The Lighthouse by Bill K

CHAPTER FOUR: "Seek and Ye Shall Find"


        "Morning, Chief," said Deputy Anne MacDougald as Constable Robert Harrington entered the police station. He grunted a reply and the cute raven-haired woman smiled to herself. Some things never change and one of those constants was that Bobby Harrington was a slow starter in the morning. Still, he seemed a little slower than usual this morning.

"You all right? How late were you on duty last night?"

        "I got home about nine," he whispered, rubbing his eyes. "I don't suppose they pulled a match on the prints from that .38, did they?"

        "Didn't you just bring it in last night?" clucked Anne.

        "Did you send copies of the latents to Interpol?"

        "Sent them out first thing this morning." Anne grew serious. "Don't you think this guy's local?"

        "Miss Reeves said he had an Irish accent," Harrington said, pulling a bottled tea from the mini-fridge. "Might be quicker to contact UK authorities, too."

        "So all of a sudden you believe her now?" Anne asked. "She seemed pretty out there when I talked to her yesterday."

        "I don't know yet," he sighed. "Maybe she surprised a burglar and convinced herself he was part of her 'conspiracy'. If so, it's still an interesting coincidence. But if she's right and someone is..."

        "Replacing her friends with doubles?" asked Anne skeptically.

        "I know," he smiled. "But they didn't believe Kevin McCarthy either, and look what happened there."

        "Kevin who?" asked Anne.

        "Thanks for making me feel real old, Anne," Harrington laughed, hanging his head. "Anything pressing I need to concern myself with here?"

        "Monthly budget reports," Anne reminded him.

        "I can do that later. I'm taking number one out to the lighthouse. Call me if you get anything on those prints or the gun."



        Loharo headed for the point that morning down her usual route, but only to the edge of town. She planned to give the lighthouse a wide berth. She didn't want "Donna" to see what she was doing; she also didn't want to see or be seen by that psychotic Irish thug that had escaped her apartment last night. If she never saw him again short of a courtroom or a jail cell, it would be all right with her.

        She hoisted her backpack back onto her shoulder as she walked down Cromwell Street. The passersby, and there were many in early rising Maine, stared or whispered. Skeffington's Harbor was a small town and news traveled fast. Loharo was once again an oddity in a town that had just begun to tolerate her and she didn't like it. At least this time it was because she'd been a victim of a potentially violent crime rather than other things.

        "Miss Reeves!" called a woman behind her.

        Loharo turned and saw the redheaded woman from last night. She was standing in the doorway of Irma's New England Kitchen, a bed and breakfast that was popular with the few tourists Skeffington's Harbor managed to attract. The woman motioned her over. Loharo really didn't want to be deterred from her mission, but she did owe the woman for rescuing her.

        "I'd like to talk to ye, if I may," the woman said, her Irish accent eerily reminiscent of Loharo's attacker. "Have ye had breakfast yet?"

        "Yes, I have," Loharo said. "And you are...?"

        "Och, where are me manners!" gasped the woman. "The name's Faith Connally. Ye mind if I finish mine?"

        "No. Faith, I do want to thank you for showing up when you did last night. Your timing was a lifesaver."

        "I should say," Faith grinned as they sat down at a table. The woman seemed eager to ingratiate herself with Loharo. "If I'm not overstepping me bounds, what did the man want?"

        He," Loharo began, then eyed the woman. How far could she trust this woman? Was it possible she was in league with the man from last night? They were both Irish. "We never got that far. I think he was going to rape me."

        "Och, the villain!" gasped Faith. "Have ye seen his like around before?"

        "No," Loharo replied, which was true as far as it went. "So why did you stop by last night?"

        "Oh, that," Faith replied. She struggled to maintain a cheery exterior, but it seemed like she was concocting a story on the fly. "I just needed some background material on the local wildlife. You working with the oceans and all, I thought ye'd be a good source."

        "Writing a book?" Loharo asked.

        "Magazine feature, actually," Faith replied, then added quickly, "I'm a reporter for a paper in Ireland. Londonderry."

        That triggered a memory in Loharo. The intruder was fighting Faith last night. He mentioned she was a long way from Londonderry. And he'd said "Faith". She thought it had been an exclamation. Was he calling her by name?

        "So tell me, have ye noticed anything odd about the coast recently?" Faith asked.

        "Odd how?" Loharo asked warily.

        "Unusual goings on, odd patterns, strangers," Faith shrugged. "The Irish coasts have a lot of trouble with ship borne pollution. Do ye Americans have the same problems?"

        "Some. It's not as bad up here." Loharo looked directly at Faith. "You fight pretty good for a reporter."

        "Londonderry's not a nice town," Faith grinned. "A lass has to protect herself."

        "You took off after that guy pretty readily," Loharo continued. "Weren't you scared?"

        "Didn't think of it," the redhead shrugged. "I didn't want him to get away."

