“Hi,” she said.
The woman didn’t respond.
Missy approached the woman and stood near her. Softly, she placed her hand on the woman’s shoulder. The woman didn’t move. Her eyes—yellowed, with red pulpy veins that bulged out—were open and staring blankly at the television. And then, slowly, they turned to Missy.
The vision sent an icy chill down her back. The eyes held her with rage. They stared at her the same way they had stared at the TV, but Missy had seen her father’s rage up close and knew what it looked like.
Missy took a step back, then another. “Sorry,” she mumbled. She turned to leave, and ran into the chest of Dennis Walk. She gasped.
He smiled widely. “You shouldn’t be down here. You’re a naughty girl. And naughty girls need to be punished.”
34
Baudin was sitting on the porch, resisting the urge to smoke, when Keri came to pick up Heather. He sipped brandy and held an unlit cigar between his fingers.
Keri sat next to him when Gina went inside. She nudged him playfully with her shoulder. “You look so sophisticated,” she said.
“Thought I’d try it. I’ve never actually had brandy or a cigar.”
“What made you want to?”
“I like trying something new every day.”
“Really? Every day?”
He nodded and took another sip before placing the glass down. “Every day. That means in a year, I tried 365 new things in my life. I’m bound to like some of them.”
She ran her fingers over the dragon tattoo going down his forearm. “Why a dragon?”
“They’re really spiritual creatures.”
She giggled. “Seriously? It’s not just some macho BS about having the biggest and baddest animal on your arm?”
“No. See, in mythology, they represent the heaven and the earth. They slither on the ground, their belly is connected to the earth, but they can also fly. They’re a perfect joining of heaven and earth—a goal people try for but never achieve.”
“Is that what you’re trying for? A perfect joining of heaven and earth?”
He shrugged. “Like I said, it’s a goal everyone tries for but never achieves.”
Gina shouted, “Mom, let’s go.”
“Duty calls,” Keri said. “How about we meet up this weekend and take the girls somewhere educational for a change?”
“I think your idea of education and mine might be different.”
She grinned. “Heather told me the other day that 9/11 was perpetrated by our own government as an excuse to go to war. I doubt she got that on her own. I’m perfectly okay with differing points of view.”
He dumped his brandy into the bushes by the porch. “Don’t know why anybody would like that. Tastes like gasoline.”
She gave him a peck on the cheek. “I know you still think about your wife, and I know you haven’t been in a relationship since she passed. Heather told me. I also know you change the subject whenever I talk about us. And that’s okay. I understand everyone heals at their own pace. But if you wait too long, I may not be around when you’re ready, and we both could’ve had something really great.”
With that, she headed back to her car, leaving Baudin staring at her. She was right. He was still wrapped up in his wife. A woman who’d been dead for years ruled his life as though she were standing right next to him. The truth was, though, that he didn’t know what to do about it.
Baudin went inside the house and had a beer to kill time. When afternoon rolled around, he texted Dixon and said he was heading to the hospital. Baudin got into his car and waved to his neighbor on the south side, an elderly man who had fought in World War II. Baudin had asked him about it once—all he’d said was that he was eighteen years old when he went over, and after one year, he came back being seventy years old. They hadn’t talked about it again.
The hospital wasn’t far, and Baudin drove with his window down. Sometimes, the city appeared to be growing too quickly, and sometimes, he couldn’t believe what a small place it really was. He believed that all cities were ultimately the same: places where humanity was crammed in and told to suppress their true behaviors. Still, those behaviors came out in other ways when no one was watching.
In the parking lot of Cheyenne Regional, Baudin lit a cigarette. He smoked it on the walk to the door and put it out before stuffing it into a garbage can. The hospital was busy, at least busier than he’d seen it in the afternoons before, and he went straight to Peck’s room. He wanted a minute with him before Dixon got there.
