Stolen In The Night Part 30

Ben didn't doubt that Edith was right about Nelson's having had an affair with Chan's mother. Women seemed better at detecting that kind of thing than men, Ben thought ruefully. But had Edith meant that Chan was Nelson's son? Did that connection make Chan Morris a killer? Did it mean that Chan was Erny's captor?

Ben was suddenly struck by the possibility that if he were, Ben might be the one to deliver Erny back to his mother's arms. He could picture Tess's dimpled smile, the joy that would light up her sad eyes. She would never be able to stop thanking him.

Ben forced himself to stop fantasizing and think rationally. He could call in the police, but what real evidence did he have to blame these horrible crimes on Chan Morris? Besides, he knew he was in particular disfavor with the Stone Hill Police Department right now, thanks to his role in the exoneration of Lazarus Abbott. What chance was there that the police would even listen to him, much less believe him? And why should they? Ben thought. It wasn't as if this was anything more than speculation.

No, he thought. It was unlikely that the police would lift a finger to help him. But he trusted Edith's hunch. She was a woman of detemination, not imagination. And he was going to have to take her guess on faith. He was going to go to the Whitman farm and confront Chan Morris head-on. Ben wished he had a gun to take with him, but he had never really liked guns. He would just have to move cautiously, keep his head, and hide his purpose from Chan.

Tess struggled against the tape that bound her like an animal caught in a trap. The more she pulled and jerked her wrists apart, the tighter the tape seemed to become. She could feel the car rocking, adrift in the water. Tess felt light-headed and almost hoped she could faint, so that she would be unaware of her own drowning. But the part of her that was Erny's mother would not allow her the luxury of unconsciousness for her last moments.

Tess thought her heart might burst from the horror of it. Drowned. Suffocated. No escape. The car began to tip and Tess inched her way up onto the console between the seats, straddling it, trying to balance the weight. She knew instinctively that if the car turned over, all hope was gone.

What hope? she thought miserably. There was no hope. And then she gave herself a mental slap. As long as she was still alive, there might still be a way. But she had to calm down. Stop, she told herself. Breathe through your nose. Think. She looked through the winds.h.i.+eld and saw the front of the hood begin to tilt down. Don't look, she told herself. Don't look. Then, in the midst of a full-blown panic attack, a thought occurred to her: Be James Bond.

It was a desperation strategy she had devised for herself once when she was in junior high school and had to unlock her gym locker in a hurry, while a cl.u.s.ter of tough, older girls were taunting her. The more she rushed to work the lock, the more it refused to open. For some reason, at that moment, the movies about the suave, fictional British spy had entered her mind. Even faced with a ticking bomb, James Bond always concentrated, moved calmly, and without a wasted motion. She had tried it. It had worked for her then. Her lock had clicked and opened. Now, this minute, she needed to channel James Bond again, this time for much higher stakes.

Tess sat very still and forced herself to concentrate. She looked around the inside of the car. On the dashboard of the driver's side was the pair of pliers Chan had used to hot-wire the car. Tess turned her back on the winds.h.i.+eld and lifted her bound hands behind her, ducking her head and shoulders to avoid the ceiling of the car's cabin. She groped around the top of the dash until she felt the cold metal beneath her fingers. Yes, she thought. Carefully, she wrapped one hand around the pliers and pulled them to her. She turned herself back around, still balancing on the console, and, after s.h.i.+fting the pliers to her left hand, used the fingers of her right hand to try to explore the twisted tape on her wrist. Don't think about the fact that the car is going under. Pay attention, she told herself. Her fingertips sought the loose corner that marked the end of the tape. She forced herself not to fumble for it, and after a moment or two, she felt it. All right, she thought. Good.

Tess did not look out at the hood, now lower and lower in the water. All that mattered was that loose corner of tape. She kept her little finger on that triangle of hope as she maneuvered the pliers until their teeth caught the end of the tape. She felt a moment of exaltation, but she reminded herself that there was nothing to celebrate. She was trapped in a sinking car. The thought instantly made her heart hammer. No, she told herself. Stop. Stay calm. Think James Bond. Carefully, painstakingly, she pressed the plier handles together and began to tug. After a couple of false tries, the pliers held the corner and she was able to pull. The sound of the tape tearing away from itself was like a symphony to her ears. Once she had pulled a few inches of the tape free, she was able to grip it with her fingers, to pull and unwind it with the fingers of first one hand and then the other. The hood was fully underwater now and the water had risen halfway up the winds.h.i.+eld. Don't panic, she told herself. Keep calm.

