supposed to be a journalist, to report the story without prejudice. But instead you used your platform to support an enabler of evil like JP Warner. He was once a courageous truth-teller who exposed Buford, but like Kyle, he turned his back on his calling. And look what he’s done to you-he turned you into a common criminal, willing to break into a private home to support your agenda of lies.”
He noticed her eyes casing the room, viewing the pictures on the wall. Many that she was very familiar with. He took pleasure in the shock on her face when she viewed the one remaining photo without an X. She knew he was next. Too bad she wouldn’t be around to see it.
He took out a bag of candy bars and tossed them on the floor. “Don’t fret, Gwen, you are a prisoner of war. A prisoner of a just and morally correct war. Therefore, you and your friend will be treated with the policies outlined in the Geneva Convention. You are too important to the final outcome for me to let you starve to death.”
He tore the masking tape off so hard he first thought he tore her lips right off her face. “I will leave the keys to your handcuffs over here. You are very resourceful, I’m sure you’ll find a way to remove them. It won’t matter, since you will never be able to escape this room.”
He viewed the trepidation on her face. “Don’t be afraid. This room is designed to withstand winds up to three-hundred-miles-per-hour. The rest of the house may fall apart, but your final resting place will be stable.”
He used the remainder of the afternoon to eat a light lunch and board-up the sliding glass door. He penned a chapter in his journal as the rain pounded on the roof and the wind howled. Before leaving, he returned to the storm-room with a large mixing bowl filled with water. He figured it would keep his prisoners alive for the precious few days he needed from them. Then he locked them in.
He secured the residence, in case of looters, or JP Warner, whom he was convinced was responsible for the previous damage. He then left the island. But before heading back to Connecticut, he decided that he needed to make a stop in Raleigh.
On the ferry ride back to Cape Hatteras, he threw Gwen’s cell phone as far as he could and watched it plop into the turbulent waters.
Part Six
Chapter 74
The minute Gwen’s phone went dead I made a beeline to North Carolina. No flights were landing in the area, so I had to fly to Norfolk, Virginia and drive. The irony didn’t escape me that it was the same city I landed in on my return from Germany, convinced that my life was about to take a turn for the better, or at least would be calmer.
My calls to the authorities went nowhere-the local police in the Outer Banks were too busy with hurricane evacuation, while the FBI has a standing policy against taking my calls. I did get in touch with the state police, but they hung up on me after I started talking crazy stuff about stolen identities, kidnapped wrestlers, and vigilante killers.
I rented an SUV with four-wheel drive that seemed like my best bet with the looming hurricane. But what I really needed was my Humvee, which was still docked at the Ocracoke Air Field as a security deposit on my last trip home. At least I hoped it was still there.
The hurricane evacuation had turned the road heading out of town into a virtual parking lot. But working in my favor was that I was the only moron heading toward the storm, so traffic was clear my way. I took US-158 and then crossed over the Wright Memorial Bridge into Kitty Hawk. I wound through the center of Roanoke Island until I reached Whalebone Junction in Nags Head.
When I reached Hatteras, I received some bad news-no more ferries were traveling to the island. I was left to face the reality that the only way to reach the island was a twenty-mile swim. I actually thought about it for a moment, before realizing I couldn’t even walk five miles in perfect weather in my condition. I retreated to Sloopy Joe’s in need of a new plan … and a drink.
The only person present was Joe himself, and since I was his lone customer, I received the VIP service. Joe was a slim older man with a matter of fact style that was softened by his gentlemanly, southern charm. As I nursed a Killian’s Red, the past few months suddenly rose up like a tidal wave. Gwen and Carter were likely captured by Benson, my brother was dead, and another loyal friend was paralyzed. And I was no closer to stopping Benson. I’d never felt so helpless in my life.
Probably feeling sorry for me, Joe brought another beer for his only customer, on the house. My only other request was if he would change the Weather Channel to the news. I was hoping to hear some good news on the Gwen and Carter front, but the reality was that they hadn’t even been reported missing and nobody was actively searching for them. But I clung to my delusion.
Joe obliged, clicking the remote until he landed on GNZ. Close enough.
Lauren Bowden appeared on the screen and I instantly regretted my request. I was about to ask Joe to change to some other form of newsertainment when Lauren announced, “GNZ was the first to report to you earlier this morning that there has been a break in the murder case of Senator Craig Kingsbury.”
This was news to me. And seemed to grab Joe’s attention also because he raised the volume.
“Ron Culver, a member of the North Carolina State Police, committed suicide last night in his Raleigh apartment, leaving behind a note in which he confessed to the murder of Senator Kingsbury. Culver was originally ruled out as a suspect, but the speculation now is that the Kingsbury family had provided an alibi for Culver. According to GNZ sources, they created the alibi to avoid potentially embarrassing facts coming out about the relationship between Culver and Senator Kingsbury, which might have hurt him in the upcoming election. The suicide note cited the romantic relationship between the two, and how Culver’s jealousy drove him to the crime.”
Lauren continued on, “As many of you know, Lamar Thompson has been an exclusive guest of GNZ many times during this fascinating investigation … and Mr. Thompson joins us again.”
Lamar appeared on a split screen from his current residence in Kitty Hawk. He looked very much like the man I remembered from twenty years ago, but his face was scarred with the lines of a hard life. The ones I could spot when I looked into the mirror.
“Lady, can we hurry this up-I got to get back to my job.”
Lauren faked a smile. “We at GNZ are thrilled to hear you are now employed and making a useful contribution to society. Can you tell our audience what you now do for a living, Mr. Thompson?”
I took a swig of my beer, unable to decide if she was more condescending or patronizing.
“I’m a tour guide at the Wright Brother Museum here in Kitty Hawk. But I ain’t gonna have no job for long if I don’t get back to it! Can we get on with this?”
Lauren smiled again. She would’ve had the same reaction if he said he was the head of an international terrorist organization. “Mr. Thompson, with the admission by Ron Culver that he murdered Senator Kingsbury, do you feel vindicated?”
Lamar’s face creased with anger. “Vindicated for what? The reason I came on here in the first place was to set the record straight that Craig Kingsbury was the one driving the car that night when we hit Mrs. Lacey.”
“But it must be a relief not to be a suspect anymore?”
“I was never a suspect.”
“Maybe not in a court of law, but I think in the all-important court of public opinion you were,” Lauren retorted, followed by another dimwitted smile.
His already short patience had run out. “We’ve already been over this-I had an alibi that day. Nobody in their
