Alive After Friday (Sandy Reid Mystery Series) Read online

  Sandy noticed the woman was giving the orders. Probably good. The man untied her wrists. Her arms were stiff and cramped and it took a few seconds of stretching to loosen them. In that moment of freedom, she ran her hands rapidly up and down over her arms and through her hair for a moment of blessed relief from the mosquitoes. He immediately grabbed her wrists and tied them in front. Much better. Nothing could be done about the mosquitoes now biting through the back of her blouse and on her arms, but at least now she could raise her tied hands and brush them from her face.

  In his phony voice, the man said, “We know you got four hundred grand.”

  Sandy took a deep breath. Shit, they knew about the lawsuit settlement money. How much more did they know about her? But thank God, this was about money. “I didn’t get all that money.”

  Geez, why did she say it like that? If she insisted on talking about only her two hundred thousand share, they might go back and extort Martin for his half—or more. Four hundred thousand was the amount mentioned in the paper. So, that’s what this was all about. Two or four hundred thousand, either amount was incomprehensible to her anyway; she couldn’t visualize that much money. She hoped they didn’t know too much about Martin. People assumed he had money; most didn’t know his affluence stretched out beyond belief.

  The man’s voice was low-pitched with the same false nasal twang. “Your splits aren’t our problem. Four hundred grand came in and we’re taking it.”

  He sounded young. Maybe from the south. He had said ‘fer hun-durd gran.’ She hoped they weren’t aware of just how fond Martin was of her. He would gladly pay a million, or even more, to ransom her. She didn’t want them thinking about him. Quickly she said, “You’re right, you’re right. I received two hundred thousand and can get the other half. I can get it. It’ll be a fast and clean score for you. Just take me to the bank or...whatever.”

  “Whatever...is always the problem part,” Jane said. “Kidnapping and ransom are full of whatevers.”

  “But the kidnapping part is interesting,” the male voice said. Sandy felt a hand softly squeeze her shoulder, then his fingers gently slid up her neck and stayed touching under her hair. She shrank away from his touch, but he grabbed a handful of hair at the back of her neck and slowly rocked her head down and back up suggestively, as if her head were just an available plaything. Her skin crawled, when she heard him suck in his breath. Why couldn’t he just be an obnoxious criminal? Pushing her around roughly she expected, what he had just done violated her. Why must he distort everything by also being a pervert? She knew then that the hand drawn across her breasts earlier hadn’t been an accident. She’d let that part go but vowed to never forgive him for moving her head like that.

  “Hands off, Romeo!” the woman said sternly.

  The woman had slipped. Her words came out clear and undisguised. Sandy tried to place her normal voice and memorize it at the same time but it was difficult. Just another female voice; not identifiable with any particular part of the country.

  “Just let me go. I’ll get the money and give it to you. If I don’t, you can kill me then. Kill me now you get nothing.”

  “We are going to let you go now. And you are going to get the money for us. Here’s how you should be thinking,” Jane said. “Concentrate on getting us the money. After that, you can do all your clever tracking-us-down part. All that forensic evidence from our vehicle and this location here. All the sounds and smells you’re trying to memorize right now. All the usual criminal investigation shit. But don’t think about that part yet. That all comes later. You’ll have plenty of time for that. Just worry about getting us the money.”

  The woman seemed cool and clever. Was that good or bad? Clever meant she’d be unlikely to do something really stupid like start shooting. It also meant she’d be difficult to outsmart and bring to justice—assuming Sandy ever got the chance. “And if I don’t come across with the money, you’ll shoot me.”

  Dick was quick to say, “No, we shoot your man, Goddard isn’t it?”

  Sandy almost freaked. Kill Chip? She hadn’t thought about that switch. “Not him! No, he has nothing to do with this. If I don’t give you the money, you kill me. Okay, you kill me?”

  Jane said, “Now you’ve got the angle. With your own life on the line, you might decide to take a chance and bring in the police before you pay us. If you did, it’d be your funeral, yet I can imagine you doing it. This way, you’ll be deciding whether Detective Goddard lives or dies. If you decide to take a chance and call the police, it’ll be his funeral.”

