The Only Girl Left Alive: The McClintock-Carter Crime Thriller Series: Book Three

by Susan Lund

  Thank God for family ties. At times, it bothered Michael that his mother was such a gossip, but he had been able to get a lot of intel about Daryl and Eugene from her because of it.

  As for Kincaid, his expression suggested he was enjoying the encounter, but Michael figured it was all bluster. Kincaid had to be shitting his pants, especially if he knew they had video of him killing Patrice.

  Trust a psychopath to pretend the opposite.

  "So, Daryl," Chief Joe said, appearing to play the good cop to Nash's bad cop. "We're here to talk with you about John Hammond. As you may know, we found a room under his old service station that contained video equipment we think was used in the making of pornography. We wanted to ask you what you might know about him and his son, Garth. Did he ever try to sell you any pornography before you went to prison? We don't want to charge you or anything. We're just trying to tie up some loose ends with the Melissa Foster case. We think he might have killed the girl while filming some porn."

  Michael smiled to himself. Chief Joe was playing stupid—not giving away that they already knew Kincaid had killed Patrice.

  Kincaid shrugged. "I don't know nothing about any Melissa Foster. I've been in here for ten years, so what do I know about John's business dealings?"

  "Before you came here," Chief Joe said. "Did you know about his porn business? We think he and Garth were abducting prostitutes and taking them to this location and filming them, selling the videos online."

  Kincaid didn't move a muscle. "Nope. Don't know nothing."

  "What about Ron McClintock? Was he involved in anything that you knew of? We found a bunch of evidence in his attic linking him to a couple of missing girls. Since the three of you were friends in high school, we thought you might know of some of his proclivities."

  "I don't know about no pro-clivi-ties," Kincaid said, emphasizing it like he was mocking Chief Joe for using a big word. "Far as I knew, John and Garth were just into hunting and fishing. John had a local delivery business, and did tree trimming and yard work."

  "So, you knew nothing about the porn business he was running out of the station?"

  "Nope," Kincaid replied, averting his eyes.

  "But you and John were good friends," Chief Joe said. "You worked for his father. You two traded routes on and off for a decade. Surely in all that time, he would have tried to involve you in the business. Provide you with some for free as your friend."

  Lawson leaned forward. "Mr. Kincaid already answered your question. He affirms that he knew nothing about any pornography business. Now, if you have nothing else of importance to ask him, he's leading a Bible reading group in an hour and would like to prepare."

  Michael laughed out loud at that. He didn't believe for a moment that Daryl Kincaid had found Jesus. He’d found a way to look good and probably manipulate a bunch of gullible inmates, have them do his bidding inside the prison.

  Then, Nash took over. "We also wanted to ask you about a cabin up north that you own, near Spokane, just over the border in Idaho. When was the last time you used it?"

  "Well, it would have been before I came in here," Kincaid said, smiling widely. His smile displayed his yellowed and twisted teeth, making him look menacing.

  Nash ignored the jibe. "When was the last time you used the cabin?"

  Kincaid tilted his head to the side and rubbed his chin. "Well, let's see. When did I use it last? Must have been the year before I came in here, so that would be 2007 or so. In the fall, I guess. September's the best month for largemouth bass, bluegill, and muskies. We used to come up and fish every year around then. Had some nice fry-ups."

  "Who had access to the cabin after you came here?"

  Kincaid shrugged. "Whoever kept my stuff. Ron McClintock took some of my things, so I imagine he had my keys. What he did with them or the cabin I have no idea."

  They asked him a few more questions about John and Garth Hammond, but he wasn't in a talkative mood.

  "We went our separate ways after I came in here. Haven't spoken to him or had a visit since."

  "Good to know. We think there may have been several girls murdered in that cabin, so we need to know who had access, both before you went in and after."

  "Several girls?" Kincaid asked, frowning. "Before I came here?"

  "Could be. We're still in the preliminary stage of the investigation, but there are a number of cold cases we're looking into that might be linked to the cabin."

  "Wasn't me. I ain't killed no girl at that cabin."

