See Them Run (Lucy Kendall Thriller Series #2): A Lucy Kendall Mystery Thriller (The Lucy Kendall Series)

by Stacy Green

  “I’m not leaving here.”

  I gestured to Riley with the knife. “You’re just going to let her die? After all she did for you? That’s cold, Jake. Even I have a better moral code than that.”

  He glanced down at the girl staring up at him with bone chilling fear and the slightest hint of rage. She latched onto his leg and half pulled herself into a sitting position. Blood squirted from her wound. “You’re not going to let me die, are you?”

  This girl who might be able to survive on the streets but had no idea how to fight monsters was again playing right into my hands. “He was never going to let you live.”

  Her head slowly angled toward mine. Pale skin, dilated pupils. She’d pass out soon. “What?”

  “You served his purpose until you didn’t. Now you’re a liability.” I shrugged, waving the knife. “Now, he probably would have had Preacher kill you because this guy isn’t getting his hands dirty. I bet he’s happy I’ve done it for him.”

  She gazed up at Jake. “Is that true?”

  As I’d banked on, Jake wasn’t so good at face-to-face confrontation. His particular villainy worked best behind the safety of the Internet. He dragged his hands through his hair. “I…don’t know.”

  “That’s a yes,” I said. “He sells little kids to be raped, Riley.” My harsh voice echoed in the small garage. “You think you mean anything?”

  “Shut up!” Jake screamed at me. He stepped forward, but a clinging Riley halted his progress. I brandished the knife. What a coward and a pathetic excuse for a foe. “All I know is I’m not going to jail.” He looked down at Riley. “I’m sorry, but taking you anywhere is a risk. I’ll try to stop the blood, make some calls. But I gotta deal with her first.”

  “I’m dying!” Riley’s voice was an owlish screech. “I don’t have that much time.”

  Jake’s patience cracked. “You’ll just have to wait, bitch. Jesus, haven’t I done enough for you?”

  The girl recoiled in defeat, but I saw the fury ripple over her face. As I reached for the shovel, Riley, with whatever strength she had left, brought her arms up and punched Jake in the genitals with both fists. He doubled over like every man does, and I swung the shovel around until it connected with his head. Once, twice, three times I hit him until he was down. On the floor now, slithering like the snake he was, I realized I’d cut off the head of the serpent exactly as I’d set out to do. Not literally, but close enough.

  Riley was crying now, gurgling Jake’s name between sobs. He was stunned and trying to recover, slipping around on hands and knees.

  I turned the shovel around and drove the round handle into his temple as hard as I could. Jake fell flat and went silent. Blood trickled from his left nostril. Riley screamed. Her eyes were the size of the old silver dollars Mac liked to collect.

  My knees popped as I knelt down to check for a pulse. He was gone.

  Good riddance.

  Gazing at Riley, I contemplated my problem. I’d admitted to her I killed Preacher. She would tell everyone if I let her live. But letting her die wouldn’t look much like self-defense.

  Widening the wound was an option. I could jam the knife in again, jerk it up and down and inch or two. But a good pathologist might be able to figure me out.

  “Please don’t let me die.” She said. “I won’t tell about Preacher.”

  “I don’t believe you.” I looked at the tip of the bloody knife. “You’ve lied to me so many times already.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut. Snot and tears drained onto the floor beneath her cheek. “I’m only fifteen. I swear. I didn’t know what else to do. I thought he loved me.”

  “That’s no excuse. Not for what you did to other kids.” I waved the knife in the air, and Riley’s hazy eyes followed its jagged path. “To yourself? I get it. Young and dumb. Mistakes are a rite of passage, and in your case, you had a messed up start. Jake was a predator. But you didn’t have to help little kids suffer. How could you do that? Killing you is really a generous act. Otherwise you’ll have to live with those kids’ faces in your memory. And with Jake being dead, you’ll get the brunt of the state’s fury.”

  “I didn’t know what else to do.” Fear pitched her words into another octave.

  “Self-preservation? Is that what you’re telling me? That you could do nothing else but take the easy way out?”

