City of the Lost: Part Six

by Kelley Armstrong

  "You realize that makes no sense, right?"

  He pounds one fist against his thigh. "Because I'm completely freaking out here. Eric didn't just wander off. Someone else has him, probably his crazy brother. The one who, in case you've forgotten, vowed revenge on Eric. I'll walk in front of you. Keep the gun on me. Shoot if I try to run. But we need to get moving."

  "Turn around. Raise your hands. I'm going to pat you down and take your weapons. Then you'll show me where you lost him."

  To say I don't trust Anders would be the understatement of the decade. He'd spent two years fooling Dalton, who is one of the best judges of character I know. I won't say the same for my character-judging skills--Diana is proof that I suck at it--but at least I'd known she has her faults. Being a cold-blooded killer is not a fault I'd ever have attributed to Will Anders, and there isn't a single person in Rockton who would. "The nicest person," "a real sweetheart," "just an all-around good guy"--those were the only ways I ever heard anyone describe him. Which must mean he is a helluva fine actor, and this panic is simply an extension of that act.

  But is Anders the Rockton killer? It feels like the answer should be a huge "Duh!" He could easily have lured his victims out--everyone trusts him. He proved he's strong enough to easily haul Hastings into that tree. And he has the medical know-how to have performed that horrific surgery. There is probably no one in Rockton who fits the killer's profile better than Will Anders.

  The problem? Motive.

  With Mick, I can hammer the pieces to fit the puzzle, even if my brain keeps rejecting the parts that don't fit, like why he'd mutilated his victims when, after his partner was horribly tortured, he'd executed the killers with a shot to the back of the skull. With Anders it's worse, and I feel as if I'm pounding those pieces in with a sledgehammer.

  This doesn't add up for either of them. I'm missing something critical.

  Yet I'm still certain Anders knows exactly where to find Dalton. Of course, he can't lead me there right away. He has to take me to the spot where he last saw him and pace, shining his flashlight around saying, "Shit, he tried to teach me how to track. Why didn't I pay more attention? Did he show you anything?"

  "Yes."

  "Well, then ..." An exasperated wave at the forest.

  "Sorry, let me start hunting for that trail, while turning my back to you ..."

  "Goddamn it! Fine. Let's make this easy. You have cable ties, don't you?"

  He knows I do. I took two from him during the pat-down.

  He puts his flashlight away, his hands behind his back and turns around. "Cuff me."

  I do. Then I make him sit on the ground while I hunt. When I find signs, he says, "That's where we came in." Then, "That's where I left."

  "All right." I walk to the first stop. "He's doubled back on this trail. Get up and walk ten paces behind me, whistling."

  "Seriously?"

  "Oh, I'm sorry. Is that an inconvenience?" I walk over as he rises and put my gun under his chin. "You know why I'm in Rockton. I hunted down my ex and shot him."

  He shakes his head. "It wasn't like that. You aren't like that."

  "Don't play that card, pretend we're buddies and you know me and I know you. However it went down, I murdered him, and I don't know if he deserved it, but you do. So do not think for one second that I won't shoot you. Now you will walk ten paces behind me and you will whistle."

  We find Dalton. I only need to follow his trail for about ten minutes before I hear his voice. When I hear the second voice, I break into a run.

  I try to sneak up, but it's a choice between stealth and speed, and I finally give in, turn off my flashlight and rely on the bright moon to guide me as I tear through the forest. I slow when I draw near enough to see Jacob's figure in a clearing, and I'm about to call a warning, but I see his arm rise and I don't think--I'm on the ground, a bullet whizzing past.

  "Casey!" Dalton says. "Stay where you are!"

  I lay there, heart pounding.

  "I'm okay, Casey," Dalton says. "Just stay where you are. We're working this out."

  I could almost laugh at that. His brother is holding him hostage. Bullets are whizzing past. But don't worry, Casey, we're working it out. So typically Dalton that I'm not sure if I want to smile or cry or scream at him.

  "Jacob?" he says. "Focus on me, Jacob."

  He speaks slowly, his voice low, like calming a wild beast, and when Jacob answers, it's only a grunt. Dalton keeps talking, in that same soothing voice. He tells his brother something's wrong, that Jacob knows something's wrong, that he can feel it, and they can get this fixed, that Dalton will do whatever it takes to get it fixed.

