Dark Tiger (28 page)

Then the muzzle of a gun pressed against the back of his head.

“Get off him, Stoney,” Robin said.

“I don't think so,” he said. “This sonofabitch will kill me, and that's unacceptable.”

“Then I'll do it,” she said. “I'll kill you.”

“Aw, come on,” he said. “You won't do that.”

“You don't know me,” said Robin. “I'm not such a nice girl.”

“I never accused you of being nice,” he said, “but you ain't a killer.”

“You might be surprised.”

“You're not going to kill me,” said Calhoun.

“Just let go of him. And tell Ralph to let go.”

“Let him go,” Calhoun said to Ralph. He lifted his hands away from Robert's throat.

“Get off him. He can hardly breathe.”

“Ralph,” said Calhoun quietly.

Ralph came flying through the darkness, a brown-and-white flash, and then Robin screamed.

Calhoun got off Robert's chest. Robin and Ralph looked like they were wrestling on the ground. Robin was grunting and cursing. Ralph was growling deep in his chest. Calhoun looked around, and in the indirect light from the Rover's headlights, he found the revolver where Robin had dropped it. He picked it up and pointed it at her. “Okay,” he said to Ralph, who had latched on to Robin's wrist. “Let her go now.”

Ralph released his hold on Robin and sat down. He seemed to be glaring at her.

“What kind of a dog
is
this?” she said. “He always seemed so . . .”

“Gentle?” said Calhoun.

“I guess so.” She was holding her right wrist in her left hand. Calhoun saw some blood ooze through her fingers.

“Well, you seemed gentle, too,” he said.

Robin laughed quickly. “You never know, huh?”

“I've trained him,” Calhoun said. “Plus, unlike you, he's loyal as hell. You mess with me, you've got to deal with Ralph.”
He spotted his flashlight on the ground. He picked it up, shone it around, and found his hunting knife and his cell phone, his wallet and his badge.

“Where's that duct tape?” he said to Robin.

“I gave it to him.”

He shone the flashlight on Robert. He was holding his throat in one hand. His breath came in short raspy gasps. He was still clutching the roll of duct tape in his other hand.

Calhoun took the tape and handed it to Robin. “Tape his wrists together.”

“Why should I?” she said. “You're not going to shoot me. Are you, Stoney?”

“Probably not,” he said, “but I wouldn't mind shooting him. I figure he's the one who killed your friend Elaine and blew up Curtis Swenson in the Cessna. He doesn't deserve to live. You I've still got some hope for. If you can't tape him up, I guess I'll have to shoot him, and if I do, it'll be on you. That what you want?”

She smiled. “I don't believe you—but okay, I'll do it. I don't want you to be mad at me.”

“I'd say it's a little late to think about that.” To Robert he said, “Sit up and hold our your hands.”

Calhoun held the gun on them while Robin taped Robert's wrists together halfway up to his elbows. Then he patted Robert's pockets, took out the keys to the truck, and slipped them into his own pocket.

He opened the passenger door of the truck and folded it forward. “Stick him in there,” Calhoun said to Robin.

She helped Robert lurch to his feet, steered him around to the open door, and stuffed him into the cramped backseat.

“Now tape up his ankles,” Calhoun said.

Robin wrapped duct tape around Robert's ankles all the way up to his knees.

“Give me the tape,” Calhoun said. “Your turn.” He taped Robin's wrists together. Her right forearm was bleeding a little from Ralph's teeth. It probably hurt, though she wasn't complaining. He didn't feel sorry for her. Ralph wasn't rabid. She'd live.

He told her to climb into the front seat, and after she did that, he taped her ankles together. He checked the tape jobs on both Robin and Robert. Neither of them was going anywhere.

Calhoun told Ralph to jump in back with Robert. “Don't hesitate to bite somebody,” he told the dog.

He went back to the Range Rover. He opened the trunk, pried off the snap-on plastic cover over the taillight, and took out the vial wrapped in his handkerchief. He stuck it in his jacket pocket and zipped it up.

He left the keys in the Rover's ignition. Then he went back to the truck and climbed in behind the wheel. “Ready to go, kids?” he said.

Neither Robert nor Robin answered.

