Cast into Doubt

THIRTY-SEVEN

She did not know how long it took, but she knew that it took every ounce of her patience and determination. Finally, nearly crushing the bones of her hand in the effort, Shelby was able to pull one hand free. One hand was all she needed. The first thing she did was to rip the tape off her mouth. The next was to untie her ankles. She rolled over on her back, and for a moment she allowed herself to feel the physical bliss of not having her arms and legs bound and twisted unnaturally behind her.

But she only allowed herself a moment. She was still a prisoner. She had to get free of this trunk. She thought about pounding on the underside of the lid to try to attract attention. But for all she knew, they were out in the country somewhere, and there would be no one to hear her but Harris. If he heard her making a commotion he would know she had gotten loose from her bonds. He might pull over, get out, open the trunk and kill her then and there. Her mind was still cloudy and she did not know if she had the strength to resist him. Certainly, not without a weapon, especially if he was still carrying Norman Cook’s gun.

She was aware that she was lying on a piece of carpet trimmed with rubber to fit the floor of the trunk. She rolled up, and began to tug at it. Sooner or later, he was going to pop the lid of that trunk. There might be a jack underneath the carpet that she could use for a weapon when that happened.

There was no light to aid her, so she felt around and found the edge of the carpet. She lifted it up and felt around beneath it for the tire well, where a person would naturally keep a jack or a lug wrench. She ran her hand over the cold metal floor beneath the trunk until she found it. She had to feel around for the mechanism to open it, but when she did, and the lid over the well opened, she felt her heart sing with hope.

She felt around, first with one hand, and then with both. It did not take long to realize that he was one step ahead of her. The jack and the lug wrench had both been removed. Only the tire remained.

Shelby wanted to cry. She rested her face on the floor of the trunk with a groan. There was nothing. He had made sure of that. Not even a screwdriver or a flashlight. Nothing.

She realized now that she should never have pursued this alone, without someone to help her. I had to, she thought. Chloe, darling, no one else cared. I had to find out what happened to you. Weary, she started to ruminate on all she had learned about Chloe’s last days and moments. The thought of it was so upsetting that she had to put it out of her mind.

Are you going to just give up, she asked herself? Are you going to let the man who killed her get away with it? By killing you? She used all her mettle to summon some will. She pulled back the carpet once again, and studied the floor of the trunk. There were coated wires running along the sides beneath the carpet. Her eyes were adjusting to the dark, and she could see that they were leading from the back of the back seat to the exterior sides of the car.

To the lights, she thought. To the signal lights. To the brake lights.

The answer came to her. The smart thing was not to bang on the lid to attract attention. The smart thing was to attract attention without making a sound.

She just had to hope that someone out there would be paying attention. Shelby wound her hands under and around the wires, braced herself as best she could, and jerked on them with all her might.

‘Jesus Christ, look at all these cops,’ said Glen uneasily.

Talia pulled up in front of the Gladwyne house and parked.

Glen chewed on a cuticle. ‘I wonder what they’re all doing here.’

‘I’m sure I don’t know,’ said Talia, but she sounded far less defiant than she had at Shelby’s apartment.

‘You think I should go up there?’ said Glen.

‘If you want. But I’m staying here,’ said Talia. ‘I’m not talking to them.’

Glen chewed the inside of his mouth. ‘I’ll do the talking,’ he said. ‘Just wait for me.’

Glen jumped out of the car and loped up the lawn to the house. There were two officers standing on the front steps. ‘What’s going on here?’ Glen said.

The two officers looked askance at him. ‘Move along,’ they said. ‘Nothing to see here, mister.’

Cops. They always looked at him with contempt. As usual, it irritated him. ‘Hey I’m not some rubbernecking bystander,’ said Glen, his voice rising. ‘I’m involved in this. I came here to see Dr Janssen.’

‘What do you want with Dr Janssen?’ said one of the officers.

‘That’s my business. I want to speak to somebody in charge,’ said Glen, trying to sound entitled.

The two men looked at one another, and then one of them picked up his two-way radio and spoke into it. The other one motioned for Glen to get down off of the steps. Glen considered refusing. Reluctantly, he stepped down.

After a few minutes the front door opened and Detective Ortega appeared. He looked out. ‘What is it?’ he said.

‘This guy says he’s looking for Dr Janssen.’

‘Actually, I’m looking for my sister, Shelby Sloan,’ said Glen.

Ortega hesitated, peering at the man on the step. ‘Why do you think your sister would be here?’ Ortega asked.

‘She was trying to find Dr Janssen and now she’s missing,’ said Glen.

‘Why was she looking for Dr Janssen?’

‘It’s a long story,’ said Glen. ‘It’s to do with the death of her daughter, Chloe—’

‘Chloe Kendricks?’ said Ortega.

Glen frowned at him as if he just fooled him with a three-card monte. ‘Yeah. How do you know that? What are you guys doing here anyway?’

‘We’re conducting a search,’ said Alex Ortega.

Glen held up Shelby’s car keys and shook them in front of the detective. ‘Well, I don’t know what you’re searching for, but you better start searching for my sister. I found these on the floor of the garage beside her car. But she is not in her apartment and I’m worried that something has happened to her.’

Detective Ortega took the keys from Glen and frowned. ‘You found these beside her car.’

‘Yes. And look, her apartment keys are on them. She didn’t get inside her building. Something bad is going down here. She would never just leave her keys on the ground and walk away.’

Ortega held the keys in the palm of his hand as if he might be estimating their weight. Then he nodded at Glen. ‘Come inside,’ he said. ‘I’m afraid you might be right.’

Shelby heard the siren, and her heart leapt. Don’t pass me by, she thought. Don’t pass me by.

Her silent prayers were answered. She felt the car slowing down and pulling over. It bumped to a halt. The sirens stopped as well. For what seemed like a long time, there was nothing. Nothing at all. And then, she heard it. The sound of voices. Muffled. But definitely voices.

One of them had to be the cop. She strained to listen.

‘Your lights,’ she heard a man’s voice say.

Yes, she thought. Yes. He had seen the lights which she had pulled out, and given chase. She was saved.

And then, she realized. Not exactly. She was still locked in this trunk, and no one knew it. Now, it was time to pound. She had no weapon, but she had strength. Strength she never knew she possessed. For all she was worth, she began to smash her fists against the lid of the trunk and scream.

‘I’m just going to give you a warning this time. But you need to get those lights fixed,’ shouted Officer Terry Vanneman handing Harris back his license and registration. Traffic was whizzing by on the expressway, trucks thundering like stampeding elephants. A Flyers game had just let out, and fans were screaming out their windows as they flashed by.

‘I will,’ Harris promised. ‘I certainly will. All I can say is, they don’t make cars like they used to.’

‘What?’ the officer shouted.

Harris waved his registration. ‘Sorry. I will,’ he shouted.

‘You really shouldn’t be driving this car around in that condition.’

‘Of course not. My car must have been vandalized. That’s the city for you.’

‘Does happen,’ said the officer. He was looking warily around himself. Even though they were pulled all the way over, the expressway traffic was so fast and relentless that a person felt completely exposed to danger, even on the shoulder of the road. Only the week before a good Samaritan who was trying to help with a tire change got killed by a speeding truck.

‘Well, as I say,’ Harris proclaimed loudly. ‘I’m on my way to the hospital. After that, I will head home directly.’

Officer Vanneman slapped his palm against the roof of the car. ‘OK, Doc, steady as you go.’

‘Thank you, officer,’ said Harris. He fired up the engine with a roar.

Inside the trunk, Shelby felt the car start to move again. No, she cried out.

But no one heard.