by Kylie Brant
The trunk in her sensible mid-sized sedan would have allowed room to turn over. To move around in a search for anything in the area that could help her escape. But Gavin’s small sports rental barely had room for her. An amenity that had likely escaped him when he’d signed the agreement. But she hadn’t felt any objects rolling free around. In all likelihood, the space was empty save for her.
She stopped her struggles for a moment to consider. At some point the offender was going to have to stop the vehicle, if only to relieve himself. At that point it was likely he’d allow her out to do the same. When he did so, she had to be ready. The way to inflict real damage would be to swing her legs up and out to kick him in the face. If her ankles weren’t free, her success would be improbable.
And running away with her ankles bound would be impossible.
The tight confines of the trunk had her curled in an almost fetal position. With only a little more maneuvering she could bring her knees closer to her chest, and reach her ankles with her bound hands. Trying to break free of the binds might not have worked, but having two hands to work at them could be more successful.
The memory flashed through her mind then, in sudden vivid Technicolor.
Gavin had badgered her unmercifully to tell him what the initial for her middle name stood for. She’d steadfastly refused to tell him so he’d resorted to guesses. Silly outlandish guesses.
“Is it Yamaha?”
“Idiot.” Her slur was punished with a quick pinch on her ass. “That’s Japanese, not Navajo.”
“Yasmin? Yolanda? Yankee? Yancy? Yapany?”
“No, no, no, no and eww.”
He fell silent for an instant, his hand running over her spine almost absently. “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”
“But I don’t care what your middle name is.”
He rolled her over in the bed. Settled himself over her with his weight on his forearms. “But if you tell me, I’ll shut up.”
“Finally,” she teased. “An offer I can’t refuse.” But it had taken a few more moments to tell him. Not from any reason to keep it secret, but because sharing the detail was a small intimacy that made her a bit uncomfortable.
Which, in light of their position was ridiculous. “It’s Yanaha. It means brave.”
“Yanaha.” Gavin drew the word out as if savoring it. “It suits you.” He pushed her hair away from her face in a motion that seemed almost caressing. “Because something tells me you’re the bravest woman I’ve ever met.”
The memory had her eyes blurring. She blinked away the tears, infuriated by the weakness. She didn’t feel brave. She felt vulnerable and weak and terrified for Gavin. She told herself that he wasn’t weak either. But she’d autopsied victims with gunshot wounds. Knew the damage bullets did as they tore through a body.
The thought of what they’d done to Gavin’s had the vise in her chest tightening.
The car came to a stop and she stilled. When it pulled forward a moment later the anticipation streamed out of her body. The pause hadn’t been long enough for a traffic light, so it had only been a stop sign. And not one on a highly traveled road. If the man had a brain he’d avoid the Interstate. Iowa was crisscrossed with county and gravel roads that were lightly traveled and even more lightly patrolled.
The thought only made her resolve harden. In this instance, as in most of life, she had only herself to rely on. When the car stopped, as it would have to at some point, she was going to be ready.
But it wasn’t only escape she was after. She was going to make this man pay for what he’d done to Gavin Connerly.
* * * *
“Iowa State Patrol is out in force on major highways and county roads.” Cam was addressing his team by radio, on a channel reserved for their use. “Sheriff departments in neighboring counties have called in all available personnel to help patrol some of the lesser traveled blacktops.” He shot a look at Sophie as he drove. “Dr. Channing thinks there’s a good chance Baxter is familiar with the gravel roads and rural blacktops, especially around the town cemeteries where the first six bodies were discovered. She thinks he may be drawn to travel those areas.”
If Baxter knew they were after him, he’d travel north or south before heading west. But the man had no way of knowing that Gavin had lived to warn them. They were banking everything on the accuracy of Connerly’s information. Cam had a feeling this was their last shot at catching Baxter. And Lucy Benally’s life depended on their success.
He finished by giving the agents their assignments. Cam was putting a lot of stock in Sophia’s prediction and had placed his people in each of the counties where the first six victims had been buried. He himself was heading toward Dallas County. Sophie wanted to run by the small home housing Klaussen. According to Feinstein’s office, the woman had left to go job-hunting that morning, with the stated intention of having dinner with a friend. She hadn’t returned before the call out.
When he was done Cam looked at Sophie. Found her regarding him. “Patrol on the western sides of the counties will have roadblocks on every major road and highway. And we also have blocks set up every possible place he could cross the Raccoon River. Unless he plans to swim, there’s no way for him to cross without detection.” His assurance didn’t chase the worry from her face.
“Klaussen’s disappearance worries me.” Her hands were tightly folded in her lap. “It seems likely that if Vance ordered Baxter to kill me, he’d also want to get rid of Van Wheton and Klaussen. All of us can provide evidence linking him to several crimes.”
“Even if Baxter had known where Klaussen was being held, she was fine when she left Sheldahl this morning. It’s unlikely that he would happen upon her while she was out searching for jobs.”
“Unless he lured her somehow. Maybe he was the dinner date she mentioned.”
Dawn was breaking behind them, lightening the sky a fraction at a time. “She said she’d never seen him. And we know she saw the sketch, so she’d be forewarned.”
