Stay calm.
‘I understand Evan Buckley is your main suspect.’
There was a quick flash behind Ryder’s eyes before he got his face under control. Jackson caught it anyway.
‘I don’t know where you heard that either, Sir. You’ll appreciate I can’t comment at this stage.’
Jackson stood up ready to go. Ryder jumped up faster than Jackson would have believed possible for such a lardass. He reckoned Ryder had had a bellyful of him and his awkward questions. He didn’t care, he had all the information he needed. It looked like Buckley and Guillory were in this together.
He shook Ryder’s sweaty hand goodbye. Gave him a bright, eager smile and thanked him for the information he didn’t know he’d given him. As if Dixie had needed to remind him with the word fear. Did he really think he’d forget fuck everything and run?
Chapter 49
‘NOT MUCH GOING ON there,’ Guillory said. ‘Let’s go.’
She’d picked Evan up at about the same time Jackson was leaving the police station. For the last quarter hour, they’d been sitting in silence in the car, a block down from the storage facility, watching it.
She half opened her door. Waited while a car drove past. A little blond girl in the passenger seat turned to look at her and smiled. Guillory gave her a big, toothy grin back. Then froze. The smile slipped off her lips as she looked past the girl at the driver. She yanked the door shut with a bang. Started the engine.
‘What the hell are you doing?’
‘The driver.’ She was shaking, her voice tight and strained. ‘In that car.’ She pointed at the back of the rapidly disappearing vehicle, her finger rigid. ‘It’s Robert Garfield. The sick bastard I hit.’
‘So? Don’t make things worse, Kate.’
She stared at him like he was talking a foreign language. Not realizing he hadn’t seen the girl in the passenger seat.
‘He’s got a little girl in there with him. Jesus, I’ve got crap in my fridge older than she is.’ She slammed the heel of her hand into the wheel. ‘These perverts are like rats and roaches. You see one and you know there are another hundred nearby. I may never get a better chance to find out where he takes them.’
He started to buckle himself in again.
‘Go.’
‘Not you. I can’t be seen with you. You pick up the money. I’ll come back for you later.’
She turned to check it was clear to pull out. Looked back frantically through the windshield in time to see the car make a right turn up ahead.
‘Get out. Now!’
She pushed her nose out into the traffic. A horn blared. She ignored it, already moving.
He yanked his door open. Leapt out. She floored it before he got the door shut. It swung wildly, crashing into the fender of the car parked in front, bounced off, banged shut. He stood watching her burn rubber all the way down the road. She didn’t brake. Took the turn on two wheels. Then she was gone.
He suddenly felt very exposed.
Walking the last block to the storage facility he had the feeling somebody was watching him every step of the way.
That wasn’t quite true. But it was close enough.
***
JACKSON’S EYES FLICKED TO his rear-view mirror. He did a double take. Stared in open-mouthed astonishment. How was that even possible?
Someone somewhere was smiling on him.
After he left the police station he called into a Best Western, slipped the clerk ten bucks to use the business center computers, walked out two minutes later with the address in his pocket. When he got there he slowly cruised the street, checking out anybody sitting in the parked cars. Better safe than sorry. Especially after what happened to Dixie.
That’s when he’d glanced in his mirror. Buckley and Guillory stared back at him from the car behind, totally oblivious to his presence.
They pulled into a space a block short of the facility. They were still sitting there when he made the turn into the parking lot. He stayed in the car, watching them. Nothing happened for a quarter hour. Then, suddenly, everything happened at once. A car drove past Buckley and Guillory. There was a brief pause. Then the nose of their car pulled out. Buckley almost fell out onto the pavement. Before he got the door shut, Guillory had floored it, going down the road like shit off a shiny shovel.
Jackson ran for the storage facility door. He didn’t have much time. The manager jerked in his chair, looked up as Jackson ran in. Jackson fished the piece of paper out of his pocket. He forced a look of vacuous confusion onto his face, like maybe he didn’t even have the right building.