  "What do you think about what happened to John Hammond? Him shooting Garth and then killing himself.”

  Kincaid pursed his lips. "Must have a guilty conscience, is all I can think. He'll be rotting in hell now. Him and Ron. Both of them’s killers is what I think."

  Kincaid sat back, his arms crossed once more.

  "You have nothing else to add? No knowledge of anything either Ron or John did that would help you, maybe get you some special perks in here? We could use the help."

  Kincaid shook his head. "Nope. I got nothing."

  Chief Hammond turned to Nash. "You have anything else to ask?"

  Nash shook his head. "No, I got everything I need. Thanks for meeting with us."

  Hammond and Nash stood and left the room. Then, while Michael watched, Lawson leaned over and whispered in Kincaid's ear.

  Kincaid nodded and then Lawson picked up his file and left the room, followed by Kincaid himself, who looked like the cat who swallowed the canary.

  When Nash and Chief Joe joined Michael in the observation room, Nash shrugged.

  "He'll know that was a fishing expedition and start worrying about whatever he was involved in before. He and his lawyer will probably talk to each other and try to figure out what we might have on him. The next time we come, he'll be much more willing to talk."

  "I hope so," Michael said. "We got him either way. Just depends on how afraid he is of being labeled a child murderer in prison. They don't last long in the general population. He’d have to go into solitary for protection."

  All the way back to Paradise Hill, Michael ruminated on the cases, wondering whether Kincaid would suddenly remember vital info he could use to help them, or if he'd keep denying any involvement.

  The walls were closing in on Kincaid. He was the last of the three men alive and the only one who could be charged.

  He had to be frightened.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Eugene sat in the booth, his knee bouncing, his nerves on edge. His father was due back from his trip to Coyote Ridge, meeting Eugene for supper at the diner. He was itching to learn what Good Old Dad Daryl—the perverted son-of-a-bitch—might have said about matters at hand. It looked like they were hoping to pin the murder of several girls on Daryl, and were probably playing with the man, hoping to scare him so he'd soften up and turn over some evidence that would help clear up some cold cases.

  Eugene laughed to himself as he waited for the old man to return. What would Daryl think? He must be shitting his pants in fear that his role in the death of Patrice was going to come out and he'd be charged.

  What a fuck-up the man was.

  Accidentally killing Patrice because he was afraid Serena would see her and know what was going on. Why had Serena been spared the ordeal of the porn room when others, namely Eugene, weren't? Or the other little children of Paradise Hill who’d been used over the years in Daryl's perverted fantasies? How come she was so special?

  That damn John Hammond had caused it all, not wanting Garth or Serena to be involved in the porn world, getting some kind of conscience late in life.

  Serena was fucked anyway; she’d witnessed a murder and been threatened with the same if she ever spoke to anyone about it. Poor girl had taken it literally, and never spoke to anyone at all from then on, except in whispers to her mother and father—but anyone else? Nothing.

  Now she was dead. John and Garth were dead.

  The only one left of the original group was Daryl himself, and Eugene could bare
ly wait to hear how Daryl had responded to questions about the cases. If he knew Daryl—and he did know the old bastard—he'd deny everything and play up his finding Jesus.

  The few times Eugene had gone to visit his biological father, the old man had laughed about his conversion.

  "Yeah, I found the key to survival in this place," Daryl had said. "Give ’em some of that old-time religion and they fall in line like dominoes."

  Eugene had made a point of laughing with the old man, as if he agreed, but he secretly despised him. If Eugene had his way, Daryl would face the needle in Idaho for the murder of a girl from just over the border. Wouldn't that be sweet? There was no way Daryl was ever getting out of jail alive.

  Eugene knew Daryl's prison conversion was nothing but a bunch of hokum, designed to get Daryl better terms in prison. It also gave him power over the other inmates, who might have been honest in their beliefs or might have also wanted the perks that being seen as 'religious' would give them. Whatever the case, Eugene knew that Daryl was no more a born-again Christian than he was innocent of the charges he faced.

