Portrait of Vengeance

by Carrie Stuart Parks

  Beth screamed. Winston redoubled his barking.

  I didn’t dare look at Beth or Lila. I watched Jacob.

  The man dropped the bloody knife and reached for the sideboard. I grabbed Beth and shoved her behind me.

  Jacob held up the small shovel he’d used to open the attic door. “Military-issue folding shovel. Nice, isn’t it? Folds to nine inches and comes with a carrying case. One side is designed to be used like a hatchet. Or an ax.” His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “You have no idea how much pleasure I get from letting you see it. And how much joy I’ll get from using it on you.”

  Oh, please, God. His voice made the hair on my arms stand on end. “What happened to Beatrice?” My voice was shrill. I swallowed hard.

  “Don’t worry about her. You’ll never find her body. You’ll never find any of their bodies. Beatrice, Amanda, Ethyn, Olivia, Jess, or Noah. Not for a long, long time.”

  “Wait—”

  He swung the shovel with both hands.

  I dodged, but not quite enough. The razor-sharp blade sliced through my sweater. I backed away, keeping Beth behind me.

  He moved forward. I quickly glanced around. Two doors opened to the room—one to the hall, the other to the office area. To reach either exit, I’d have to get past Jacob. The massive, carved fireplace was to my left. I was running out of time. And room to maneuver.

  He swung again. The blade sliced across my stomach. Not deep, but enough to hurt like the dickens.

  He glanced down. “Ah. I drew blood.”

  Beth gasped.

  Risking a glance at her, I made a hand motion. She froze.

  Sweat ran down my back. My heart felt like it would explode in my chest. I took a shaky step closer to the fireplace. No handy pokers.

  Jacob’s lip lifted off his teeth. His eyes narrowed.

  I gave the hand signal for crouch, praying Beth remembered.

  He took a quick leap forward and swung the shovel at my head. He couldn’t miss.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  I DIVED TO THE FLOOR. BETH DROPPED NEXT TO ME.

  The shovel passed over us, embedding in the wood fireplace mantel. Jacob cursed and tried to pull it out.

  Beth and I leaped to our feet. Beth ran for the door to our rooms. I followed, but I couldn’t seem to get any traction. The floor was slick with Lila’s blood.

  Jacob tackled me from behind.

  I crashed to the floor, and my breath left me. Jacob lost his grip on my legs. Gasping for breath, I kicked at him, then got on my hands and knees, scrambling to escape.

  Jacob punched me in the side.

  I rolled away from him, trying desperately to breathe. Another blow landed on my ear. Sparklers erupted in my eyes. I flipped onto my back and kicked him again.

  The blow pushed him away. He scooted backward, then leaped to his feet. His eyes were slits of hatred, his face a white mask. Lila’s blood soaked his clothing and smeared his cheek. He looked around, his head jerking from side to side.

  The knife.

  We both spotted it at the same time. I crawled toward it, still trying to suck in some air.

  A door banged open. A snarling bellow sounded, then a flash of white fur charged into the room.

  Winston. Every hair on his back and neck stood on end. His mouth was open, lips pulled back, exposing gleaming teeth. His roar of fury filled the room.

  Jacob crouched, backpedaling away from the dog, arms extended.

  The full rage of Winston’s 165-pound body smashed into the man. Jacob howled as Winston bit into his upper thigh. Man and dog crashed to the ground. Jacob’s head snapped backward, slamming onto the floor, momentarily stunning him. Winston lost his grip on Jacob’s leg. The giant dog grabbed Jacob’s forearm, pulling him to a seated position.

  I got to my feet and searched for the knife. It lay near Jacob. I leaped for it, missed, dodged Jacob’s swinging fist.

  Jacob punched Winston in the nose. The dog let go, but just for a moment. He dived for the man’s crotch.

  Jacob screamed.

  Spinning, I looked for something, anything to use as a weapon.

  Jacob seized the knife, raising it over his head to plunge into Winston.