  Dalton continues with variations on that and doesn't get more than a grunt or two from Jacob, which tells me the situation has gotten worse, his brother unable even to articulate his rage. But Jacob does seem to be listening.

  I can see Jacob through the trees. There's no sign of Dalton--I'm presuming he's sitting or lying down. When Dalton speaks, Jacob turns toward him. He even lowers the gun. At any noise from the forest, he wheels my way. Twice he fires. Then his brother's voice lures him in again, and he forgets me.

  I have two choices here. I can trust that Dalton will eventually calm Jacob enough for me to get his gun. Or I can provoke Jacob until he empties the clip. Except I can't control where he fires those bullets, not enough to be sure one won't be aimed at his brother. More than that, I trust Dalton in this. He's making progress.

  I stay crouched and pick the clearest path from tree to tree. Jacob does hear noises and turns twice, but it's just animals in the forest. I'm finally close enough to see Dalton. He's sitting with his back against a tree, hands on his head. He doesn't spot me. I make sure of that. He's slowly talking Jacob down, and I'll do nothing to distract him.

  Jacob paces the clearing. He wears the same clothing as when he attacked me. I can see my dried blood on them. He's filthy, his hair even more snarled, with bits of twigs and leaves caught in it, as if he's been sleeping on the ground.

  "I know I left you," Dalton is saying. "I went away, and I didn't come back. I made a mistake. A stupid, selfish mistake. I left you, and I will never stop regretting that. But I haven't left you since, Jake. I've been here for you every time you've needed me. I will do anything you need. Just let me try. Something's wrong, and you know it, and I can help. Whatever it takes--"

  A crash cuts him short. It's a sudden crackle of undergrowth, but it's not me. Jacob spins, gun up.

  "Out!" he says in a guttural growl. "You! Girl! Out!"

  When no answer comes, he fires, and Dalton lunges to his feet, and Jacob spins on him. Dalton puts his hands on his head again. I'm close enough that I can see sweat pouring off him. But I'm not close enough to get a clear shot if Jacob fires. I move into a better position as quickly and silently as I can.

  "Out!" Jacob says. "Out or I shoot Eric."

  A figure stumbles from the forest then. It's Anders, hands bound behind his back.

  Twelve

  "You?" Jacob says. "Where is the girl?"

  "She's not here," Anders says. "That was me. It's just me."

  "Liar!" Jacob spins, peering into the forest.

  I duck behind a tree.

  "It's just Will," Dalton says. "My deputy. You've seen him in the forest with me. You saw him earlier. I thought it was Casey, but it must have been Will."

  "Don't lie."

  "I'm not, Jacob. It's Will."

  "Eric's telling the truth," Anders says. "You're not feeling well, and you're confused and--"

  "Shut up."

  I peek around the tree to see Jacob with the gun trained on Dalton. My heart stops for a second. Then I force myself to move, to creep toward them, my own weapon raised.

  "You want to aim that gun somewhere, Jacob? Point it at me." Anders tries for a smile. "You know your brother--he's going to do what you want a whole lot faster if that gun is pointed at one of his friends."

  "Will?" Dalton says in a low voice. "Don't."


  "He's your friend?" Jacob says.

  Anders nods. "Deputy, friend, sure. So point that gun over--"

  "Friend, girl, everyone but me," Jacob says to Dalton. "You stay away from me for them. For strangers."

  "No, no, no," Anders says. "It's not like that. We work together. Eric and Casey and--"

  "You stay with them." Jacob spits the words. "You left me. For them. For strangers."

  I see his finger move on the trigger. And I run. I don't shoot. I can't shoot. They're too close together and there isn't enough light. So I run, making as much noise as I can, certain that Jacob will hear and stop. I see a blur of motion, and I'm moving too fast to realize what it is until I hear the shot, and then I see that Anders has launched himself--not at Jacob but in front of Dalton.

  I hear the shot, and I see Anders, and in my head I hear myself screaming, but I don't say a word. I just keep running, toward Jacob now as he stands there, and I dimly see them both on the ground--Anders and Dalton--and I see blood blossoming on Anders's shirt, and I see Jacob and that gun, still pointed at them.

  "Drop it!" I say as I burst into the clearing, my weapon trained on Jacob. "Lower that gun right now or I swear I'll shoot."