  Finally, the old man drove up and struggled out of the vehicle, his ever-increasing girth making it harder and harder for him to move.

  Old pig.

  "Hey, Dad," he said when Chief Joe walked over to the booth and removed his jacket. "How's it going? You look exhausted. You need a cheeseburger and onion rings, plus a chocolate shake."

  Chief Joe sat down and scooted over, the booth's tabletop pressing into his gut.

  "That sounds like exactly what the doctor ordered," Chief Joe said. He glanced over the menu, but Eugene already knew what the old man would order. He ordered the same thing every damn time they had supper there.

  After the waitress took their orders, Eugene folded his hands and leaned forward, eager to hear how the meeting with Daryl had gone.

  "So?" he said and raised his eyebrows expectantly. "What did Daryl have to say? Anything useful?"

  Chief Joe shrugged—then his cell phone rang. "Just give me a moment," he said, and removed his cell from his pocket to answer it.

  "Chief Hammond," he said. Then he listened, playing with the cutlery while he did. He stopped his motions and glanced up, an expression of surprise on his face. "Isn't that interesting?"

  A wave of excitement went through Eugene as he waited to hear the news. It had to be good, because his father's face went red and he had a gleam in his eyes.

  "I guess we have him for it, then. When will they press charges?"

  After some more back and forth, Chief Joe hung up just as the waitress brought them their food.

  "Thanks, sweetheart," Chief Joe said. He grabbed an onion ring, chewing it down before taking a pull on his milkshake.

  "Well?" Eugene said, impatient to hear whatever it was. "What's up? Something interesting in the cases?"

  "Actually, yes, but I really shouldn't be telling you."

  "I understand," Eugene said, knowing that with a bit of gentle pushing, he'd get the info anyway. "I wouldn't want to put you in any danger."

  Chief Joe bit into his burger and chewed away, lost in the food for a few moments. Eugene waited him out. He knew Chief Joe’s excitement would build until he couldn’t keep it in any longer.

  It always happened that way.

  Instead of the cases, Eugene talked about his boys, how they were doing in school, and what he planned for the long weekend—taking them up to the cabin to get some hunting and hiking in.

  He knew the old man was only half-listening, his mind more likely focused on the news he just received. Finally, after half his burger and most of the rings were gone, Chief Joe sat back and exhaled, wiping grease off his chin.

  "Welp," he said and glanced around, checking to see if anyone was in earshot, "they got an ID on a second DNA profile at the cabin. Another girl from Idaho. That's a second girl murdered in Idaho. There's no way the folks in Kootenai County will be willing to let this go. They'll want to extradite Kincaid to prosecute him there. Can't say as I blame them. I'd want the same.”

  The old man dug back into his burger, eating with relish after unloading the information he should have been protecting. Now Daryl would be sure to get the death penalty. He thought he'd be getting out in two years, moving back to Paradise Hill, or maybe going somewhere new where his history wasn't so well known.

  No. Now, he'd face years more of incarceration on death row in Idaho, waiting to be executed.

  It was payback.

  Daryl did deserve to die, based on everything he'd done all his life to abuse, neglect, and torture everyone who came under his power. Now, he'd finally pay.

  Eugene ate the rest of his own burger with pleasure, feeling satisfied that his hard work over the years had been rewarded. He could sit back and watch it all unfold like his own personal play was being performed. All his enemies were the players, strutting and fretting their hour on the stage, to quote the Bard.

  "It takes a long time for someone to be executed, right? Sometimes decades, probably, if I understand the whole business correctly."

  "Unfortunately, yes. There are years of appeals. He might even die in prison first."

  "Knowing Daryl, he won't like that," Eugene replied. "He enjoys the social aspect of his current circumstances. He runs weekly Bible studies, delivers sermons, and helps inmates with their education."

  "He acts like he's reformed, but we all know it's just an act," Chief Joe added, rolling his eyes dramatically. "Daryl's one leopard who’ll never change his spots. You let him out and he'll be killing young girls again before a year is out. Mark my words."