  Vase, dishes, books, tray . . . I lifted the warming tray from the sideboard and smashed it on Jacob’s head.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  JACOB WENT LIMP.

  Winston grimly held on to the man.

  It took a few moments before I finally had enough breath to speak. “It’s okay, Winston.” My voice was weak and shaky. “Let go. He’s not going anywhere.”

  The dog released Jacob and came over to me.

  Beth appeared in the doorway, ghost-white. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

  “You did just right. You saved my life, or rather, Winston did. Again.”

  “Lila. Is she . . .”

  For the first time, I looked at the motionless form. “I’m afraid so. Um . . . could you do me a favor? I’m not so steady on my feet yet. In my purse you’ll find those flex-cuffs, the disposable restraints. Could you bring them to me?”

  “You mean he’s not dead?”

  I staggered over and stared at Jacob, unwilling to touch him to check for a pulse. “He’s breathing. But I think he’s going to sing soprano in the prison choir for a while.”

  “Good.” Beth left, returning shortly with the restraints.

  We quickly bound his hands and feet. I next moved to Pender, still in the hall. He was sitting cross-legged and holding his head.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  “What happened?”

  “Long story.” I helped him to his feet and over to the stairs. “Please stay here for a few minutes. I need to find a phone—”

  The doorbell rang.

  Winston raced toward the front door, growling.

  “Beth, get his leash.” I moved to the game room, located my dad’s rusty revolver, and met Beth at the front door. “Who is it?” I called out.

  “Police! Chief Kus and Officer Attao.” After snapping the lead on my dog, I pulled him away and nodded for Beth to open the door.

  Attao and Seth froze, staring at me. Seth finally spoke. “Gwen, please put down the gun.”

  I dropped it.

  The men stepped in but abruptly stopped at Winston’s rumbling growl.

  “He’s really protective right now.” I handed the leash to Beth, who wrapped it around her hand several times. “Could you take him to my room?” She nodded and led him away.

  “You’re hurt,” Seth said.

  I looked at the gash on my stomach. “Just a slight cut. Most of the blood’s not mine. I have your serial killer.” I pointed to the parlor.

  Seth spotted Pender still sitting on the steps. “Who are you?”

  “Jay Pender. Some crazy guy whacked me on the head.”

  Attao glanced into the parlor. “Chief. We have a homicide.” Seth joined him at the doorway. “I’ll call Lewiston PD,” Attao said.

  I wandered into the game room and sat on the sofa before my legs gave way. Beth joined me, still shaking. I covered her with the throw from the back of the sofa, then patted her shoulder.

  “I can’t get it out of my head,” Beth whispered.

  “It was an awful way to die—”

  “Oh. Yes, but I don’t mean that. I mean he knew their names. The children he killed. He knew their names.” She covered her face with her hands. “I know now why you didn’t let me say the names or put up their photos.”

  I rubbed her back, unable to think of anything to say.

  In the hall, Officer Attao was on the radio calling in the homicide and asking for an ambulance for Jacob and Pender.

  Still holding his head, Pender came in and sat at the table. “What is going on around here?”

  “You had the misfortune to meet up with a serial killer.” I sat up straighter. “Why did you come here?”

  “You sent me an e-mail that made no sense, but I was reminded that you seemed to have a
n interest in Lucinda Greene, Holly.”

  “She was my . . . caretaker for about ten years.”

  “Well then, I’m sorry to have to tell you she died.”

  My hand flew to my mouth. “Dead? How? Why?”

  “Pick a reason. She had a bad heart. Her mind was gone. She had stage-four lung cancer. It was only a matter of time.”

  Bringing my knees up to my chest, I wrapped my arms around them. Holly is gone, and whatever secrets she had locked away in her ravaged mind are gone as well.

  “You came here to tell me, not . . . her son?” I nodded toward the parlor.

  “Her son is the serial killer? Wow. Looks like mental disorders run in the family. I didn’t know she had a son. No next of kin are noted in her records.”

