Skin and Bones Page 4

  “That sounds good, Frank,” Cody said. “I see your point, but just give me a little more time. I’d like to see what we can find out first. Dave’s been working on the e-mails. He might have something for us by the time we get back.”

  While Frank and Cody waited for the next cable car, Frank saw Mike Brando emerge from the alley and slink off into the crowd. Brando probably pushed me, Frank thought, but we’ve got to get some proof. I wonder how Joe’s doing.

  • • •

  While Frank and Cody were narrowly escaping danger on the cable car and then confronting Mike Brando, Joe was pursuing his own lead.

  When the brothers split up, Joe sped quickly after the dark green car he was sure had been tailing them. It took him a few blocks, but he finally spotted the car. Within minutes he settled in a few cars back, so the other driver wouldn’t spot him.

  Is this the same guy who nearly kicked me off Cody’s roof? Joe wondered. Looks like the same kind of hat and jacket. Of course a lot of people wear that style.

  “So why did you follow us from Sergeant Chang’s,” he muttered. “What do you want?”

  Joe expertly wove Cody’s car through the lanes of traffic, keeping his quarry in sight. He watched the dark green car pull into Golden Gate Park. Then the cars in front of Joe slowed as the light at the intersection ahead turned yellow, then red.

  Joe pounded the steering wheel once in frustration. He watched the green car take the first left inside the park. Joe waited impatiently for the light to turn green again.

  At last he was able to continue. He pulled into the park and turned left.

  There were no cars on the street ahead of him. From the high seat of the SUV, he was able to scan over and around the cars parked along the street and within scattered parking areas. But nothing looked like the car he’d been following.

  Finally he did spot the dark green sedan parked at the Polo Field. The area was very crowded, with lots of pedestrians ringing the track and filing into the Polo Field stands.

  Joe drove around the area, searching for someone dressed in a dark jacket, wraparound sunglasses, dark knit cap, and gloves.

  “Nothing,” he muttered. Then suddenly Joe saw his quarry. The driver of the green car was headed for the stands along the side of the track.

  One thing’s sure, Joe thought as he parked the SUV and took up the chase on foot. This guy followed us from Sergeant Chang’s, and I’m going to find out why.

  But once again his target slipped away. Joe searched the polo stands for fifteen minutes but couldn’t find the person. “I don’t give up this easily,” Joe muttered. “If I can’t get you, I’ll settle for the car.”

  He headed back toward the green sedan. He knew he’d have no trouble finding it if it was still there. It was parked at a sloppy angle, and Joe figured the driver had been in a big hurry.

  As he walked toward the parking area, Joe felt a whoosh of air behind him. He turned just in time to see the person in the dark windsuit and knit cap drive by.

  Only this time the person wasn’t in the green car. The person was behind the wheel of Cody’s SUV!

  6 Ride to the Rescue

  * * *

  Frustration spilled into anger as Joe watched the man he’d been tailing drive off in Cody’s car. “He must have hotwired it,” Joe muttered, feeling Cody’s keys in his pocket. He whipped around, looking for a police officer or a guard, but saw no one.

  “Yes!” he finally said, spotting the large complex of buildings making up the Golden Gate Stables. Within minutes he had rented a horse and was saddled up and on the bridle trail.

  The trail was nearly empty, so Joe made up time by galloping along in the direction that Cody’s SUV had gone. When he met up with slower riders, he left the trail and carefully made his way along the street.

  At last he spotted Cody’s vehicle a block ahead, weaving in and out of traffic, working its way toward the west end of the park. In the distance Joe saw the white foam of ocean waves beyond the park. A honking horn behind him drew his attention away for a second. He skillfully moved the horse back on to the bridle trail.

  When he glanced back at the street again, he saw Cody’s vehicle ahead. It was parked on the grass under a grove of cypress trees near the oceanside entrance to the park.

