by Erik Carter
He saw four men were sprinting away. One of them looked back and made eye contact with Dale for a split second. It was the old drunk that had been at the bar.
“Oh, shit!” the drunk said and quickly turned back around, ran faster.
Beside Dale, Nash was also on the ground, burlap sack still on his head. A couple feet away was a pool cue, which had clearly been what struck Dale across the back of his legs.
Dale groaned. He could hardly move as he reached out and pulled the sack off Nash’s head.
“You okay, buddy?”
Nash looked at him through half-closed eyes. “No, Dale. No, I’m not.”
There was the squeak of hinges to the side. The back door to the bar opened. The neat man stepped out.
“Oh my goodness! What happened to you guys? Well, there was something I really wanted to show you two out here, but it looks like you’re taking a nap. I’ll show you another time.”
He gave Dale a nasty little smile and walked back into the bar.
Groaning more, Dale rolled himself onto his back, stared into the gray, rainy sky. Drops fell on his face.
He thought about the two walls of photos: the one at Bowen’s house and the one in Sullivan’s. And more ideas began to gel in his mind. He grinned.
“Dale?” Nash said.
“Yes?”
“What the hell are you smiling about? What could you possibly have to smile about right now?”
“I’m onto something, Nash. And we need to get back to Clyde Bowen’s house. But first, it’s such a lovely day, why don’t we just lie here in the alley for a few minutes.”
“Sounds just swell,” Nash said, his voice groaning.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Ten minutes later, Nash put a hand to the roof of the car and steadied himself as Dale swung Arancia past another vehicle, one that hadn’t yielded to the siren.
Arancia’s wipers flashed across the windshield. Outside, the rain streaked up her shiny, mirror-smooth finish. It had started to rain harder just as they’d peeled themselves off the ground behind the bar.
When they’d been lying next to the dumpster, recovering from their beating, Nash thought for sure that the injuries would slow Dale down, that it would take some time after they’d gotten back up for him to fully get back to speed.
But as soon as they got in Arancia, he went right back to business. And now they were barreling down the road, headed back to Clyde Bowen’s house.
The road opened up a bit before them, and Dale dropped the stick. The engine roared, and they rocketed forward.
“You’re my consultant on this assignment, Nash, and now I need your expertise more than ever. Tell me, would a serial killer dream of having a network, some sort of way of having constant victims, a non-ending supply? Or is the scarcity part of the thrill?”
“You’re solving this thing, aren’t you?” Nash said.
“I’m getting a good idea, yes.”
“Which is?”
Dale tapped the brakes. A car in front of them was slow to pull over. Once it was clear, Dale gunned the gas.
“Just answer the question. Please.”
Dale’s evasiveness was starting to piss Nash off. But he answered.
“I can’t speak for every serial killer’s brain, of course. I imagine for some, the thrill of the hunt would be a big part of it. But for my fantasies, yes, a systematic, endless supply would be ideal.”
Dale nodded, grinning. “Then I am onto something.”
“If you expect me to be of any real help here, you can stop being so secretive.”
“Nash, I have an idea, and I need to follow up on it. You gotta trust me when I say that I can’t tell you what I’m thinking at the moment. We’re in this together, but the truth of the matter is, you’re a consultant, not an agent. And I don’t have to share anything with you. Sorry to be harsh, but them’s the facts, buddy.”
Nash looked at Dale coldly, then turned and looked out the passenger window.
Ahead was the sign for Pullman Road. Clyde Bowen’s road.
Dale flipped on his turn signal, touched the brakes for the slightest moment, then thrashed Arancia onto the road.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Nash hurried to keep up with Dale and the muscular cop they’d met earlier, the latter of whom was escorting them through the house and back to Clyde Bowen’s office again.
The cop stopped at the office door and gestured them inside.
“And has Sadler stopped by yet?” Dale asked as they stepped into the room.
“No, sir. Not yet.”
Dale gave him a nod, and the cop left.
They were alone in the room. Dale walked to the desk. Nash followed. Dale took a tissue from the box and opened the book to the index. He took a small notebook and pen out of his pocket and handed them to Nash.
“Will you write down the list of names?” he said and pointed to the listing of chapters, each of which was dedicated to a different unidentified serial killer.
“Your wish is my command,” Nash said.
Dale looked at him for a moment then stepped away to the photos on the wall.
Nash copied the list.
When he was done, he turned around and saw Dale staring at the photos, hands behind his back. His head scanned over the rows, like he was reading, occasionally stopping for a long moment at one of the frames.
Finally, he turned around and faced Nash.
There was a serious look on his face. “I need to get back to the hospital.”
The rain was pouring now.
Dale and Nash stepped out of the deluge and under the porte cochere, headed toward the front entrance of the hospital. Both men shook the rain out of their hair with their hands.
Dale came to a stop.
“What are you doing?” Nash said.
“I need to speak to her. To Mira Lyndon. I need to confirm something. And I don’t want you there.”
“Oh, well … no offense taken.”
“We’re in this together. We are,” Dale said. “But right now, I’m protecting you. You just need to trust me.”
