "Carol doesn't sleep in," Harrington said. "Maybe she had an emergency call," Anne offered over the radio. "Maybe," Harrington murmured. Loharo noticed the SUV speed up. They pulled into the driveway next to the doctor's office. Loharo got out and saw Harrington already at the front door, showing more than professional concern. She watched him test the door. It was unlocked. As he opened it, Harrington drew his weapon. Loharo started forward, concern shaking her out of her grief-induced haze. "Stay there!" Harrington ordered softly. "What's wrong?" Loharo asked. "If she was on a call, she wouldn't leave the door unlocked. Use the radio in the van and get Ken over here!" Harrington pushed inside, his gun at the ready. His nerves seemed ready to snap. Two potential life-threatening situations in twelve hours would do that. Plus there were the attacks on Loharo and the body. And now maybe Carol; if that psycho had hurt Carol ... The waiting room was empty, as was the first exam room. He eased on, moving to the second exam room. His brittle nerves put him even more on edge than usual in such a situation. His hand grasped the knob of the examination room door and turned it. Harrington pushed the door open as he pulled back, anticipating gunfire. When none came, he pounced into the room, weapon ready. "Oh my lord," he gasped softly, horrified by what he saw. Faith Connally stirred with a start. She realized she must have drifted off during the night. Searching her fuzzy memory, the redhead grasped for her last waking memory. Fatigue had overtaken her. She'd stopped rubbing the blindfold against the wall. Faith remembered the mental promise she'd made to herself, how she was only going to stop for a second to get back some of her energy. Cursing her weakness, she wondered how long she'd been out. It'd been a long time, judging by how stiff her arms and legs were and how numb her backside was. Faith shifted painfully, her leaden limbs protesting their use after being so long at rest. She felt parched, the soggy gag molded to the inside of her mouth. Still, there was nothing else to do except resume rubbing her blindfold against the wall and hope it wasn't morning. "Mmmmf?" came a plaintive query. Faith stopped and twisted her head toward the sound. It must be the other person being held with her. She kept still, listening for the muffled voice to speak again. Though she didn't have any idea if it was a man or a woman, due to the weakness of the sound and the muffling of the gag smothering it, Faith had an approximate idea of its point of origin. Nothing came, though. Now she was wondering if she'd imagined it. "Mmmph!" grunted Faith, trying to encourage her fellow captive to speak again. "Mmmm!" groaned the mysterious captive. Whoever it was seemed either injured or had spent a longer time captive than she had. That was secondary, though. Faith had the person's location. If there were no obstacles between them, she might be able to squirm over. Perhaps they could free each other. "Mmmm nnngh!" Faith said, trying to keep the other party speaking. "Nmmm!" She extended her legs, feeling them creak from disuse. Bracing her hands on the floor behind her, she planted her heels, then pulled with her feet as she pushed with her hands. "Mmmm!" she said, buoyed by her success of moving an entire foot. "Mmmph? Mmmpp mff mnnn?" replied her fellow prisoner. Suddenly, Faith froze. She heard footsteps approaching the room. It pained her to do so, but she shoved backward with her feet, scrambling back against the wall. As the door opened, she sagged against the wall, trying to look defeated. "Mmmm?" came the query from her fellow prisoner. Upon realizing that their captors were present, the person grew quiet. Faith twisted her head in their direction as they approached. There were two sets of steps. One was lighter than the other. The heavy set probably belonged to one of the bruisers that had jumped Faith the previous night. The lighter set was the puzzler. Did it belong to the woman with the glasses and the shaggy brown hair or to a wiry little runt named Dennis Flynn? "Take her gag out," Daria said and Faith relaxed slightly. "If she looks like she's going to do anything other than whisper, shove it back in and be as rough as you like. Did you get that, Red?" Faith nodded. The cleave fell away from her mouth. Thick fingers reached in to pull the soaked wadding out. Faith contemplated biting for a moment, but knew it'd accomplish nothing positive. She could sense Daria kneel down next to her, so she was bracketed by enemies. "Throat . . ." rasped Faith. "I'm sure you're pretty dry," Daria said emotionlessly. Listening to this woman was maddening. There was no way to tell when she was serious and when she was being sarcastic. Then Faith felt a cup press to her lips. She allowed a stream of cool water to trickle down her throat, then drew some into her cheeks. She swirled it around to moisten every corner of her mouth before letting it pass down her throat, too. A sigh of relief escaped. "Now we pick up where we left off," Daria said, "Only this time, I'm asking the questions. First one's a two-parter: Who are you and what are you looking for?" Faith remained quiet. "OK, we can do it that way if you prefer," Daria said. "Go ahead." Faith felt the man seize her forearm with one hand. The other inserted a wooden rod between her bound forearms. It was about a foot long, possibly a little more, and was no thicker than a broom handle. She