After the man bound her wrists, he spun her around and pushed her toward the corner of the building. She still hadn’t gotten a look at her captors, but there seemed to be two of them. Staying behind her, the men herded her around the corner toward all the lights and the sound of agitated cows.
They soon emerged into a large service area where ten cows were waiting in a small split-rail enclosure. Across a paved apron, a half-dozen vehicles were parked in front of another white building much smaller than the first. As Holly’s captors prodded her toward the building, the wooden gate to the compound swung open and two men pushed Richard inside, also with his hands cuffed behind him. With both of them caught, it was up to Jessie to save them. But had Richard been able to alert her?
She gave him a questioning look.
Understanding what she wanted to know, he shook his head.
But there was still hope. Eventually, Jessie would realize something was wrong and would bring help. And they needed it badly. Holly had seen their secret. And while she still didn’t understand the point of it . . .
Wait.
Oh my God.
Of course.
The details still danced just out of reach, but she knew. Oh my God. It was huge. No wonder they’d tried to kill her and had threatened Richard’s daughter.
It was all up to Jessie now. Soon, Jessie, Holly said silently. Bring help soon.
Holly and Richard were pushed and prodded through the door of the small building, into a room half full of surveillance equipment. The other half contained a dinette table and chairs, a sink, and some cabinets.
“Go on . . .” A man pushed Holly forward. As she stumbled further into the room, she saw something that took her breath away; Jessie, bound and gagged on the floor.
“WE GOT THEM all,” Leonetti said. “What should we do with them?”
Leonetti’s call had found Bruxton still en route back to his home from the plant. “For the moment, nothing,” Bruxton said into his cell phone. “I’ll let you know.”
Bruxton was as good at concealing anger as he was pain. So he’d given Leonetti no hint that he was seething inside over how Holly and Richard had compromised him. And Billy Lynch had to share a good part of the blame.
He punched Lynch’s new cell number into the phone. Well aware that it was an insecure transmission and that Lynch would recognize his voice, he didn’t identify himself when Lynch answered, but got right to the purpose of his call.
“Your failure has come back to hurt me. Security has her under control at site two. I want you to pick her up and bring her to my home.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Lynch said. “It’d be safer for you to go to her.”
“I didn’t ask for your opinion. Do what I tell you.”
“I’d rather not.”
“Are you refusing?”
“Just expressing my strong opinion that this is a mistake,” Lynch said.
“Do it.”
“You’re the boss.”
“How nice that you remembered. Get someone from security to drive you. I want her in the back with you beside her so it just looks like three friends going somewhere.”
“Why are you micromanaging me?” Lynch asked.
“Because when you manage yourself, I get burned.”
As Boone slowed and turned into the entrance to Bruxton’s estate, Bruxton touched the vial in his pocket. Before he had the woman killed, she was going to suffer—not physically, but mentally, which he believed could be far worse. She would certainly realize she was to be killed, but a woman like that would never give up hope that something would save her. Just as he still hoped for a cure. And he would use that hope against her.
On the way over, she would talk to Lynch, and he would come to see that she was a person, not a thing. When the time came, that would make it hard for Lynch to kill her. He’d do it, but it would hurt him. And that would be his punishment.
ACCOMPANIED BY RICKY Blake, one of the night deputies on his payroll, Otto Christianson knocked on the door to Artie Harris’s apartment. Artie’s car was in the parking lot, so Otto was pretty sure Artie was home.
The door opened.
“Otto, this is a surprise,” Artie said.
“Mind if we come in? I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
“Can it wait? I was just on my way out.”
“I’d like to talk now.”
Artie stepped back from the door. “If it’s that important, come in.”
It was the first time Otto had ever been in Artie’s apartment, and he was taken aback by the furniture, which was all made of driftwood.
Accustomed to people being startled by his unusual tastes, Artie noticed Otto’s reaction. “I know it’s kind of offbeat,” Artie said. “But I like it, because it shows that nothing is intrinsically worthless. That no matter how tortured the history of an object or how rough it appears, if you can imagine what can be instead of what is, you’ll be rewarded.”
If Otto had any doubts about Artie actually being Billy Lynch, this veiled reference to orphanage children who were never adopted erased it. He shifted his feet so if Artie tried anything, he’d be ready. He glanced at Blake and tried to let him know by eye contact that he should be prepared as well.
“I get the feeling this isn’t a friendly visit,” Artie said.
“Oh, it’s really nothing,” Otto said, trying to get Artie to relax.
“And ‘nothing’ can’t wait until tomorrow?”
“I was just wondering . . . You once told me that before you moved here you lived all your life in Pennsylvania.”
“So?”
“Why do you have a social security number that’s issued only to residents of Missouri?”
Otto could tell from the look on Artie’s face that he knew he was had.
“My family only lived in Missouri less than a year, and things didn’t work out with my father’s job, so we moved back to Pennsylvania. I got my social security card during that year. It was such a small part of my life, I just never mention it.”
“Only a year?”