Peck lay in the hospital bed, staring at a television mounted on the wall. He looked horrible: pale and dehydrated. The IV connected to his arm was giving him fluids, but his lips had already started to crack and peel. Baudin turned off the TV then pulled a chair next to the bed.
“You didn’t need to run. I just wanted to talk. You could’ve stonewalled me, and I wouldn’t have had anything. Now I got warrants for your house, your parents’ house, your car, and your locker. Whatever you’re hiding, I’m gonna find it.”
Peck didn’t say anything at first. His eyelids just dropped down then suddenly opened again. He was clearly on some sort of pain medication, and Baudin was glad for it. He took out his digital recorder and turned it on but didn’t let Peck see it. If he did get a confession, Baudin would edit in himself reading Peck his Miranda rights and informing him of the recording.
“You’re going to die, Henry. They’re going to stick you in the gas chamber for this. See, lethal injection is really expensive, and some states prefer to just strap you into a chair and let you breathe a six-dollar can of hydrogen cyanide. People think you just peacefully fall asleep, but that’s not what happens. You’ll foam at the mouth, and it’ll feel like you’re being crushed in a vice. Then your lungs will burst, and you’ll suffocate. And the last face you’re gonna see is mine. I’m gonna be right there, staring at you while you die, Henry—along with your parents. Can you imagine the look on their faces? As though you weren’t a big enough disappointment, now you’re gonna make them watch you die.”
Peck’s face contorted. His eyes closed, and a frown crept onto his lips. “Stop,” he said pathetically. “Please stop.”
Baudin leaned forward. He had him now. He was just as weak as Baudin had thought he was. Like a shark smelling blood in the water, Baudin circled closer.
“You believe in God, Henry? I never did. Hocus-pocus is beyond me. A truly evolved person leaves fairy tales in childhood. We’re the next step in human evolution. The rational being. Reason is our only tool, and emotions are just a method of enjoying life, nothing else. But I still wonder sometimes. I had this foster dad, Jordan, who told me a story.” Baudin took out a cigarette and lit it. “He told me that he was at the cemetery once, visiting his mother. He was sitting by her grave, and a funeral was going on up a ways. He usually hung out for a while when he visited on her birthday. He heard something behind him, and when he glanced over, a man was standing there. Just a tall white dude in a suit, staring at him. Didn’t say anything, just stood there and stared at him. Jordan tried to talk to him, but he just turned around and wandered away.
“Jordan sat there a bit more, and then he got up to leave. He had to pass the funeral to get to his car. A picture of the deceased was next to the casket. It was the man that was standing behind Jordan. Freaked him the fuck out, Henry. So much that he had to see inside the casket. He waited until the speakers were done and then talked one of them into opening the lid before they buried it. Just a little. He saw the dude inside. Right there. A corpse.”
Henry looked at him but didn’t say anything.
“Them girls you killed, how many of them are gonna be waiting for you, Henry? How many ghouls you got following you around right now?”
Peck began to cry. He looked like a child who hadn’t gotten his way. It was pathetic, and it sickened Baudin.
“I didn’t kill anybody,” Peck said.
“We got the panties, Henry. We got the panties, and
they’re gonna match the DNA to Hannah and Shelly.”
“No, I steal those. I just steal them. That’s all. I ain’t never killed no one.”
“I don’t believe you.”
Peck wailed as though he’d just been punched in the gut. “I didn’t kill anyone.”
“Yes, you did. You raped those girls, and then you killed them, Henry. I want the truth now. Tell me the truth.”
He shook his head, his body convulsing with the sobs. “I can’t rape nobody. I been castrated.”
Baudin froze. He didn’t say anything for a long time. Finally, he took a puff of cigarette and stood up over Peck. “What do you mean?”
“I got the shot. They give it every month. You can check with my doc.”
Baudin tossed the cigarette into an empty cup on the nightstand. “What doc?”
“He’s here. You can go ask him. Barry Houris. Upstairs in the next building over. I couldn’t get a hard-on if ten girls was sucking on my cock. I ain’t raped no one. And I sure as hell ain’t killed no one.”