  “No one came to visit her?” I asked.

  “Not that I know of.”

  A heavy weight settled in my stomach. Whatever she’d done to Jacob, whatever bad decisions she’d made, she’d been good to me.

  Sirens approached. Lots of sirens. Winston howled from the bedroom.

  Attao stepped into the room. “Sir,” he addressed Pender. “There’s an ambulance here for you.”

  Pender started to shake his head, then winced. “Yeah, maybe I’d better get the ol’ noggin checked out.” He got to his feet and slowly followed Attao from the room.

  The sound of slamming car doors was followed by the front door banging open and a barrage of voices. In my room, Winston barked and dug at the door.

  Seth came into the room with us, pulled up a chair, and sat down. “What happened?”

  I told him, working backward from my cold-cocking Jacob, Winston’s rescue, Lila’s murder, then to our investigation. Seth listened, eyes growing wider as my story unfolded. “The foam board in my bedroom connects the dots, but right now Winston’s in there, and . . .”

  “Okay. There’s a lot to sort out.” He stood, reached out and stroked my cheek with the back of his hand.

  I stiffened, then warmth flooded my face. You’re toxic to men, Gwen, Robert’s voice whispered into my brain.

  No, Robert. Not toxic. Afraid.

  Afraid of men? That’s a laugh.

  No. Afraid that love is like tissue, easily torn, irreparable when damaged. Like ours was, Robert. Like Blake.

  Blake’s not Robert, Beth murmured in my head. Seth’s not Robert. Give them a chance.

  I leaned slightly against Seth’s hand.

  Attao entered, carrying something. “That Pender guy asked me to bring you this.” He handed me a bag. “Said it was one of Holly’s few possessions. He thought you might want to have it.”

  It was a small jewelry box with a gold velvet cover and interior. I recognized it as one she’d carried from place to place as we moved. Inside were several pairs of button-shaped clip-on earrings, a rhinestone necklace with a broken clasp, and a copper pin in the shape of a leaf. I remembered her wearing each of them. “Thank you.”

  Seth glanced at the hall. “You can’t stay here. Lewiston police will be sealing this all off. I’ll find you a motel room—”

  Beth sat up. “I’m driving home. With Winston. Tonight.”

  “Oh, Beth, are you sure?” I looked at my friend’s pale face. “You’ve had a really big shock—”

  “I’ll be fine, but Winston’s a basket case. While he’s around, no one can get near you. He’s in the process of tearing through that door, and you can’t crate him. He ate it. When you’re ready to question me, I’ll come back.”

  Seth studied Beth’s face for a moment, glanced at the bedroom door currently under assault by the frenzied dog, then stood. “Let me talk to Lewiston PD.” He left the room.

  I patted Beth’s arm, got up, and slipped into my room. Winston greeted me as if I’d been away for years. Beth is right. Winston will end up with doggy PTSD if I don’t get him out of this house to someplace he knows is safe.

  I sat on the floor, hugged Winston, and promised him a large steak dinner when this was over. He finally lay down and put his head in my lap. We stayed like that for a long time.

  I knew before I heard the tap on the door that someone was there. Winston walked stiff-legged and sniffed, then growled. “Yes?”

  “It’s me, Seth. I explained the situation to the lead detective with Lewiston PD. He’s letting Beth go home with your dog. She’s already packed up her things and is waiting in her car.”

  “What about me?”

  “You have a long night of questioning, then they’ll get you a room somewhere else.”

  “Okay. Tell everyone to clear out of the game room, hall, porch, and parking lot until I get Winston loaded.”

  “Is that necessary?”

  “My dog’s on red alert. If they don’t think that means anything, point out what he did to Jacob. I think they’ll see the wisdom in getting out of range.”

  “Got it.” A short time later Seth said, “All clear. Count slowly to five, then bring him out.”

  I wrapped Winston’s leash around my hand several times, then cautiously opened the door. As promised, no one was in sight. Beth stood beside the open rear door, her car idling outside. The dog was promptly loaded and she shut the hatch behind him.

