by Nancy Gideon
"God, the newspapers are going to roast me over hot coals for this one."
Anne stared at him, her expression registering a mild disgust."I was talking about Larry and his wife and that Kerwood woman."
Pellman glanced at her with a vague annoyance. "What have you found? Tell me you've got something that will help me put this psycho in prison. I want Kerwood's hide nailed to the wall!"
"Kerwood?"
Pellman's impatience crested. "Isn't it obvious what happened here? Larry never saw it coming, at least not in time. And Gorham went to bat for this creep. Looks like he struck out."
"Larry was trying to save that guy's life from whatever killed those two people and left body parts at Kerwood’s home. From what I can tell, that 'thing' caught up with them here. How else would you explain the prints?”
"Thing? What thing? What are you talking about, Goodnight?"
She paused, realizing she shouldn’t have kept the information quiet. But hindsight was always twenty-twenty and wouldn’t help matters now. "Like I told Larry, these killings weren't done by a man. They were done by an animal of incredible strength, with jaws like industrial vice grips."
Pellman just stared at her for a long moment. Then he laughed.The sound grated harshly. "You telling me we've got some killer Cujo running around gnawing up the neighborhood? Right! I'll go right out there and tell the press that our head pathologist says this is the work of some house pet no longer content with table scrapes. Are you trying to ruin me? I’d be laughed out of the county.”
"Not a pet, sir," she interjected tautly, professional pride ruffled by the man's contempt.
"Oh, I'm sorry. Some 'thing'! Ms. Goodnight, go back to your lab and find me something I can use against Kerwood. He's the villain here not some fantasy robo-beast with vice grip jaws. Watch a little less late night television, please, and stick to the facts."
Anne held her ground, bristling up in defense of her theory."Like it or not, some big animal killed these people. And until you tell yours what they're looking for, a lot more are going to die!Laugh at me if you want, but I liked Larry Gorham." Tears suddenly glistened in her angry glare. "And I, for one, intend to see that whatever killed him is caught and destroyed."
As she pushed by him, she heard him call to one of the officers, "Put an APB out on Alex Kerwood. He's driving Detective Pellman's vehicle. Consider him armed and extremely dangerous."
Anne muttered a single opinion under her breath as she left the scene.
"Asshole."
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
At first it seemed like a nightmare, the kind you awoke from after consuming a platter of nachos with nuclear meltdown strength salsa right before bed.
Alex blinked his eyes open against the full mega-watt power of the sun and tried to stretch. His muscles groaned in protest as if they'd endured an afternoon of full contact football without pads. He was momentarily surprised to discover he was sitting upright and that the steering wheel of his Jeep was before him.
Had he tied one on at Double-Vision and pulled off to clear his head? Helen must be going nuts with worry, and she was going to have his on a plate when he got home.
He started to raise one of his hands toward the throbbing in his brow. And he froze, eyes bugging wide.
His hand was dark with dried blood. Had he been in an accident?
"What the—"
So was the other one. So was the entire front of his shirt and pants.
What the hell?
Helen!
Memory struck a sucker punch to the temple, making him reel in lightheaded disbelief. He remembered then, all of it, every last grisly detail of what had happened at Larry Gorham's house and after.
He'd escaped the slaughter in Larry's car, winding crazily down every back road he knew, to abandon it within two blocks of his house.Then, with all the stealth he could manage, gleaned from thirty-odd years of memorizing every James Bond movie by seeing it at least a dozen times, four in the theater, the rest on video, he crept up to his house and neatly swiped his Jeep out of the driveway, right out from under the noses of the officers left to stakeout the premises.As he slipped into the front seat, he heard the blare of the TV from inside. He smiled to himself. They'd found his extensive video collection.
Enjoy it, guys. You'll have plenty of time off to watch movies once your boss asks what happened to the Jeep you were supposed to be watching. It's called unemployment.
Then he'd popped the clutch to roll silently down the drive, firing the engine once he'd turned out onto the street. And he'd driven away, far away. Out into the countryside where no chance patrol was likely to spot him. And on a quiet road, he'd pulled over to the side to weep in frustration until sleep overcame his anguish.