‘I’m looking for this unit.’
He put it on the counter. Pointed to it, covering most of the address with his finger. The guy stood up and leaned forward slightly. Jackson accidentally brushed it onto the floor on his side of the counter.
‘Damn.’
He took a step backwards. Looked down. Swept the floor with his eyes as if it had somehow disappeared.
The manager leaned forward to see where it went.
Jackson put his hands on the top of the guy’s head, slammed it into the wooden counter top as if he was trying to split it in two. There was a sickening, bone-fracturing thud. The guy went limp in his hands. Jackson let go of his head. The guy’s weight pulled him backwards. His head slid across the counter, bounced off the desk. By the time it hit the floor Jackson was behind the counter, dragging him into the empty office behind the desk. He jammed him in the corner. Shut him in. There wasn’t a key in the lock. It would have to do.
He took the stairs two at a time feeling like he could have taken them in one go. Made a fast left at the top. The unit he wanted was all the way at the end—the last one before the hallway turned to the right. He ran past it, turned the corner. Pressed himself flat against the wall. Chest heaving, stomach churning with anticipation.
He pulled the garrotte out of his pocket. Gripped the two handles, tugged gently. The piano wire snapped taut with a muted twang.
He heard footsteps on the stairs. Held his breath. Heart thumping.
A slight pause at the top. Then they started towards him. He placed the back of his head on the wall. Closed his eyes. He felt sick, his heart pumping the blood around his body so hard. His throat had closed up.
He counted the footsteps as they approached.
Two paces per unit. Twenty-five units. Fifty paces total unless Buckley had unusually long or short legs.
Ten.
Twenty.
Thirty.
Under five paces to go.
He could almost smell him. Feel the heat coming off his body.
The footsteps stopped.
He heard the lock rattle in the hasp as a hand took hold of it.
He crossed his arms to make a loop with the wire. Came off the wall and stepped around the corner as smoothly and quietly as a malevolent wraith.
Buckley’s back was towards him. Hunched over the lock. Jackson smiled to himself.
Sometimes things were meant to be.
He took a step forward. Whipped the wire up and over. It cut through the air in a perfect, soundless arc. Down and around Buckley’s unsuspecting neck. Uncrossed his arms with a vicious jerk. Snapped the wire tight around his throat.
There was a sound like a cat coughing up a hairball. Then Buckley bucked—ha, ha—flailing wildly, trying to get his fingers under the wire. Jackson brought his knee up. Pushed it hard into the small of Buckley’s back. Bent him over backwards, the pressure on his neck doubling.
He took a massive breath. Absorbed the surge of oxygen into his muscles. Pushed his hands wider apart. It felt so good. The feel of him struggling in his hands. The sounds of his desperate choking.
But it wasn’t enough.
Not nearly enough.
Vision is the dominant sense of the human animal.
He spun around. Back towards the stairs now, dragged him down the hallway. Buckley’s feet kicked wildly. Heels slipping uselessly on the polished floor as Jackson dra
gged him along the corridor to the bathroom at the end.
He stamped backwards with his foot, sent the door crashing open. He spun around. Hustled them both into the small room. His nose wrinkled as the smell of stale piss assaulted his heightened senses like a slap in the face. He couldn’t have chosen a better place for Buckley to spend his last minutes alive—slowly choked to death, dumped on the urine-spattered floor of a filthy toilet.
He pulled him around by the neck. Pushed him in front of the mirror. Stared into the face distorted far beyond fear and pain. Eyes as pitiless as the sun, lit by base emotions that entered the world before it cooled. Fuelled by a natural justice that would endure long after civilization had been written off as a flawed promise.
Better.
Much better.
He could see him. Lock eyes with him. If Buckley’s bulging, blood-streaked orbs could even see any longer. Watch the life slowly slide out of them. Feel the weakening through every muscle and sinew in his body. Breathe in the fetid odors as his body expelled its own viscera.
