Hell's Highway

by Gerri Hill

  The Burke home was in a newer subdivision, all of the houses looking somewhat the same. Children’s toys lay scattered in the driveway, as if a game had been interrupted. While Jack and Carina went to the back of the house, Andrea and Eric walked slowly to the front door. The drapes were pulled making it impossible to see inside. Eric nodded at her and she knocked rapidly on the door.

  “Mrs. Burke?” she called. “FBI.” There was no sound from within and she knocked again.

  Eric reached down to try the door, finding it unlocked. “Our lucky day,” he murmured as he pushed it open.

  They went in with weapons drawn. The house was quiet and dark, indicating no one was home. Andrea stepped into the kitchen and froze. Blood was splattered on the walls and countertops. She went to the back door, using the bottom of her T-shirt to open it for Jack and Carina.

  “Careful where you step,” she said quietly.

  Eric rounded the corner into the living room and stopped up short.

  “Holy fuck.”

  Andrea came up behind him, staring in disbelief as she slowly lowered her weapon.

  “Dear God,” Carina murmured beside her. “They’ve been butchered.”

  Working the streets of LA, Andrea had seen horrendous crimes before but nothing could have prepared her for this. The woman, who she assumed was Mrs. Burke, was laying on the sofa, her belly ripped open, her intestines spilling out to the floor. Two children—toddlers—lay on the carpet. Their fate was that of their mother, one also had her throat slashed. A third child, a boy, was tied to a chair, intact except for a bullet to the head. A gun was lying on the coffee table, the same gun taken from Andrea’s purse the night before.

  She turned away, unable to look. Eric and Carina went into the room, stepping over the bodies on the floor, seemingly unaffected by it. No doubt they’d seen horrors like this in their military days. Were they immune to it all?

  “Why don’t you call Cameron?” Jack suggested, giving her an out. She nodded numbly, going back into the kitchen and out the back door.

  She held her phone tightly, staring at the neat privacy fence, the flower bed that was planted with assorted cactus, the swing set with two red seats, one of them moving slightly from the breeze. A tricycle lay tipped over at the edge of the patio. She went to it, righting it again. She couldn’t help but feel responsible. If they’d captured the guy last night, if she’d stopped him, then this family would still be alive.

  Her body was trembling, and she fought to get herself under control. She would be no good to the team—to Cameron—if she broke down. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to push the bloody scene from her mind, trying to push last night from her mind.

  Several deep breaths later, she finally felt composed enough to call Cameron, who answered immediately.

  “We’ve got a crime scene,” she said evenly. “Four bodies.”

  “Burke?” Cameron asked.

  “No. Wife, three...three kids.”

  Cameron paused. “Are you okay?”

  Andrea shook her head. “No. No, I’m not,” she admitted, not wanting to pretend otherwise. “They’re butchered,” she said, echoing Carina’s words.

  “Okay. I’ll let Barstow PD know,” Cameron said, keeping her professional mask in place. “Rowan got us a fix on the car. We’re heading there now. When you’re finished there, meet us back at the rig.”

  “Yeah. Okay,” she said.

  “Andi?”

  “I’ll be fine, Cameron. Be careful.”

  “Always.”

  Andrea crossed her arms, trying to remain emotionless and failing. The last two days had taken their toll. She’d only managed a couple of hours of sleep—she wished she’d taken the doctor up on his offer of sleeping pills. Her dreams were real—the bloody table, the smell of death, the syringe and vials, his soulless eyes, rough hands as he grabbed her breasts. Cameron had found her sitting in the dark that morning, Lola on her lap, untouched coffee beside her. They hadn’t really had time to talk, not that Andrea had even wanted to.

  Now, all she wanted to do was curl up beside Cameron and close her eyes and let sleep take her away from all this. Unfortunately, that wasn’t an option.

  “There’s the car,” Reynolds said.

  The sunlight reflected off of one mirror, twinkling at them as they drove down the bumpy desert road a short distance from the highway. Cameron could see the driver’s door was flung open. She slowed, wanting to be cautious, even though her gut told her the car was empty.