Calhoun started up the truck, turned on the headlights, and headed for St. Cecelia.

In the backseat behind him, Robert groaned every time they hit a bump in the road. Robin, riding shotgun beside Calhoun, kept her face turned away from him.

“I don't want to think about the possibility that you betrayed your friend Elaine like you betrayed me,” Calhoun said to her.

“She wasn't really my friend,” said Robin.

“So all that crying when she got killed . . . ?”

“Oh, I was sad,” she said, “but I understood that it had to be done. I guess the tears were mostly for your sake, Stoney. Robert was suspicious of you right off, the way you kept asking about McNulty.”

“So he told you to seduce me, huh?”

“I tried,” he said.

“Yes, you did,” he said. “Good try, too.”

She laughed softly.

“I showed you my badge,” he said. “I confided in you. I trusted you.”

“Well, I'm sorry,” she said. “How was I supposed to know I was going to like you?”

“Tell me about Curtis Swenson,” he said.

“Just shut up,” said Robert from the backseat. “Don't talk to him.”

“Ah, he's gonna find out sooner or later.” She turned to Calhoun. “Robert was over in Afghanistan,” she said. “He learned how to make those roadside bombs. What do you call them?”

“IEDs,” Calhoun said. “Improvised explosive devices.”

“That's it,” she said. “So he made one of them for the Cessna. You were supposed to be on that plane. Two birds with one stone.”

“Me and Curtis,” Calhoun said. “Why Curtis?”

“Robert stopped trusting him,” she said.

“And me?”

“He thought you were too curious about things. He thought you had some other agenda besides guiding. He didn't trust you from the beginning. He knew you were a deputy sheriff. Robert thought—”

“Will you shut the hell up?” said Robert.

“He's right,” Robin said. “Time for me to shut up.”

“The more you tell me,” Calhoun said, “the easier it'll go for you.”

“No,” she said, “Robert's right. I'm not going to say anything else. Robert can tell you whatever he wants, but I'm done.”

“Suit yourself,” Calhoun said. He hesitated. “There is one thing, though.”

“What?” she said.

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why you? What do you get out of it?”

She shook her head. “You'd never understand.”

He shrugged. “You might be surprised. I understand greed.”

“It wasn't greed,” she said. “I had to get away from Madrid, Maine. I deserve more than that.”

“There are better ways,” Calhoun said.

“There are plenty of slow ways,” she said, “and there are hard ways, and none of them are dependable.”

“And Robert showed you a fast, easy way.”

Robin chuckled softly. “I thought so.”

“Well,” said Calhoun, “it looks like you're going to get your wish.”

She laughed softly.

“So what about him?” he said.

“Robert?” Robin hesitated. “He's like me. He can't stand it around here. He wants more for himself. He feels like he's getting sucked into his family business. This was his way out of here.”

“Smuggling illegal drugs?”

She said nothing.

“Working for terrorists, huh?”

“I'm not saying anything else,” said Robin. “I'm just sorry it ended up like this.”

“I bet you are,” he said.

The rest of the slow drive to St. Cecelia passed in silence. As they approached the town, the casinos and cafés alongside the
road shone bright neon lights, and their parking lots were crowded. Calhoun remembered that it was Saturday evening. He guessed folks came from all the nearby townships for Saturday night fun in good old St. Cecelia.

He drove through town and pulled into the lot beside the police station, which he expected would be a busy place on a Saturday evening. He told Ralph to stand guard over their two prisoners and went inside.

A female officer was sitting at the front desk inside the door. She had a phone tucked against her shoulder, and she was talking and typing on her computer at the same time. She had black hair, cut short and flecked with gray. Calhoun guessed she was somewhere in her forties. The nameplate on her shirt pocket said
SGT. C. BROXTON
. She looked up at him, narrowed her eyes at him for a moment as if she were memorizing his face, then returned her attention to her monitor.

After a couple of minutes, Sergeant Broxton said, “Okay, ayuh, thanks,” and hung up the phone. She sighed and frowned at her computer screen, then looked up at Calhoun. “So what can I do for you?” she said.

He fished his deputy's badge from his pocket and showed it to her. “My name's Calhoun,” he said. “Cumberland County. I got two prisoners outside I'd like to turn over to you.”