  Joe rode slowly toward the car. He could see no one inside, so he guided the horse to a halt under the cypress grove. He dismounted and tied the horse to a small tree. Across the street a full-size windmill stood in a small garden. Its sails turned in the breeze from the ocean.

  Cautiously, Joe approached Cody’s car. It had been abandoned, the driver’s door slightly open.

  “What’s this?” Joe mumbled, reaching inside the car. A set of keys on a simple brass chain protruded from the ignition.

  Joe opened the glove compartment and found the owner’s manual. Without touching either key, he pulled on the brass chain. The ignition key came out, and he dropped the two keys between pages of the owner’s manual. Then he put the manual in his jeans pocket and closed the car door, locking it.

  He ran quickly through the cypress grove, searching for the man who had stolen Cody’s car. There was no one there.

  Joe doubled back to the car and hurried out of the park to the open area stretching to the oceanfront.

  A wide stretch of concrete, crisscrossed with parking lines, connected the park to the oceanfront street known as the Great Highway. A short cement wall separated the street and sidewalk from the low grassy dunes, the sandy shore, and the Pacific Ocean. The wind blew across the water, swirling sand up from the dunes and depositing it on the street and in Joe’s eyes.

  There were no cars on the street, and as Joe walked toward the beach, he noticed a sign. The street would be closed that afternoon, the sign said, so that the city could sweep.

  Joe knew there would be no swimmers in the water. Posted warnings forbidding swimming warned of a dangerous current. But a few people were scattered along the wide beach. A mother and two children were building sand castles, a boy was walking his dog, several young women were sunbathing, a couple of older men were fishing, and a girl was pacing the sand with a metal detector.

  Nobody in a dark windsuit, Joe thought as he gazed down the beach in both directions. Sea gulls swooped and called, watching for their lunch to appear.

  Joe ran back across the highway, uncomfortable about leaving the horse alone much longer. On his way he passed a hot dog vendor stirring a steaming bin with a long-handled spoon. Joe walked up to the vendor’s cart.

  “How ya doin’, young fella—what can I getcha?” The vendor greeted Joe with a big smile topped by a bushy mustache.

  “Some information, I hope,” Joe said. “Did you see anyone run out of the park in the last few minutes?”

  “Sure did,” the vendor said. “You.”

  “Besides me,” Joe answered. “Before I did. Dressed in a dark windsuit.”

  “Don’t think so,” the vendor said, looking around. He took off his hat and seemed to be thinking hard. “Nope. I had some customers about ten minutes ago. I was pretty busy with them, so I might have missed him.”

  Next Joe raced into the glassfront restaurant just outside the park entrance and asked the cashier the questions he’d asked the hot dog vendor.

  “You know, I might have seen who you’re talking about,” the young woman said. “Was it a man or a woman you’re looking for?”

  “I’m not sure,” Joe said. “Could be either one.”

  “That’s what I’m thinking, too,” the cashier said, nodding her head. “This person came tearing out of the park, looked around for a minute, then turned and raced back in. Seemed to be heading toward the windmill. But I couldn’t tell you much more than that. I sure couldn’t give you any kind of ID, if that’s what you need.”

  “Thanks a lot,” Joe said. “You’ve been a help.” He sped back into the park. Glad I took Cody’s keys, he told himself. Whoever it was must have realized there was no place to hide out here a
nd ran back in to grab the SUV again.

  Cody’s car was still parked where it had been, and the horse was still tied to the cypress tree. From behind him, Joe heard the sails of the windmill creaking in the wind. Joe crossed over to the small garden of purple and orange flowers that surrounded the windmill.

  The structure was fifty to sixty feet high, and each of the two crisscrossed sails looked as if it was nearly that long. As the sails came down, they missed the deck by only a couple of feet. As they climbed back up, the wind from the ocean wrapped them in greenish gray fingers of fog.

  A third of the way up, a large overhanging deck with a railing encircled the stone-block building. A plaque near the windmill said that it had been built in 1902 to pump water to a reservoir and had been restored in 1981.

