“Read me the number,” I said to Jeremy. He called it out, and I compared it to what I had for Ms. Plimpton.
Not a match.
Not that that really proved anything.
I gave Kiln a wry smile. “With that number on your phone, maybe we don’t need you to give us a name.”
Kiln said nothing.
A fire engine screamed to a stop at the end of the driveway, and slowly turned in. I asked Jeremy to hand me Kiln’s phone, then said, “Help me move this asshole.”
We each grabbed an arm and dragged him across the gravel and into the backyard of the neighboring beach house. As we dropped his arms, a fireman ran toward me.
“Paramedics on the way!” he said. Then a look of alarm crossed his face as he saw the gun in my hand. I had it pointed to the ground.
“Police, too?” I asked.
The man nodded. “Why?”
I nodded toward Kiln. “He’s our firestarter.”
The fireman shook his head. “He torched the place?”
I nodded. “That, and more. I can’t have him heading off in an ambulance. We need the police.”
“I’ll alert them,” he said, and then glanced at the beach house. “It’s a goner, but maybe we can stop it from spreading to the other houses.”
I nodded and watched him run off. His fellow firefighters were unspooling hoses and dragging them toward the house.
There were two calls I needed to make. The first was to Barry Duckworth. It was late, but I was pretty sure he’d want to hear from me. For the second call, I’d need someplace quieter.
But I didn’t want to let Gregor Kiln out of my sight. Even with a bullet in his shoulder, and quite possibly a broken knee, he struck me as someone who’d try to make a run for it if we let down our guard.
Jeremy said, “What do you think happened to the other guy? The one on the beach?”
I gave him a smile. “Jeremy, I have absolutely no idea what’s going on.” I held up Kiln’s phone. “But I think maybe I’m gonna find out. I’d like to let Mr. Kiln’s friend know the job is done.”
Fifty-seven
Barry Duckworth was in a deep sleep when the cell phone on his bedside table began to buzz. If Maureen hadn’t given him a shove on the shoulder, he might have slept right through it.
“Barry,” she said. “Barry!”
He opened his eyes, reached for the phone and knocked it to the floor. “Shit,” he said. He leaned down, his hand hunting in the dark for the device as it continued to buzz. He found it, hit the button to accept the call and put the phone to his ear without seeing who it was.
“Duckworth,” he said as Maureen switched on the lamp on her side of the bed.
“Barry, it’s Cal Weaver.”
“Jesus, Cal.” Duckworth threw back the covers and planted his feet on the floor. “What’s happening?”
“A lot. Your guy Calder was here. We met him on the beach today.”
“Tell me everything.”
Weaver brought him up to speed, ending with the fire at Madeline Plimpton’s beach house, how it was designed to force them out of the house so they could be shot.
“I knew you were there,” Duckworth said. “I knew Jeremy Pilford had been staying with her. Went there today, met her and the boy’s mother and her boyfriend. Warned them about Calder. He torched the beach house?”
Weaver said no, that he’d caught a man named Gregor Kiln.
“I’ll check into him,” Duckworth said.
“I don’t think this is related to the social-media outrage surrounding Jeremy,” Weaver said. “This Kiln has the ring of a professional about him.”
“I’m on it.”
“And I need another favor. A number I want you to check. It’s probably a burner, not traceable.”
Duckworth reached for the pad and pen he always kept by the bed, tucked the phone between head and shoulder, and said, “Fire away.”
Cal gave him the number.
“Okay, I’ll get right on it.”
“And assuming it is a burner, and we can’t attach a name to the phone, I’ve got something I want to try.”
Cal told Duckworth what he wanted to do, and what he thought he might need from Duckworth to make it happen.
“And I need you to talk to the locals here,” he added, “and have them keep a lid on things. At least for twelve hours.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“Nothing gets out about what happened here beyond the fire.”
“I said I’d do my best,” Duckworth said. “And I’ve got a favor to ask you.”
“Go ahead.”
“We’ve got a missing-woman case. Carol Beakman. I think her disappearance is linked to this Calder character.”
Maureen suddenly sat up in bed.
“What do you think’s happened to her?” Weaver asked.
“I’m fearing the worst.”
“Shoot me a picture. I’ll keep my eyes open.”
“Will do.”
“Local cops are here,” Weaver said. “Gotta go. I’ll get the name of whoever’s in charge and text it to you.”
“Good. How’s the kid?”
“Jeremy?”
“Yeah.”
“He’s okay,” Weaver said. “Can’t get into it now, but there’s something not right there.”
“What do you mean?”
“Later.”
“Okay. And when the dust settles, there’s something I want to talk to you about.”
“What?”
“Later,” Duckworth said. He ended the call, set the phone down and stood up out of bed.
“Carol?” Maureen said.
“Nothing,” he said. “But Cal encountered Calder in Cape Cod. We know he’s been there, and still might be. I need to get on to the Mass state police.”
Duckworth reached for his pants, pulled them on, then went to the closet for a fresh shirt.
“What’s the thing you want to talk to him about?” Maureen asked.
Duckworth found a white shirt that still had a cleaning tag attached and removed it from the hanger. “Career advice,” he said.
Fifty-eight
As Cory inserted the key into the cabin door, he considered ways to get rid of the body.
He hadn’t thought things through very well when it came to his girlfriend. Carol’s car with Dolly’s body had to have been found by now. He should have taken more care, thought of a way that neither of those things would have been discovered for some time, if ever. He had to admit it. He’d panicked. Had he had more time to think things through, he could have run them off a bridge, for example. Left them at the bottom of a river.
He needed to do something like that with Carol’s body.
Once she was dead, he’d put her in the van and look for a suitable spot to dispose of her. Deep in a forest, say. Maybe he’d get lucky and find a shovel in the cabin somewhere that he could take with him. He’d dig a deep hole, toss her in, cover her up. Someone might find her some day, but it could be weeks, even years.
At least now he had more time to do things properly. When he was getting rid of Dolly and Carol’s car, he was working to a deadline. He was on the trail of Jeremy Pilford and didn’t want to lose him.
Well, so much for that project now.
Cory’s priority was saving his own ass.
He got the door open but did not run his hand along the wall searching for the light switch. He couldn’t have anyone looking in, certainly not as the road began to fill up with gawkers and emergency equipment. Even with the flimsy curtains pulled across the windows, the silhouette of a man moving a woman’s body was very likely to attract attention.
He would kill Beakman — smothering her seemed the best way to go — then move her body out and wipe down the cabin. Doorknobs, toilet handle, anything he could think of he might have touched. Leave no personal traces behind. Get behind the wheel and slowly drive away.