        "I just thought you might have recognized him."

        Faith tensed almost imperceptibly.

        "Can't say as I did. I run into a lot of people, though."

        "I see. Well, I have to go," Loharo said. She got up and shouldered her bag. "Thanks again for last night."

        "Maybe ye can do the same for me someday," Faith joked.

        She seemed to want to say more, but didn't know how. Loharo got to the door and looked back. Faith was watching her, but returned to her breakfast immediately.

        Loharo headed for the point. She pondered who this Faith Connally really might be and what she really wanted. Forces were suddenly swirling around little Skeffington's Harbor and Loharo felt very alone and insecure. But it wasn't yet enough to make her abandon Donna.



        Daria walked into the gift shop of the lighthouse. The woman still seemed business-like, as if she'd stepped out of a boardroom, despite her casual dress of jeans and a baggy ash gray sweatshirt. Her brown hair was still unstyled. She saw "Donna" at the counter, dressed for her role in jeans, western denim shirt and cowboy boots. Daria allowed herself a faint smile, pleased she was maintaining her role even in private.

        "Any business?" Daria asked laconically.

        "No," "Donna" said, her Texas accent absent. "Beats me how this place stays in business. If it weren't for the radio, I'd be bored enough to shoot myself."

        "Anything interesting on the air?"

        "Howard Stern's talking to a hooker."

        "I said interesting."

        Just then, there was a knock on the door. Both women turned to it, then to each other in alarm. Daria nodded, then slipped into concealment in a back room. "Donna" moved to the door, checked to see if Daria was hidden, then opened it.

        "Sheriff!" "Donna" replied in surprise, her drawl back. "Somethin' wrong?"

        "Well maybe, maybe not," Constable Harrington replied. "Mind if I come in?"

        "Hell no, come on," she nodded him in. "Want some coffee?"

        "You know I don't drink your coffee," Harrington replied.

        "Can't blame a gal for tryin'," she shrugged.

        "Guess not. Did you hear about the break-in at Loharo Reeves' apartment?"

        "Naw! Lordy, is she all right?!"

        "A little shaken up."

        "You know who done it?"

        "Not yet. Seems to be a stranger from her description."

        "What'd he want?"

        "Miss Reeves claims he gave her a warning. He told her not to be nosing around this lighthouse. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

        "Me?! Hell, Loharo's welcome here anytime, y'all know that."

        "Um hmm. Have you noticed anything strange around the area recently?"

        "Naw."

        "Any strangers, especially strange men?"

        "Uh uh. Course I don't get out much."

        "Any sort of unusual activity?"

        "Nope, 'less ya want to count Loharo wigging out yesterday."

        "Has she been back to see you?"

        "Uh uh. Didn't stop by this morning. I just figured she was out doing them water tests she does." Donna leaned against the door. "Y'all don't think she's makin' all this up, do ya? That she's sick or something?"

        "I'm not a doctor. I'm a cop," Harrington replied. "I can't judge her mental state that accurately. But someone was in her apartment last night. He was armed and he came close to harming her. I know for sure she didn't make that up." He nodded to her. "If you think of anything that would help, call the office. Good day."

        "Donna" watched through her window as the constable walked to his car and drove off. When she turned around, Daria was there.

        "You heard?" "Donna" asked, agitated.

        "I heard," Daria replied, her tone disappointed.

        "I thought you told that damn psycho to just watch her, not to threaten her! Now that cop suspects something!"

        "It doesn't mean he can prove anything," Daria said calmly. "Stick to the plan. Meanwhile, I'll talk to the boss and try to get our little Dennis reassigned."

        "Reassign him?" "Donna" scowled. "They need to shoot the little rodent!"

        "Shooting's too noisy. Reassignment is nice and clean - say to the middle of an active volcano?"



        Faith knelt amid the rocks of the shoreline gouged out by the Bay of Fundy, examining the scene. The lighthouse stood in the distance, surrounded by browning eight inch grass, maple and evergreen trees and more rocky, uneven bluffs. The ocean was choppy and the wind off of it was cold. It was why she wore a green sweater over her blouse and traded her skirt in for jeans.

        Pumping the Reeves woman for information had been futile. If she knew something, she wasn't talking. Her last option was to try to find Dennis Flynn's trail again. She'd lost Flynn on this spot last night. The trail was cold now, but it was all that was left to her. Faith's eyes tried to penetrate the peaceful tableau and pierce its secret. She had to find him. She couldn't let him elude her again.

        The lighthouse returned to her attention. There were only two reasons to run this way: he was headed for a boat he'd stashed or for a hiding place. Either there was a cove around here somewhere, or he was in that lighthouse. Rising stiffly, Faith decided to look around a little more for signs of a cove. If she didn't find it...