The adhesive gave way and, with a mighty rip, Tess pulled her hands apart and they were free. She flexed her fingers joyously and then reached up and ripped the tape from her mouth. It felt as if she had pulled all the skin from around her lips, but she didn't care. It felt wonderful to breathe, even to smile. Now she could get out. She tumbled into the pa.s.senger seat and the sinking car listed dangerously to that side. But she couldn't worry about the car tipping over. She had to get the door open. She leaned all her weight against the door, turned the handle, and tried to force it free. It was no use. The door did not budge. It was completely underwater. Frantically she grabbed the crank and tried to roll down a window. The only thing she managed to do was to break off the crank. The windows remained closed tight. The water was at the top of the windows now and the car was drifting downward. In a moment, she would be completely submerged.

"No," Tess screamed. She had gotten herself free and now she wasn't going to be able to get herself out. She picked up the pliers and began to smash at the windows with all her might, but it was no use. A few chips appeared, but she was no match for the water pressure outside the car and the shatterproof gla.s.s. The water was beginning to enter into the car. Tess felt something cold around her feet and realized that the water was seeping in past the rubber gaskets, slos.h.i.+ng over the floor mats. She scrambled back up onto the console and the car rocked again, and then, after a thud, became eerily still. It took Tess a moment to realize that the car had come to rest on the bottom of the pond. Around her, everything was black. Water was seeping through the rubber gaskets everywhere in the car now, splas.h.i.+ng her from every side. She huddled, s.h.i.+vering, in the darkness.

"Oh my G.o.d. Help me. Get me out of here," she pleaded. But no one answered.

Ben turned in at the lighted sign for the Whitman farm and drove slowly down the driveway, trying to look all around him in the dark. There was no sign of Tess or the car she had been driving. No sign of Erny. Ben pulled up in front of the huge house and parked beside the black Mercedes. The farm seemed peaceful and bucolic in the moonlight. Not the sort of place where a small boy would be held a prisoner. For a moment Ben doubted himself, wondering how he could even suspect such a thing.

Don't, he thought. Don't give in to the self-doubt. Just go in there and see what you can find out. Feeling a little foolish, but determined all the same, Ben got out of the car, mounted the steps, and knocked on the door.

Chan Morris opened the door, wild-eyed.

"My G.o.d, I'm glad you're here," Chan said to Ben. "Come inside. Hurry. I need your help."

Ben stared at him.

"My wife's had an accident," Chan said, turning away from the door and pointing inside the house. Ben looked in the direction in which he was pointing and saw a tiny woman crumpled at the foot of the stairs. "It's Sally. She fell down the stairs."

Ben rushed past Chan and went swiftly to the spot where Sally lay, at the foot of the staircase. He knelt down beside her, picked up her tiny wrist, and felt for a pulse. Then he put his ear to her mouth.

"She doesn't seem to be breathing," said Chan. "I couldn't feel her pulse."

Ben gazed grimly at Sally's waxy face. He suspected that she was already dead but he wasn't about to be the one who declared that. "We need to get her to the hospital."

"I heard the crash and this is how I found her." Chan raised his hands helplessly. "She was trying to come downstairs by herself, I guess. She has a...condition. She...she can't get around very well."

"Did you call an ambulance?" Ben asked.

"I was going to," said Chan.

"Well, do it," said Ben.

Chan ran his fingers through his hair. "I can't believe this." He knelt down beside Sally's body and brushed her spiky hair tenderly back from her face. "I should have been with her. G.o.d, I think it's too late. Here, help me pick her up. I want to put her on the sofa."

Ben stared at Chan in disbelief. "What are you waiting for? Get your phone. Every second could be critical."

Chan looked down sadly at his wife's face. "I don't think there's any point."

Ben shook his head in disgust and reached into his own pocket, pulling out his phone.

"What are you doing?" said Chan.

"Calling for help, of course," said Ben.

"Put that away," Chan insisted. "They can't help her now."

"Suddenly you're sure of that?" said Ben.

"She's dead," said Chan. He reached down and moved a hair off her forehead with his index finger. "Anyone can see that."

Ben stared at him. If this were Tess, he thought, I'd be screaming for help, trying to flag down the rescue vehicle. "I thought you were desperate for help. Now you don't even want to try to save her?" Ben said.

Chan stood up. "You can't save someone who's dead," said Chan. "I just don't want to leave her there on the floor. Now if you're not going to help me move her, why don't you get out of here and let me grieve for my wife in my own way."

Ben stared at Chan, who was behaving as if his wife's body was a piece of broken china that needed picking up. This didn't have a thing to do with grieving, Ben thought. Chan just didn't want any intruders in his house, asking questions, even if it meant forfeiting Sally's last chance for survival. "You don't want the police here," said Ben.