He put his mouth next to Buckley’s ear. Bared his teeth.
‘This is for Dixie,’ he spat, then laughed with a sound like a lunatic’s nails on the asylum chalkboard.
Chapter 50
GUILLORY TOOK THE CORNER on two wheels without braking. She’d lost vital seconds getting Evan out of the car. The sick pervert’s car was a hundred yards down the street. A picture of the little girl’s innocent smile came back to her. This time she had a chance to stop anything happening before it was too late. The driver hadn’t seen her, she was sure of it. He was driving too slowly. A convicted child molester who just picked up his latest victim doesn’t tool around at twenty when he catches sight of the cop who buried her fist down his throat last time she saw him.
There was a sudden flash of sunlight on metal. She caught movement out the corner of her eye. Something or somebody stepped into the road without looking. She turned her head in time to see a bag lady push her shopping cart out in front of her. She stomped on the brakes. Swerved sharply to avoid her. It was too late.
She smashed straight into the cart. The bag lady jumped backwards as it toppled onto its side, her prized possessions scattered across the road. Guillory’s car pushed it into the curb, climbed half on top of it.
She tried backing up. It was wedged solid under her bumper. There was a loud blast on a horn from behind her. She’d been so intent on freeing the cart from the front end, she hadn’t looked in the mirror. She slammed on the brakes. Stopped an inch short of the SUV behind.
In front of her the old woman shuffled back and forth collecting her possessions. Over her stooped back Guillory caught sight of the pedo’s car making a left at the far end of the street.
So much for her chances of redeeming herself.
She slammed her palms into the wheel in frustration. Hit the horn by mistake. Scared the life out of the bag lady bent double in front of the car. She leapt backwards and lost her footing. Landed on her dirty ass in the middle of the bags and boxes and all the other junk strewn around. Guillory would never catch the car now—even if she drove right over the old woman. She’d have done it too if it hadn’t been for the cart wedged underneath.
She got out of the car and went to help her up. The smell of unwashed body and dirty clothes would have made a lesser woman gag. She offered her hand anyway. The bag lady took it, her over-knuckled fingers with their filthy nails chilling her hand in an old-person death grip. She hauled her up. Tried not to breathe too deeply.
‘You stupid ass,’ the old hag hissed, staring up at her with cataract-clouded eyes. ‘Why don’t you look where you’re going?’
Guillory smiled at her.
‘Sorry, ma’am.’
‘Any chance we can get this trash cleared up and get going?’ the SUV driver said from behind them. He came closer, his nose wrinkling in disgust. ‘Jesus Christ.’
The two of them took hold of the cart and tried to pull it out from under the car. It was wedged solid. In the end they fetched the jack then jacked up the front end high enough to pull the cart free without causing any more damage.
Guillory set the cart upright. She wheeled it back and forwards to make sure it still moved okay. But mainly to piss off the SUV driver who she’d taken an instant dislike to. It did the trick. He marched back to his car. Guillory spent a few more minutes helping the old woman load up the cart. When she was happy with the way it was all arranged Guillory pushed it up the curb for her. Then she pulled her phone out.
***
‘HEY, KATE, HOW’S IT going?’ Ryder said when he picked up.
She caught a note of caution in his voice. It was understandable. When they’d last talked two days ago he told her she needed to decide whose side she was on. Things hadn’t been patched up since.
‘I’ve just seen Robert Garfield driving around with a little girl in his car.’
There was a slight pause on the line.
‘You sure about that, Kate?’
She was glad they weren’t face to face. She was expecting a little more enthusiasm. A little less skepticism. His tone of voice suggested that because she was last seen burying her fist into Robert Garfield’s face in the interview room, all future mentions of the sick pervert were now to be assessed from the point of view of an aggrieved—and suspended—officer with a grudge.
‘No. Just making it up to waste your time. I can hear you’re busy.’
A heavy sigh came down the line.
‘When was this? And where?’