wondered what they intended. The man reached around her arms to the end underneath, then with his other hand on the outer end, gave the bar a quarter turn clockwise. Instantly pain shot up Faith's arms. Her forearms were being bent away from each other, but her wrists and elbows were still anchored together. There was nowhere for her arms to go, yet the pressure from the bar seemed relentless. Faith struggled to stay quiet, but the unyielding pressure became too much. As her eyes teared beneath the blindfold, a strangled cry of pain was wrenched from her throat. "Not too loud," warned Daria. "Otherwise we'll have to gag you again." The pressure went unabated. Faith felt her forearms would snap at any second. She had to end this somehow, but her options were severely limited. She couldn't tell the truth and she was too stressed to make up a convincing lie. Perhaps a bit of the truth, dressed up to leave out what she didn't want them to find out, might work. "All right, all right!" cried Faith. The bar relaxed. "Damn ye both to Hell," she spat. "The name?" Daria asked. "Mary Boyle," she muttered, using her dead sister's name. "And why are you here?" "I'm looking for an old friend." "That would be this Dennis Flynn you mentioned last night?" "Is he here?" Faith asked, trying to steer the questioning. "What makes you think he ever was here?" "I've seen him." "And why do you want him?" "I've got a message for him. I've got to deliver it personal," Faith said, wondering if they were going for it. Her answer was the rod twisting between her forearms again. Faith hissed in pain. "All right, all right! The bastard murdered me sister! Killed her in cold blood! The message is from her." The rod relaxed again. "Now what? Do ye murder me like he murdered me sister?" "I don't think Dennis is around here anymore," Daria said cryptically. "So there's no one to give your message to. Killing you wouldn't accomplish anything and it'd just give me a hassle I don't need to deal with at the moment." Daria paused and Faith wondered why. Then she felt packing being shoved into her mouth again. The cleave was tied back in, irritating the raw corners of her mouth. She groaned reflexively as the packing shoved against the back of her mouth. "But I also don't need you underfoot, so you're going to have to stay here a little while longer." Faith was shoved back against the wall. She heard the two leave and the door close behind them. She was right back where she started. But at least she was still alive. "Mmmm?" whimpered the mystery captive. Caroline looked up from the floor, her body wracked with pain from the stringent bondage she'd suffered through for hours. There was a blurry human shape in the door and, for a fearful moment, she thought Dennis Flynn had returned for her. Then she heard Bobby's exclamation of horror and, though her heart broke that he had to see her like this, she was grateful to hear that voice again. He knelt down next to her and effortlessly pulled her off the floor and up to a sitting position. Never in her life had she yearned so for the strong touch of those hands. She tried to hold still as his fingers scratched and clawed at the end of the tape stuck over her mouth. He finally turned up a corner and quickly peeled it off. The last bit stung a little, but her face was too numb to notice. Caroline pushed the gauze out with her tongue. "He was here, Bobby," she said, her voice shuddering with emotion. "You hit him last night. He's got an entry wound in his left shoulder. The arm's probably pretty close to useless right now." "To Hell with all that!" growled Bobby, his concern laid bare by his tone and Caroline realized she couldn't love him any more than she did at that moment. "Did he hurt you?" "Hit me with his gun a couple of times," Caroline replied, struggling to stay calm. She felt her wrists coming free and nothing could feel better. "He tied me up. I don't know if he was going to shoot me or not. He downed some pills. I had some codeine in the cabinet. He stood over me for the longest time. Then he seemed to waver. Finally he stumbled out. Maybe the codeine was affecting him. Maybe it was the wound." The tape pulled from around her wrists and she wrapped her arms around Harrington's neck, pulling him close. "Thank you for finding me, Bobby." Harrington responded by wrapping his arms around her torso and crushing her to him. If he never let go, that was fine with her. "POLICE!" Ken called out from the next room. "Throw out your weapon!" "The perp's gone, Ken!" Harrington called out. "We're in here!" Ken entered, followed close behind by Loharo. Both gasped in shock at the damage done to the room and to Dr. Englehart. After a few awkward moments, Loharo noticed the doctor's glasses over on the floor. She bent down, picked them up, then knelt next to Englehart and handed them to her. Caroline took them with a sheepish smile. Harrington was busy freeing Englehart's legs. Once that was done, he stood up and faced Ken Ryan. "Call everyone up, Ken," Harrington said solemnly. "We're round the clock from here on. Have Anne call Augusta and try to get some state police up here. If those FBI people show up, draft them too. If we have to tear this town apart stick by stick, we are going to find this guy, Ken. I want him off the streets. I don't care if it's dead or in cuffs, but I want him off the streets now!" continued . . . Story is (c)2000 by Bill Kropfhauser
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