And There He Kept Her (Ben Packard #1)(56)

Carl grinned and chuckled. “Come on now. I’ll be nice. Time’s a-wasting, right? Once her medicine runs out, she’s a goner.”

“You still got a job to do.”

“What do you mean, ‘still’?” Carl said. He looked both directions, then up at Emmett. “I killed that Gherlick boy for you. Did a real good job, too, so it looked like an accident. I’ve earned my share.”

Emmett nodded in the direction of the garage behind Carl. “What about the car? That was part of the deal.”

Carl shook his head, turned, and flicked his cigarette butt up the gravel driveway. “I never agreed to no deal. I took care of Gherlick to protect myself. I’m not messing with that car. It’s too risky. Safer to just let it sit right where it is.”

“With the body rotting in the trunk?”

“You told me to put it in the trunk.”

“It couldn’t stay at the bottom of my goddamn stairs.”

“You drive the car somewhere and dump it. I’ll meet you and pick you up. I’ll do that much.”

“I don’t want it found. Not with the boy in the trunk. That happens and they’re going to look even harder around here for the girl. Don’t you get it? The car, the boy, the girl, they all have to vanish. Then no one knows where to look.”

“Shit,” Carl said, shaking his head. He kicked the ground and scratched the top of his head. “I might know a place. And don’t ask where ’cause I’m not interested in your goddamn opinion. You come to my place and we’ll come back here with the wrecker, and then you can drive your own fat ass home.”

“What about your wife and daughter?”

“Don’t worry about them. They both got allergies so damn bad in the spring they take Sudafed and NyQuil every night just so they can sleep.”

“I don’t like the chance of the two of us being seen together doing this by your family.”

“Old man, you better decide what’s important. I can’t believe I’m letting you talk me into any of this. Everybody in five counties is looking for a maroon Grand Am.”

“I had a thought about that. What if it wasn’t maroon anymore when you come get it?”

“You’re gonna paint it?”

Emmett shrugged. “A roller and a can of white paint ought to be enough to make it pass as something else in the middle of the night. I’ll get the paint tomorrow. Paint it Monday. We’ll get rid of it Monday night.” Emmett pushed himself away from the railing and turned toward the sliding door. “I’m going to bed. I’ll see you then,” he said.

“Wait just a goddamn minute,” Carl said. “I came out here to see that girl, and I’m at least getting a look at her. I’m helping you with all this bullshit, and maybe the girl isn’t even alive anymore. They don’t last long once you lock ’em up.”

“Goddamn it, Carl. She ain’t dead.”

“I’m not kidding, old man. I’m putting my ass on the line for you, and I want a reminder of what I’m getting for it. I won’t touch her, but I’m damn well not leaving here without having at least a look at her. You say no and you’re on your own. You can take care of that car yourself.”

Emmett felt his stomach clench. He pushed on either side of his enormous gut with both hands. Somewhere in there a burp or a fart sizzled on a hot stone of fear. He didn’t know what was worse: letting Carl get close to the girl or losing Carl’s help with the car. He thought of the boy in trunk and the smell that would come as the long, hot summer approached. There were some things he could do himself, but dealing with the car was not one of them. He needed Carl.

“Let me get my shoes,” Emmett said.

Carl took off down the side of the house at the first word. In three strides he was out of sight.

“Goddamn it, Carl. Wait for me!”

Emmett took the stairs from the deck down to the ground as quickly as his rusted knees allowed. It was completely dark now. He was barefoot and the ground was cold. He couldn’t see the rocks and debris he was stepping on. By the time he rounded the front corner of the house, Carl was still out of sight. Emmett went down the stone steps dug into the sloped grade beside the foundation. The pavers were pitched and cracked after years of freezing and thawing. “Carl! You sonofabitch! Wait for me.”

He was only halfway down the steps when he heard the girl scream. He couldn’t go any faster if he wanted to. A fall and a broken leg meant he’d have to be shot like a horse. He couldn’t have an ambulance out here or spend weeks recovering in the hospital with a girl locked in his basement.

The girl screamed, “No!” just as he made it to the basement door. The door to the pink room was wide open. Light from the lamp made the interior look like flesh lit by fire. He still couldn’t see Carl. Emmett had a vision of him hunched over the cot with the girl’s throat in his jaws, shaking her like he was trying to break her neck.

What he found was the girl standing on the cot, backed into the corner, her head and shoulders rolled forward against the low ceiling. She was still wearing the manacles and the big yellow T-shirt with the Ferris wheel and Sandy Lake Labor Day Festival 1986 on the front. Her insulin pump dangled by its tube from beneath the hem of her shirt. She had her bandaged hand braced against the ceiling. In the other was a twelve-inch length of the slack boat chain doubled up and hanging down like a club. The blanket had been yanked to the floor. Carl was on his ass, back against the wall opposite the cot. His cheek was already swelling where she’d bashed him with the swinging chain.