Nash didn’t answer. He shook his head, turned around, and took a few steps away.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Dale strode quickly down the hall toward Mira Lyndon’s hospital room. A uniformed officer sat at the chair by door, the same cop who had been there earlier. He stood up when he saw Dale.
Black, tall, and lean. He couldn’t have been more than twenty-one. His mustache was teenagerishly wispy, and his lanky limbs hadn’t completely filled out. His skin was a light caramel, spattered with freckles. His name tag said BRENNAN.
“Officer Brennan?” Dale said and flashed his badge. “Special Agent Conley.”
“Yes, sir. They told us you might be stopping by.”
Dale motioned behind them. “Sadler wants to see you.”
Brennan cocked his head.
“Really?”
“In the cafeteria.”
Brennan nodded, still confused, and took off.
Dale hated to lie.
He entered the room. Mira Lyndon’s eyes fell upon him as he approached. She watched him cautiously, almost fearfully. A nurse with a clipboard stood over her, and she watched Dale as he approached.
Dale pointed at the the bed. “Could she and I have a minute?”
The nurse gave a small smile as an affirmative, made one more quick note, and walked past him.
When she was out of the room, Dale closed the door. He then went to the side of the bed and pulled up the same chair he’d sat in earlier. He positioned himself closer to the bed this time, leaning his arms on the bed rail.
His quick, assertive actions seemed to puzzle her, making her watch him even more suspiciously, fearfully. Dale didn’t want to upset a shell-shocked individual who’d suffered the way she had only hours prior, but time was extremely limited. He didn’t have time to be gentle.
“Miss Lyndon, how many police have come to see you today?”
/>
She thought this over. “You and your consultant this morning. A couple uniformed officers later.”
“But no detectives?”
Mira shook her head no. Her mouth opened. Dale saw her stomach rise and lower quickly.
“You know why I asked that, don’t you? Why I want to know about detectives. That’s why you’re short of breath.”
She nodded, her eyes going wider, lower lip quivering slightly.
“Bill Sadler is the detective in charge of the Hot Springs’ side of the investigation,” Dale said. “Did you know that?”
“Oh no,” she said. “No…”
“Sadler and your boyfriend are good friends. Aren’t they? Very good friends.”
“Yes.”
“And they take part in certain … activities together?”
Hearing this made her shudder. “Yes. But I would have never thought Clyde was capable of what he did to me this morning, and—”
“Of course you wouldn’t. What I don’t know is if Sadler is just covering for your boyfriend … or if he’s part of the killings. I could go to the higher-ups at HSPD, try to convince them that one of their most decorated detectives was somehow connected to the murders and was manipulating the evidence. Someone they’ve known for years, someone they trust. And I’d be going to them as an out-of-towner and a fed, who local cops often distrust. In the meantime more women could get slaughtered. And you would remain in here, a sitting duck. That’s not the route I’m taking. This investigation is completely corrupt. And you’re not safe.”
“What are you going to do?”
Again Dale didn’t have time to be gentle. There were a thousand different ways he could go about what he needed to say next. He could ease his way into it. He could lay out more of the facts he’d uncovered, try to appeal to her logical side. He could ask her kindly, making sure it was her decision.
But there was no time for any of that. So he just said, “I’m getting you out of here.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Nash stood outside the hospital’s front entrance, under the shelter of the porte cochere. Beyond, the rain poured. He watched the patterns in the air, blankets of raindrops, rolling and twisting. They shimmered in the streetlights, which had already turned on even though it was only two in the afternoon. It was that gloomy. Another gust blew more mist onto his bare arms, collecting in little droplets on his arm hairs, chilling him and causing his skin to goosebump.
There was a voice from behind him.
“Nash.”
Nash turned around. Stepping toward him was Dale …
And Mira Lyndon.
Dale’s leather jacket was draped over her shoulders. Bandages were visible. She looked frightened. And Dale looked determined, cold.
“Jesus Christ!” Nash said, stepping toward him. “What is this? What the hell have you done, Dale??”
“Mira and I are leaving.”
Dale put his hand on Mira Lyndon’s shoulder and guided her forward. They walked past Nash and into the rain, each of them instantly soaked. The raindrops plopped on Dale’s leather jacket, running in waves down Mira’s back.
Nash followed. The rain washed over him. He was instantly cold. His hair weighed down against his head.
“Dale!”
Dale didn’t stop, didn’t turn around.
“Dale, goddammit, she’s hurt! What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Dale finally turned around. He and Mira faced him.
“I thought we were in this together,” Nash said.
Dale shook his head. “No, Nash. You’re done here.”
Chapter Thirty
“Then he points a gun at you,” Ventress said.
Nash nodded.
She’d said it in a leading way, trying to further paint a picture for the other people in the room.
But Nash remembered what it had actually been like.
The look on Dale’s face when he’d aimed the Model 36 at him—it had been a determined look, resolute. He simply was not going to let Nash come with him. But there was nothing in the expression that said he would actually shoot him. That was something a person like Ventress could never understand—the way two people can communicate without saying a word. Pointing a gun at another person is a serious thing. But Dale’s non-verbals had spoken for themselves.