Baudin placed his hands on his hips and stared down at the man. He was sobbing, but he was so dehydrated that no tears were coming out. “I’m gonna check with Dr. Houris right fucking now. And if you’re lying to me, Henry, you’re gonna be in a world of hurt. You understand me?”
“I ain’t lyin’.”
Baudin stormed out of the room and went to find Dr. Barry Houris.
35
Dixon had a hard time leaving Hillary. They ate breakfast together then took a stroll around Lion’s Park, pushing Randy in a stroller. He didn’t respond to Baudin’s text. Stuck in a hospital room with Henry Peck was the last place he wanted to be. But he could only ignore it for so long before he knew he had to leave.
“I gotta go,” he finally said.
“I know. Will you be home for dinner?”
He nodded. “Yes.” He kissed her, then in a move that surprised even him, he bent down and kissed Randy on the head.
When he left the park, he still had a knot in his gut. Whether it was from uncertainty at how the relationship would play out or something else, he couldn’t tell. All he knew was that the desire to get drunk was back. The urge was so powerful that he pulled over at the first grocery store he saw and bought a twelve pack. He put it in the trunk and took out two bottles.
By the time he arrived at the hospital, he had a decent buzz. He felt better, as if an itch had been scratched. He debated getting another bottle then decided against it solely because Baudin would say something if he were tipsy. Instead, he popped gum into his mouth and headed toward the entrance.
Baudin was sitting outside on a bench, smoking. Dixon stood in front of him. He’d known his partner long enough to know when something was wrong, and something was definitely wrong.
“Don’t tell me he slipped back into a coma,” Dixon said.
“No, man. It’s worse than that.”
Dixon sat down next to him. “What?”
“He didn’t do it. He’s not our guy.”
“How do you know?”
“He’s been chemically castrated for years. That’s how he got paroled so early. They’ll release you if you agree to the shots. I spoke with his doctor, and he’s been to every one of his appointments since his release.”
“That don’t mean he didn’t kill those girls.”
“These were sex killings, Kyle. Castration doesn’t just take away your ability to get an erection, it takes away the urge to have sex. They’re like kittens. The panties and stuff we found was probably his attempt to still feel manly. I doubt they did anything for him. And he told me he would steal some of them from Laundromats. If it was a true paraphilia, he would need to steal the panties from their homes. And the photos are just pictures he took of prostitutes. He would pay them for their photo and their panties.” Baudin took a puff of his cigarette. “Could be lying to me, but I don’t think so. He’s not our guy. Our guy rapes these women as part of his ritual.”
“I don’t get how you make these leaps. Forensics told us there isn’t enough of the body left to tell if she’d been raped. You have no idea what happened to her. She could’ve been partying at the plant with Peck, and he pushed her in or she slipped and fell in. We have no idea. All we got is that this guy is a convicted rapist. He’s got panties and photographs in his house and even photos of the vics. How you explain that?”
“It’s part of his attempt to feel some sort of arousal. He has to get the shots as part of his parole, but he still wants to feel some sort of stimulation. Voyeurism and paraphilias are all he’s got left.”
Dixon shook his head. “No way. Too much of a coincidence.”
“Maybe. I don’t know. I just got this feeling like he’s not our guy.”
Dixon exhaled and leaned back on the bench. “So let’s just assume—and I’m serious about assuming—let’s just assume he’s not our guy. Who, then? Walk?”
“I don’t know. I think we shoulda visited the son.”
“Well, let’s go now.”
“First, let’s get something to eat and get you some coffee. I can smell the booze on your breath.”
After a meal at a sandwich shop, Baudin tossed the sandwich wrapper in the trash and got a large water to go. Dixon had been nursing a cup of coffee from Starbucks and had barely taken two sips. Though Dixon wasn’t drunk, Baudin didn’t want to hit any potential leads with his partner in the state he was.