  Reynolds got out first, his weapon drawn. She followed, going to the passenger side of the car.

  “Empty,” Reynolds said.

  “Got blood,” she said. “On the dash.”

  “Steering wheel too.”

  “Could be transfer from the house.” She looked around, trying to find footprints, anything to indicate in which direction he’d gone. “Look at this,” she said, squatting down. “Motorcycle? Dirt bike?”

  “Maybe that’s how he escaped us last night,” Reynolds said.

  “A smaller motorcycle, maybe. But a dirt bike? They’re noisy as hell. We would have heard it.”

  “So where’s Burke? And why ditch the car like this? It’s not really hidden. What’s the purpose?”

  Cameron turned in all directions, seeing the endless brown desert, the occasional smattering of creosote bushes, cactus, the hulking shapes of rocks. She shielded her eyes to the sun, looking nearly longingly at the distant mountains. She impatiently wiped the sweat from her brow.

  “He’s got Burke somewhere. I don’t think he killed him. He needs him.”

  “So why the car?”

  They heard sirens and knew that Barstow PD was closing in on their location. She smirked. “About time.” She looked around again, back to the motorcycle tracks. “A diversion,” she said.

  “A diversion?”

  “Yeah. Make us think he ditched the car here and took off on foot. Let us concentrate our search here.”

  “First of all, nobody takes off on foot out in the desert. Secondly, he would have known we’d find the tire tracks.”

  “Not necessarily. The way the wind blows the sand around, they would have been covered up in no time. He didn’t count on us finding the car this soon.”

  Reynolds shook his head. “Nothing but damn speculation.”

  “Are we going back to that again? Shit, Reynolds, I thought we, you know, bonded or something last night,” she said as she headed back to her truck. “Let’s go before the cavalry gets here.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  “You’re wasting time,” Cameron said, her voice as loud as his. “He’s not anywhere near the goddamn car.”

  “You don’t get to make that call. And I have a mind to file a complaint against you,” he said.

  “Won’t be the first time,” she said as she glared back at him.

  “I specifically told you to stay away.”

  “I’m telling you the car is a diversion.”

  “Don’t presume to tell us how to do our job,” he continued. “We’re not some rogue FBI team. We’re processing the scene at the house, not you. We’re by the book. That’ll take all day, at least. We’re getting the car towed in. They found multiple prints. They—”

  “They’ll belong to the half-brother, Leonard Baskin, my goddamn serial killer,” she said, pointing at him. “The FBI has jurisdiction on this one.”

  “You don’t have any jurisdiction over my crime scene. None. Right now, you have no evidence that your serial killer and this family’s murder are related.”

  “It’s the goddamn brother, of course they’re related,” she nearly yelled, frustration creeping into her voice. “Don’t be an idiot.”

  His eyes flashed at her. “This is my town, my officers, my case.” He stood in front of her, inches taller. “My case. Not yours. So you back off right now. If you want to go chase your serial killer, get the sheriff’s department’s help. It started out as theirs anyway. But in Barstow, I’m in charg
e. Not you. My case,” he said again.

  Cameron felt her anger boiling just under the surface, but she kept her voice as even as she could.

  “No sir. It’s not your case.” She pulled out her phone, never breaking eye contact with the chief. She waited only a few seconds before it was answered. “Murdock? The chief of police here in Barstow is not cooperating. In the least. You better do something about it before I shoot him.”

  Andrea felt a presence behind her and she turned, surprised to find Carina watching her. She was still in the backyard, sitting on the steps, watching the empty red swing sway back and forth. Truth was, she was mesmerized by it, the wind moving it to and fro.

  Before Barstow PD got there, Eric and Jack had already begun to question the neighbors. Eric was chumming it up with some of the officers now, asking questions about Burke. The place was crawling with cops, some official, some curious, most in shock as the reality of the situation hit home.