“That’s right,” Nash said. “And he told me I needed to get out of town. But HSPD intercepted me at the motel, so I’m guessing they found out pretty quickly what Dale had done.”
Sadler leaned forward in his seat.
“You’re damn right we did. And we’re gonna catch that son of a bitch soon enough.”
“You’re not going to do shit, Detective Sadler, until I say you can,” Ventress said. “Your department is merely assisting my investigation.” She turned back to Nash. “Conley gave you absolutely no clue why he did what he did? None at all?”
“Not a bit. He said that the less I knew, the safer I’d be.”
Sadler threw up his hands. “Oh, come on! He’s lying. This guy’s just as nuts as Conley.”
“Quiet,” Ventress said. And then to Nash: “By your own admission, Conley makes his own rules, acts impulsively. And now he’s gone so far as to kidnap an attempted murder victim from the hospital, the killer’s girlfriend. Still you defend him. Why?”
It was clear to Nash that this lady just wasn’t getting it. Even though she was obviously a dedicated law enforcer—a field steeped in righteous concepts and lofty ideals—she just couldn’t seem to comprehend how one human being could have strong faith in another, even if they’d been hurt by the other person in some way.
“Because he does the things he does based on a code of honor. Whatever he’s done since he left the hospital yesterday, I’m certain it’s been noble.”
Chapter Thirty-One
As Dale and Mira quickly walked away from the hospital in the pouring rain, Dale began to formulate a plan. He had them going in the direction of the Grand Promenade. A park. A place to regroup and develop a plan for where they were going to stay. And then they would go from there.
This planning was not only immediately necessary, but it also served a critical second purpose. It was a needed distraction, something to keep his mind centered on the present and away from the immediate past. Because the realization of what he had done hadn’t quite struck him yet.
Taking a witness, the victim...
He wasn’t going to focus on it. He was going to remain centered on the present.
“We’ll need a place to stay low for a while. Until I can get this sorted out. They’re going to be watching for us. They’ll have all exits to town monitored. It’ll need to be somewhere in town. Like an abandoned building or—”
“I have a place we can stay. It’s safe,” Mira said. “We need to take Goat Rock Trail to get there.”
A few minutes later, Dale and Mira were sloshing through a soaking wet trail in the middle of the woods, so wet that a small stream of water had formed, cutting through the mud. Dale’s boots suctioned in the murk, and his socks inside were completely soaked. The misery of wet clothes that he despised so much was upon him in full force.
“Lucky for us, no one hikes in the rain,” Dale said, slipping in the mud again. “This is one way to make an escape.”
Mira pointed. "That’s Goat Rock.” Ahead of them, a large rock formation jutted out of the side of the mountain, visible through the trees. “We have to get off the trail from here on out.”
They stepped into the woods.
Dale sniffed the dry air as he and Mira ducked into the mouth of the cave. As he brushed the wet hair out of his face, he took in his new surroundings. The cave was the size of a small bedroom. Squarish in shape. In one corner was a flashlight and a large jug of water. In the other was a ratty mattress with a few scattered blankets and a couple pillows
“This was my hideout when I was a kid,” Mira said. “To get away from my father. He … was no good. I dragged the mattress all th
e way from our house, through the woods and up the mountain. A ten year old girl. Can you believe that?”
Dale smiled at her.
“Have you been here recently?” he said, pointing toward the flashlight and jug of water.
“Like I said, as a kid, I used to come up here to get away from my father. But I’ve also started coming up here the last couple years to get away from Clyde. Whenever I knew he was out with one of those other girls. It makes me feel safe. Does that seem weird to you?”
"Not at all.”
He noticed a large eye bolt screwed into the rock wall over the mattress. He pointed at it, gave her a confused shrug.
“Oh, yes. I hung a painting there when I was a kid,” she said. “Something happy, something to help me forget my home life.”
“Your eye bolt was a bit big,” Dale said with a smile. “You could have hung a twenty-gallon drum off that thing.”
She chuckled, shrugged. “It’s what I had.”
Dale gestured to the mattress.
"Lie down. Please. We need you to rest. I’ll try to figure out when you need to take your pills.”
Mira nodded and walked to the mattress. She covered with one of the blankets.
Dale opened the pharmacy bag and inspected the bottles, squinting at the directions printed on the sides.
“How did you figure it out?” she said.
Dale looked down at her in the bed.
“That Sadler’s protecting Clyde?”
She nodded.
“Sadler had told me that he didn’t know Clyde very well. But the photo wall at Sullivan’s, where Clyde spends so much of his time, said just the opposite, that they’re best friends. The photos also showed the pair with lots of women, and by this point Nash and I had been learning about Clyde’s activities with females. Sadler had been missing all day, and the last time I’d seen him was after you showed up here at the hospital, when he said he was going to look for Clyde. Sadler had lied about his relationship to Clyde, that much was certain, but the rest was a big hunch of mine, which you were able to confirm.”
