Fenn left Tony at the barn to tinker with his new toy. He’d removed the sling to drive. It wasn’t a comfortable experience, and neither was depressing the clutch pedal with his swollen left knee, though piloting the Challenger along country roads somewhat made up for it. With a big motor and a small chassis the 1970 Hemi Challenger was one of the fastest pony cars to come out of a Detroit factory. In stock trim, only the Boss 429 Mustang and the Chevy 427 Camaro could rival it for straight-line acceleration.
Fenn was the Challenger’s third owner. He’d rebuilt it from the ground up, adding after-market parts to improve the handling and increase the horsepower and torque. Horsepower referring to the power output of the motor, torque being the application of that force to spin the drive shaft, which in turn rotates the wheels.
He didn’t run nitrous but with close to 450 horsepower under the hood, translating to nearly 500 foot-pounds of torque, he really didn’t need it. The only thing the car did need was the pearl white paint job it had been prepped for. Tony had removed all the paper and tape from the glass and chrome so the car looked close to normal with only a coat of grey primer. Driving at speed with the engine growling through headers and dual pipes was like flying low to the ground. A Spitfire without wings.
At the hotel he ordered a club sandwich from room service then shaved and had a hot bath to soak the soreness from his limbs. He tried rewrapping his chest with the elastic bandage but couldn’t get it right and gave up. He lay back on the bed when the ibuprofen started to kick in and, while wondering how Byron Evelyn Whatsisname was doing, fell asleep.
== == ==
Wednesday, October 28th
Fenn woke with a start. The lights were on, the drapes were open, and it was dark outside. It was 3:15 a.m.
Damn. He’d intended to go to Kim’s house after supper to try and mend some bridges. Plan B would be to catch her before she went to work this morning. That was probably better, anyway. She’d have had a good night’s sleep. She’d be fresh. And in a good mood. He set the alarm for six a.m. but couldn’t return to sleep so he got up and phoned the hospital. Byron Evelyn Rupnick was in intensive care. His condition had been upgraded from extremely critical to critical-but-stable. Good to know.
== == ==
Fenn parked on Highview Drive where he could watch for Kim coming out to her garage. Remnants of fog hung about and the hedges, wet with dew, played host to a myriad of sparrows and other small birds. They flitted about looking for seeds until scared away by a gust of wind. He’d been waiting about twenty minutes when a detail he hadn’t noticed before got his attention. There was a shoe lying in Kim’s driveway.
He left the Challenger and walked to where it lay. It was a brown, good quality, loafer. Definitely something Kim would wear. The gravel around it had recently been scuffed and scattered about, and a short shallow trench where a spinning tire had flung the stones away led to the street. Fenn scanned the front of the house. Drapes were open on all windows and the light over the small portico was on. He went to the front door and rang the bell. There was a muffled bark and then silence.
The garage attached to the side of the house had a window. Kim’s Volkswagen sat within. He jogged back to the front door still holding the shoe, and rapped with the heavy iron knocker. The sound echoed and there was another woof but that was all. He turned the knob and the door opened to Jess, wriggling and wagging and wearing a leash.
“Kim?” Fenn walked down the hall to the kitchen.
The only signs of activity in the house were the empty water bowl and the smelly deposit that Jess had left by the back door. Fenn found a roll of paper towels and did a hasty clean-up, then opened the back door and sent the dog into the yard. He climbed the stairs to the second floor. There were two bedrooms. Beds made up in both. The sink, shower, and towels in the bathroom were all dry. On his return to the kitchen he noticed a flashing light on the phone set. He pushed PLAY.
“Hi Kim,” said the caller. “It’s your sister checking in. It’s ten p.m. and you haven’t called me tonight. Maybe you’re tired and have gone to bed. All right, then, just make sure you call me first thing in the morning. Okay? First thing.”
This was not good. He racked his brain for a benign reason for her absence but the indicators of abduction were all too obvious. Reis and Jenner had to be behind it. Ron Jenner would know that he had dated Kim—hell, Jenner had tagged along. And since Kim would be familiar to the ex-driving instructor, getting her address would have been simple.
Whether for leverage, or just revenge for putting Rupnick in intensive care, they had elevated the stakes and there could only be one step after that. Fenn knew they were capable of it but he also had leverage of his own. As long as he possessed the disc, it was in Jenner’s best interest to keep Kim alive.