  He lowers it.

  "Drop it or--"

  It falls from his hand, and he says, "Eric?" and totters there, and when I run over and take the gun, I see his face, the shock on it as he stares at his brother, on the ground, under Anders.

  "Eric?" he says again.

  I grab Jacob's hands and pull them behind his back and bind them with the cable tie. He doesn't resist, doesn't seem to notice. I bind him, and I shove him aside so hard he falls as I race over to Dalton. Anders is still on top of him.

  Anders has been shot. And I don't care.

  No, that's wrong. I do care. I just don't want to.

  My impulse is to shove Anders off to get to Dalton, but I can't manage that. I don't need to. I can see Dalton's wound--it's a bullet to the top of his shoulder, and he says, "I'm okay, Casey. It's Will. Help Will."

  He's been saying that for a while. I just haven't paid attention. He'd say that if he had a bullet through his heart.

  Don't mind me. Help the other person.

  Except the other person betrayed him. Isn't worthy of his attention. Yet that other person just saved his life. Threw himself in front of a bullet, and no matter how hard Anders might have protested his loyalty to Dalton, this proves it, and I cannot argue with that.

  I check Anders. It's a through-and-through shot to the chest bypassing his heart. He's fading into shock, and I pull him back by saying, "What can I do?"

  "I've got it," Dalton says as he heaves himself up, face contorting with the pain.

  "Sit down," I say. "You'll only hurt yourself more and--"

  "It's my shoulder, Casey. Not my spine. I've got Will. You call Beth."

  I stop. "Beth ..."

  He grips my shoulder, hard, peering down at me as if I'm the one going into shock.

  I shake him off. "I'm fine. Where's the--?"

  He pulls the radio from Anders's jacket and slaps it into my hand and then kneels beside the wounded man.

  "Will? It's Eric. I'm going to tell you where you've been shot, and you're going to tell me how to help you. Got it?"

  I move away with the radio. I pass Jacob, who's blinking hard, as if trying to rouse himself from a trance. I keep walking, and Dalton says, "Casey?"

  I wave that I'm just stepping away, but he starts to rise, to come after me, and I realize I'm going to need to do this in front of him. I motion for him to return to Anders. Then I radio Beth. As I talk to her, Dalton glances over, his face screwed up as if he's misheard, and he's opening his mouth, but before I can silence him, he shuts it. He nods. Then he returns to Anders.

  I finish the call, and I kneel beside Jacob.

  "Something's wrong with me," he's mumbling. "Something's wrong."

  "I know," I say. "But I need to ask you a few questions. Do you think you can answer them?"

  He blinks harder and rubs his cheek against his shoulder, as if trying to wake from a deep sleep. Then he nods.

  Beth arrives at a run, radio in one hand, lantern in the other as I give her directions until I can see her, and then I shout and jog to meet her.

  "You left him?" she says.

  "It's too late. I think he's gone."

  "Wh-what?" Her eyes bug as she runs to me. "Y-you mean--No, that's not--"

  "Not possible?" I say. "Of course it is. What did you expect?"

  She stops so fast she stumbles and grabs a tree for support. "Wh-what?"

  "You drugged Jacob. I don't know what you gave him, but whatever it was, it was intended to cause delusions."

  She stares at me. "What are you--?"

  "You gave Jacob drugged food, telling him you were a friend of Eric's. He'd seen you out here with Eric before--you made sure of that first. It solidified your story. Then, when he started getting sick from the food, you 'treated' him. While telling him about Eric's newest friend. A woman who wasn't any good for him, would hurt him, was keeping Eric away from his brother. It worked--Jacob did come after me. Only what you didn't anticipate is that little boy inside him, the one who still blames his big brother for leaving, the one who still wants to lash out at Eric, to hurt him."

  Beth rocks there. Then she looks around wildly. "Take me to Eric. You're not a doctor."

  "True," I say. "I could be wrong. But you were right about one thing, Beth. I am bad for Eric. I think he's a sweet guy, and a really sweet fuck. But that's it. What matters most to me is justice. So, if you want to treat Eric before he bleeds out, you're going to have to give me a confession."

  She lunges at me. A well-placed kick in the shin sends her down, snarling, "You crazy bitch. You'd let him die--"

  "He's an officer of the law. He knows the risks." I point my gun at her. "Now talk."

