Considering the location of Hendrich’s residence, he wouldn’t have walked here from home. And taking into account the sparse public transportation routes in this part of town, I figured that if Bruce were here, he would have driven.
I hadn’t seen any vehicles in the parking lot, but there might be one hidden here in the yard, behind some train cars. Given the orientation of the tracks, the best place for someone to hide one was near a string of tanker cars not far from the parking lot.
Keeping an eye out for anyone else already in the yard, I made my way toward the tankers to see if Hendrich’s car might just be here.
32
Other than the low hum of late-afternoon traffic on I-94 and the crunch of the gravel underfoot, the train yard was quiet.
I saw no tire tracks or sole impressions on the uneven scrubbing of snow, although some stretches of the yard had only enough snow to fill in the space between the gravel, so it wouldn’t have been possible to track prints very far anyway.
I was nearly to the tankers. I still hadn’t seen a vehicle.
When I looked beneath the train cars, hoping to catch sight of a car’s tires somewhere beyond them, the view was too obscured by a stretch of tall leaning grass on the other side to see much of anything.
Just as I was starting to think that this search for a vehicle might be a waste of time, I glimpsed what I was looking for. Only the hood at first, but as I proceeded, the rest of the sedan came into view.
A Ford Taurus.
I hustled toward it, felt the hood.
Still warm.
In this weather, that meant that whoever had driven it here had to have arrived recently and the engine must have been running for quite a while to get the hood that warm.
I didn’t know if it was Hendrich’s car or not, but in either case, unless there was a way out of the yard that Ralph and I didn’t know about, someone else was in here with us.
I radioed in the plates as I jogged over and inspected the gate. The keyed padlock and chain were shiny and new.
Scrutinizing the train yard, I still saw no movement.
Even though a dusting of snow was kicked up around the car, there wasn’t enough for me to determine which direction the driver might have gone after exiting the vehicle.
Mainly it was the snow behind the car that was trampled.
Last night Colleen’s abductor transported her in the trunk of a sedan.
My heartbeat quickened.
He has someone, Pat. He’s here.
I radioed Ralph and told him what I’d found.
Anticipating that whoever had left the car wouldn’t have walked back toward the parking lot, but would’ve likely headed toward a boxcar or freight car where he could work unseen, I followed the path toward the string of boxcars, then kept going past the place where Ralph and I had entered beneath the fence.
Just to my left were the hulking, abandoned freight and boxcars. To my right, the ditch sloped down toward the perimeter fence and the darkening woods that spread out of sight.
Glancing around, I could tell that I’d been correct earlier when I guessed that this area was well hidden from view.
Yeah, this would definitely be the place to bring someone.
I knelt and scanned the tracks again, looking for movement, for signs of anyone walking on the other side of the rusted and long-abandoned boxcars beside me.
Still nothing.
If someone exchanged that lock at the main gate, he might have exchanged others as well. Especially the one to the train car he’s using. Look for new locks, Pat. New chains.
There were a lot of cars to check and I needed to inspect the sliding doors on both sides, but new locks narrowed things down. It was a place to start.
Ralph’s voice came through my radio again: “Anything?”
“No. You?”
“Not yet. Where are you?”
“Near the fence,” I told him, “a hundred meters east of the parking lot. I’m checking the boxcars.”
“Roger that. Keep me posted.”
“Ten-four.”
Then I went back to work looking for bad guys. Bodies. Clues. The usual.
Or in this case, anything that might be unusual.
Like new locks on old boxcar doors.
33
Carl entered his friend Rennie Stillwells’s tavern just down the street from the hardware store. Rennie wouldn’t officially open until five, but all the guys from the Wednesday-night poker crew knew he was always there by three.
“Hey, Rennie.”
Rennie looked up from the bar. He was the only one in the room. “Carl. Hey, how ya doin’?”
“Good. How ’bout you?”
He shrugged. “Could be worse.”
“Listen, do you mind if I use your phone, there?”
Without a word, Rennie set it on the bar. Slid it toward Carl.
“Um…you know…It’s a bit personal…Has to do with Adele.”
“Gotcha.” Rennie winked as if he understood completely. “Help yourself. I gotta use the john anyway.”
He stepped away and Carl turned the phone so the numbers faced him, then he pulled out the note that Adele’s kidnapper had left for him, and spread it across the counter. The number: 888-359-5392.
He’d done as the note directed and the body was there at the hardware store. In a sense, the ransom had been paid.
Call the number, Carl. So what if it’s a few minutes early.
Thinking about Adele being with this man was just too terrifying for him to wait.
Sweating, his hand shaking noticeably as he tapped in the number, he held the receiver to his ear and waited while it rang.
No one picked up.
With each passing second he became more and more nervous, more afraid.
The note said to call this number, that she would be okay if you did!
But another voice: No, you called early! You didn’t wait!
Still no one answered.
Then Carl heard police sirens and realized that someone must have already found Miriam Flandry’s corpse and called the station, which was less than a mile away.
And all he could think of was why the man who’d taken Adele, who’d already severed off at least one of her fingers, wasn’t answering.
And what he might be doing to her instead.
34
Joshua drew the heavy-duty zip tie taut around Adele’s left wrist. She was awake now, still blindfolded, but she could obviously tell that she was restrained to the chair and that he was putting something around her wrist. She tried valiantly to pull free. “What are you doing?” Her voice was constricted and tight with concern, and Joshua had to admit to himself that he kind of liked that.
He thought that maybe it would be more frightening to her if he remained quiet. So instead of replying, he just cinched the second tie around her right wrist, tugging it tight enough to cut off the circulation to her hand.
“Ouch!” She winced. “Who are you! Stop it!”
When he still said nothing, she cried out louder, squirming to get free, and it reminded him of the way Colleen had acted the night before. It even reminded him of his first trip into the special place beneath the barn with his father, when that man named Kenneth who was shackled to the boards holding up the cellar’s earthen walls, had tried so desperately but in the end, futilely, to escape.
“What do you want!” Adele screamed. The words thrummed for a moment inside the boxcar then the mattresses swallowed the sounds, leaving a soft, hollow silence in their wake.
Joshua bent to do her right ankle but realized it might be best to talk to her after all, to keep her preoccupied until he got started with the Gemrig saw. “I just want you to be still.”
When he actually did reply to her this time, she was quiet, and he wondered if maybe she’d become hopeful that she could negotiate with him. He didn’t like that his words might be leading her on, might be making her think he was going to have compassion on her. It just didn’t feel right to do that to her.