The car took a sharp left and slowed. The surface of the road beneath it changed. It was less smooth. Then they went over a little bump and the car stopped.
Ronnie tugged frantically at the knot. The engine died, and the radio went quiet.
The car door slammed. Ronnie quit chewing, scooting back into her original position as best she could in case the man meant to check on them. She didn’t want him to realize what they were trying to do.
“Help me, Mama,” Marla whimpered. Seconds later Ronnie heard the first whispered words of The Lord’s Prayer: “Our Father, who art in Heaven …”
A bang sounded on the trunk lid, as if the man had hit it with his fist. Marla was silenced.
“Hope you bitches can swim” came a cheerful voice from outside.
Ronnie and Marla looked at each other in panic. They didn’t know precisely what he meant, but the threat behind his words was terrifying.
The car started up again.
The radio blared more gospel. Then the car began accelerating. Then there was a bump, a rattle, and the sensation of the car sailing out into space.
“Oh, my God!” Ronnie realized that they were falling.
The two women screamed, and screamed again, as the car hurtled downward.
Chapter
52
September 20th
2:00 to 2:15 P.M.
JACKSON
A
LEX SMITT WALKED BACK
into Police Chief Larry Kern’s office. From his spot by the window Tom looked at him expectantly. He was so jumpy he couldn’t sit, though Kenny and Dan Osborn looked comfortable enough in small, straight-backed chairs pulled up to the chief’s desk.
“What’ve you got?” Kern asked.
“We’ve traced the mother—Marla Becker—to Biloxi. She was last arrested there on May 29, 1993, for prostitution. She paid a fine and was released. Since that time she’s apparently worked as a call girl, but there’s no record of any arrests. About two months ago she disappeared. One interesting note: She shared an apartment with Susan Martin. You remember, the daughter of the televangelist who was found murdered a couple of months back?”
Kern nodded affirmatively.
Tom didn’t remember, and he didn’t much care. Not unless there was some connection with Ronnie’s disappearance.
“You have an APB out on that car, don’t you?” he asked Alex.
“And on Mrs. Honneker. You realize that the odds are we’re going to find her hightailing it toward Mexico, don’t you?”
“Just find her.” Tom licked his lips. He felt a gut-wrenching sense of urgency.
“Anything else?” Kern addressed Alex.
“One more interesting thing: The little girl told us that she and her mother had been staying with an ex-cop named Jerry Fineman in Pope. Mr. Fineman was shot yesterday in his home. He is in critical condition in the hospital.”
“Don’t you think that’s kind of a coincidence, that this woman should be involved in one murder, one near murder, and one disappearance?” Dan asked. “Maybe
she
killed Senator Honneker.”
“You’re reaching, Dan,” Kern said good-humoredly. Dan shrugged.
Defense lawyers were supposed to reach, was what the shrug clearly said.
“We have somebody on the way to interview Mr. Fineman now, provided his doctor says he can talk,” Alex said.
“Dammit, make him talk!” Tom growled.
“Chill out, Tom,” Dan warned. “Everything that can be done is being done.”
“We’re being careful with the little girl of course,” said Alex, with a glance at Tom, “but she doesn’t seem afraid of her mother. I’m not convinced Ms. Becker is violent.”
“I suppose it’s easier to think that Ronnie is?” Tom couldn’t help it. He was beside himself with anxiety,
and to find everyone else in the room so damned complacent made him want to start tearing down walls.
“Motive, method, and opportunity,” Alex retorted.
Tom’s fists clenched. But no purpose would be served by getting himself thrown into a cell, he reminded himself, and deliberately eased his fingers open.
“Be nice if we could solve the Martin thing. Ol’Charlie Kay’s been having a fit all over the state,” Kern said, templing his fingers in front of his nose. “Course I can understand that. I would, too, if it were my daughter.”
“Seems a funny thing, a preacher’s daughter turning to prostitution like that,” Dan said reflectively. “Makes you wonder what things were like for her at home.”
“Goddamn it,” Tom said bitterly, “could we all please just concentrate on finding Ronnie?”