“That’s all.”
“You were issued a driver’s license in Missouri, and three years later had an accident that went on your permanent record there.”
Artie’s face turned ashen. “What else do you know?”
“That the company you work for didn’t just send you to an insurance seminar. Where have you been?”
“Why are you asking all this?”
“I have information that you may actually be a man named Billy Lynch, who grew up in an orphanage in California.”
“Well, I’m not.”
“This man is responsible for the deaths of at least two people.”
“Christ, Otto. You know me. I couldn’t have done that. I’m not this Billy Lynch.”
“Then why did you lie to your secretary about the insurance seminar?”
Artie stared at Otto, apparently trying to think up a phony story Otto would believe. Finally, he said, “I was taking care of my father in Milwaukee. He was beaten and robbed on the street. When the police called and told me he was in the hospital, I had to go.”
“Why didn’t you just tell your secretary that instead of lying to her?”
“Because he’s homeless . . . an alcoholic who sleeps in doorways or in cardboard boxes. I’ve tried to get him help, but he doesn’t want it. And he refuses to live here with me. He’s the reason I don’t want people to know we ever lived in St. Louis. The cops there had to come and stop him from beating on me or my mother two or three times a month. Before he started drinking, he was a terrific father. But after he found the bottle, it was all different.” Artie shook his head and his shoulders slumped. “And he can’t stop. It destroyed our family and it’s killing
him, but he just keeps drinking.”
Then he firmed up, eyes flashing. “But he’s still my father. How could I not go to him when he needed me?” His voice softened. “Someday I’ll figure out how to get him to stop. Then he’ll be the man he was. But at the same time, I’m sorry to say I’m ashamed of him. I don’t want people, especially Jessie, to know about this. Don’t tell her . . .” He reached out and touched Otto’s arm. “Please, Otto, don’t tell.” He looked at Blake. “Or you either, Ricky.”
This, at last, sounded like the truth and even explained what Artie had said about his driftwood furniture. But Otto needed to be sure.
“What hospital treated your father?”
“Saint Luke’s.”
“How is he?”
“He’s back on the street. He shouldn’t be, but I couldn’t stop him.”
“What’s his name?”
“Frank.”
Otto pointed to the phone. “May I?”
“Sure.”
Otto called information and had them connect him with St. Luke’s Hospital in Milwaukee. After being routed through a couple of departments, he learned that Frank Harris had indeed just been released after a week’s stay. Otto hung up and looked at Artie. “I’m sorry I had to do this, but . . .”
“I know,” Artie said. “Please don’t tell anybody what you’ve learned.”
“I won’t.” Otto looked at Blake. “Neither will Ricky. About the cost of that call—”
“Forget it.”
As Otto and Blake left, they both wondered if Otto would be able to keep his promise. Of more immediate concern for Otto was that Billy Lynch was still out there and up to God knows what.
34
UNABLE TO DISLODGE the weight of Billy Lynch from his mind, Otto couldn’t go home, but instead went to his office and got out the photograph of Lynch that Father Lucius had sent him. Sitting with it at his desk, he examined the boy Lynch once more with a magnifying glass, trying to see some identifying feature that had so far eluded him. But it was a futile gesture, born from his feeling that he had to do something to catch the man.
Disgusted and disappointed, Otto leaned back in his chair and flicked the picture toward his desk. It hit the stem of his desk lamp and flipped over.
What the . . .
He rocked forward and grabbed the picture. There was writing on the back that he hadn’t seen before because he’d never turned the photo over. It was a note from Father Lucius:
Just remembered. Billy broke his left little finger while he was here and it didn’t heal properly so it stuck out at an angle from the rest of his fingers. Hope this helps.
Oh Father does it ever, Otto thought. Because he now knew that Billy Lynch was Charles Hallock, the print dealer.
Otto lugged out the phone book, looked up Hallock’s number, and gave it a try. If he was home, Otto would just hang up, and he and Blake would go over there and bring Hallock in for some tough questioning.
But there was no answer.
Otto hurried into the outer office, where Doris, the day dispatcher’s sister, was working the night shift. In keeping with his belief that computer skills were inherited, she was as good as Claire in that area.
In just a few minutes, she had accessed the state motor vehicle records and had a description of Hallock’s car and his license number.
Otto handled the call to his night shift deputies himself.
“All cars be on the lookout for Charles Hallock.” In case they didn’t know what he looked like, Otto added, “Thirty-two-year-old white male with brown hair worn in a ponytail. Believed to be driving a maroon Toyota Camry, license number HSR-642. If sighted, please advise.”
Otto had no idea if Hallock was even in town. But if he was, they’d stand a good chance of finding him, especially if Otto got out there and helped his men look.
While he went to his car, the dispatcher informed the night shift that he was in service. Otto first cruised Arneson’s parking lot to see if Hallock might be having a late dinner. He then drove by Hallock’s townhouse on the chance that he’d come home. While Otto was wondering where he should look next, his radio spoke to him.