"Excuse me?" said Chan.

Ben got to his feet. "You heard me. You're more worried about the police being here than you care about saving your own wife."

"She can't be saved," said Chan. "She's dead. They're policemen, not magicians."

"Why is that, Chan?" Ben insisted. "What do you have to hide?"

"All right, that's it. Is this how you treat a man who has just lost his wife? Get out of my house."

"You have Erny here, don't you?" said Ben. "Is Tess here, too?"

"What are you talking about? Have you lost your mind?" Chan demanded.

In a way, Ben thought, yes, he had lost his mind. He knew with every fiber of his being that Chan's reaction was completely abnormal. Did that mean that Chan had Erny hidden somewhere in this faded mansion or on the grounds? Ben wasn't going to give Chan the benefit of the doubt. Ben was, indeed, out of his mind with worry.

"I know they're here somewhere. Just tell me where," Ben insisted.

"I don't know what you're talking about," said Chan.

Ben lunged forward, grabbed Chan's neck in his hand, and began to squeeze. "Don't f.u.c.k with me, Chan. Where is Erny. Where is Tess?"

Chan's gray eyes seemed to turn a shade darker while his skin reddened. He grasped Ben's hands on his throat, trying to loosen Ben's grip. "Let me go. I don't know anything about Tess. Or her little spic kid. Let go of me," he squeaked.

Chan tried to struggle, but it was no use. Ben's grip was a vise.

"You've got one second to tell me where they are or I swear..."

"All right, all right," Chan pleaded. "Stop."

Ben loosened his grip on his throat and Chan gasped for breath. He did not meet Ben's penetrating gaze. He rubbed his throat. "G.o.ddammit, Ramsey. You're crazy."

Ben took a menacing step toward Chan. "Are they in this house?"

Chan shook his head. "No. But you're free to look. Why would you think that anyway? I have nothing against Tess."

"You're Nelson Abbott's son. She found out, didn't she?"

Chan went completely still for a moment. And then his eyes narrowed. "Where did you hear that?"

"I know all about it," said Ben. "Nelson's wife told me."

Chan's eyes widened. "I'm not."

"Don't play games. I know everything. Now where is Tess?" Ben demanded. "Where is Tess's son? If you've hurt them..."

Chan raised his hands in surrender. "All right. All right. Stop. They're all right."

"Take me to them. Now!" Ben cried.

"All right. I'll show you," said Chan irritably. "It's outside."

"What is?"

"Where I put them," said Chan.

"Hurry up," said Ben, shoving him in the direction of the front door.

Chan stumbled forward and then righted himself. "Just let me get my coat," he said. He reached toward the coatrack beside the front door, but instead of pulling the jacket off the hook, he stuck his hand in the pocket and pulled out his gun, which he pointed at Ben. The whites were showing around Chan's eyes. "She's at the bottom of the pond, actually. Now you can join her."

"The bottom of the pond?" Ben said. "She's dead?"

Chan glanced at his watch and nodded. "Unless she's got gills."

In that split second Ben understood that this...creature had killed her. He let out a groan. Was it possible? Tess was gone before he had ever even held her in his arms. Before he could even tell her what was in his heart. They were just about to start, and now Chan had killed the last hope Ben had in the world to be whole again. Ben's brain reeled and his heart wailed for vengeance. He lunged at Chan, who hesitated a second and then fired. Ben felt a searing pain in his chest. He staggered and grabbed at a nearby table for support. Instead, he pulled the table over as he fell.

CHAPTER 35.

Ben was splayed out on the floor, his hands covering his bleeding chest. The wounded man gave a feeble groan. Chan lifted the gun in his shaking hand and pointed it down at the attorney. At that instant, Chan heard the door open behind him. He turned and was immediately tackled by someone hurtling through the open door. The gun flew from his hand as Chan collapsed with two policemen on top of him.

The cops held Chan as Rusty Bosworth burst into the foyer behind his officers. Rusty saw Ben Ramsey lying on the floor, blood across his s.h.i.+rt and tie. "What happened?" he cried. "You shot him?"

"I found him here with my wife. She's dead. Look by the stairs. She's dead," Chan cried. "It's not me. It's him. He killed her!"

Rusty peered down the hallway and made out the crumpled body of Sally Morris at the foot of the stairs. Then he strode over to the door and hollered out, "Get those EMTs in here, stat."

Outside of the house, a fawn-colored sedan pulled up behind the ambulance. Kenneth Phalen, Dawn, and Erny jumped out.

"Where's my mom?" the boy cried.