  "Yes," she spits. "Jacob already told you what I did, and it was for Eric's own good, saving him from you--"

  "Bullshit. You might be more than a bit delusional yourself, but you weren't trying to kill me because I was getting close to Eric. You wanted me gone because I'm dead set on solving these crimes. With Jacob, you got a two-in-one deal. An assassin to kill me and a scapegoat you could frame for the murders you committed."

  "Wh-what?"

  "It started with Abbygail's. You suspected that Powys killed her and somehow Irene was involved. Maybe you were working on getting a confession out of her and it went wrong. Then you and Mick went after Powys. That was the piece I was missing: Mick. I might have suspected you of that impromptu surgery on Hastings, as crudely as you did it to disguise your handiwork. I might have even linked you in via Abbygail. But you couldn't have hauled Hastings into that tree. You had a partner. Mick. The one person even more broken up about Abbygail than you. The one who'd have snapped when you made up a story about what happened to her. You had to convince him that story was true, because Mick was a decent guy and needed to be sure he had the right target. But then you realized you were wrong, and it was actually Hastings who killed Abbygail. You managed to talk Mick into killing him, too, but that's where you lost him."

  "What?"

  "You went overboard with Hastings. Mick was already uncomfortable with what you two did to Irene and Powy, but Hastings was pure sadism. Mick wanted out. He even pointed me squarely in Hastings's direction. And I made the mistake of telling you that he'd fingered Hastings as the guy who left the berries. Mick became a liability, so you killed him, conveniently framing Diana, in hopes that might get me out of Rockton bloodlessly."

  "You can't prove--"

  "Right. I can't." I waggle the gun. "But I'm holding your beloved Eric's life hostage, so you're going to give me what I want. Then I'll let you save Eric, because I don't want him to die--I'm just willing to let it happen."

  "You're just as bad as them. A killer--"

  "And I deserve to die, blah-blah-blah. Time's ticking, doc."

  Her face mottles. "Th
ey did deserve to die. I didn't need to fabricate a story to get Mick's co-operation. I told him the truth. How Irene came to me for dental surgery two weeks after Abbygail vanished. I dosed her up with diazepam, which made her very talkative. And there was something in particular she wanted to talk about. Confess, I think. Like your friend, Diana. Except in Irene's case, she confessed to Abbygail's murder."

  "So Irene and Powys did kill--?"

  "Hastings had a thing for Abbygail. He'd hit on her when they worked together in the clinic, but she'd have nothing to do with him. As for Powys, he didn't give a damn about a twenty-one-year-old girl. What mattered to him was the rydex. Hastings was getting cold feet, knowing Eric was on to him. So to secure his help with the drugs, Powys promised him Abbygail. Irene lured her out into the forest. Hastings raped her. It seems he expected her to 'come around' then, she'd see how wonderful it was and how wonderful he was. That didn't happen, shockingly. Powys knew it wouldn't. He wasn't securing Hastings's help with the rydex by giving him a girl. He secured it by making him a murderer. Abbygail vowed Eric and Mick would hunt Hastings to the ends of the earth for assaulting her, and Powys pushed Hastings until he lost it and strangled her. Then they chopped up her body and scattered it for predators."

  I stand there, shocked into silence. It takes a moment for me to find my voice, and when I do, I say, "You switched out Irene's X-rays to make it seem like she was here under false pretences, too. To help me draw the conclusion that I was chasing a vigilante eliminating killers."

  "Which you were. So, detective, do you agree they had it coming?"

  "Irene? Powys? Hastings? Maybe. But Mick?" I look her in the eyes. "Absolutely not."

  She blanches. Then her face hardens. "I'd made a mistake letting him in on it, and I had to correct that mistake."

  "Correct that mistake? You made him a party to brutal, sadistic murders because he was grieving for a girl he loved. Then you murdered him when he regretted it."

  "Mick was weak. That is where I made a mistake. He didn't like what we did to Powys. I knew he wouldn't help me with Hastings if he knew what I planned. So I did my surgery, knocked Hastings out, and put him in that bag. Mick thought he was already dead when he hauled him up in that tree. When he found out otherwise, I had to admit I'd made a mistake letting him help me."