Tail Spin

of them, one carrying me under my arms, the other, my feet. They hadn’t tied my wrists together, simply tied my arms down to my sides. But they had tied my ankles together. I guess right before they threw me into the lake, they must have attached the rope to a block of concrete, though I don’t remember that specifically.
    “They threw me into the water as far as they could. When the block hit, it dragged me down to the bottom.” Her voice started shaking, her whole body was shaking. “I’m sorry.”
    Sherlock stuck a cup of water in her hand. “Drink, take deep breaths.”
    Rachael drank. “I’m okay, sorry. I had the brains to keep quiet so they didn’t realize I’d woken up. I sucked in a lot of air before going under, instinct, I guess. I didn’t want to die. They obviously didn’t know I’d been a big-time swimmer in college, and I had great breath control. I managed to get my arms free, then get my ankles untied and swim to the surface.”
    She heard Jack curse and looked at him. She didn’t think she’d ever seen naked rage before, but now she did and she recognized it for what it was. It warmed her, gave her balance.
    Savich said matter-of-factly, “You’re quite amazing, Rachael, I hope you realize that. You didn’t panic and drown. No, you got yourself free. You survived.”
    “I was terrified, truth be told, but I didn’t want to die. I made it back up, yes, managed to clear the surface because I knew they’d still be standing on the dock, looking down for any sign that I was still alive, you know, bubbles. I swam underwater to the pilings and hid there. I heard them talking, but I couldn’t tell you if they were male, female, or both. I heard them leave. I saw the taillights drive off into the distance. I walked to a little diner in Oranack, Maryland, and from there got a taxi home.
    “I got out of there as fast as I could. I drove only at night, took two and a half days to get here because ... Well, truth is I was scared. I wanted to get lost on the back roads. I wanted to know in my gut that it was over, that they believed me dead and weren’t like some bogeyman ready to jump out and kill me.
    “I was wrong. They found out—how, I don’t know.”
    Sherlock said matter-of-factly, “Someone saw you. Did you see anybody at all when you arrived back at your house, or when you left?”
    Rachael shook her head. “No, but I was focused on packing my stuff and getting out of there. You’re right, Sherlock, that makes more sense than diving into the lake to see if the block and I were still together. Whatever happened, they found out I was still breathing and figured out where I was heading. They moved very fast.”
    She paused, looked at each of them now. “Do you believe me?”
    “Oh yes,” Sherlock said, “oh yes.”
    Savich said, “Would there be anyone who would report you missing?”
    Rachael shook her head. “The man who tried to kill me in Roy Bob’s garage, do you know who he is yet?”
    Sherlock pulled a small notebook out of her jacket pocket, glanced at it and said, “Our shooter’s name is Roderick Lloyd, thirty-nine years old, a supposed freelance journalist—har har—not married, lives in an apartment in Falls Church. He started his bad ways early—juvenile record for ag assaults, multiple car thefts, robbing a convenience store, you get the idea. His mother cut him loose at sixteen. She remarried and moved to Oregon, smart woman.
    “It was the attempted murder of a DEA agent during a drug bust that finally nailed him. He spent a measly eight years in our fine facility outside Detroit—not enough, but the prosecutors cut him a deal, netted two bigger drug dealers.
    “Mr. Maitland is getting a warrant as we speak and our people will go over his apartment with tweezers. Dillon has MAX checking on possible employers, property tax records, offshore accounts, whatever.
    “The staff at Franklin County Hospital said when he came out of recovery, all he did was moan and demand a lawyer. So that was it.
    “He’ll leave the hospital in two or three days—and be accompanied by our people back to Washington. His photo should be coming through your fax, Sheriff, any minute.”
    Sheriff Hollyfield nodded. “Good work. For what it’s worth, I checked on Roy Bob because of his gambling issues. Nothing there. Dr. Post stitched up his arm. He’s okay.”
    Rachael said, “This man, Roderick Lloyd, I have no idea who he is. I don’t know his name, I never saw