The Kill (50 page)
Authors: Jan Neuharth
Tags: #Fiction, #General, #Mystery & Detective, #Hunting and Fishing Clubs, #Murder - Investigation, #Fox Hunting, #Suspense Fiction, #Middleburg (Va.), #Suspense, #Photojournalists
Abigale twisted around. Doug was no longer leaning in the car. Both men just stared grimly at the vehicle, as if assessing what to do. Mallory said something and Doug shook his head.
Margaret waved her away. “Go.”
Abigale jumped up and ran back to the car. “What’s going on?”
“I can’t reach Manning,” Doug said. “And I’m afraid if I put more weight against the car to lean further inside I’ll cause it to slide down the bank.”
“Is Manning conscious?” Abigale asked.
“Not really. He’s stirring, but he’s not saying anything coherent.”
Abigale stared at the car. “So what are we going to do?”
“I’ll radio for help,” Mallory said.
“We can’t just stand here and wait for help to arrive,” Abigale said. She jabbed an arm at the creek. “The water’s rising too fast. You said so yourself. We’re running out of time.”
“Abigale’s right,” Doug said. “Who knows how long it will take for help to arrive, or whether they can even reach us with the flooded roads.”
“At this point, it’s our only option,” Mallory said.
Rage ripped through Abigale. She would not stand by and do nothing. “No, it’s not.”
Mallory stared at her, his jaw thrust forward stubbornly. “What do you suggest?”
“I weigh less than either of you,” she said. “Lower me into the car.”
“What good would that do?” Mallory asked.
“I can see if he’s injured. Unbuckle his seat belt so you can pull him out.”
Mallory shook his head. “I can’t risk letting a civilian put herself in danger.”
“But you’ll risk letting Manning drown inside the car?” Abigale shot back.
Doug put a calming hand on her arm. “Let’s give it a try,” he said to Mallory. “If the car starts to slide, we’ll pull her back out.”
Mallory regarded them through narrowed eyes. He blew out a loud sigh. “All right. I don’t like it, but I’ll go along with it.”
They boosted Abigale through the passenger window. She tensed with each movement, fearing the car’s downward shift as they eased her into the cramped space. She heard Doug say something, but the rain hammering against the roof made it impossible to decipher.
“That’s far enough,” she called over her shoulder. The forward motion stopped, but Doug and Mallory each clamped an iron grip on her legs.
Manning’s eyes were closed, but he winced and muttered something as the searchlight hit him square in the face. A gash beneath his ear oozed blood down his neck. An egg-sized knot on his left cheek swelled into a bluish halo beneath his left eye. The driver’s window was open, and his left shoulder and the side of his head were smeared with mud.
Abigale gently shook his shoulder. “
Manning
. Can you hear me?”
His right eye opened to a slit and he squinted at her. “Abby?”
Abigale’s eyes filled. She smiled at him. “Yes, it’s me. Doug and Mallory are with me. We’re going to get you out of here.”
Manning shifted in the seat and the car pitched to the left.
“Watch it!” Doug yelled.
“Hold still, Manning,” Abigale warned.
He opened both eyes, then flung his arm across his face to block out the searchlight. “What the—”
Abigale gripped his shoulder. “Manning, listen to me. The slightest movement could send the car down the bank into the creek. We’re going to get you out, but you need to move very slowly, okay?”
He nodded, but Abigale saw confusion cloud his gaze. She wondered whether he had a concussion or if it was from the alcohol. Either way, she wasn’t sure he’d be able to lend much help. “I’m going to unbuckle your seat belt. You need to brace yourself so you don’t drop when it releases.”
A moan hissed through Manning’s lips as he groped for the steering wheel with his right arm. He drew in a sharp breath and flexed his hand.
“That’s your broken arm. Use your left hand,” Abigale said.
Manning’s right arm fell back to his lap. He fumbled along the open window with his left hand and gripped the door jamb.
“Okay, good.” She wiggled her fingers between the seat and the middle console and found the seat belt latch. “Here goes.”
Abigale pressed the mechanism, but the catch didn’t release. She punched the button again. It didn’t budge. Frustration gripped her chest as she jabbed at it furiously.
Damn it!
“What’s the matter?” Manning asked.
“I can’t get the seat belt unbuckled. The release mechanism feels like it’s jammed.”
Manning glanced down at the seat belt. His eyes seemed clearer, more focused. “Cut it. There’s a Swiss Army knife in the glove box.”
Abigale searched beneath the deflated air bag for the latch and popped open the door to the glove compartment. She fumbled through loose papers and some CD cases, until her fingers closed around the cold steel of the knife. She flipped open the blade and held it against the shoulder-harness portion of the seat belt near the buckle, angled away from Manning.
“Ready?” Abigale asked.
Manning’s eyes leveled at her. She saw beads of sweat on his upper lip. He nodded.