"Stay back," said Dawn. "The police will handle this." Kenneth had picked up Erny on the road and had driven the frantic boy back to the inn. Officer Virgilio and Officer Swain tried to calm the boy as he told them about Tess being held captive by Chan. They were on the radio, calling for help, before he could even blurt out all he knew.

"Thanks to you, Erny, I'm sure they got here in time and they'll find your mother," said Dawn, although in her heart she was crying out, G.o.d, you can't do this to me again.

Erny looked up at Dawn. "Swear," he said. "Swear they'll find her."

Dawn could feel Kenneth's sympathetic gaze on her but she did not meet it. Dawn felt sick to her stomach. She looked around the property, now swarming with police cars, emergency vehicles, and arriving television vans. "I swear," she said.

"I want to go up there," said Erny.

"You can't. There are people with guns."

"I'm going. She needs my help."

Dawn crouched down and grasped him by the upper arms. She looked at him steadily, but Erny saw that there were tears standing in her eyes. "Erny, I want her back just as much as you do," Dawn said. "And I'm as worried as you are. But right now all I can do for your mother is to keep you safe. And that's what I'm going to do."

Erny sighed and pushed out his lower lip.

"Try and be patient," said Dawn.

As the freezing water reached her knees and splattered her from every side, Tess tugged frantically at the door handle, but it refused to budge. Waves of horror rolled over her. What a way to die, watching the water rise, feeling the air sucked out of your lungs. She started to hyperventilate again in the submerged vehicle, but then she stopped herself with a mighty effort of will. Say your prayers, she thought. Try and make your mind peaceful.

She thought, first, of her son. Maybe he got away, she thought. Maybe he was able to get help and he will tell people what happened. If Erny got away, then I won't have died in vain. The water was pouring into the car now, reaching her chest. She felt more alone than she ever had in her whole life and it made her think of Phoebe and her sister's last moments. Maybe I'll see Phoebe in the next life, she thought. If there is a next life, she will be there. And Rob. Her father. He would be there, too. If...

Tess wasn't able to think anymore of people or prayers to say. The fear was filling her whole body just as the water was filling the car. It was up to her shoulders, her neck. She had never been so cold in all her life. Her teeth were chattering and she was s.h.i.+vering from head to toe. She began to hum the tune of "Amazing Grace" to keep herself from screaming. How could she die like this? Who died this way? In a car at the bottom of a pond?

Pond, she corrected herself. And then she thought about a car in a river. It was a memory from her childhood. Tess must have been twelve or thirteen. Two college boys, who had been her father's students, accidentally drove off the bridge into the Charles River while under the influence of some combination of drugs and alcohol. She remembered hearing her parents discuss it in hushed tones, the awfulness of it, the distress of the boys' families. Why think about this now? she thought. Is this how people will talk about me? They'll shake their heads and agree that it was, indeed, a horrible way to die. And then, suddenly, like a ray of light in the freezing blackness around her, Tess remembered her father's words as he recounted the terrible incident to Dawn.

"If they hadn't been so stoned, they might have remembered their physics. They might have realized that once the car had totally filled up with water, they could have opened the car door."

For a moment, Tess's heart seemed to stop. Had she really heard her father say that so long ago? Was she hallucinating? Why would the door open once the car filled up? Her father had taught physics. Maybe it was some law of science. Some principle that Tess had never bothered to learn. Or maybe it was her own brain, trying to protect her from what was about to happen to her. Her mind was letting her think that she would be able to open the door. That there was hope.

The water was up to her neck now and splattering her face from every angle. Part of her just wanted to sink down into it and accept what was going to happen. But she had always listened to her father. And now, even if this memory was only the figment of her terrified imagination, she had to cling to it. Let the car fill up. Hold your breath. Either it will work or it won't. One way or the other, you will find out. Tess kept her head back, her nose and mouth above the water, for as long as she could. Her body was so numb, it felt as if it had become detached from her head and yet she felt as if she were being pierced with thousands of icy knives. The panic was almost uncontrollable, but she kept her mind fastened on her father's voice, be it a memory, or a hallucination, or his way of welcoming her from beyond. At the last minute, when there was only an inch or two above her face, Tess gasped, inhaled as much air as she could, and let herself drift down, immersing herself in the cold blackness, still holding her breath and groping for the door handle. The car was completely filled. Now or never, she thought. For a moment, the faces of the people she loved pa.s.sed through her mind and swelled in her heart, and then her fingers found the door handle and pressed.

As if she had found a magic pa.s.sword, the door that had refused to budge for the hours or moments it had taken for the car to fill suddenly swung out.