  Sandy protested, “You’d kill a cop? You must be crazy. Half the world would come down on you. They’ll get you sooner or later, they’ll never give up.”

  “We have a special way of handling that and I imagine sooner or later we’d get a clear shot at him. Even so, maybe we wouldn’t be successful. You want to chance that? Your big problem is to keep Goddard alive. So don’t call the police until after you give us the money. Got it? Then you can get on with your pretty life. If you get any wise ideas, just picture him stretched out on a slab.”

  Sandy felt the blood drain from her face and a wave of nausea slide through her stomach. She started to sweat. She retched forward, trying to keep her balance and vomited wildly.

  “Jesus! You’re disgusting,” the guy yelled, not disguising his voice.

  She choked, gasped and finally caught her breath. “Don’t worry...I’ll give you the money.”

  “And you’re not going to call the police until after you give us the money. Now say it again,” Jane ordered.

  “I’m not going to call the police until after I give you the money. How much time do I have?”

  “Today is Wednesday. We’ll call you Friday with instructions,” she said. “Get ready with the cash. If you bring in the police, the feds, or tell that detective boyfriend of yours—he won’t be alive after Friday. That gives him only seventy-two more hours to live, unless you do it right.”

  Dick said, “I believe she’s going to call the police after she gives us the money.”

  “What did I just say, dimwit? Of course she’s going to do that. We can’t control what happens after.”

  “We should get rid of her after we get the money.”

  “Don’t even think about it. We get the money—we disappear. End of story. We don’t ever show up again and give the authorities another shot at us.”

  “Can I get up off my knees now?”

  The man said, “I like you on your knees.” Then he added, “Hey, can we get out of here? These damn mosquitoes are killing me.”

  Sandy could tell the woman was leaning down close to her. Again, she felt the press of cold steel against the back of her neck. “You see why all this was necessary, Sandra? If we’d just texted you and asked for four hundred grand, you’d have laughed. Wouldn’t you?”

  Dick added, “But you aren’t laughing now.”

  Chapter Four

  Dick and Jane drove Sandy back to her car they had casually pushed to the shoulder of the road and left parked with the top down. This time Sandy didn’t resist as the man jostled her out of the SUV. He pushed her down onto the gravel behind her car before he untied her hands. By the time she’d pulled the blindfold down and was able to stand, all she could see were taillights receding into the darkness.

  Thirty-six hours until Friday. If they were to be believed, Chip might not be alive after Friday unless she followed their demand for four hundred thousand dollars. As unbelievable as their threat appeared should she believe them? Should she take the chance and report the kidnapping and extortion to the authorities before paying the money?

  It seemed days since she had jumped from her car but it was less than two hours. Fortunately, there were houses nearby and her lonely car abandoned roadside appeared as just carelessly parked—extremely careless, the keys were still in the ignition. She then realized her hand was still tightly gripping the blindfold. She carefully placed it on the passenger seat, and that’s when she no
ticed her cell phone on the floorboard. Her phone was full of missed messages from Chip and Martin. She quickly texted them both: “FELL ASLEEP MAYBE FLU BUG CU2MORO.”

  She started her car, raised the top and switched the air on cold blast, all while frantically rubbing the ubiquitous mosquito bites. Her body seemed to be one huge swollen, itching mass of agony. She sat there crazily rubbing everywhere she could reach. She resisted the urge to rip off all of her skin with her fingernails. She had no doubt that one minute more exposed in the Everglades, she’d have lost her mind.

  She drove back to her apartment doing a jerking, twisting dance behind the wheel all the way. Once inside, she immediately hurried to the shower. When she stripped, she could see red welts even where her body had been covered with clothing. Soap and hot water gave some temporary relief and helped wash off some of the frightening episode. She didn’t recognize her blotchy, swollen face in the mirror. Strangely, it looked as though she was wearing a mask, as there was a smooth, clear area across her face where the tight blindfold had protected a wide area from any bites. No mosquito bites on her eyelids was something to be thankful for.