“I’d feel better if you added her car to the descriptor the patrol is looking for.”
After a moment he reached out and did that. Set the radio down again and said, “Satisfied?”
“Not really.” She gave a shake of her head under the drab wig. Cam found himself anxious for the day she got rid of it for good. And not just because it would mean that she was finally out of danger. A memory of her long blonde hair spread out over his belly and thighs had him warming for an instant, before he firmly yanked his attention back to the matter before them. “Klaussen is a loose end. And Vance isn’t the type to leave loose ends.”
He scanned the upcoming intersection carefully, flipping on his LED dashboard strobe and going through it without breaking speed. Debating whether to share his next thought, he finally said, “She might have taken off. We didn’t have cause to restrict her movements, but the fact that she didn’t come home last night suggests that as a possibility.”
“I hope you’re right.” Sophie shifted into a more comfortable spot. “Certainly it beats my fears. That we’re going to find her dead and abandoned the same way you found Martha Moxley.”
The words had barely left her lips when his cell rang again. It might be time, Cam thought wryly, to just glue the damn thing to his ear. But the unfamiliar voice on the other end of the call quickly caught his attention. “Department of Human Services,” he murmured to Sophie and saw her straighten expectantly. But it was several more minutes before he was able to answer the questions that were clearly written on her face.
“Fedorawicz was right.” Cam finally ended the call. He slowed for a tractor pulling out of a farmyard. Passed it. “Baxter had plenty of reason to be screwed up. His mom loaned him out to pedophiles for cash. Beat him. Burned him. When he was nine her boyfriend had gotten a little too rough with her and left her tied up in the apartment. She tried to get the kid to untie her and he attempted to strangle her instead.”
“My God.” Sophie’s voice was faint. “That k
ind of abuse…the damage it’d inflict would take years of intensive therapy.”
“Given the numbers of bottles in his medicine cabinet, therapy wasn’t all he needed.” He reached for his sunglasses to block the glare of the early morning sun. “Way it sounds, she never regained custody. But once Baxter ran from his last foster home, DHS lost track of him.”
“So he stewed in his psychosis long enough to re-enact that scene with from his childhood. Strangling his mother over and over with every victim.”
Cam reached forward to turn the LED light on again and blew through a deserted intersection on the blacktop. He hoped like hell that the sympathy in Sophie’s tone was for the victims. Because despite Baxter’s sad story, it was the man’s actions as an adult that mattered.
And there would be no mercy shown with he was finally caught.
* * * *
“Not good, Mommy. Not good at all.” Sonny peered through the windshield at the line of cars stopped in the road. He buzzed down his window and craned his head out the window to see what was going on. Traffic had been almost nonexistent when he first started out. But over the course of forty minutes or so it had picked up steadily. He’d alternated gravel with rural blacktops, favoring the ones he knew best.
He’d once worked for Schwann’s for a couple years, delivering frozen goods to residences. He’d worked the rural routes that no one else wanted to take, because they involved more driving and fewer sales. But Sonny had liked it. He’d enjoyed the scenery. The quiet. He’d spent a lot of time exploring the area along the river. The wooded spots had always soothed the racket in his brain. Those times had been the happiest in his memory. Even if they had eventually led to him losing his job for not staying on his route.
But today he hadn’t been able to take the roads he’d mapped out in his head. He’d hit a detour where a road was under construction, and gotten off track. Right now he figured he was south of Perry only a mile or so, which he figured would be less traveled than the northern route. So unless there’d been an accident, there was no reason for the police presence.
A line of three cars was ahead of him. He could see a deputy leaning down to talk to the driver up front. Ahead of the deputy were two patrol cars blocking the intersection.
They’re after you, Sonny. Get away now. Get away fast.
He ignored the voice in his head, watching the deputy wave the first car on. He wanted to see what would happen. The two squad cars parted to allow the vehicle through. Gauging the distance, he realized he’d never make it without having all three uniforms shooting to stop him.
He preferred better odds.
There was a steady thumping coming from the trunk. Lucy. Definitely not quiet. He could feel a headache coming, which ignited his temper. He had to be patient with her. It would take lessons, but she’d learn fast. They always did. The thumping came again. Louder. Continuous. Sonny could feel the burst of static in the back of his brain. A low constant buzz. But it’d get worse. Much worse.
He couldn’t drive for days with that noise in the trunk. Lucy’s lesson would have to come long before they reached their new home.
The deputy was still busy with the front car. A woman had gotten out of it and was yelling in the man’s face. The argument had the drivers ahead of Sonny sticking their heads out of their windows to watch. Glancing in his rearview mirror, Sonny saw a pickup approaching. Now was the time to make his move, while the deputy was distracted and before he got boxed in.
Lucy began yelling. Yelling and thumping in a way that would go unnoticed as they drove. But would definitely be heard if there was anyone nearby. The static in his head increased a notch.
He did a U turn in the middle of the road and zoomed off the way he’d come. He checked his mirror again. The deputy wasn’t paying attention to the woman anymore. He had a radio to his mouth. Sonny knew what that meant.