  Lily was cold by the time I found her. I instantly knew what she’d done, and mixed in with the shock and panic was a cancerous anger. Her pain had been more than I could imagine, but how could she leave me like this? To deal with our mother and the fallout of Lily’s death? Of all the selfish things to do.

  Lily in the pink casket she would have hated. My mother preening for attention. Everyone staring at me while they whispered the rumor–had Lily really been sexually abused, or was I just a liar? My mother wanted everything kept quiet, her boyfriend was gone, and I’d be safe. She never confirmed the story. Lily’s death was about my mother’s personal loss and embarrassment. I was left behind to heal myself in the best way possible.

  Lily left me with that woman, for her own self-preservation. The easy way out.

  The sudden shift in Riley’s eyes snapped me from the memory. Their color had faded to a listless, watery gray, her skin crystalline and pale.

  She’s not breathing.

  I dove forward, trying to resuscitate her, trying to stop the bleeding. Smelling Riley’s blood and sweat and my own guilt, I fought for her life. She was a liability, but she was also a child. Standing by while she died made me the kind of monster I’d sworn I’d never become.

  But it was too late. I couldn’t save her any more than I could have saved my sister.

  What would happen to me now?

  Jake was dead. It was my word against their silence.

  Using my shirt, I wiped the knife handle clean of my prints, and then shoved it into his hands. If the police dusted for prints, I might have a problem, but staging the scene would go a long way to proving self-defense.

  It was the only option I had left.

  37

  Todd arrived first with two ambulances. Paramedics quickly pronounced Jake and Riley dead and began loading them for transport to the morgue. Todd took my statement in the living room of the nearly empty house. There was a couch and two chairs, with a laptop tossed causally aside. Since Jake’s wallet was right next to it, Todd and I both knew the laptop was his, and if we had any luck, it was the one he ran the sex ring from.

  Before I called Todd, I’d found some gloves and spent a few minutes in Jake’s email.

  I told Todd everything in full, omitting only my confession to Riley about Preacher. “He stabbed Riley when she started to argue with him. The little boy she’d been taking care of appeared on Jake’s trafficking site, and she lost it when I told her. He wasn’t interested. I tried to save her, but by the time I took care of Jake, she was gone.” I shivered, crossing my arms over my chest.

  “I can’t believe you got out of this,” Todd said. He’d just led me out of the house and hovered protectively.

  “I didn’t want to die.” There was nothing more to it. I used my considerable skills at reading and manipulating people and did what I had to do. Survival of the fittest.

  Todd wrapped me in his big coat as we walked to his car. “I’m glad you didn’t.”

  I’d made a wise choice not to run. Todd said we were at least five miles from civilization, as he put it, just west of Philadelphia. Without a coat, I’d have ended up with hypothermia.

  The Audi with the black rims squealed to a halt just before I was ready to collapse into Todd’s modest sedan. Chris left the engine running and burst through paramedics to get to me. I let him take me into his arms, breathing in the warm, safe scent that was decidedly him. He grabbed my face with both hands. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes,” I said. “It was Jake, the Senator’s aide. And Riley. He killed her, and I hit him with the shovel. I had to.”

  His eyes searched mine, an
d then he pulled me close again. “As long as you’re safe.”

  Todd cleared his throat. “Listen, I need to take her in and get her statement.”

  “Whatever happened was self-defense,” Chris said. His grip around me tightened. I felt like I was melting into him, exhaustion turning my limbs into jelly.

  “Of course it is,” Todd said. “But we need to get an official statement.”

  Todd gestured for me to get into the car. “Chris, you can meet us at the station, be there with her when she gives the statement.” He cleared his throat again and glanced at me. “If that’s what she wants.”

  “It is,” I said. “But can you give us a minute?”

  A flash of disappointment in Todd’s eyes, followed by a hard nod. “Hurry. It’s cold.”

  I waited until he’d gotten behind the wheel and shut the car door before I looked up at Chris. He hugged me tighter.

  “What is it?”