The blade sliced through the webbing with a whoosh, and Abigale jerked the blade back as the belt released its hold on Manning. He dropped down, thudding against the door frame near the ceiling. Abigale held her breath as the car shuddered beneath her. Metal screeched as the roof scraped along the tree trunk, and Abigale felt strong hands yank her away.
“No!” she screamed, grabbing at the door as they pulled her from the car.
Doug wrapped his arms around her and jerked her away from the car as it broke free from the tree and smashed onto its roof.
“Oh, my God.
Do something!”
Abigale shrieked as the BMW shot down the bank. It plunged into the creek like the log plume ride at an amusement park. She thrashed against Doug’s grasp. “Let me go! We have to get him out of the car.”
Doug tightened his hold on her. “We’ll never reach the car in time. It would be suicide to go after him.”
Mallory swung the searchlight at the water, and Abigale’s body went numb as she watched the swift current suck the car toward the center of the creek. It seemed to happen in slow motion, yet it couldn’t have taken more than a matter of seconds before the car was swept downstream, its rear wheels bobbing in the swirling water.
“I’m sorry,” Doug murmured, letting her slip out of his arms.
Abigale clutched her arms to her chest, hot tears pouring down her rain-streaked cheeks. Her vision tunneled around the BMW until it vanished from sight and Mallory pulled the light away. She felt paralyzed for a moment, trapped in her own skin. The drum of rain on soggy earth, the wind whistling through naked trees, was suddenly hushed, as if someone had lowered the volume. She half stumbled, half slid down the bank to the water’s edge.
“Abigale!” Doug shouted.
She ignored him, crouching down on a rock outcropping that jutted into the creek. Waves splashed across the jagged stone and lapped at her feet. A powerful force seemed to tug her toward the restless water—to beckon her into the dark abyss. It would be so easy to slip into the current, let it carry her away.
Take her to Manning
. Abigale heard branches snap as someone tramped down the bank behind her. Probably Doug. She didn’t turn around.
Mallory’s searchlight sliced through the lashing rain, casting long shadows that danced across the water’s surface. Tree limbs and debris tumbled past her, caught up in the unforgiving current. Her eyes followed a gnarly branch twirling dizzily downstream until it disappeared beyond the reach of the searchlight, only to be replaced by another dark shape that bobbed in the water. She watched, mesmerized, waiting for it, too, to vanish from sight. But it didn’t. In fact, it appeared to be moving sideways. Toward the bank.
“Shine the light over there!” she shouted, jumping to her feet.
Mallory directed the light toward where she was pointing.
Where did it go?
Abigale held her breath as she squinted at the water.
“There!” she cried.
Her heart felt as though it would jump out of her chest as she saw Manning’s head skim the surface. He gulped in a mouthful of air as his arm sliced through the water, pulling him toward the bank.
Abigale’s boots skidded across wet rock as she leapt from the outcropping into the thicket along the bank. Swampy mud sucked at her feet, and she swore as she dropped to one knee, arms flailing for purchase among the slippery foliage.
Doug gripped her hand, hauling her to her feet. Together they shoved through brambles along the edge of Goose Creek, dodging trees now rooted underwater. The spotlight skittered erratically around Manning as Mallory plowed down the bank after them, and fear jolted through Abigale each time Manning disappeared from the beam’s reach.
Time fell away as Abigale plunged into the creek beside Doug, vaguely aware of the bone-numbing cold, the current grabbing at her legs. Water slapped her face, blinding her, and she lost sight of Manning. She groped for him in the swirling water, hope slipping through her fingers as swiftly as the tide. Panic mushroomed in her chest as she pawed the inky depths…and then—a wisp of fabric brushed her hand, powerful legs churned the water beside her. Manning’s head shot up above the water’s surface and joy burst through Abigale as his eyes shone at her in the spotlight. Manning seemed to almost manage a smile as she and Doug each grabbed him under one of his arms and the three of them kicked toward shore.
M
anning groaned with frustration as his arm got hung up in the sleeve of his scarlet coat. “Goddamned cast.”
“Uh-uh-uh, don’t go getting any ideas,” Abigale said, helping him ease the sleeve over the cast. “You promised you’d keep this one on until the
doctor
takes it off.” She buttoned the front of his coat and straightened the knot on his stock tie, smiling as she rose on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his. “You look very nice this morning, Master.”
Manning wrapped his arms around her. “Say that again.”
“You look very nice this morning?”
He grinned. “No.
Master
. I love to hear you call me that.”
Abigale pushed playfully at his chest. “Forget I said anything.” She slipped out of his embrace and climbed through the people door at the front of the two-horse trailer. Braveheart regarded her with big, gentle eyes as he grabbed another mouthful of hay from the hay net. “Hi, buddy. Ready to go hunting?” she said, unclipping the trailer tie from his halter. He snorted softly, rubbing his head against her shoulder. Abigale sucked in a lungful of air, savoring the fresh scent of hay and shavings. She stood and watched the big gray for a moment. Was there a more peaceful sound in the world than that of a horse munching hay? Any place she’d rather be?