  Andrea hadn’t been able to go back inside. She kept seeing his face, the soulless eyes. She could picture him doing this, could picture him killing them. She wondered if he’d made Burke watch or if Burke was involved somehow. No, even the most deranged father could never do this to his family. At least she hoped not.

  Carina sat down beside her, dressed in an expensive suit and heels. Andrea thought again what a beautiful woman she was. She was perfectly made up, not a hair out of place, her dress pants as pressed as Reynolds kept his. She took a moment to look at her own jeans, her T-shirt that clung to her in the heat, the scuffed boots that had seen many a mile of trail in Sedona. She and Carina were like night and day.

  “That was quite gruesome in there,” Carina offered.

  “Yes.”

  Carina rested her arms on her knees, her gaze following Andrea’s out to the swing set.

  “Last night must have been frightening for you.”

  Andrea turned to look at her but Carina kept her gaze on the swing. She nodded. “Yes. I was terrified.”

  “I was held captive once,” Carina said quietly. “For nine days. In Sudan. They did...they did unspeakable things to me.”

  Andrea literally saw her shiver at the memory. She turned, waiting for her story.

  “It was a rescue mission. I was supposed to get captured. There was a woman and child there. British diplomats. We were on a joint mission to rescue them and the other women and children who were being held there. They were all nothing more than playthings to be used for the soldiers’ pleasure. Me included.” Carina took a deep breath before continuing. “I had to gain the trust of the women, as many didn’t speak English and were wary of me. But the rescue mission didn’t turn out as we’d planned. There were twenty-eight people being held there. Eighteen women, nine children and me. We got the British diplomat out, but her child was killed. We only saved ten of the women and four children. It was a bloodbath.” She looked at Andrea quickly, then away. “You get numb to it after a while. Sometimes you see so much of this, you forget they’re people. They just become subjects, just another casualty of war.”

  Andrea shook her head. “I hope I never reach that place where I’m immune to it.”

  Carina offered a small smile. “No, I suppose you don’t. Sometimes the military turns us into nothing more than machines.” She turned to look at her. “Cameron loves you, you know.”

  Andrea was surprised at her comment. “Yes, I know she does.”

  Carina’s gaze went back to the swing set. “I tried my best,” she said, smiling. “The night we were alone, I offered myself to her on a silver platter. She wouldn’t have anything to do with me.” She turned back to Andrea. “The Cameron I knew would have never turned me down. You must have some hold on her.”

  Andrea nodded. “Yes. Love. It’s because I love her too.”

  Cameron sat quietly in the chief’s office, her legs crossed, her fingers tapping impatiently on her thigh. She hadn’t said a word, hadn’t responded to his continued discourse as to why the Barstow PD should be in charge and not the FBI. She simply stared at him, barely hearing his words.

  “We do know what we’re doing. I know you think we don’t,” he continued.

  Again, she said nothing as she willed his phone to ring. Finally, it did. He looked up, their eyes meeting, but he made no move to answer it. She smiled, then glanced at the phone.

  “You’re probably going to want to get that,” she said.

  “Chief Hudley,” he answered quickly. “Yes sir. But—” He glared at Cameron. “I don’t agree. I feel—”

  Here it comes, she thought.

  “Senator Orin?” He flicked his eyes at her. “I still don’t think—” His eyes narrowed as he glared at her. “I see. Of course.” He hung up the phone, then cleared his throat. “That was the mayor. I’m...I’m to give you full cooperation.”

  “Wonderful. You’ve only wasted twenty minutes of my time.” She stood, making a mental note to thank Murdock. Apparently he wasn’t kidding when he said he could pull strings. “I want to interview Burke’s commander. I also want to talk to his closest friends. I want—”

  He stood too. “I’m not going to let you run roughshod over my department.”

  “I’ll do anything I damn well please,” she said. “I don’t give a shit if I piss someone off or hurt their feelings. I have a serial killer to catch.”

  “You don’t really believe Burke’s a suspect in this, do you?”

