“Exactly,” Mac answered, pointing at Sally. “But now maybe, just maybe, we’re evening out the odds here. We finally know who we’re up against. Now we just need to find them before this all shakes out.”
Mac and Lich turned to leave when Jupiter and Shawn McRyan came into the room. Jupe was holding up a DVD and color pictures.
“Tell me you found something?” Mac said.
“Maybe,” Jupiter said, briefly explaining the pictures pulled off the video. “If we can figure out where the PVC piping was purchased, maybe it’s another way to get a line on these guys.”
“Do that,” Mac ordered and then turned to Sally. ”Let’s get on the horn to this company, figure out a way to find out who’s selling this pipe in Minnesota.”
“I’ll give it a shot,” Sally replied skeptically. “The Fourth of July keeps getting in the way. It’ll be tough to track somebody down.”
“Sally,” Hagen interjected. “While you’re trying the legal way, why don’t you give me what you have there,” he said pointing at the picture. “I might be able to find another way.”
30
After talking for a couple of hours, even having a few laughs along the way, conversation between Carrie and Shannon had faded. It was a pattern. Neither of them slept for long or stayed awake and alert for more than a couple of hours. Sleeping, if you could, was the best of the two options. If you were awake, especially if the other was sleeping, you just lay there thinking about where you were. Carrie was also trying to sleep lightly so that she could monitor Shannon’s condition. She was beginning to get worried about her and how long she could last.
Following their last conversation, Carrie slept for a little while, but she was awake now and her mind had started racing again. What else would your mind do when you were buried alive? Flanagan thanked God repeatedly that she wasn’t claustrophobic. What she needed was something to do, something to occupy her mind.
Carrie picked up the Dictaphone, contemplating its use. What if the kidnappers wouldn’t let anyone know where they were buried? She figured since they were buried alive, it was intended that they were to be found. But what if that wasn’t the case? What if they weren’t found in time? Carried sighed, and tears welled in her eyes for the first time in hours. What a way to go.
Her thoughts turned again to her family, to her parents, brothers, sisters, ever her boyfriend. She never had the chance to say good-bye. She took another look at the Dictaphone. There was plenty of space left on the tape — the message from the kidnappers had been short and to the point.
She remembered watching M*A*S*H with her dad. He loved that show and could recite from memory the dialogue from entire episodes. She chuckled at how many times her dad would say, for no reason, “Nope, its oak.” Or if Mom cooked a bad meal, he would get that mischievous smile and quote Hawkeye Pierce behind her back, “I don’t know how our cook got off at Nuremburg.” Her father loved the episodes with Trapper and Henry Blake, the early years of the show. But right now she remembered an episode from the later years, when the show got preachy. It was where Hawkeye was sent to an aid station at the front. Between triaging injured soldiers and ducking bombs exploding all around, he sat and wrote his will on a yellow legal pad, bequeathing gifts to everyone in the 4077.
Carrie was in the same situation for real. She could die. She wanted to say something to the people she cared most about, even if they never got to hear it. Twirling the Dictaphone around in her fingers near her face, she contemplated what to say. She closed her eyes. “I still can’t believe this is happening,” she uttered quietly, tears still pooled in her eyes. She hoped this was just an awful dream that she would awaken from, but it wasn’t and she hadn’t.
Flanagan opened her eyes and pushed the record button on the Dictaphone, “This is Carrie Marie Flanagan. I am the daughter of St. Paul Police Chief Charles Flanagan.” She stopped the tape and sniffled, getting her emotions in check before she continued. She didn’t want her family to hear the terror in her voice.
“I was kidnapped on Monday, July 2nd. I’m buried in this box with Shannon Hisle. Shannon is the daughter of Lyman Hisle, A St. Paul lawyer, a friend of my father’s. Shannon was kidnapped the day before on July 1st.” Carrie stopped again and rested the Dictaphone on her chest, breathing harder.
“Today is the Fourth of July and it’s…” she checked her watch, “2:15 PM. We have been in this box for over forty hours now. If we’re not found soon, we will both die.” She heaved a big sigh and swallowed, a dry swallow, with little moisture left in her mouth. She wetted her lips as best she could and pushed up on the record button.
“This will serve as my last will and testament.”
She closed her eyes again and wiped the tears from her cheeks, still having a hard time believing she’d uttered those words. You were supposed to do something like this sitting across a large mahogany table from a lawyer, not buried underground, speaking into a Dictaphone that might never be found. But, as her father often liked to say, “it is what it is” and she was where she was. She contemplated what to say next. Carrie thought about the three older brothers who had looked after her all these years, protecting her, and in some, no, make that in many cases, chasing interested boys away, much to her chagrin.
Now her protectors would be feeling helpless, unable to help and guard her. Carrie didn’t want them to worry about it. She wanted them to remember the good times, what great brothers they were, how much she looked up to them, adored them and loved them. One of her favorite possessions was the three pictures next to her bed, from her high school graduation: a picture of her with each of her brothers. A proud night for the family, the last of the Flanagan kids graduating from high school. She treasured those pictures.
Carrie pushed the record button. “To my brothers, I bequeath…” She stopped. To her right, she sensed Hisle moving, but it was unnatural. Hisle wasn’t adjusting her body, trying to get comfortable. She was starting to shake and reflexively pulling her legs into her chest. Shannon had warned this might happen when her blood sugar started getting really high and she didn’t have enough insulin in her body. Flanagan rolled onto her right side, slid over, and lightly shook Hisle.
“Shannon. Are you okay?” she asked in normal tone. Hisle didn’t respond. “Shannon! Shannon! Wake up! Wake up!” Carrie said urgently, shaking her shoulder harder.
Hisle started to stir.
“Shannon.” Carrie rubbed her arms and shoulders. “Stay with me.”
Shannon was shaking uncontrollably.
“Shannon, are you okay? You’re shaking.”
“I… don’t…” she stuttered. She didn’t finish the thought.
“Shannon, are you with me?”
“I’m not su…su…sure how much longer I can last.”
Carrie could tell that Shannon was breathing fast. She grabbed Shannon’s wrist and checked her pulse. Her heart was racing and there was almost a sweet fruity smell to her breath.
“Hang in there with me, Honey. Hang in there,” Carrie said, hugging Shannon, rubbing her arms and legs, trying to keep her comfortable and conscious. The lack of insulin had slowly been weakening Shannon. However, now, nearly four days without insulin, Carrie could tell that Shannon’s body was now rapidly succumbing to the lack of it. She put the flashlight to her watch: 2:18 PM.
“You’ll be okay, Shannon. They’ll be here soon. They’ll be here soon.” Carrie hoped that was the case. She was scared that Shannon didn’t have much longer.
31
3:08 PM
Mac ran the scenario round and round in his head as he and Lich drove north on County Road 81 into the northwestern suburb of Osseo. They were on to it now, finally. Smith and the Muellers were behind this. The motives were perverted, but if Mac could not understand them, he could at least see where they were coming from.