He pulled a rag from the glove box and tried to clean the crusted blood off his hands. A fairly futile effort. He wished for one of those packaged wet wipes Helen always carried in her purse. Hell, he just wished for Helen. Also fairly futile. By then, the force of gravity was upon him, and he was prompted to seek one of nature's outhouses alongside the road. He opened the door, wrinkling his nose at a sudden strong stench, looking down as he began to step out.
He forgot about having to pee. The need was shocked right out of him. It was all he could do not to vomit up the horror seizing his gut in an unexpected twist.
There, on the ground, right next to the Jeep, was the lower half of a human leg. He recognized the stylish woman's shoe, navy blue leather with a skinny two inch heel. It belonged—had belonged—to Elizabeth Gorham.
He jerked his foot back inside the Jeep, slamming the door, and sat there shaking loosely. His mind was alive with squirming maggots of fear.
It had been here, right here, while he slept. That devil dog.Bringing him a gruesome gift, a hideous reminder of the night before.
What the hell was going on?
Why wouldn't it leave him alone?
Alex cranked the starter and slammed the Jeep into gear, sending it bouncing down the rutted road in a shower of gravel. He didn't think of a destination, only of getting away. For a time, he just drove mindlessly, turning from one road onto another until the fever of nausea eased and he took interest in his surroundings.He recognized them in a dull sort of surprise.
He was passing the old burned out house. The irony struck him as strangely funny, because, to his reasoning, this was where it had begun, his slow agonizing descent into an inescapable hell.
He pulled the vehicle over and sat, staring blindly at the gutted building, letting his thoughts turn in unfocused directions. And he found himself getting out of the Jeep, walking up that washboard driveway to wrench the CONDEMNED sign off the shattered front door.
The interior of the house was hazy with unsettled smoke. The smell lay thick, spoiling the air, along with that of mildew from the water drenched furnishings that remained like ghostly shadows of a past life. To Alex, it smelled of death. And failure.
And that's when it came to him, the solution, a way to end it.
ӜӜӜ
Maybe it was his imagination, but the fire station seemed unnaturally quiet to Alex as he entered through the back, hoping not to encounter any of his friends. He could hear muted voices coming from the lounge, just subdued murmurings that were out of character considering the boisterous crew. For the first time he could ever remember, the television wasn't on. It would have been easier to do what he planned if it had been business as usual with all its camouflaging noise.
The locker room was empty, smelling of fresh towels, shower fungus and the inner tube scent of their rubbery fire suits. He crossed quickly to his locker, not daring to waste time with sentimental musings when he could be discovered at any second. As he eased the door open, his gaze touched on Terry's locker. How far removed that tragedy seemed now, a dull bruise-like ache compared to the recent agonies he'd suffered. He tore his thoughts away from the past and focused grimly on the future, grabbing up his equipment and moving on to the more difficult task.
&
nbsp; Occasionally they had to use explosives to control break away fire or to bring down a dangerously unstable structure. It was rare but it happened so they kept small amounts of powerful plastique and dynamite on hand under strict supervision. Only Wayne had the authority to use it.
Today, that authority passed down to him out of dire necessity.
The crack of his bolt cutters echoed like a round of live ammunition within the confines of the store room. Taut with anxiety, Alex waited for someone to respond to the sound. When no one did, he opened the locker and took out enough explosives to level an apartment building, concealing it gingerly in his gear. So far, so good. He headed for the rear exit at a trot. As he reached for it, the door swung inward. And he came face to face with Wayne Higley.
Surprise registered on his superior's craggy face. "Alex.Where the hell have you been?"
Alex glanced over his shoulder, toward the voices coming from the lounge. To Wayne, he asked with a quiet tension, "Let me by."