  Frantically, she searched her tiny kitchen space and bathroom for some magic elixir that would stop the itching. Nothing really worked. She swallowed two unidentified pills left over from a visit to the dentist and sat dabbing her body with antiseptic mouthwash until the bottle was empty.

  She put on her cotton pajamas and made a cup of hot tea. There in the privacy of her small apartment she could crash. She’d been holding it all in. She wrapped herself in the small patchwork quilt from the foot of the bed and tried to hide from the world in the dark.

  She shook herself awake and for a moment couldn’t remember where she was. The woman chasing her was only a dream—she wasn’t up to her armpits in Everglade muck; she was still wrapped in her warm quilt. Beside her on the lamp table was a full cup of cold tea. She’d fallen asleep without touching it. Fallen asleep with pieces of a hundred thoughts swarming around in her head like angry mosquitoes. She couldn’t believe she’d slept with such a hammering headache and an itching body. Must have been the pills.

  She moved quickly to her one and only window at the back of her tiny apartment next to her twin-sized bed. It was just before dawn, but she could look down and see her car safely parked in its usual spot behind the apartment house. She didn’t remember driving it home. In the mirror, her face appeared less red and less swollen, but still blotchy.

  She needed to think. She had a decision to make.

  Chip not alive after Friday seemed incomprehensible. If it were her life on the line, she’d call in the police—in spite of any threats to kill her. Of course, things could go wrong; the cops might screw it up and she’d be killed. Even so, she’d take the chance. You can’t handle a kidnapping and ransom by yourself; there are too many pieces and any of them can go fatally wrong. In this case, however, her life wasn’t on the line but Chip’s was. Could she make such a decision for him? Should she report the abduction and let him take his chances? If you asked any cop what to do, you’d get a quick answer right out of the book—until the names of their actual loved ones are mentioned. In that case, how many would say pay the money, get your loved ones safe and worry about catching the crooks later?

  If the situation were reversed and Chip were asked to pay up, or she would be killed, would he call in the police or drop off the money? Somehow, she believed he’d say to himself, it’s only money, give it to them. Keep her safe—then go after the bad guys.

  There were risks either way. She remembered the terror of the cold steel gun barrel against her neck. Jane also seemed cold and calculating. Dick seemed unstable with a short fuse waiting to be lighted.

  Dick presented another problem that had nothing to do with money. She might not have seen the last of him even after paying the money. She knew he liked having control of her; he’d like to do it again and next time without Jane around, he’d do things his way. He’d already copped a feel of her breasts. She’d crossed paths with a couple of such men; men who are willing to carry out their fantasies. Dick wouldn’t have to use much imagination; he’d seen her bound and under his control on her knees. For him, the sight was enough to launch a thousand fantasies. All would have to be satisfied one way or another. He was the type to satisfy them in the worst possible way. Helplessly tied with ropes was fine with him, but he wanted the blindfold left off, so he could see the look in her eyes when she realized what was about to happen. See Dick have fun. Fun, Dick, fun.

  Unfortunately, she had no idea what he looked like and didn’t care to keep looking over her shoulder. Was that him stalking her in the supermarket, or just the high school English teacher caught admiring her and failing to look away fast enough? In any case, she was dead certain their paths would cross again.

  Nevertheless, she kept thinking it’s only money, it’s only money. Still filled with self-doubt, she decided she would pay up. Afterwards, she’d tell Chip. The police and the feds could then move in.

  If she simply reported the abduction and demands, she could sit back and let the professionals take over. On the contrary, now that she had made the big decision to give Dick and Jane the money, every detail of getting them the money was up to her.

  The important point was to let them have the money with no problems, so they would get on their way and Chip would be safe. She wanted no surprise spooking them into changing their plan. She didn’t want Dick suddenly deciding he’d better start shooting. The money-drop must go smoothly.

