Jane Carter Investigates: Episode Ninety-Six
Before Atwood and I could get out
of the way, the great slab lifted. A deluge of water poured in, its force
nearly washing us from the steps.
After the first rush of water
subsided, the passage was clear, and we stumbled up the remaining steps to the
top and through the rectangular opening.
Jack grasped my hand, helping me
out of the vault. One of the blue-coated policemen aided Atwood, unfastening
the handcuffs which held him prisoner.
“You’re all right, Jane?” Jack
asked anxiously.
“I feel like a drowned rat,” I
said, shaking water out of my hair. “Did you catch Aaron Dietz and his men?”
Now that our ordeal was over, I
realized how terribly wet and cold I was. When Jack put his coat over my
shoulders, I tried to shrug it off, but instead of taking the coat back, he
stood behind me, placed it back over my shoulders, and then wrapped his arms
around me.
“We didn’t manage to catch Dietz
or his men,” Jack said very close to my ear. “When we crossed the river five
minutes ago, the cruiser was still there. No sign of anyone around. I brought
the police here, and now I suppose they’ve made their getaway.”
“Oh, Jack, we can’t let them
escape!” I said, pulling away, but keeping the coat. “Send the police—”
“Now, don’t get worked up,” Jack
said. “A squad started back just as soon as we found out what had happened
here.”
“Dietz and his men must have seen
the police crossing the river. They may have hidden in the bushes, biding their
time. By now they’ve slipped away in their boat.”
“I’m afraid so,” Jack admitted.
“I traveled as fast as I could.”
As one of the policemen lifted me
over the concrete wall surrounding the pool, somewhere not too far away,
gunfire broke out. There was a single shot followed by an answering volley of
gunfire. The exchange of fire continued as the policeman helping me from the
pool almost dropped me in his haste to run toward the sound of the gun battle.
The policemen left us and started
at a run through the woods toward the place where the white cruiser had last
been seen. Jack soon followed them, while Atwood stood by in a state of
confusion.
I hesitated, and then took the
opposite direction, coming out of the woods at a point directly opposite the
drawbridge.
Gazing far up the river, I could
see the white cruiser, flashes of fire coming from the cabin window as those in
the boat exchanged shots with the police concealed in the woods. The boat was
going to make a run for it, I thought. If only the drawbridge were down.
I kicked off my shoes and dove
into the water, swimming diagonally across the river to take advantage of the
swift current. I got to the shallow water and waded ashore through ankle-deep
mud. I scrambled up the slippery bank, my wet clothing plastered to my body. It
was then that I heard the roar of the cruiser’s motor. In another minute the boat would be at the
bridge.
I reached the gearhouse and
groped frantically under the door. Had Thorny failed to hide the key there? No,
my fingers seized on it.
My hands were shaking as I turned
the key in the lock. The door of the gearhouse swung open. I hoped I could
remember how to lower the bridge. I could hear the motor launch already moving
down the river at full speed. I wished I had a light so that I could see the
gears clearly.
I pulled a lever, and the motor
responded with a pleasant purr. The power was on, now all I had to do was lower
the bridge. I hoped I could remember which lever was the right one. I grasped
the one closest at hand and eased it forward. There was a grinding of gears as
the tall cantilevers began to move. They were coming down, but far too slowly,
it seemed to me.
The white cruiser continued
toward the bridge at full speed. The bridge was lowering, but it was apparent
that it would be a matter of inches whether or not the boat would clear. The
man at the wheel did not swerve from his course.
The bridge settled into place. As the crash came, I closed my eyes and sagged weakly against the gearhouse.
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