He tore the top off a bag of kibble he found in the pantry and let Jess in. He refilled the water bowl and for good measure left the bathroom door open and the toilet seat up. From the hall closet he grabbed a pair of sturdy ankle boots.
“Wait here, Jess,” he said. “I’m going to bring her home.”
The abduction was the most effective form of coercion that Reis and Jenner could have come up with, and it was a good ploy except for two weak points; Fenn knew where they were, and they didn’t know he was coming.
== == ==
He raced through the Challenger’s gears and got to the barn in a handful of minutes. He was surprised to find Tony inside.
“I didn’t expect to see you, here,” Fenn said.
Tony, on his knees beside the open door of the Black Mariah, was working at an awkward angle under the dash.
“I’m just wiring up the arming toggle for the nitrous tank.”
“So, you’ve been here all night.”
“One of the damned carburetor bolts broke. I had to drill it out, machine a new one, and tap the hole. Apart from a few hours kip on the couch I’ve been at it since you left.” Tony eased himself out of the car, stood up, and arched his back.
“It wasn’t supposed to take this long. I cancelled my shift at work, but I’m finally finished. Shall we take her for a test drive?”
Fenn, instead of checking out Tony’s handiwork was rooting around the workbench.
“Lost something, Chas?”
“Yeah. Kim.”
“She didn’t take to your apology, then.”
Fenn stopped his search to look directly at Tony, who now saw the anxiety on his face.
“She’s been kidnapped.”
Tony held his stare, then said quietly but emphatically, “Time to face it, Chas. This is now officially out of hand. We need to call the cops.”
“All they will do is file a missing person’s report. We don’t even know, for sure, where she is.”
“You’ve got some idea, though. I know it.”
Fenn found a box on the floor and rummaged around in it. “I think she’s at the funeral home but I need to make sure before I call in the cavalry. Don’t forget, I’m also wanted for questioning. Until I can verify all the facts, it’s best that I stay away from police stations.”
He pulled a small voltmeter from the box and plugged a dangling wire into one of its ports.
“I need a cover story. Something that will allow me to search the premises without attracting attention.” He turned a knob on the meter. “Maybe a phone technician. Have we still got that hard hat?”
“It’s on top of the fridge. And you can borrow my coveralls from work.” Tony went to the Pontiac’s trunk and handed Fenn a blue bundle. Fenn took it then made a face like he’d swallowed sour milk.
“These smell like mouldy Kielbasa.”
“Well I am a meat packer. You’ll get used to it.”
Fenn began pulling on the coveralls and Tony cleared a path for the car to exit the barn. There was no question he was coming along. Fenn could have said no, but it would have fallen on deaf ears. Besides, being an army of one was starting to wear him out. He needed assistance and could think of no one he’d prefer to watch his back. Fenn planned to station Tony outside the grounds, anyway. If something went wrong, it would be good to have a friend on-hand to identify his body.
== == ==
Tony parked the GTO on a tractor access that led to a hayfield. A favourite haunt of radar cops, it offered a modicum of concealment and a decent view of the surrounding area. The objective was a quarter kilometre farther on. He brought out a small brass telescope and began to clean the lens with a rag.
Harrowport & Dynes Funeral Home was surrounded by four acres of land at the base of an escarpment outcropping that overlooked the adjacent farms. The cliff face was a jagged wall of broken rock about forty meters high. Known locally as Mount Nemo, Fenn judged it as a Class II ascent—an experienced climber could scale it without a rope.
The mortuary sat at the apex of a wide semi-circular driveway, the ends of which connected with the road a hundred metres apart. The pavement continued around the back to facilitate deliveries. The grounds were landscaped and a small model cemetery for displaying headstones was off to one side.
Fenn donned the hard hat then said, “We forgot to bring Kim’s boots.”
“Don’t worry about it. She can have them when we get her back to the barn.” Tony put the spyglass to his eye.
Fenn exited the car and crossed the road. He headed for the nearest entrance at a normal walk. His voltmeter prop was now connected to a strobe gun. Normally used to set the timing on engines, the gun-shaped instrument gave him something to point while pretending to take readings with the meter. He aimed at the overhead wires coming from the road and walked slowly up the drive.
A half-dozen vehicles were parked at the far side of the building. On the near side by the back corner a limousine identical to the one he’d seen yesterday was being washed. The fellow with the sponge glanced his way and Fenn moved a little quicker until the corner of the building came between them. From here, however, he could see a guy with two dogs ahead of him. These weren’t the pet-my-head-and-I’ll-lick-your-hand Golden Retriever type, they were the I’ll-bite-your-ass-and-eat-your-liver German Shepherd variety. And the guy holding their chains was Jenner.
