Deadly Stillwater

Smith checked the rearview mirror non-stop since he had left the safe house. The further the Twin Cities faded away behind him, and the more rolling green fields of soybeans and corn he passed, the more at ease he felt. Nobody had followed he was sure of that now, having doubled back twice and finding no one behind. The police scanner in the passenger seat remained quiet. Perhaps the text message had given them enough time to get some distance from the house before the police connected the dots.

He knew that, sooner or later, something would go amiss. It was why they’d taken all the precautions, multiple vehicles, using a safe house, burying the girls out of town, prepping the boat and campsite. They were flexible, untethered to any one place or path. If need be, they could adjust on the fly, as they were doing now.

The police would search the house, but he wasn’t sweating it too badly. As long as Monica did her job earlier – and he trusted she did – there would be little for the police to find and certainly no way to trace them.

Smith exited the interstate and traveled east on a county road toward the college town of Northfield, home of St. Olaf College and prestigious Carleton College. Smith fell in with the early evening traffic of the town. The gas gauge on the van was low, so he pulled into a service station.

Smith pre-paid for the gas with cash and then went back to the pump. He took inventory of his situation as he filled the tank. The first order of business was to check on Dean. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed.

Dean answered on the third ring. He was well north of Minneapolis, pulling into the small town of East Bethel. Best Dean could tell, he didn’t have anybody on his tail. He had changed roads frequently, doubled back twice as directed, and had yet to find a common vehicle or vehicles following him. He felt he was clean.

Smith pulled the gas nozzle out and placed it back in the pump.

“Besides, what are the police going to be looking for?” Dean said. “Plain white vans? There are hundreds of these in the Cities and thousand all around. We’re fine.”

“Just the same,” Smith replied, “Find a place to dump the van. I’d prefer someplace it won’t be found, like a lake or something.”

Next, Smith dialed Monica. She already was on the move, driving toward East Bethel to rendezvous with her brother.

Smith contemplated his options and emptied his pockets. He had the keys for the Chevy at the Park amp; Ride. The police were looking for plain white vans. Who knows, the police might start pulling them over at random. While it was a little bit of a risk, he decided to drive back into the city and dump the van for the Impala at the Park amp; Ride. Then he would drive up to the northern suburbs for the evening’s meeting.

Carrie’s watch told her it was 6:05, which she assumed was PM. In the dim light of their flashlight, the two girls had assessed their situation. A search of the box revealed nothing other than the flashlight and the Dictaphone. They tried together to again push the roof on their box, hoping against hope that their captors lied about burying it. The top didn’t budge.

For lack of a better option, they listened to the tape again and again, listening for anything that could help them: a slip of the tongue, information to help them get out. It was a pipe dream. There was nothing.

“We’re stuck, plain and simple,” Carrie said, now lying flat on her back with her eyes closed, trying to breathe slowly.

“I’m not feeling well,” Shannon replied with a little sniffle.

“Me neither.”

“No, you don’t understand,” Shannon answered. “I’m diabetic. I haven’t had insulin for awhile.”

“How long?” Carrie asked.

“I haven’t had any since Saturday night after dinner. I usually take it when I eat. I was out super late on Saturday night with some friends. I overslept on Sunday so when I got up, I grabbed some quick breakfast but I forgot to take my insulin. I usually bring my insulin with me, but I was running late Sunday and I accidentally left it at home. Then after work I was going to run home quick and take some. But before I could do that…”

“You were taken,” Carrie finished for her.

“Yes. And I didn’t have any with me in my purse, so I didn’t get to take any while we were at that house.”

“So what happens to you if you don’t get the insulin?” Carrie asked.

Shannon sniffled again. “Depends how long I go without. My doctor said I have a sensitive system. There are a few times in the past where I went a couple of days without insulin and I got really sick. I tend to get disoriented and once I passed out. If I go long enough, I could lapse into a coma.”

“Has that ever happened before? The lapsing into a coma part?”