“So what are you going to do to me?” I asked Carol, eyeing the gun. The gun made my predicament, which had seemed like a dream, suddenly very real to me.
“Oh, right. I haven't told you. Well, you're going to have an accident, driving home. Your eyesight, you know, poor dear. After all, you do have cataracts in both eyes.”
Damn those medical records. “Would you like to fill me in on the details?”
“Sure. Joe, among his other accomplishments, has been a movie stunt man. Car crashes are part of his repertoire. You're going to be in the driver's seat, but he'll be at the controls. And he'll be wearing a seat belt. You won't, of course, and your car is too old to have an air bag.”
Joe came in with the duct tape. “Tape her mouth shut,” Carol said. “Tape her legs together and tape her hands behind her back.”
Joe did as he was told, quickly and efficiently, without looking me in the eye.
“Come with me,” Carol said to Joe. He followed her out of the office and closed the door.
What now? Could it be that Carol had to convince Joe of his role in this shenanigan? Joe had apparently not been part of the team that had effected Gerald's demise so he was not yet a murderer. Whatever the delay, it bought me a little time.
To do what? Not time enough to free my hands. And I couldn't move anywhere without expending more energy than I had to expend. My purse sat on the floor beside my chair. My cell phone was in my purse. Could I get to it?
I slid down from my chair to the floor, trying not to break anything. I wriggled into a position where I could reach my purse with my hands. I got my hands inside the purse and found the phone. I pulled it out and managed to move my hands in tandem around to one side of my body far enough to look at the phone and refresh my memory as to where the keys were.
With some effort I could punch the keys. How could I use it? Call 911? No, because a cell phone doesn't have a location and I couldn't speak. Leave a message? What kind of a message? I could beep Carol. What number would I leave? That would be a momentary distraction, at best.
I knew one other person who had a beeper. Mark carried a beeper because the bar he worked at sometimes asked him to come in at odd hours. Since the only remaining requirement for his Ph. D. was to finish his dissertation his time was flexible.
I knew Mark's beeper number because he had told it to me after the escapade at Ellen's apartment. He had said to call him if I ever needed help. It was 543-9625, an easy number to memorize: descending sequence for three digits, starting with five, then three squared, three times two, two, and ending with the first digit-five.
I punched in the number and hesitated; what return telephone number should I give? The telephone number to my apartment had been cancelled. If Mark called it he would get an out-of-service message, but he had called me before and perhaps he would recognize it as belonging to me. I punched it in and disconnected.
I connected again and repeated the process: Mark's number, wait a few seconds for the tone, which I couldn't hear, my number, disconnect; connect and repeat. I did the sequence over and over again, like sending out an SOS from a sinking ship. I became obsessed with doing it as many times as I could, punching the buttons faster and faster. My heart raced and I gasped for breath, needing to breathe through my taped mouth. I half collapsed on the floor.
Carol and Joe returned to the room and found me like this, the phone still in my hand. Joe wore a motorcycle helmet, padding used by in-line skaters on elbows and knees, and gloves. I knew he had a motorcycle; I didn't know he skated.
“Well, what have we been doing?” Carol asked, plucking the phone from my hand. “Trying to call for help? You look sick; don't have a heart attack. Or maybe it would solve all our problems if you did.”
I immediately forced myself to relax and steadied my breathing. I glanced at Joe; he looked as unhappy as I felt.
“Okay, Joe,” Carol said, “you know what to do. Go get Lillian's car and bring it right up to the front door. Then come back inside and put her in. The keys are in her purse.”
Joe looked inside my purse. He said, “I can't find anything in there.”
My purse is no more cluttered than anybody else's, but Carol took it and said, “Do I have to do everything myself?” She plunged her hand into the purse and came up with my keys. I thought, fingerprints, but a lot of good they would do me.
Joe went to carry out his mission and Carol packed up for the night. She stuffed a few papers into her attache case and then she dropped in the gun.
Joe came back way too soon and Carol went out the front door; Joe watched her from the office window. Carol's telephone rang. I looked at Joe but he ignored it. The ringing stopped.
When Carol signaled, Joe picked me up as if I were a large pillow and carried me rapidly to the front door. The parking lot was deserted because the residents were eating in the dining room and there weren't likely to be any visitors at this hour.
The passenger-side door to my car was open. Joe set me on the seat and closed the door. He exchanged a few more words with Carol that I couldn't hear and then got into the driver's seat of my car and off we went.
CHAPTER 29
I turned my head and saw Carol following us in her Mercedes. Where were we going? Joe didn't say anything; he was intent on driving. I started making noises, trying to tell him to take the tape off my mouth. At first he ignored me; when I kept it up he must have realized that I could be seen from other cars so he ripped it off in one quick movement.
It hurt like hell and I screamed. Joe gave me a warning glance and I stopped. I said, “How about taking the tape off my arms and legs?”
“And have you attack me?”
“You're not afraid of an old lady like me, are you?”
“You old dames are the worst.”
Did he think I was going to give him a karate chop? “Where are we going?”
“To your son's private road.”
I never would have guessed it but it was completely logical and completely diabolical. The mile-plus road almost never had any traffic, except for family members. Trees-large trees-flanked both sides of the road. Perfect for crashing a car into. Everyone would think I had lost control of the car on the way home.
Joe drove at a moderate speed so as not to attract attention. I figured I had about twelve minutes. I said, “Joe, you're not a murderer yet. Your only crime so far is forgery. That might get you a few years in jail, but you know the penalty for first degree murder.”
He didn't say anything, just concentrated on his driving. I couldn't see his face very well because of the helmet. I wasn't getting through to him.
“Joe,” I said, “you said you didn't care if Carol went out with Albert, as long as they didn't sleep together. Well, guess what they did Sunday evening.”
“No! You're shittin' me.”
“It's true, Joe. I live in Albert's house now and I know. I heard them go upstairs together. The master bedroom is upstairs, Joe. They didn't come down again until many hours later. You know as well as I do what they were doing.”
Joe didn't speak but he sped up. That didn't bode well for me; it meant that my demise would come that much sooner. I said, “Carol loves your bod, but yours isn't the only one she loves. You don't have an exclusive on her, much as you'd like to.”
Joe looked in the rearview mirror. I twisted around and saw that Carol's car still followed us. “If you go past Albert's road and take the first left,” I said, “you'll come to a police station in about a mile. Go there, Joe. Give yourself up.”
I kept talking, trying to persuade him. I couldn't tell whether my words were having any effect. When we got to Albert's road he stopped at the intersection. Carol stopped behind him. He got out and walked back to her car.