They were making a circuit of the building in the same direction as Fenn was moving. Fully aware that his coveralls smelled like an abattoir he followed along. Jenner’s presence boosted his confidence that Kim was somewhere near. He’d now seen three sides of the building and knew it was twice as long as it was wide. The quarrystone walls were two stories tall and each floor had eight windows across the front. The main entrance, however, was on the right hand side and Fenn was now in full view of it. He raised the strobe gun toward the roofline, looked at his meter, and kept walking. He got to the back corner and peeked around it.
Towed by the dogs, Jenner had made it to the far end and was approaching the guy washing the limo. Now in rinse mode the guy turned the hose on the Shepherds inciting them to snap fiercely and strain at their chains. Jenner called the guy an asshole and struggled to pull them back. The guy laughed and returned the spray to the car. Fenn used the distraction to slip through a back door.
He was in a short hallway. A steel swing-type door immediately to his right had a window in it. This was the mortuary proper. A man and woman in aprons were attending to a corpse. Alongside, on wheeled lift-tables, were two more bodies each covered with a sheet. The storage coolers were on the far wall and Fenn fervently hoped he wouldn’t have to open any of those to find Kim.
The hallway led to a main corridor that bisected the building lengthwise. At the end of that, to his right, was a small chapel. Along the front side of the building were two large reception rooms. The offices for administration and sales were along the back. The main entrance was to the left as were the stairs to the second floor.
Fenn resumed his charade. He began counting strides out loud as if pacing off distance. The general atmosphere was one of daily business. The men all wore suits and a smartly dressed receptionist was installed in an alcove by the stairs. She gave Fenn an inquiring look as he approached. He acknowledged with a nod, looked at his meter then said, “Are you still getting static on the line?”
“I didn’t know I was.”
“Well somebody is. Do me a favour; dial 6-1-1 and if you get a response just say ‘Thank you’ and hang up.” He pointed the strobe gun at the phone. The receptionist looked dubious but did as requested. Fenn turned a knob on the voltmeter and shook his head.
“Okay. That’s fine. I’ll keep looking.”
He continued past the alcove and examined a plug receptacle until the receptionist was once again engrossed in her work. The wide staircase had brass handrails and fourteen marble steps. A man in janitorial garb, Fenn guessed he was Philippino, was sweeping down from the top. When Fenn reached his level the man stopped him and said in a hushed funeral home tone, “Do I know you?”
Taken aback, Fenn replied, “I don’t think so.”
The sweeper motioned with the end of his broom. “Does he know you?”
Still a few stairs from the top, both Fenn and the custodian were not in prominent view of the well-dressed man at the far end of the hall. He was perusing a magazine but his straight-backed chair outside the last door did not appear to be a casual placement.
The Asian continued his sweep to the bottom landing. Fenn, gaining the top step, didn’t acknowledge the sentry when he was noticed. This floor had several rooms and Fenn began boldly opening doors and doing a pseudo-scan. The first led into a large showroom where the coffins were displayed. The second room had armchairs and a coffee table with several boxes of tissue on it. He backed out to find the man standing beside him.
Feet spaced for stability and hands folded at the crotch as one does to show respect, or to protect the groin, the man blocked his path and spoke in an even but firm tone.
“This area is restricted, sir.”
Fenn held up the meter. “Apparently not to wiring problems.”
“I’m sorry, sir, but you will have to work elsewhere.” He moved a hand in the direction of the stairs. Fenn acquiesced and began to descend. The sentry watched until Fenn reached the bottom then went back to his post. If Kim wasn’t in that room at the end of the hall, Fenn would eat his hat.
The custodian had pushed his broom all the way to the chapel. Save for the receptionist, currently taking a call, no one else was visible on the main floor. Fenn stepped into the nearby reception room. On a table, beside boxes of tissue and bowls of mints, were tall white candles and long matches with which to light them.
He scanned the ceiling. No fire sprinklers but near the centre of the room was a heat detector. Fenn pulled a chair beneath it. He stood on the seat and lit a match. The flame flickered and licked at the detector’s thermocouple. It took mere seconds to melt the wax within.
The alarm, as Fenn would later recall, didn’t wake the dead but it sure as hell roused the living.