‘About two minutes ago on East Main Street but he’ll be long gone by now. I lost him—’
‘What do you mean you lost him? You’re not tailing him, are you? You don’t think you’re in enough trouble already?’
She closed her eyes. Counted to five, let out a long breath.
‘I’m not that stupid. I was in the area and he drove by—’
‘So you gave chase? I’d say it’s lucky for all of us you lost him.’
‘He had a little girl with him for Christ’s sake. How lucky do you think it is for her? Right now when they’re playing pass the kiddie from pervert to pervert?’
An awkward silence came down the line.
‘Give me the details.’
She told him everything she could remember then went to see what Evan was getting up to.
Hopefully he was having a more productive morning.
Chapter 51
FIVE SECONDS.
Five seconds before he blacked out. A few, scant moments before the wire biting into his neck crushed his carotid artery as easily as a gardener’s spade cleaves a worm in two, stanching the blood flow, robbing him of consciousness for good.
But it was more than long enough for everything to turn slow-motion on him, a thousand jumbled thoughts scrambling through his terrified brain.
In the mirror the face of the lunatic with the garrotte twisted and stretched into a demonic mix of fury and glee. His high, keening laughter ripped through Evan’s ears, melding with the roar of blood that threatened to burst his head apart.
His neck was a ragged, bloody mess from his desperate clawing. He couldn’t get his fingers under the wire, couldn’t relieve the relentless pressure. He dropped his hand from his neck. Lunged at the mirror like a junkyard pit bull. The guy with the wire grinned, his curled lips a picture of Old Testament spitefulness. Held him in check with as little effort as if he was some old maid’s yappy little lap dog.
‘What’s wrong? Want a closer look at yourself? Want to watch yourself die in close-up detail?’
He thrust Evan forward. Smashed his face into the mirror. Leaning into his back, pushing him hard into it.
Evan punched the mirror with everything he had left. There was a loud crack as the glass splintered. A jagged fissure crawled across the surface, distorting their reflections. But the glass didn’t fall. He drove his fist into it again. It exploded then, showering shards of silvery glass into the sink.
He grasped f
rantically. Tried to get his fingers around one of the broken slivers. Glass sliced through his skin, into his flesh, blood painting the dirty white porcelain crimson.
‘You gonna stab me with one of those eensy-weensy little splinters?’
The guy snickered. Pulled him back from the sink.
Evan’s fingers got a grip on the biggest piece. A curving six-inch shard. He tried to get a proper hold on it through the blood on his shredded fingertips.
The guy looked down. Saw it as Evan finally got hold of it. There was a flash of doubt in his eyes. Then it was gone, faster than it came. He slammed Evan’s face back into the last few remnants of broken mirror still sticking to the wall.
Face met wall with an impact like a truck driving into the side of the building. The shard flew out of his hand. Hit the floor, broke into a thousand useless pieces.
Evan’s face slid down the wall. He was vaguely aware of the grinning lunatic behind him as the last of his consciousness ebbed away. Everything he had ever known or thought or loved drained slowly down the wall in front of him. On the edge of infinite blackness, he barely recognized his final thought as Kate Guillory’s face, a promise never to be consummated in her denim-blue eyes.
Chapter 52
TERRY LOVELESS GROANED AND tried to sit up, his spade-faced head sore as a tequila hangover. Blood ran into his eyes from the gash on his forehead, mixing with the sweat, making them sting. Everything was a watery blur. Pushing himself up into a sitting position, he leaned against the wall. Rubbed his knuckles into his eyes. Tried to clear his vision. The whole of his head screamed as hot flashes of agony burst behind his eyes. His stomach threatened to eject his breakfast at any minute. Stupidly he touched his brow. Winced, his fingers smearing blood across his face like a two-year-old let loose with the paint pot.
He pushed himself to his feet. Staggered forward. Shot out his arm to steady himself against the wall. Left a bloody hand print like something from a poster for a slasher movie.
Hunting Dixie Page 21
