Stolen in the Night (27 page)

C
han Morris, Ben thought, as he pulled out of the Abbotts’ driveway and headed in the
direction of the Whitman farm. It didn’t seem possible. He had spoken with the publisher
many times in the last two years. Chan was nice-looking in a kind of cold, preppy
way and he seemed…shallow, but personable. He struck Ben as an intellectual lightweight
but, all in all, he seemed to be a decent person. He had that pretty wife with the
muscle disease. He was always so solicitous of her. Chan Morris?

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 windshield 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 cluster 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 windshield 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 shifting 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 windshield. 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 passenger 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 glass. 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, sloshing 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, splashing her from every side. She huddled,
shivering, in the darkness.

“Oh my God. 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 God, 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. God, 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
fuck 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. “Goddammit, 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.