Chapter
53
September 20
th
2:16 to 2:30
P.M
.
SOMEWHERE SOUTH OF JACKSON
T
HE CAR HIT
with a tremendous splash. Ronnie was thrown against the roof of the trunk.
She fell back, stunned. Marla landed on top of her. For a minute, just a minute, she lay on her back seeing stars.
Then the car dipped to one side. It was suddenly, blindingly obvious that they were floating.
Or, more properly, sinking.
He meant for them to drown, tied and locked in the trunk of this car.
There won’t be a mark on her
.
Suddenly the words she had heard the man say into the phone earlier made hideous sense.
Drowning didn’t leave a mark. And afterward she was sure her body could be arranged to make it look like she had suffered some sort of accident.
Water was starting to seep through the floor. It was warm, deceptively so. As if it would do no harm.
“Marla, Marla, are you okay? We’ve got to try to get out of here.”
“I got a good crack on the head, but … Oh, my
God, we’re in the water!” Marla saw the muddy brown trickle that was rapidly becoming a stream.
“The car’s going to sink any minute. We’ve got to get out of here.”
“Oh, God, how? We—”
“If we both lie on our backs and kick up at the same time, maybe we can pop open the trunk.”
Both women flopped onto their backs.
“There’s not enough room!” Marla moaned.
That was horribly evident.
“We’ve got to try,” Ronnie said. “One, two, three, kick!”
There wasn’t enough room. The trunk never even budged. The jolt of the effort nearly dislocated Ronnie’s hips.
“Okay, okay, now what?”
“Try again. One, two, three, kick!”
Nothing.
Water had soaked the carpet and was starting to puddle beneath their backs.
“My little girl,” Marla said in a terrible voice. “I can’t die like this.”
“I don’t want to die either.” Ronnie thought of Tom. He would be looking for her, she knew.
Hurry
, she told him silently.
“Maybe there’s a jack or something under the carpet! Sometimes there’s a compartment for tools.”
With much slithering and sliding, they managed to kick the soggy carpet to the rear. There was a compartment, flat and rectangular, with a pull-up handle.
“Grab the handle! Hurry!” The water was perhaps half an inch deep now. Ronnie could barely see the outlines of the compartment through it.
Grabbing the handle was no easy trick, not with their hands tied behind their backs, but Ronnie managed to get hold of it—and lift.
The compartment was full of muddy water. They could see nothing of what was in it. Marla stuck her feet in it.
“Pay dirt!” she said, and kicked up. Dangling from her feet was a rolled cloth full of tools—and a knife. A sturdy knife of the sort a man might use to fillet fish, with a gleaming silver blade.
“Yes, yes, yes, yes!” Marla breathed.
Wriggling around, Ronnie grabbed the knife in both hands. It took just a moment to saw through the pantyhose that bound Marla’s wrists.
After that they were both free in less than a minute. Ronnie shook her hands, trying to get some feeling back into them. There was no time to do more. The water was appreciably deeper. It was perhaps two inches deep, and coming in fast.
“We don’t have much time,” Ronnie said. “We have to get out of here.”
A cursory glance at the tools revealed nothing that looked like it could possibly be of use in opening the trunk. Ronnie thrust her hand back down into the compartment, running her fingers along the bottom.
She touched something long and hard, cylindrical, and pulled it up with a whoop of delight.
“A tire iron!”
Marla took it from her without a word and wedged the narrow end in the crack near the lock.
“One, two, three, push!” They bore down with all their might. Nothing happened—except that the car tilted a little more to the right.
It occurred to Ronnie that the car might flip.
Then they would have no chance.
“Let’s do it again,” she said, and they both grabbed hold. “One, two, three, push!”
The trunk flew open with a pop. Ronnie was so surprised to find herself awash in pouring sunshine that she just sat there, blinking. They were floating on the placid surface of a lake, Ronnie saw. Tall trees just tipped with scarlet and gold ringed the shore. A wooden dock jutted out into the water not too far away. It was off that, Ronnie surmised, that the car had been driven.
“Come on, Ronnie!” Marla grabbed her arm. “Let’s get out of here!”