He pressed on the accelerator. He wasn’t worried. Not really. The deputy was at a disadvantage. Sonny had a head start and he knew exactly where he was going.
And the first thing he’d do when he got there was deal with Lucy Benally.
* * * *
Sheriff Feinstein had been right. There’d been no one home at the house where Rhonda Klaussen had been staying. The car she was using wasn’t in sight. Cam and Sophia had tried looking in the windows but with the shades drawn there was nothing to see, even with Cam’s Maglite.
He hadn’t mentioned the wasted trip as he drove east through Dallas county and Sophia knew she should feel grateful for that. But what she felt instead was trepidation. Despite what they’d found—or hadn’t found—her earlier concern for the woman refused to dissipate. Mason Vance wasn’t one to leave witnesses. No one knew the man better than Klaussen had reason to. Sophia was beginning to hope that the woman had run. It might be safer for her than if Baxter found her and took care of one last item for his partner.
At Cam’s direction she’d used her iPad to find online county plat maps. She’d systematically opened one site after another, until each of the counties that had roadblocks set up had a digital map open and available. Sophia hadn’t even realized the maps existed. They might have come in handy navigating the gravel roads that crisscrossed the state in the era before GPS.
The radio crackled. Her muscles tensed, even though he’d been in constant contact with his team, the troopers and sheriff offices since they’d left Des Moines.
“Cam, it’s Jenna. I’m at the roadblock south of Perry on P58. We think we spotted a vehicle resembling Gavin’s turning around rather than waiting its turn at the block.”
Hope streaked up Sophia’s spine. Bondurant was almost directly east of Ankeny, which was east of Perry. She leaned forward to speak into the radio Cam held. “Any sign of Lucy in it?”
“Negative.” Cam took a right at the next corner and barreled toward Jenna’s location. “We weren’t even close enough for a license plate. But we’re in pursuit.”
Sophia took a moment to bring up the correct county plat map and held the screen up for Cam to consult.
“P58. If he’s in that area, there are only a few other places he can cross the river. North of Perry on 144 or west of Minburn on F31. Do you have him in sight?”
“Not exactly. We’re following the plume of dust. He went south on the first gravel. Holy shit.” The radio went dead.
“Turner! Jenna!”
Sophia traced the route Jenna had indicated with her fingertip on the screen. “Gets pretty curvy and zig-zaggy on that road,” she murmured.
Jenna’s voice came back on the radio. “Sorry about that. Almost missed a curve. Had two wheels off the road. Thought I was going to have to pull Deputy Koblaski out of the ditch.”
“Stay in pursuit. Report back.” Cam passed the radio to Sophia and she did a silent exchange, handing him his cell. A moment later he had the Dallas County Sheriff on the phone.
“I’m standing in front of the county plat wall map and directory,” Sheriff Mort Feinstein said without preamble when he answered. It was obvious he’d been in close contact with his deputies. “We’ve got his only way over the river blocked, so he either has to head back east--”
“In which case he’ll hit the Polk or Story County roadblocks,” Cam inserted.
“—or he’ll try for the next road over the river, which would be F31.”
“The way I figure it we’ve got him boxed in on about a five section area between US highway 169 where he turned around, F25, US169 and F31.”
“Wouldn’t make sense for him to try to go north at this point,” the other man agreed.
“I’ll keep the roadblocks in place. I’m pulling my agents in to comb those sections. Do you have a digital plat directory you can email to me?”
The sheriff’s voice sounded surprised. “Sure. You think he’s going to hide out somewhere in the area?”
Cam slowed and pulled into a short farm drive that ran from the road over the ditch to the bordering field fence line. “He’s trapped, even if
he doesn’t know it yet. He can try to blow through a roadblock, in which case I don’t like his chances, or he can go to ground. Wait us out. That’d be a whole lot easier if he knows the area.”
There was a pause for a minute. Then the sheriff came back on the line. “I just emailed the map to you. It has all the residences in the county with owners, occupants and addresses. Although it sounds like you just need to focus on the one township if you’re planning a door-to-door search. Call for back up if you need it.”
Finishing that call Cam immediately made another, ordering a State Patrol Air Wing pilot to divert to the five-section area. That would give them eyes in the air and on the ground, Sophia realized. The noose was tightening around Sonny Baxter, even if he didn’t yet realize it.
She waited for Cam to complete the call before saying, “He could try for a wooded area along the river, much like the one he chose for his dump site. Someplace he’s been before, somewhere he’s comfortable. I don’t think it would occur to him to go to one of the rural homes if he didn’t know it already. This isn’t a social offender. Although capable of organization when given time to plan, we saw at his house how close he is to coming completely unwrapped. He’s going to want safe, he’s going to want familiar. He’ll know he needs a different vehicle to escape detection.”
“You don’t think he’ll just steal a car?”
“Maybe.” She smiled a little when she saw Cam’s frustrated expression. “But it will be from the place he’s goes where he feels some measure of security.” She sobered at the next thought. “As the stress he’s under increases, he’ll become more erratic. Difficult to predict. But one thing for certain. The more pressure that’s brought to bear on him, the greater the danger Lucy is in.”
* * * *