“What'd they do?”

“Killed two people,” he said. “Or one of them did, anyway. You probably heard about what's been going on up at Loon Lake.”

Sergeant Broxton nodded. “Woman got shot in her bed,” she said. She hesitated. “Oh, and that float plane that exploded, pilot killed. That was a murder, too?”

He nodded.

“Cumberland County, huh? You're a long ways from home.”

“That's why I'm turning these people over to you,” he said. “They both might need some medical attention. Oh, and there's an abandoned vehicle in the middle of the road fifteen or twenty miles north towards Loon Lake. Keys're in the ignition. It's blocking the way and needs to be moved. It belongs to the lodge.”

Amusement sparked from her eyes. Calhoun noticed that they were dark brown, almost black. “You got any more instructions for me tonight, Deputy Calhoun?” she said.

“No,” he said, “I guess that's about it for now.”

“Well,” she said, “I know Chief Baldwin will want to talk with you, so I'd appreciate it if you'd sit tight here while I radio him. Those prisoners of yours. Where are they?”

“In a GMC truck right outside there in your lot,” he said. “They're trussed up quite thoroughly with duct tape. My dog's in there with them. I'm going to go let him out now. I'll stick around for the chief.”

Calhoun went outside and opened the driver's door to the truck. “Come on,” he said to Ralph, who hopped out and went looking for bushes. “You folks just sit tight,” he said to Robert and Robin. “I wangled you an invitation for a night or two at this establishment. Free room and board.”

He shut the truck door, looked around, and spotted a boulder that he could sit on. Ralph was sniffing around some shrubbery against the side of the building. Calhoun whistled, and when Ralph came over, Calhoun gave him a Milk-Bone.

He watched as two cops came out of the building. They went to the truck and opened both doors, and a few minutes later they were helping Robin and Robert hobble back inside.

Then he fished his cell phone from his pocket. From his wallet he took the card that Mr. Brescia had given him. He dialed one of the phone numbers.

It rang twice, and then Mr. Brescia's growly voice said, “Mr. Calhoun.”

“Yes, sir,” said Calhoun. “It's me.”

“You have a report for me.”

“Haven't got it all yet,” Calhoun said, “but I've got the man who shot McNulty, name of Robert Dunlap, plus one of his accomplices, who may not have committed any actual crimes beyond stupidity. They're both here in the St. Cecelia jail. Dunlap killed two other people this past week, and he tried to kill me. He's been smuggling something in from Canada on a float plane. Don't know what it is for sure. My best guess is botulinum toxin. Turns out botulism's what killed McNulty. I've got a sample of it. Thought I'd hand it over to Dr. Grimshaw. She's the chief medical examiner for the state of Maine.”

“I know who Grimshaw is,” said Mr. Brescia. He was silent for a minute. Then he said, “No. You hang on to that vial. The fewer locals we involve in any of this, the better.”

“How do I get it to you?”

“Don't worry about that,” said Mr. Brescia. “I'll take care of it.”

“The chief here, Chief Baldwin, he wants to interrogate me,” Calhoun said. “How do you want me to handle him?”

“Tell him nothing.”

“That might not be so easy,” said Calhoun. “I mean, I'm turning over two murder suspects to him.”

“Use your judgment,” Mr. Brescia said. “Be creative. Improvise. You're a resourceful man, Mr. Calhoun, and you've been well and thoroughly trained. If you needed me to tell you what you should do, you wouldn't be working for me in the first place.”

“Okay,” Calhoun said.

“You know better than to tell those officers what you are and what you do.”

“That's easy,” said Calhoun, “inasmuch as I don't know what the hell I am.”

“Sure you do,” Mr. Brescia said.

Calhoun found himself nodding. “Yes,” he said. “Now that you mention it, I suppose I do.”

 

 

 

 

It took Calhoun about three and a half hours to drive the narrow winding roads through the middle of the night from St. Cecelia to the parking area beside Moosehead Lake in Greenville where he'd left his truck the day Curtis Swenson flew him to Loon Lake. He abandoned Robert Dunlap's truck there, unlocked with the keys on the floor, and he and Ralph climbed into Calhoun's own Ford pickup and continued on to his house in the woods in Dublin.