  “No. I’ve heard what the crime scene looked like. He didn’t do that. But whether he’s helping his brother willingly or not remains to be seen.” She pulled out her phone, calling Rowan. He answered immediately.

  “I need some background on Leonard Baskin and Buddy Burke. I need everything you can find. And I need it right now.”

  “I’m good, Cameron, but I’m not that good.” She heard him already tapping away at her computer. “Give me a few minutes.”

  “You’ve got ten. Share it with the group when you’re done.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “And don’t call me ma’am,” she snapped, turning to Hudley. “How many officers do you employ?”

  “We have forty-three.”

  “My team is going to interview them all. I’ll need names.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Andrea jotted down some notes, waiting for the next cop to come in for his interview. So far, all she’d learned was that Buddy Burke was just a good old boy, following in his father’s footsteps on the force. Everyone expressed disbelief that he could be involved in any of this. All she remembered about the man was that he had a fondness for smokeless tobacco.

  “What’s your name?” she asked, offering a smile.

  “Crowley. James.” He leaned his arms on the table. “Everyone calls me Jimmy.”

  “Okay, Jimmy. How well do you know Officer Burke?”

  “Know him well. Me and Buddy came up together.” He shook his head. “We were friends. I got a couple of kids too. His wife and mine would share babysitting if the other had something to do.” He paused. “We live in the same neighborhood,” he said, his eyes looking past her. “I can’t imagine what hell Rebecca went through. And those poor kids.”

  Andrea knew well the hell they’d endured but she forced those images away. “What about his brother? Leonard Baskin? Do you know him?”

  “Half-brother,” Jimmy corrected. “He was a year older than us. He spent summers here when they were kids. We would hang out, play. But when he got older, he didn’t come around much.”

  “What is your opinion of him?”

  “He was kind of shy back then. Didn’t really know us. Took nearly half of the summer before he would warm up, you know. He and Buddy were close though. They kept in touch throughout the year.” He shrugged. “I haven’t seen him in years though. Well, obviously, since he was locked up.”

  “When did he move here?”

  “The first time was, what? Ten years ago maybe?”

  Andrea nodded. “When he was arrested, did Bud
dy support him?”

  “Oh, yeah. Buddy was convinced he was innocent.”

  “What did you think?”

  “Hell, I’m a cop. They had evidence. The woman had the marks to prove it.”

  Andrea folded her arms on the table, leaning closer. “You know about the shack we found, right?”

  “Yeah. Seventeen heads.”

  “When Baskin lived in this area before, there were four bodies dumped in the desert, all beheaded. That woman was lucky. It’s also what sent him to prison and the killings stopped.” She opened up a folder, glancing at the three photos of their victims. She placed them on the table for him to see. “They started up again. One found here near Barstow,” she said, pointing to Susie Bell. “The other two were found on I-10.”

  He nodded but said nothing.

  “It’ll take awhile to get all the DNA sorted out, but we’re confident that Leonard Baskin is our serial killer. Then and now. We’re also convinced he killed Buddy Burke’s family.” She gathered the photos again. “And we’re assuming he has Buddy. Whether it’s by force or not, we can only speculate.”

  “Buddy loved his brother. But his family was everything to him. No way would he go with him willingly, not if he knew what he’d done to his wife and kids. No way.”

  “You’re born and raised here?”

  “Yes. Most of us were. Barstow is not a destination city, if you know what I mean.”

  “Where could they be hiding?”

  Jimmy leaned back. “Hiding? It’s the desert. They could be anywhere.”

  “Is there some childhood place they had? Is there perhaps another place like the old house he was using?”

  “There are abandoned houses all over in the desert. Nothing where you could live though. I mean, no power or water. Just shelter.”

  She nodded. “The place where we found him, he had solar panels and batteries for power. No running water. Can you think of another place like that?”

  He shook his head. “No, nothing comes to mind. I mean, like I said, it could be anywhere.”

  She sighed, having heard the same answer time and again. No one knew anything.