  Martin had received the settlement check for their victorious lawsuit and placed it in the office safe overnight. They would calculate how much for litigation expenses; then they’d go to the bank together and deposit the money into their separate accounts. Now that scenario had changed.

  She tried to imagine walking into the bank alone with a four hundred thousand dollar check, already endorsed by Martin and having them say, “And who are you?” Or, “You have to talk with my supervisor.” Or, “Why do you want cash?” Or, “You must wait four days for it to clear.” She needed the cash the next day, Friday. Suppose she did get the cash on time without the bank giving her a hard time, suspecting fraud and calling the FBI. Does four hundred thousand fit in a handbag; does it take a suitcase, or perhaps a small truck? That much money was difficult to visualize in the abstract, let alone in stacks of real life paper bills. Then what, she skips out of the bank carrying a small fortune and tosses it into her car? And what does she do with it overnight—hide it under her bed?

  She needed Martin involved. He knew about such things. Sweet, trusting, Martin who would swim the deepest ocean for her without asking why. And then ask if she wanted him to swim back. It was getting light outside. She must talk to him. But he wouldn’t be in the office yet.

  In the meantime, she needed to call Chip and make some sort of excuse. She phoned and was at first surprised when he didn’t answer. Then she remembered he was working a special FBI task force assignment and wouldn’t be able to take calls that day.

  Something else needed to be done. She needed to scrutinize the roadside area where they had forced her to a stop. She’d go there immediately. She dressed and headed for the location. When she first got back into her car, she noticed the blindfold she had set on the passenger seat and forgotten about. She carefully held it up between pinched fingers; it appeared to be torn from an ordinary T-shirt. She set it back down on a tissue from her handbag hoping she hadn’t destroyed any useful DNA.

  She parked nearby and carefully approached where they’d blocked her in. Quite necessary to check out the area as soon as possible as any evidence would rapidly disappear. Emotionally, it was a big mistake. She needed to shake off all the horrors of the previous night.

  The effort was useless. No skid marks on the pavement. The shoulder was grassy and held no tire tracks or footprints. A dropped wallet would be nice, but she’d settle for a laundry receipt or some such gift from the gods. Too much to hope for
. Combing through the grass turned up no discarded paper cup, no recent cigarette butt, no candy wrapper, nothing but old trash. An expert crew might find trace evidence where she couldn’t, but she had firmly decided not to alert the authorities until after the money-drop.

  She stopped for a quick breakfast sandwich and another coffee, thankful for the drive-through window, as she wasn’t ready to show her dappled face in public yet. She paid the cashier at the window and asked for an additional paper bag. The girl handed her a nearby bag. Sandy explained she needed an absolutely clean bag. The girl screwed up her face, reached under the counter and held out a small bundle of new bags bound with tape. Sandy reached in the center of the package of bags and pulled out a crisp folded white bag. She carefully dropped the blindfold into the bag, closed it and drove away leaving the cashier shaking her head.

  By that time, most of the itching had lessened; yet several bites wouldn’t give up, must have been some exotic bug. She could smile now thinking, forget about sophisticated torture techniques just give a terrorist ten minutes in the Florida Everglades after dark and he’d give up his mother.

  Now it was time for Martin. Did she have the necessary nerve to face him?

  When they first met, they both had an interest in the Banks versus Olin wrongful death suit, which the court had now settled with a payoff beyond her dreams. She had passed the bar just a year earlier. At about the same time, Martin had stopped traveling around the world long enough to take over the long idle law offices of his ailing father. He came from an “old money” family and was comfortable in his affluence. He certainly didn’t need to rely on the law practice for a livelihood.

  They had decided back then to join forces in the lawsuit against a depraved woman who, intended to shoot her criminal cohort, but had mistakenly shot someone’s cheating husband prowling outside her house. Although, the long-suffering wife of the cheating husband didn’t grieve over his death, he had left her and the children penniless. Sandy and Martin successfully pressed a million-dollar wrongful death suit on her behalf against the pistol-packing woman.