  "He won't get out," Eugene said and leaned back, sipping his shake. "Not with all the evidence you have on him."

  "Can't see that he will. One less bad guy to worry about. I never liked him, and it wasn't just because of Allison."

  Eugene nodded, knowing full well how much Chief Joe hated Daryl. He really couldn't blame the man. Eugene’s mother was a victim of Daryl Kincaid, the black sheep of the Kincaid family, which was already the black sheep of the whole clan.

  Nothing but bad-blood, low-IQ lowlifes who never did anything of note except become notorious for murdering girls.

  Eugene himself was the perfect example. Only he'd make sure he was the baddest-blood, lowest lowlife of all. People would shudder when they found out what he had done all those years, right under their noses.

  "So, what's next in the case?" Eugene asked, wanting to see how much more info the old man would turn over. "FBI should be done soon. All that's left is charges against Daryl?"

  "Pretty much," Chief Joe replied and pushed his plate away. As usual, the old man ate every single bite of food. He slurped the last of his milkshake and sighed happily. "I'll be glad to get them out of my hair, frankly. Even with the extra staff from the Feds, all these overtime hours processing crime scenes and the like is killing my budget. I hope the criminals of Paradise Hill give me a damn break and don’t commit any major crimes for the rest of the fiscal year."

  "Good luck with that," Eugene replied with a sardonic grin. "Thanksgiving and then Christmas is coming. That means a lot of financial stress and worry, lots of drinking and fighting and domestic disturbances, if I'm correct."

  "That you are, sadly." Chief Joe reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a pill bottle. He removed the cap and popped some pills into his mouth, drinking them down with a glass of water.

  "For your stomach?" Eugene asked, knowing full well that it was.

  "Yep," Chief Joe replied and rubbed his gut. "Indigestion. I really shouldn't eat this crap, but damn, I love it."

  "You need a treat now and then, Dad," Eugene said. "You earned it, what with all the stress of the job."

  "I know, but don't you dare tell your mother. She'll have my hide if she knows we had this instead of what she packed for me." He made a face. "Broccoli and this white rubbery chicken breast. Can you believe it? I have to smother the works with soy sauce or ketchup to get it down."

 
Eugene clicked his tongue and shook his head. "She's just looking out for you."

  "I know, I know. Welp, I better get back to the station. Crime doesn't sleep and neither can the law."

  He reached into his pocket for his wallet, but Eugene held out his hand. "Let me get this," he said.

  "No, no," Chief Joe replied, plonking down two twenties. "Let me, for God's sake. Why can't a man pay for his son's meal now and then?"

  That settled, they walked out into the growing darkness.

  "Good luck with the cases," Eugene said, slapping Chief Joe on the back as they stood beside the police SUV. "Don't work too hard."

  "I'll try. You take care and give your boys a hug for their grandpa. We'll see them for Thanksgiving dinner at our place."

  "I think they'll be with the Carters on Thanksgiving, but I have them on the Sunday. We could have dinner then."

  "I'll tell your mother. We'll plan on it."

  Chief Joe struggled up into the SUV and pulled his seat belt across his girth. Eugene waved as the vehicle drove off.

  He walked back to his own vehicle, smiling to himself that the old man had been so talkative. He'd learned a lot of good information that would help him plan his next hunting trip. He'd been itching to do something since the night he’d first laid eyes on little Elena. The near fatal screw-up the other night when he'd fallen in the forest while tracking the girls had only made his need even more acute.

  He couldn't put it off too much longer or he'd go mad.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Tess grabbed a beer out of the refrigerator for Michael and placed it on the counter in front of him.

  "So, what can you tell me?"

  She waited, resting her chin on her hand, her elbow on the countertop. Across from her sat Michael, just returned home from Coyote Ridge. He removed the beer cap and took a long pull on the beer, then placed it down in front of him, eyeing it, his brow furrowed.

  "Well, Daryl Kincaid is not going to cooperate. He was only too happy to implicate John and Garth Hammond in everything. And your father. In other words, he's not admitting responsibility for any of the deaths, and he denies knowing about the porn room."