Fugitive

THE CABBIE WAS a grizzled, talkative Ukrainian who spent the early part of the ride giving Charlie his unsolicited opinion of the current state of soccer in the United States. Much to Charlie’s relief, he shut up after they left the highway and the signs of civilization faded away. It was spooky driving through the sparsely populated farm country in the dark.

Even with Sally’s directions the driver almost missed the narrow entrance to her estate. The woods closed around them as soon as they passed through the break in the stonework, giving Charlie the unsettling, claustrophobic feeling that he was inside a coffin of leaves. His anxiety didn’t ease when they drove out of the forest. In daylight, the colorful flower beds and bright green lawn made Sally’s antebellum mansion look cheerful. At night, with only the pale rays of a half moon to illuminate it, the house resembled a skull.

When they drove up to the front of the house, Charlie looked for some sign of life and finally spotted dim yellow light seeping through the curtains in a downstairs room.

“Stop here,” Charlie said when the cab reached the front door.

“You want me to wait?” the driver asked.

Charlie thought about that. Sally had said she would drive him back to town, and he had a cell phone.

“No, you can go.”

Charlie got out and the cab drove off. There was a soft breeze, a faint smell of freshly mown grass, night sounds, and nothing else. He was spooked, so he turned in a slow circle to make sure no one was behind him. He had almost completed his turn when he thought he saw movement where the woods ended and the lawn began. He peered into the darkness. The space between the low branches of a tree seemed to disappear and reappear. He strained to find the cause but heard and saw nothing. He blamed the phantom on his imagination and climbed the porch steps.

No one had left a light on, so it took Charlie a moment to find the doorbell. The chimes echoed hollowly in the downstairs hall. As Charlie waited for Sally, there was a faint sound behind him. He turned toward the yard but still saw nothing. When he turned back, his eyes had grown accustomed to the dark and he noticed that the front door was not flush with the frame. He pushed and it opened. Charlie hesitated before stepping inside. There was a glow at the end of a long hall. Charlie inched toward the light and called Sally’s name. He was waiting for an answer when he saw the dog. It lay on its side partially hidden by a low cedar chest that stood against the staircase to the second floor. Charlie assumed the collie was sleeping. Then it dawned on him that, sleeping or not, the dog would have come awake when he called to Sally.

Charlie walked to the chest and peered over it. The collie’s head was in a shadow and it took him a moment to see that it was resting in a puddle of blood. He jumped back, almost tripping over his own feet. If Charlie’s DNA contained a gene for common sense, he would have fled. Instead, he picked up a brass candlestick from the top of the chest and started down the hall toward the light. His feet made no sound on the carpet and he could hear his heart beating rapidly. Charlie’s heightened senses focused on the open doorway at the end of the hall. As he inched closer, he could see a rug, the end of a couch, and part of a table.

Charlie pressed his back to the wall and slid sideways toward the room, brandishing the candlestick like a club. When he reached the doorway, Charlie paused and took a deep breath. Then he spun through the door, his arm raised above his head.

He was in a large living room and the light he’d seen from the end of the hall came from a table lamp that stood next to a phone. Next to the end table was a straight-backed, wooden chair. Sally Pope was secured to it by duct tape. Her head had fallen forward. She was wearing a white nightgown that showed the blood that drenched the front of it to maximum effect.

Charlie also took in the body of a dark-haired woman sprawled on the floor in front of a long couch. He couldn’t tell if she was dead or unconscious. He was about to go to her when a muffled sound brought him around. A wild-eyed teenage boy was lying on the floor near the fireplace, tied tight by the same gray duct tape that bound Sally to her chair. He was trying to tell Charlie something but his words were muffled by the tape that sealed his mouth.

Charlie started toward the boy, who jerked his head violently toward the drapes hanging on either side of French doors that opened onto the patio. The drapes moved and a man appeared. He was dressed in black and his face was hidden behind a ski mask.

“Who…?” was all Charlie got out before the man raised the gun he was holding. Charlie heard someone moving behind him just before he was shot. As he fell, he heard more shots and the sound of shattering glass. Then he passed out.

CHAPTER 38

Dad,” Amanda said as soon as Frank Jaffe answered the phone, “Sally Pope is dead. She’s been murdered.”

Amanda waited for a response. “Dad?” she repeated when she got none.

“I…I’m just…What happened?”

It was 6:38 in the morning. Frank was getting ready for work and had just finished in the bathroom. The unexpected ring of the phone had startled him. Now his daughter’s words stu

“I don’t know all of the details, but Charlie Marsh was shot. That’s how I found out. He had someone call me from the hospital. Sally was murdered in her house. He was there.”

“What was Marsh doing at Sally’s house?”

“I don’t know. I’m going to the hospital. I’ll let you know what I find out.”

Amanda hung up. Frank held the receiver for a moment. It took an effort to return it to its cradle. Suddenly Frank felt very old. His shoulders sagged. A sob escaped his lips and he was consumed by grief.

THE POLICEMAN WHO was guarding Charlie’s hospital room checked Amanda’s ID before letting her in. Charlie was propped up in bed co

“How are you feeling?” Amanda asked as she dragged a chair to the side of the bed.

“If I’d known how good morphine felt I would have gotten shot a long time ago,” Charlie answered with a sloppy grin. Then he sobered. “They wouldn’t tell me anything. Is Sally dead?”

Amanda nodded. “And Gina, her personal assistant. Sally’s son wasn’t harmed physically but he’s so traumatized that the doctors won’t let the police interview him. You’re the only other survivor. The detective in charge of the investigation is in the waiting room. He wants to interview you. I told him I’d ask you what you want to do.”

“This is so terrible. I liked Sally.”

“Will you talk to the detective? I’ll be with you to protect you if he gets too far afield.”

“Yeah, I’ll do it.”

“One thing they’ll want to know is why you’re not dead.”

“That’s easy. Someone saved me.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know. I never saw him.”

“What were you doing at Sally Pope’s house in the middle of the night?”

“She called me. She wanted me to come alone, right away. She claimed to know something that would get my case dismissed.”

“What was it?”

“She wouldn’t tell me. She said she had to show it to me.”

“How did she sound during the call?”

“Shaky, panicky.”

“Do you think she was being forced to say what she did to lure you to her house?”

“I’m sure of it. The killer probably threatened her kid to force her to call me.”

Amanda nodded agreement. “Go on.”

“I took a cab. When I got there, the house was dark. I went in, saw that someone had killed the dog, and noticed light coming from the living room. When I walked into the room Sally was taped to a chair. Her head was down, so I couldn’t be sure she was dead, but there was blood all over her nightgown. There was another woman sprawled on the floor.”