“Car three to car one, come in.”
Otto picked up the mike for his radio and thumbed the Talk button. “Car one here. Go ahead.”
“Sheriff, I’ve spotted our subject going east on Dairy Road. What should I do?”
Deciding that it might be useful to see where Hallock was going, Otto said, “Car one to car three. Keep subject in sight, but stay back and try not to attract his attention. Report in every two minutes.”
Otto made a U-turn and headed for Dairy Road, wanting to be in the area, but planning to stay far enough out of the way that Hallock wouldn’t see two cruisers behind him.
Two minutes later, car three reported that Hallock had turned onto Deadfall Road, heading toward the rear entrance of the Midland dairy. Otto thumbed his mike. “Car one to car three. Stand by.”
Otto thought about the area. There was really no good place to park on Dairy Road where you could look down Deadfall Road and monitor both directions from the dairy’s rear gate. That meant . . . “Car one to car three. Proceed down Deadfall Road to Delany woods, cut your lights, and watch the dairy’s rear entrance until I get there.”
Unfortunately, this plan left the dairy’s front entrance unobserved. After checking with the other cars on duty and learning that he was the closest to the dairy, Otto stepped on the gas, already knowing that when he got there, he’d take up a position in the parking lot of the abandoned Tastee Freeze about fifty yards from the dairy’s front entrance.
WITH OTTO STILL six minutes away, Susan Morrison pulled into the Tastee Freeze parking lot and tried to figure out what to do.
After Holly’s phone call in which she said she was planning to sneak onto dairy property tonight to get a look at their calving operation, Susan had become so worried about the danger Holly might face that she’d asked her sister to care for Walter for a day or two. Susan had then packed her Beretta, her Randall survival knife, and a change of clothes and had taken a United Airlines flight to Chicago. There, she’d rented a car and headed for the dairy. Before she’d left home, she’d tried to call Holly and tell her she was coming, but for some reason couldn’t make contact.
Assessing the situation, Susan saw all the lights in the calving area. Figuring that she might be able to get a closer look by going down that road she’d passed around the last bend, she put the car in reverse, backed up, and was about to return to Deadfall Road, when she saw a maroon car inside the dairy drive up to the front gate and wait for it to open. The car then pulled onto the highway and headed east, away from where Susan was parked.
She hesitated.
Deciding that she’d take a quick look at the passengers in the car then come back, she stepped on the gas.
HOLLY SAT IN the backseat, on Billy Lynch’s left. One of the Italian security men was driving. She still had her hands tied behind her, but her feet were free. Billy had a stun gun in his hand, ready to zap her if she got out of control. He was also carrying the backup automatic he’d put into service after losing his other one in the river.
Billy was nervous. It was only a short drive to Bruxton’s estate, but every second they were on the road like this they were exposed. And if they were stopped by a cop now, it was going to be ugly.
From his voice, Holly had recognized Billy as the leader of the two men who’d tried to kill her in Memphis. The driver hadn’t spoken, so she didn’t know if he was the other one. Whoever he was, they could be taking her somewhere now to be killed. But she didn’t think so.
“Where are we going?” she said, looking at Billy.
“You’ll know when we get there,” Billy replied. He reached over and pinched her face between his fingers and turned her
head forward. “Don’t look at me.”
Keeping her eyes forward, Holly said, “How many people have you killed?”
Billy didn’t answer.
“How can you do that . . . take a life?” Holly said. “. . . end an existence?”
Billy knew he should just tell her to shut up, but something made him reply. “It’s just a job. I don’t enjoy it.”
“And you think that makes it okay?”
“You’re a hematologist, right?”
“Yes.”
“So you treat people with diseases of the blood.”
Wondering where this was going, Holly agreed.
“And some of those diseases are fatal. I mean sometimes, despite everything you do, a patient dies.”
“That’s true.”
“What percent of your patients die?” Billy asked.
“I don’t know.”
“It doesn’t have to be accurate. Guess.”
“Five percent maybe.”
“So for every hundred people who come to you for help, you fail five of them.”
“That’s not—”
“You do,” Billy interrupted. “Don’t fool yourself. You fail. I never fail in my work. I’ve never made a commitment I didn’t honor. And don’t think you’re the exception. The first time with you, I was forced into an approach I didn’t like. The second time, at the river, you were just lucky. But tonight, that ends. How many people can say they’ve never failed? You can’t. So why are you looking down on me?”
Remembering what she’d heard in the van when Billy had kidnapped her, Holly said, “Does your mother know what you do for a living?”
“She was killed when I was just a kid.”
“That must have been rough.”
“Don’t patronize me.”
“I’m not. To have someone you love ripped away from you, never to see her again, or hear her voice, or feel her touch, is a terrible thing,” Holly said.
Billy’s eyes glistened as he thought about his mother.
“So every time you take a life and destroy one of the most complex and wonderful things ever created, you also destroy the people who love them. And nobody ever paid you to do that.”
The Lethal Helix Page 29
