THE COTTAGE
Chapter 12
Tim left the living room, hoping Ned would find rest, which he sorely needed . The trauma of the last two days was wearing on him. His wound, while not a death blow, along with his fear for Caroline …
Tim struggled to keep his thoughts in control, away from her abduction.
As he shut the kitchen door quietly, he withdrew the compact semi-automatic pistol from beneath his jacket. He didn't want to get caught off guard the way Ned did.
He walked around the house, searching for clues. He looked for any sign that was left behind. He went around to the front yard, his eyes glued to the ground.
Nothing, he thought, regretting in this moment that he didn't have Ned’s investigative training.
Ned would know what to look for. Until then, photographs would have to preserve the scene.
Something shiny caught his eye. It was a shell casing near the spot where Ned fell. Not the same as his pistol.
He felt safe enough now to return his gun to his jacket. He withdrew a small camera and snapped a closeup photo to show Ned. He purposely did not take a photo of the blood trail.
He crouched beside the drag marks. Gravel clung to streaks of blood. His pharmacist’s eye instinctively separated what belonged there from what didn’t. More photos. And more scuff marks, where the kidnappers forced Caroline into the trunk. He winced at the visualization. Snap again. He walked around the entire area where the car sat. He took photos of the shoe prints.
Something shiny glinted in the sunshine and caught his attention. It was another shell casing, only this was from his automatic pistol. Remembering, he shivered. Snap!
He took photos of the skid marks as the idling car screeched onto Trunk 7, heading east toward Sheet Harbour. Why that direction? Strange, he thought. It was not the direction for a quick getaway either way to Halifax or Yarmouth.
Tim returned to the walkway leading to the cottage, his eyes sharper now.
“I know there’s a secret hidden here,” he said aloud. Practically crawling on his knees, he searched for something by peeling back every blade of grass. Perhaps something fell from the kidnapper’s pocket, anything that could help them find Caroline.
“Found it,” he whispered. Something caught beneath a clump of grass reflected the afternoon sun. At first he thought it was another shell casing. It wasn’t.
He was looking at a vial, the kind a diabetic might use. He took photos, but he had to pick it up. The pharmacist in him had to study it closely. He wished he had gloves on. And an evidence bag, Ned would instruct.
He knew that some injectable medications were intentionally tinted to help distinguish them from others. Color was a safety measure in hospitals, reducing the chance of a dangerous mix-up.
Don’t touch it, Ned’s voice seemed to echo in his mind. Gloves. Evidence bag.
Too late.
The pharmacist in him couldn’t resist. Holding it carefully by the rim, he lifted it toward the sunlight.
But it was the label that caught his attention. Blank. Plain white. He turned it slowly in his hand. Then he saw it. Black marker, handwritten.
CL.
“What?” he whispered.
He rose quickly and hurried into the cottage. But Ned was sleeping. The Gatorade bottle sat empty on the tray beside him. The pills were gone, too.
Good, Tim thought.
He was tempted to wake him. Instead, he returned to the kitchen. Softly, he said, “This may be the very evidence we need to find Caroline.”
Tim heated tomato soup and made grilled cheese sandwiches. After setting the table, he reached into his pants pocket for the camera and the vial. He placed both on the table for Ned to see.
He heard a rustling sound as Ned stirred. Tim turned and saw him appear in the doorway on his own. His color looked normal, so Tim decided not to offer help.
Instead, he smiled as Ned entered the kitchen, standing tall.
“You’re looking quite well.”
“And feeling pretty good, thanks to you, Tim.” Ned smiled in return. “What’s for lunch? I could eat a…”
“…horse. I know. No horse. Sorry about that, Ned. But will tomato soup and grilled cheese fit the bill?”
“Perfect. Let’s eat while you show me what’s on the camera and tell me what this vial is.” He picked it up without chastising Tim for failing to put it in a baggie.
Tim placed a steaming bowl of soup in front of him. “How about we eat first? I have photos to show you afterward, over coffee.”
“Mmm, mmm, good,” Ned managed as he dipped his grilled cheese into the tomato soup.
During lunch, they chatted amiably, mostly about how good the food was and Ned’s improvement. He noted that the dressing was now free of blood and that the pain had decreased unless he moved too quickly. Tim nodded often but mostly listened.
Lunch passed quickly. Tim cleared the table, set up the computer, and inserted the camera’s memory card.
Ned took a sip of coffee. “Okay, let’s get to it. We need to discuss your findings carefully before we make a plan for getting her back.”
Tim hoped Ned would notice something he had failed to observe.
“First, the photographs. Go through them carefully. Tell me what you see.”
Tim clicked through the images, one by one.
Ned remained silent.
He studied each image far longer than Tim expected, occasionally enlarging one before moving to the next.
Finally, he leaned back.
“You did good work, Tim.”
Tim waited.
“But you were looking at the wrong things.”
“The wrong things?” Tim asked.
Ned nodded.
“You photographed the shell casings, the boot prints, the drag marks, and the skid marks. That’s exactly what I would have expected.”
Tim frowned. “Then what did I miss?”
“You were looking at the evidence itself. I was looking at what the evidence says.”
He enlarged the first photograph of the shell casing.
“Notice where it landed.”
Tim leaned closer.
“Near where you found me.”
“Exactly. The shooter never moved after firing. He wasn’t chasing Caroline. His assignment was me.”
He advanced to the next image.
“The drag marks tell us Caroline fought them. They didn’t expect that.”
Another click.
“And these boot prints…” Ned pointed to the screen. “Two kidnappers. Different stride lengths. Different weights. One favors his right foot slightly.”
“You can tell all that?”
Ned smiled faintly.
“I’ve spent thirty years reading crime scenes.”
He clicked to the photograph of the skid marks.
“They didn’t leave in a panic.”
“No?”
“No. They accelerated hard because they had what they came for.”
“And they left heading in the wrong direction,” he agreed. “Good catch, Tim. Why?”
Silence settled over the kitchen.
“They never intended to kill Caroline at the cottage,” Ned said quietly.
Tim looked at him.
“They needed her alive.”
“To question her?”
Ned stared at the photographs.
“I think so.”
“About what?”
Ned met Tim’s eyes.
“That’s the question that frightens me.”
He looked toward the vial resting on the table.
“And I have a feeling that little bottle may answer it.”
“I hope so,” Tim replied. “In some ways, what I can do as a licensed pharmacist is like you do as an investigator.” He paused. “Tell me what you see.”
Ned hesitated. “Are you testing me?”
“No, I just want to know if you see more than I do. You have a very keen sense of observation.”
Ned nodded. He picked up the vial and turned it over several times. “Well, there’s green substance remaining so we know most was used up, possibly on Caroline.” He choked a little before continuing.
“I see a blank label. Odd, I suspect.”
Tim nodded.
“And there is something handwritten on the back. I've no idea if that's normal either. Could it refer to the medicine inside?”
Tim replied, “That's another million dollar question.” Tim pointed to the label.
“The lack of a printed label concerns me most. It indicates this drug’s identity was intentionally withheld. It may not even be an approved drug. It’s possible it came from an unsanctioned lab.”
Tim stopped. He saw terror in Ned’s eyes.
Neither man spoke.
The vial lay silently between them, now far more frightening than its small size suggested.
Dear readers,
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THE URN—A LEGACY OF SILENCE.
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