“Can you swim?” Ronnie asked even as the car dipped and swayed precariously beneath them.
“Well enough.” Marla was still holding the tire iron in one hand. “Oh, my God! Look!”
She clutched Ronnie’s arm.
Ronnie looked. Sheer clawing terror seized her throat.
There was a man swimming toward them. It required no stretch of the imagination at all to figure out his identity.
He meant to kill them.
“Come on, Ronnie!” Marla was out of the trunk, walking barefoot along the side of the car, climbing up onto the roof. She clutched the tire iron and knife in one hand. Ronnie scrambled after her. Once she was on the roof, Marla handed her the tire iron. The car was turning lazily, taking on more water, dipping more and more to the right. Unbelievably the radio was still playing.
The song was
Amazing Grace
.
“Come on, you asshole, come on, I’ll beat your ugly head in, come on!” Marla was standing barefoot on the car roof, screaming threats at the man in the water. Ronnie goggled at her. Like Ronnie, she was wet. Her long tanned legs were bare. The short blue sundress she wore was streaked with mud.
“Marla, we should swim—”
But it was too late. The man had reached the side of the car. There was no way to outswim him now, if it had ever been possible. Their only choice was to stand and fight.
He grabbed the door handle and then the top of the open window, heaving himself up.
From the radio the familiar hymn swelled.
There was a clatter behind her. Ronnie glanced around reflexively: The knife had fallen to the roof. Marla had dropped it in the course of snatching the tire iron out of Ronnie’s hand. She ran to the edge of the roof and swung it at the man.
He caught it and, with one yank, heaved her over the side. There was a stupendous splash, and Marla disappeared under the water.
The man was pulling himself up onto the roof.
Ronnie stared at him in utter horror and snatched up the knife. Vague memories of action films caused her to hold it in front of her as if she knew what she was doing, and assume a kind of crouch.
Music from the radio soared over the lake.
“Come on, pretty lady, don’t make me mess you up,” the man said, standing now, looking at her with a grin. “Let’s just make this easy.”
Ronnie feinted with the knife. He laughed. Ronnie
saw that behind him, creeping up over the hood on all fours, was Marla. In one hand she held a white plastic object about the size and shape of a paperback book.
“Get back,” Ronnie warned, waving the knife at him again, meaning to distract him from Marla’s approach. The hood of the car was slippery beneath her bare feet. The snug-fitting knee-length skirt had not been designed with hand-to-hand combat in mind. But if she leaped into the lake, he would be right on top of her.
He lunged. Ronnie shrieked, and stabbed forward with the knife. It made contact. The man yelled, and then the knife was wrenched out of her hand and tossed over the side.
“You little bitch.” He had her by the wrist. Blood was dripping from his left arm where the knife had cut him. His expression was murderous. For one long, nerve-shattering instant, Ronnie stared into the icy-gray eyes of the man who meant to kill her.
Then he yanked her toward him.
She screamed. His arms closed around her—and then Marla was there, thrusting the white thing against the man’s side. There was the same crackling buzz Ronnie had heard before, plus the faint smell of something burning. The man grunted, stiffened—and dropped like a stone.
For a moment Ronnie stood staring at him as he lay sprawled across the top of the car at her feet. Marla stood over him, her lip curling in triumph. Then she picked up the tire iron.
When she brought it down on his head, it made a sound like a melon dropped from a height of about ten
stories to the street. Bright blood welled from his forehead.
Then she did it again.
“What is that thing?” Ronnie said in awe, looking at the white plastic rectangle that looked so harmless now, parked as it was on the car roof.
“Stun gun,” Marla said with satisfaction. “Jerry—my boyfriend, well, he was before this asshole killed him—showed me how to use one. He used it on us, and it was on the dashboard. I saw it when he pulled me overboard. Take that, you creep! Ha!”
She pounded him again. Ronnie winced, watching.
Then Marla kicked him in the side.
Finally she grabbed hold of the man’s arm. Ronnie took a leg.
And they heaved their would-be murderer into the lake.
Chapter
54
September 20th
3:00
P.M
.
JACKSON