  “They were going to sell me to a couple.”

  Icy blue eyes stared down at me. He dipped his head toward mine so only I could hear him. “You did the right thing.”

  “I know, but we have a bigger problem, and I don’t plan on telling Todd about it.”

  He waited, staring at me as if I held all the secrets of the world. “Your mother was the buyer. She bought from Jake before, and she was looking for me.”

  Chris pressed his lips together. His jaw clenched, a muscle in his right cheek flexing. “You know what this means.”

  “I do. I have the information we’ll need.”

  It was time take care of Mother Mary.

  38

  UNKNOWN

  Three blind fools,

  See Them Run,

  The blond was in the way

  The redhead is learning her place

  The last one will soon go away

  Three blind fools, See Them Run,

  He singsongs the silly rhyme he’s made up, tottering around his spotless kitchen. Dawn is breaking, and National Public Radio is talking about the massive child sex trafficking ring discovered by the Philadelphia Police.

  Pouring freshly squeezed orange juice, he scoffs. Detective Todd Beckett, a joke.

  Beckett couldn’t even figure out Sam Townsend was the perfect patsy. It had been easy enough to fake Townsend’s suicide by hanging, a simple trick of wearing gloves and providing the right leverage. Sarah had been harder, more willing to fight.

  Killing her was fun.

  He laughs now, cleaning his single morning dish. Todd Beckett getting the glory for that case was a damned shame. He’d had it all handed to him by the woman with the power to destroy them all.

  He’s confident she’s learning her place, but this latest stunt makes him wonder.

  He doesn’t want to fight the redhead. She’s too useful.

  But if it comes to that, he will do what is necessary.

  He always has.

  GONE TO DIE EXCERPT

  1

  I killed two people last month. They weren’t the first. But they were different. Not because of who or what they were–they were every bit as evil as anyone else I’ve killed. It’s the why that’s changed everything. I took the step I swore I’d never take, catapulting right off the ledge into a black sea of soulless monsters, their scrawny arms throttling me until I couldn’t draw a breath without feeling the jagged edge of guilt slicing through my lungs. I didn’t kill Jake and Riley because they didn’t deserve to live.

  I killed them to save myself.

  The person I used to be–the person I thought I was–is trapped somewhere in the abyss of guilt and anger, and I don’t know if I can escape. I think I want to. At least, some days I want to. But deep down in the part of my stomach that twisted and turned and worried itself into a searing ulcer from the fifth ring of hell, I wasn’t sure I had any choice in the matter. And it terrified me.

  But it might not matter. Preacher, the pimp I’d killed last month, had been found. Snowmobilers took a wrong turn and received the surprise of their lives. The corpse in the Allegheny National Forest was this morning’s top headline, with both men rosy cheeked from the snow and excited to be on television happily describing their ordeal. Authorities had yet to identify the body, but it was only a matter of time.

  Three people. I killed three people last month. My mind had a hard time counting Preacher as a person.

  Chris left numerous messages of panic, all of which I ignored. Even though my guts burned like I’d swallowed turpentine, what was I supposed to do? There was nothing tying me to Preacher. My disguise at the motel had been on point; I didn’t give him my real name until it didn’t matter. And the man surely had plenty of enemies. No reason to suspect I had anything to do with his death.

  But part of me still felt utterly alone in a world that had shifted on its axis, with me clawing at dead air for my very life, snared in the deep, black oblivion of those monsters in the pit. I’d rather crawl back into bed and let them have at me, but I’d made a promise to Justin and Todd. I wrestled my demons back into their proper place and focused on the task at hand.

  My hazy gaze searched my surroundings as if I’d just set foot in the room, taking in the shining wood of the judge’s chambers, which smelled faintly of wood cleaner and dusty, old paper. The ancient law books stacked neatly in the bookcases were outdated and probably for show, but their stale scent set my teeth on edge.

