The Death Box(94)
“Jesus,” Gershwin said, a shade whiter. “What was that sound?”
“I’m hoping it was Leala hiding the phone,” I said.
47
Orzibel parked to the side of the roadhouse, the wipers beating against slackening rain. Seconds later Morales splashed into the lot in the Escalade and strode into the bar. A minute later Orzibel saw a man leave the roadhouse. He wore a creamy white suit, a briefcase in his left hand, umbrella in the right. Orzibel flashed his headlamps and exited the car as the suited man approached.
They went to the rear of the Lincoln and Orzibel opened the trunk. The light inside had a yellow cast, like buttery candlelight.
“Is everything to your liking, señor?” Orzibel said.
Chalk stood spellbound, his mouth drooping open. A shaking hand passed the briefcase to Orzibel. “Yes,” he finally said. “Everything is beyond perfect.”
Chalk started away, looking like a child lost in a dream. He paused and turned to Orzibel. “Have you finalized instructions for when she is … when I am done?”
“Ah, that has been made easy,” Orzibel said. “Folded in the back seat is a large and reinforced cardboard box marked with the name of a local charity. It is used to donate books and clothes and other discards. Put the object in the box and call me. I will give you a time to put the box on your porch. Minutes later the box will be removed. Everything will appear perfectly normal to neighbors’ eyes.”
“You have thought of everything,” Chalk said, retreating to the driver’s seat. Orzibel’s lips twisted into a malicious sneer as he leaned into the trunk and stared into the eyes of Leala Rosales.
“Do you love your mother?” he asked. “And she you?”
Leala’s eyes were wide with terror, but she nodded yes.
“I was going to tear out one of her eyes. But now I will tear out her heart. They say such is the pain when a child disappears.” Orzibel’s hand reached to the trunk lid. “Farewell, little Leala. My friends will gather your remains next week.”
He closed the trunk.
I heard the trunk shut and pulled the putty from the phone mic, keeping my voice calm, though my heart rang in my throat and my palms were cold. The meaning of the words was clear: Leala was doomed.
“Leala? Are you there?”
thump
“Did you see anything when the trunk was open? Anything that suggested where you are?”
thump thump
“Is Orzibel still driving?”
A pause. Then in quick succession: thump thump thump brief pause thump thump
“Five?” Gershwin frowned.
I sat perplexed until her math made sense. I turned to Gershwin. “An I don’t know added to a no gives you an I don’t think so.”
“Oy caramba. We can’t let anything happen to this girl, Big Ryde. The world needs her.”
“The rain is lessening,” I said, canting my head. “Or maybe stopped completely.”
Gershwin ran to the TV and looked at the Doppler radar picture. “The north edge of the band is in Fort Pierce or thereabouts. South edge is moving east from the Saddlebunch or Sugarloaf Keys area.”
Stay calm, my head told my heart. Calm is control. I pulled the phone assembly closer. “Hey there, Leala, I need a weather report. Is it still raining?”
thump thump
“Did it just recently stop?”
thump
Gershwin pointed to the screen. “She’s minutes from Key West. It’s the only answer. Either that or she’s way up north. Everywhere else is rain.”
I stared at the television. Leala was heading toward Key West.
“Get Orzibel’s pic on a BOLO to the Key cops. If he’s seen, notify us ASAP, but do not approach, right?”
“On it. Then what?”
I was picking up the board wired together by Frank Craig. “See you in the Rover.”
We hit the highway and turned west with lights flashing and siren howling, racing toward the end of America.
48
Leala squinted toward the phone at her waist, the only light left in her life. In the upper corner was a box that showed how much talking was left. The box was mostly empty which in her aunt’s phone meant it would soon stop working. She thought a moment and tapped the phone on her leg, first fast, then slowing down.
“Leala?” the man named Ziggy said. It sounded like they were in a car as well. “What is it?”
She repeated the pattern. thumpthumpthump … thumpthump-thump-thump … thump … thump Trying to make the sounds fainter as they progressed.
“We don’t understand.”
Leala again performed the tattoo. She heard the men talking between them. “Slowing then stopping,” Detective Ryder yelled. “Do you mean your phone charge is getting low?”