  Joe walked around the sidewalk that circled the base of the windmill. A much smaller building stood at the end of a path in a wooded area. Joe reasoned that was probably a pumphouse or maintenance shed.

  There were several window openings in the wall, some round and some rectangular. From where Joe stood, they all had been closed off with brick or cement, although his line of sight was partially blocked by the large deck above his head.

  A few concrete steps led down to large double doors made of rusted steel in the base of the windmill. In the doors were two holes about four inches square. Joe looked through one and saw only a round dark room. A few paper cups and some leaves littered the floor. There were small piles of trash either blown in or thrown through the square holes.

  Joe thought he heard a noise from inside but couldn’t be sure what it was. Probably an animal or bird, he thought. But the twitch he felt at the back of his neck told him he ought to make sure.

  He checked to see if he was alone. There was no one in sight. At this end of the park it was still damp and foggy—not ideal conditions for strolling.

  Then he heard another sound. It was a woman’s voice, and it sounded as if it was coming from inside the windmill. He couldn’t hear the words, but she seemed to be arguing with someone.

  The double doors seemed to be held together by a rusted padlock. Joe glanced around again. Then when he checked out the padlock, he saw that it was attached only to the pin on the hasp of one door. Someone had gone in this way. He pushed on the door.

  He held his breath and peered inside. It was very still within the dusty room. As he stepped inside, a waft of fog entered with him.

  As Joe closed the door, the light was blocked out and he stepped into nearly total darkness. Only dim light filtering in through the two square holes and a sliver of light on the wall above gave him any bearings at all. A scratching scuttling noise above sent a wave of heat down the back of his neck.

  His thoughts came quickly. There’s a door or window up there to the deck. Whoever was in here heard me come in and stepped out onto the deck.

  He heard the woman’s voice again. It sounded as if she said “away,” but then her voice was muffled.

  I was right, Joe thought. She’s out on the deck. But someone must be with her. And she doesn’t sound too happy about that.

  Joe squinted to get a clearer picture. He was very cautious as he edged around the room, his back to the wall. He tried to remain calm, but his pulse beat faster and louder with each step. He knew he was an easy target. He looked around for something with which he could defend himself. This will have to do, I guess, he thought, reaching for a short plank of wood.

  His eyes now used to the dark, he spotted something in the corner—a navy blue ski cap. He immediately thought of the driver of the green car. He picked up the cap and stuffed it into his back pocket. As he did, something slipped to the floor.

  It was a small white cardboard disk, rimmed with metal, with the number 5773 printed on the front and the numbers 14-7-38-5-9 on the back. A small hole was punched through the top of the disk.

  Joe scooped it up and jammed it into his front pocket. He inched on around until he reached a rough ladder made of wooden planks bolted into the wall.

  Please don’t creak, he thought as he stepped onto the lowest plank. There was no sound, so he continued climbing up toward the sliver of light coming from around the edge of the deck door.

  Joe reached the last step and a landing next to the door. He could feel the chill of the fog as it wound in the opening and around him. Carefully, he scrambled up and onto the platform. With his back hugging the wall, he peered out through the narrow opening to the deck.

  Outside, two people, both dressed in dark clothes, were struggling in a sort of slow-motion wrestling match. The whistling vibration of an approaching windmill sail penetrated the air. Joe strained to get a good view of what was happening before he took any action. Then he heard the young woman cry out. “Let go of me—now!”

  Joe jumped into the action. “Hey,” he yelled, slamming open the door. He stepped onto the deck, holding the plank high. He could see only the dark-jacketed back of one of the two people. That person whirled around. Joe’s pounding heart nearly drowned out the sound of the approaching windmill sail.

  The man facing Joe wore a ski mask. In an instant, he had lifted the young woman up and was holding her out, across the railing. He didn’t speak, but his gaze dared Joe to come closer.

  Joe looked at the woman in the dark purple windsuit. He was stunned when he recognized her. “Deb?” he said. “Is that you?”

  Her reply caught in her throat and came out as half gasp, half sob.