She thought of the unopened FedEx envelope from Max, her editor at Reuters, on Manning’s kitchen counter. Part of her wanted to rip it open, see where her next assignment would be. But she had held back, despite Manning’s urging. Whether she was more afraid that she’d want to go or that she wouldn’t, she wasn’t sure. For today, she’d let it sit. Max had said he’d give her time.
Abigale heard Manning talking to Dario outside the trailer, explaining that the hunt would last about three hours, that Dario could relax in the truck until the riders returned. There had really been no need for Dario to accompany them to the hunt—Manning would rather drive the rig and take care of his own horse than have a groom do it—but Manning thought seeing what happened at a hunt would help Dario adapt to his new job. Dario was a quick learner and even Michael seemed pleased with his performance so far, with none of the complaining he’d had with Larry.
Poor Larry. No one had given him much credit in the brains department, yet he’d been the first person to figure out who’d tampered with Uncle Richard’s saddle. Tragically, it had cost him his life. Margaret and Manning had established a college scholarship in Larry’s name at his former high school, so at least his memory would live on. Larry’s mother wanted the scholarship to be based on character—courage—rather than academics, and was already working with the guidance department to identify potential recipients.
A shudder ran through Abigale as she thought of Thompson, rashly killing anyone who got in his way. All for what, money? There was no question Thompson had been in serious financial trouble. They’d found out he’d been fired from Knightly & Knightly for engaging in illicit online gambling using the firm’s computer. Yet for over two months Thompson had kept up a charade among his foxhunting friends—pretending to go to work each day, even going so far as to complain at various times about being swamped at the office and unable to go hunting.
They’d learned Thompson owed almost ten thousand dollars to the firm for unauthorized dining and entertainment expenditures he’d run through his boss’s expense account. After Thompson had been fired, his boss—Donald, the man she’d spoken to on the phone—had discovered the scam and threatened to press charges. But Thompson had fabricated a story about his ailing mother’s mounting medical bills, and Donald had agreed not to blow the whistle if Thompson paid the firm back. Donald had been outraged to hear they’d tracked down Thompson’s mother—who was in robust health—in Ohio, and discovered she hadn’t had contact with Thompson since she’d cut him off financially three years ago because he refused to get help for his cocaine habit.
It turned out Thompson wasn’t a partner at Knightly & Knightly, as he’d claimed to be; he was Donald’s administrative assistant. And the trip to Iraq had been a boondoggle on which Donald had let Thompson tag along. Donald told them in hindsight he realized he should have seen a red flag at that time, that Thompson had been inexplicably fascinated by the various ways a company could cook its books.
“Hey, are you just going to stand there and watch Braveheart eat, or are you going to put his bridle on?” Manning asked, stepping through the door on the opposite side of the trailer.
She smiled, picking a piece of hay out of Braveheart’s forelock. “I guess we’ll go hunting.”
Manning bridled Henry and backed him off the trailer, then released the butt bar so she could unload Braveheart. He looped Henry’s reins over his arm and gave her a leg up on Braveheart, checked her girth, and adjusted her foot in the stirrup. “You’re good to go,” he said, patting her knee.
“Here comes your mother,” Abigale said as Manning swung into the saddle. She nodded toward Margaret, who jabbed the ground with her walking stick as she picked her way across the field toward them.
“Good morning, Mother.”
“It’d be a lot better morning if I could get rid of this goddamned thing,” Margaret said, waving the stick in the air.
Manning smiled. “It won’t be long.”
Margaret grumbled something unintelligible, then reached up and patted Henry on the neck. “I’ve been roped into hauling around some city-folk friends of Doug’s who want to hilltop by car. Any help you can give me on which direction you’ll be hunting today?”
“What do you think? Should we draw toward Hickory Vale or Chadwick Hall?” Manning asked.
“It’s up to you,” Margaret said.
Manning said, “I know, but I’d like your advice.”
“Well, then, I’d probably say cast hounds toward Chadwick Hall. It might still be a little boggy down in the bottom of Hickory Vale.”
“That was my thinking as well,” Manning replied, nodding.
Margaret turned away, but Abigale caught the pleased look in her eye.
“What about you, Abigale, are you whipping today?” Margaret asked.
“Yes. Fingers crossed I don’t get lost,” Abigale said with a smile.
“I don’t think there’s much chance of that. If you do, you can always ask for help on the walkie-talkie, although I still don’t agree with us using those.” Margaret shook her head, her lips pressed together with displeasure. “I know Smitty says we need the radios in case hounds run toward the road, but if you ask me, we just need to work a little harder to keep the hounds under control. Folks are losing all their hunting knowledge, that’s what’s happening. Half the whips out there these days don’t even bother to think anymore, they just wait for the huntsman to tell them where hounds are running. I hope you won’t fall into those lazy ways, Abigale.”
“I’ll try my hardest not to.”
“I know you will. You learned how to hunt from the best, and I know you’ll make Richard proud.” The lines around Margaret’s mouth softened into a smile as she looked at Manning. “You both will.”