        A noise behind her caught Faith's attention. She turned around in time to catch a blow from a heavy wooden branch or club across the side of her head and shoulder. Faith fell hard onto the rocks, stunned.

        "Did I catch ye napping now?" mocked Dennis Flynn, standing over her.

        It was Flynn. She couldn't see him--she couldn't see much of anything except bright sparks--but she would recognize that hated voice anywhere. Rage welled up in her breast and it lent strength to her limbs as she struggled to get to her feet. Flynn responded by whacking her again with the club. The blow took what little strength she had left and Faith tumbled back to the ground like a marionette with its strings cut.

        She felt hands on her. She wasn't out, just too stunned to think straight and too weak to move. She could feel herself floating in the air, but not of her own power. There was a pressure against her stomach. The flight was bouncing and choppy, not smooth and gliding, and she felt nausea almost bubble over before it receded. Something was telling her to move, but she couldn't remember how. It took many moments to realize that she was telling herself to move. By then she was back on the ground.

        Her vision was clearing. The rocks were gone. She was lying amid the browning tall grass. The lighthouse wasn't ahead of her, so it must have been behind her. There were several trees around, big thick evergreens and maples that had stood probably since Maine achieved statehood. The foliage was thick enough to block out the sun at that time of day, but that was a good thing. In her state, too much sunlight too soon would have hurt.

        A force, something, pulled her arms behind her back. She wanted to stop it, to pull them back, but she couldn't find the strength. Something rough and strong cut into the flesh of her wrists, holding them together behind her back. Faith tried to pull them apart, but it only succeeded in hurting her wrists. For a moment the pain was good, as it helped her to focus. Then she was overcome by blinding pain from her head. Faith let out a quick groan and jammed her eyes shut reflexively.

        "I'm not hurting ye there, am I darlin'," mocked a man's voice. Dennis Flynn; it was Dennis Flynn. Just then a flood of memories masked the pain. Faith began pulling harder, but by then whatever was holding her wrists (rope; it was rope) had her elbows tied together so that her shoulder blades were nearly touching.

        "What are ye doing?" mumbled Faith, remembering how to talk.

        "Making ye a little more manageable, darlin'," Dennis replied.

        A hand appeared suddenly in her field of vision, so suddenly that she started. As such, she didn't have time to prevent a wad of cloth from being shoved into her mouth. Faith shook her head, though it hurt to do so, to dislodge it, but was unsuccessful. A second cloth cleaved her mouth and drove the packing in deeper as it was tied behind her head.

        "Gnnnnnngh!" moaned Faith.

        "Don't be fretting so," Dennis told her as he rolled her on her side and began binding her ankles. "This is nothing. It gets a lot worse from here." He sprang to his feet once her ankles were bound. "Don't move now. I'll be back shortly. We've got to do this right, after all."

        With that, he bounded off. Her head clearing, though the headache remained, Faith strained at her bonds. Instantly she realized the futility of it. She glanced around desperately. No one was around that she could see, nor was there anything she saw that might cut rope. Not wanting to be there when Dennis returned, she began inching along the ground on her side like a gigantic worm. She headed for the opposite direction of where Dennis went; it happened to be toward the ocean. Forgotten were the promises she'd made and the brave words she'd spoken and all the sacrifices she'd made, gone in the need for basic self-preservation. She'd seen too many samples of Dennis Flynn's handiwork.

        "Oh, now don't ye be running out on me there, darlin'," he said mockingly.

        His hand latched into the waistband of her jeans and he dragged her back to the giant maple tree he'd left her under. Faith fought to get out of his grasp, but it was a losing battle. Sitting by the tree was a milk crate turned over on its top. When they arrived, Flynn pinned Faith down with his knee while he tied a loop of cord loosely around her neck. Faith's breath caught in her throat. There was only one reason he could have for doing that. She saw him toss the end of the rope over a branch and her blood ran cold.

        "Up," he urged, pulling the rope taut. The noose around her throat tightened, forcing Faith to squirm up onto her knees. "Come on now, ye can do it," he urged, tightening the rope again.

        "Mmmmmph mnnnnngh!" she pleaded, the noose cutting into her throat.

        With great difficulty she managed to roll up to a standing position. Still Flynn wasn't done yet. Holding the rope tight, he hooked his arm around her waist and lifted her atop the milk crate. Faith stood there, stock still, staring fearfully out of the corner of her eye as Flynn tied the rope off. The noose was already tight around her throat. Dennis crossed back in front of her and looked up. Faith's chest rose and fell with shallow, terrified breaths.

        "Ye've been a major annoyance for a lot longer than ye should have been, Miss Faith Connally," Flynn said, relishing her position, feeding on her fear. "Now all I have to do is kick that crate out from under ye," and he lowered his voice, slowing his cadence for effect, "and ye won't be an annoyance to anyone any longer."

Continued...

Story is (c)2000 by Bill Kropfhauser

Chapter five.
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