Oblivious to the younger man's desperation, Wayne asked, "Do you realize that the cops are looking all over for you? What the hell is going on? Why didn’t you come to me? Did you think I’d leave you hanging out on the line all by yourself?” There was a pause, long enough to let Wayne know that the younger man had considered it.“That’s a hell of a thing to think, Alex. I know I wasn’t right there for you, but I had to do some thinking, myself. But that doesn’t mean I was planning to let you down. Not a chance. I was going down to the police station right after my shift to make a statement.”
A tight smile tugged at Alex’s grim expression, the sense of camaraderie he’d missed so keenly.
“Come on in with me, Alex. With the two of us backing each other’s stories, they’ll have to believe us . . . won’t they? Hell, we’ll make ‘em believe us.”
He grabbed Wayne’s forearm. "Keep it down, will you?" Then more intensely, "How's Helen?Have you heard?"
The lines of his face tightened. "In ICU."
Alex groaned and fought for control. Wayne's grip overlapped his, forging a powerful link between them. "What's going on, Alex?Who was it?" What was it? was what he didn’t say aloud.
Alex met his gaze straight on, unblinkingly. "The police'll say I did. That’s why I can’t go in. Not now anyway. Not until I get some proof."
"That’s bullshit. What do you say it was?" No accusation, no doubt. Just a fierce need to know.
"Some big fuckin' devil dog."
Wayne blinked. Shock and confusion edged around his taut expression, but he didn't laugh out loud so that was something."What? They're saying it was the work of the serial killer . . . the same guy that got Pete's little girl."
"I wish it was that simple, believe me, but I was there, Wayne. I saw it. It was like nothing you ever want to imagine." He looked uneasy then blurted out the wild connection he'd made but had been afraid to voice. "It must have something to do with the woods.With that clearing . . . the grave we dug up and what we found in it."
Wayne stared at him, jaw working on the rudiments of speech for a moment before he could mutter a suitable oath. He didn't question what Alex told him because he knew—he knew something had happened in those woods, something that wasn't easily explained away by logic.Because he'd been trying to do that for days. Failing.
"What did it look like? How did you get away?"
Alex went weak with relief. Wayne believed him. He took a breath and launched into it. "It's some sort of dog or wolf or something. Something–I don’t know–prehistoric. Don’t ask me how it’s possible.I wouldn’t have believed it myself if it hadn’t been drooling on my face. But it’s that thing, all right. It fits that skull we found like a glove. It's got to be the same thing. It's like we woke up in the middle of some late night Sci-Fi flick, only this one's real.It's real.”
Wayne nodded, encouraging him to continue with what anyone else would think was sheer craziness.
“All I know is that we disturbed something in that grave and now it's following me like I'm—its master, bringing me body parts like they were gifts."
Wayne frowned, trying to force his rational mind to accommodate such a leap out of the normalcy that governed his life. "What do you mean? Like a cat brings a dead mouse to your front steps for a reward?"
Alex sighed. "That doesn't quite compare. It attacked Helen last night and killed that detective and his wife, just tore them apart.There was nothing I could do. It was right in my face, Wayne. Why didn't it kill me, too?" He slumped back against the wall, closing his eyes against a swell of anguish that liquefied his vision.
“It’s up to us to end this. No one else is going to believe anything we have to say. It’s you and me, Alex. Just tell me what you have in mind and I’ll back you all the way. For Pete. For Helen.”Wayne's voice was gritty. "Let's go kill the son-of-a-bitch."
Alex looked at him, smiling faintly. "That's where I'm going now. Alone." Before Wayne could protest, he put up his hand. "I need to do this, Wayne. It's . . .personal. I've got more than one demon to deal with. Let me go. All I ask is that when it's done, if I'm not around to tell the tale, I want you to do it for me. I want Helen to know that I was . . .” A hero. “That I wasn’t crazy.”
Wayne stared at him, jaw working again on soundless emotions.But before he could give his word, voices rang out from the far end of the hall. Alex heard his name. Soon the commotion escalated and he found the hall clogged with fire fighters, friends who looked anything but friendly. A hostile confusion replaced the camaraderie he usually felt between them.