“I thought you weren’t drinking anymore,” Baudin said as they headed outside to his car.
“Just felt like a beer.”
Baudin got in and started the car. Dixon sat next to him and searched the glove box until he found a pack of gum. He took a piece.
“You seen Hillary?” Baudin asked.
“Spent the night over there last night.”
“You going over again?”
He nodded. “I think I’ll be moving back.”
“That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?” Baudin pulled out of the parking stall and headed to the road.
“Yeah, man. It’s… nice. Just having someone waiting for you to get off work. It’s just nice.”
Baudin was about to say something, but his cell phone interrupted him. It was Candi. As far as he could remember, she had never once called him in the middle of the day.
“Hello?”
“You need to come over now,” she said.
“What is it?”
“I need to talk to you.”
“I’m kinda in the middle of something here, Candi. I can come over tonight.”
“You’re gonna wanna see what I have to show you.”
He glanced at Dixon. “Okay. We’ll be over.”
When Baudin had hung up, Dixon asked, “Who was that?”
“Candi. Sounded important. Need to make a quick stop at her place.”
“You shittin’ me? We gotta get to that farm and get a feel for Walk’s dickweed son.”
“It won’t take long. She’s never asked me to come over in the middle of the day. It’s gotta be something huge.”
36
The pain gripped her before anything else. Before she knew she was awake, before she remembered where she was or even who she was, there was only pain. Slowly, Missy opened her eyes.
She was in a large room with cement floors. The walls were unpainted wood, and tool benches were set up around her. She glanced up and saw that she was hanging from a hook, with thick ropes wrapped loosely around her wrists. She had always had small wrists, and the ropes weren’t bound tightly enough. She knew she needed to get her arms down from over her head, so she began wriggling free.
The rope was coarse and scraped away her skin. Panic was setting in, and she didn’t care if all the skin on her hands got scraped off.
Pulling one arm, then the other, she loosened her hands from the knot. Then one hand slipped out completely. She fell to the floor with a thud, and only then did she realize she was naked.
She wondered if she’d been raped, but
she couldn’t tell. Her head was spinning, and she ran her hands over her skull to see if she’d come away with any blood, but she didn’t. A sharp pain burned on the side of her neck, but there was only a small nick there.
Missy looked up. She was in a barn… his barn, the barn she had seen on the drive to the house. The inside was massive, and as she took in her surroundings, things started coming back to her. She had seen the old woman with the fury in her grotesque eyes, then Dennis had grabbed her. She’d felt a sharp pain in her neck then blacked out. She didn’t know where the other two girls had gone.
Slowly, she got to her feet. Though no one else was nearby, she covered her breasts with her arms. The air was cold, and she began to shiver. She saw a quilt, dirty with grease, on a workbench. She took it and wrapped it around her shoulders. The only thought on her mind was getting out of that barn. She suspected she’d seen something she wasn’t supposed to see, but as far as she could remember, the only thing she’d really seen was the old woman.
Missy hurried to the entrance of the barn. Underneath a workbench, several buckets with dribbles of black fluid staining the exteriors were filled with wet goop. She looked around the rest of the barn. Farther back, away from any windows, was only darkness. She turned back to the entrance and tried the door. It was locked. Keeping her urge to scream in check, she ran to the back of the barn, looking for another way out.
The closest she came was a window that had been blacked out with paint. Farther back was just black, and as far she could tell, there were no light switches. Running her hands along the walls, she circled the entire barn. Coming back to the front entrance, she wanted to pound on the door and scream for help, but she didn’t know who that would draw. Instead, she went to one of the workbenches and rummaged through the tools.
Underneath a stack of scrap metal, she found a long screwdriver. The tip was thin, and the edges were sharp. She glanced around then ran back to the darkness. She slid down the wall, the screwdriver in her hands, and waited.
The Unseen - A Mystery (The Baudin & Dixon Trilogy Book 2) Page 12