  Startled, the man glanced around. Then he suddenly dropped Deb and raced off.

  When he let go of her, Deb was half sitting, half lying on the deck railing. The sudden release made her lose her balance. She flailed her arms, trying desperately to keep from rolling over the railing and onto the walkway below.

  Joe rushed toward her, but he knew he couldn’t make it in time. The adrenaline pumped through his veins as he yelled, “The sail... grab a sail.”

  Deb flung her arms toward the sail inches away. Her fingertips connected, and she hooked them through the gridwork that edged the wooden sail.

  With a huge burst of energy, Joe lunged toward her, throwing himself at her toes as she was pulled up from the deck. Her slick leather shoes slid right through his fingers.

  Deb stared down at Joe in terror as she disappeared into the misty cloud curling around the top of the windmill. Her scream seemed to blast the fog right into his face.

  7 Busting Out

  * * *

  Deb’s scream drilled into Joe’s brain. His temples thundered as he saw her clinging to the windmill sail, rising higher and higher into the fog. As the sail moved, her legs swung wildly.

  “Try to hold still, Deb!” Joe called. “And don’t look down. Just hold tight. You’ll be back around soon and I’ll bring you in.” In the distance he could see the man with the ski mask disappear into the woods.

  The windmill sails were huge, but they creaked and shook as they carried their accidental passenger. They inched around, slowing to a crawl. For a moment Joe’s breath stopped as he thought the windmill might halt completely, with Deb dangling far out of his reach. But the crisscrossed wood kept moving, drawing its X in a huge circle.

  “I’m still here, Deb,” Joe called. “I’m waiting for you. You’ll be off that thing soon. Just hold on.”

  As the sail moved, Deb’s position changed. At first she was hanging off the bottom end of the sail, straight down. When it drew up so that it was horizontal to the ground, she dangled at a right angle to the sail.

  “I can’t do it,” she yelled. She sounded very frightened. “I can’t hang on.”

  “Yes, you can,” Joe urged. “It’s scariest right now, while the sail is horizontal. Soon you’ll be hanging from the top of the sail, and you’ll feel more support from it.”

  The sail carrying Deb moved toward the top of its arc. Joe could barely see her through the fog—she was so high, far above the treetops. The sails slowed to a crawl, then a stuttering halt. But with a shuddering tremor, they began m
oving again.

  At last Deb was coming back down, moving around the circle. As she neared Joe, his pulse quickened. He knew he had only a few moments to rescue her. If he missed the opportunity, she’d have to go through the whole circuit again.

  “I have to get her on the first try,” he mumbled, pumping himself up with anticipation. “I don’t think she can take another go-round.”

  “My fingers are numb,” she called down to him. “I don’t know how much longer I can hold on.”

  “Long enough,” he yelled back. “You can hang on long enough to get back down here. I’ll take it from there.”

  Joe went over the possibilities in his mind. He could have her start swinging her body toward the deck railing as soon as she got near enough. That way, he’d have several chances to grab her. He was bound to make good on one of them. But what if she didn’t have the strength left to do her part?

  He could wait until she was right in front of him, less than a couple of feet away. Then he could reach out, grab her under her arms, and hoist her inside the railing. But he’d have only one shot.

  He could reach out for her legs as soon she came close enough, then, holding tight, fling her back across his shoulder like a large sack. But if she fell backward when he grabbed her instead of forward toward his shoulder, he could be pulled off balance and they would both crash to the ground.

  None of the plans was perfect. Even worse, they all depended on Deb’s trusting him enough to let go of the sail. Joe decided to try all three. One of them has to work, he told himself.

  He tried to picture how the rescue would work. As Deb approached, he’d ask her to swing toward him so he could catch her. If she didn’t have the strength for that, he’d try to grab her legs and swing her over his shoulder. If that didn’t work, he’d grab her under the arms when she was directly in front of him. And if that failed, he’d have one more chance to grab her legs as she started back up again.