"Alex, what are you doing here?" Maury Weintraub asked in a tone more accusation than concern. "The cops are looking for you."
And there was a low aside from young Davy Miller to Stan Rikowski. "I think we ought to call them."
When a grim-faced Stan took a step with the intention of doing just that, Wayne grabbed him by the shoulder, thrusting him none too gently up against the wall.
"Hey!"
"Don't move an inch," was Wayne's tense suggestion. “You’ve got no idea what’s going on here.”
"Wayne, we gotta call the cops. They say he killed all those people," Davy protested angrily. Angry because he didn't want to believe it of a friend. But on top of angry, he was scared. They all were scared because they were used to believing what the news told them.
"Yeah," Chet growled. "Including Pete's daughter."
That woke a host of enraged rumbling, and Alex found himself crowded against the door, unable to escape because it opened inward.Wayne was doing his best to push them back. The fact that his coworkers were forming a lynch mob without giving him the benefit of the doubt was one of the worst things he'd had to endure since the whole episode began. These were men who'd trusted him with their lives, with whom he'd done the same. How quickly that line of faith frayed apart.
"Dammit, I had nothing to do with that," Alex shouted in his own defense. "You guys know me!" He didn't have time for lengthy explanations. None should have been necessary between friends as tight as all of them had been.
Had been apparently the operative word.
"We thought we did," Stan snarled, summing it up with that one fist-to-the-gut phrase that rubbed Alex's emotions raw and bleeding.
"If you were innocent, why did you run?" Chet demanded, his suspicions gathering momentum. "Why don't you turn yourself in right now? Then we'd believe you."
Alex was struggling with the door. "I can't. Not yet. There's something I've got to do first. You'll just have to trust me."
"Like Terry trusted you," came a fierce mutter from one of them."And look where it got him."
"Yeah, like Pete trusted you," grumbled another. Ugly sentiments that never should have been spoken between any of them, not out loud. It was unforgivable, dealing out such a crippling wound to the soul. To Alex, almost mortally so.
"Shut up!" Wayne yelled over the increasing clamor for their partner to admit his guilt. He could see Alex's features stiffen up in a deep internal pain that was like an emoti
onal hemorrhage. He gave Chet a hard shove, sending him pin-wheeling backward, and dealt another to Davy. "What's wrong with all of you? We're supposed to work together when one of us is in a jam. Did you all forget that?Back off. You guys have no idea what's been happening."
“Then why don’t you tell us, Wayne?”
"Yeah. I know we're not going to let him just walk out of here with all that blood on his hands."
And Chet's somber conclusion was shared by all. Blind faith was a thing of the past. Calm reasoning wasn't possible after weeks of undiluted fear for their families and friends. Not after seeing Pete Walshank break down under the weight of his grief. Suspicion notched a wedge of disbelief and doubt where there’d once been implicit trust.None of them wanted to think Alex Kerwood was capable of such atrocities.
But none of them were willing to let him walk out . . . in case he was.
"Stan, make that call," Chet said.
"Don't move," Wayne countermanded. He was used to his commands being obeyed but these went beyond normal circumstances. Way beyond.
Stan hesitated, looking between Alex's taut features and those of his agitated comrades. "Sorry, Alex. We gotta be sure, man. For Pete. We gotta be sure." And he started for the phone in the lounge.
Wayne took him down in a spine-jarring tackle, yelling, "Alex, get out of here."
Seeing his chance, Alex wrestled the door open only to find Davy blocking his path. His friend gripped him by the shoulders, trying to bulldog him back inside. There was no help for it, no way around it.
Alex's fist connected hard, pulping the younger man's nose.Then he was free, sprinting across the parking lot, vaulting into his Jeep. He spun into reverse, forcing Maury and Chet to split, each leaping clear in opposite directions to avoid his rear bumper.
"Yeah, I'm sorry, too," he muttered, slamming it into a gear-grinding drive.
He had work to do.
ӜӜӜ
He stared at the newspaper in amazement.
Who the hell was this fireman?
He swept the article with mounting ire. Two casualties and one in the hospital.