  “You realize this is a very unusual proceeding.” Philadelphia County District Judge Earl Bannam looked up from the file he’d been poring over. In his mid-fifties, Judge Bannam reminded me of the old-time gentlemen we’ve lost in recent years. Trimmed hair, well-cut suit with a tie that was decidedly plain. A nice watch, but not one that costs a month’s mortgage. He even had a full-length dress jacket–black, of course–and a fedora hanging on the coat rack in his office, a room just as unpretentious as he. Solid wood furniture, framed law degrees, and a few family photos. Nothing flashy. Justin Beckett couldn’t have gotten a better judge.

  “We do.” Todd spoke for his brother, who sat between us. Justin’s recently cut hair and smooth face renewed his youthful innocence; he appeared buoyant—too strong for the tides of adversity to pin down. New slacks and a blue shirt I’d bought him heightened his eyes, which remained poised on the judge.

  Judge Bannam pushed his reading glasses to the middle of his forehead, where they somehow balanced. “Miss Kendall, your presence here is surprising, given you were the original CPS worker on the Beckett case, and you spoke out at his parole hearing.” He glanced down at the file. “Quite vehemently.”

  I took a deep breath. “I was wrong. Mary Weston, also known as Martha Beckett, bullied and manipulated Justin into a place of impenetrable fear. As an inexperienced social worker, I was too naïve to see that.” And my failure had cost countless more lives. How different would things have been if I’d been able to spot Justin’s mother for what she really was? Certainly his life would have turned out differently. Maybe mine would have too. “I should have been more objective, but I couldn’t get past the death of the little girl and the idea that his attacking her was the only explanation. I was there as Justin’s advocate, and I failed him. I’m just as much responsible for his wrongful status as Martha Beckett.”

  I licked my lips. The heat of all three men’s stares forced me to shift in my chair. I’d refused to discuss what I’d say to the judge, only promising to speak on Justin’s behalf. Accepting my part in the mess of his life was the least I could do. Wasn’t that one of the twelve steps to recovery? Accepting responsibility for one’s mistakes and making amends? Somehow I didn’t think the criteria applied to a murderer like me.

  “And you believe Martha Beckett did these things?” Bannam’s glasses still stuck to his shining forehead. “Who’s to say this isn’t something he’s made up?”

  I’d anticipated this, had spent weeks preparing for it. “You’re aware there is clear evidence that Mary Weston was an active participant in the Lancaster murder
s of the 1980s, and law enforcement believes she’s continued to torture and kill young girls in the decades since her husband was incarcerated?”

  Bannam nodded.

  “Are you familiar with her methods, Your Honor?” In the past few weeks, with Kelly’s help, I’d learned every detail about the Weston victims. The case had been so shocking and sensationalized that a lot of the grislier aspects had leaked to the press. And there was no shortage of true crime data on the Web. But it was Todd’s access to the case files that gave me the ammunition we needed.

  “Only in the general sense,” Bannam said.

  “May I enlighten you? It pertains to Justin’s case, I promise.”

  Justin shifted nervously, glancing at his brother, who looked remarkably calm. His faith mystified me. This man, who’d guessed at the evil inside me, still thought I had something worthy to offer the world.

  “Go ahead, but be brief.”

  “Mary and John Weston murdered several young girls after keeping each of them at least a month.” I recited the information as if the memories were my own scars, scattered over my body, deep and welted, never properly healed. “During this time, they sexually assaulted and tortured them with various objects. Horsewhips, pliers, and lighters were just some of the items found in the barn where they performed their crimes. Along with a set of wooden spoons of varying sizes.” I paused, giving the information time to sink in. I should have been disgusted, but I’d read the information so many times my system had become immune. “The last victim, Jenna Richardson, had a bad case of sepsis when she was found. She was always blindfolded during her assaults, but she was able to tell officers someone used a spoon to sexually assault her. Testing revealed multiple blood types on the spoons, meaning they weren’t washed from victim to victim.”

  “You’re talking about the sort of thing that happened with childbirth in the 1800s.” Bannam’s upper lip curled to his nose. He spoke in a whisper, as if a normal voice made the reality worse. “Before Oliver Wendell Holmes got the bright idea of doctors washing their hands.”