  “Are you sure you’re okay to drive all the way to Copper Creek?” I asked.

  “I have so much adrenaline in me I could drive to Denver.” She gave me a hug. “I’ll return and pick you up when you’re done with all the paperwork and formalities. Call me when you get a chance. And be careful.” Another hug and she drove off. Winston watched me out the back of the car until he passed out of sight.

  The parking lot was suddenly full of people. Someone draped a blanket around my shoulders.

  Seth came over. “They want to take you to the hospital and get you checked over, photograph your injuries, and get your statement. Okay?”

  I nodded.

  “I did want to ask you one thing before you go. Did Jacob say anything about the location of Beatrice?” He took out a small notebook.

  “He said we’ll never find her body. Any of their bodies. Then he said their names—the names of the children he’s killed over the years.” I closed my eyes and thought of their faces lined up in the photographs Beth had spread out. I opened my eyes. “Now can you answer me one thing before I leave? What made you come here, like . . . like the cavalry?”

  “Officer Attao received a strange e-mail from you. He was going to return your cell phone anyway, but he thought something was wrong. He called me and I agreed.”

  A slender woman in slacks and a blazer walked up. “Gwen Marcey? I’m Detective Perez. Are you ready to go to the hospital?” She didn’t wait for an answer but pointed to a gray sedan.

  Shortly we arrived at the emergency room, and once again I found myself on a hard bed wearing a paper shirt and blanket. After Detective Perez photographed the various bruises and cuts Jacob had inflicted, she placed my sliced sweater into evidence. The same doctor and nurses tut-tutted at my injuries and patched my cuts.

  “I’d like for you to come down to the station and give us a statement of the events of the evening,” Detective Perez said.

  “Can we go by way of the bed-and-breakfast?” I asked. “I need to grab something to wear.”

  “I have a clean sweatshirt at the station.”

  I agreed to the compromise. Detective Perez drove me to the Lewiston Police Department, where she handed me an Orofino Maniacs sweatshirt. At my raised eyebrows, she shrugged. “The name of the high school team. The school overlooks the state mental hospital. Political correctness isn’t a virtue in this part of Idaho.”

  After pulling on the sweatshirt, she led me to an interview room. With another detective present, I told her the events of the evening, backtracking through our investigation, the deaths of Phil Cicero and LoneBear, and my car still in the river. I finished up the interview somewhere on the far side of four in the morning with the story of my search for Holly and my parents.

  The two detectives looked as exhau
sted as I felt. They stepped out of the small interview room, and I fell asleep with my head on the table.

  “Gwen?”

  A slight shaking of my shoulder pulled me out of my stupor. I was pretty sure I’d drooled on the table. “Huh?”

  “We’re taking you to a motel for the night.” Detective Perez yawned.

  I glanced at my watch. “It’s six a.m.”

  “Yeah, well . . .”

  Trailing behind her, I came out of the station into the early-morning light. “McDonald’s?” she asked.

  “Bed.”

  The motel was part of a generic budget chain, the room clean and bland. I hung a Do Not Disturb sign on the door and turned to the bed. The detective said something just before she left, but my head had already hit the pillow.

  Opening my eyes, I stared at an unfamiliar ceiling. It took a few moments to try to work out where I was. Jacob. Blood. Beth left. Winston’s attack.

  I sat bolt upright, wide awake.

  The bedside alarm said four o’clock. Light peeking through the drapes told me it was afternoon. I was still wearing a crumpled Orofino Maniacs sweatshirt and beige cotton sweats spattered with Lila’s blood. Standing, I found the lilliputian coffee machine and fake white stuff calling itself creamer. If Detective Perez had a contact number, she hadn’t left it. No cell, purse, or transportation.

  A call to the front desk got me a comb, a small container of deodorant, a toothbrush, and toothpaste. They regretted to inform me that clean underwear wasn’t part of guest services.

  After a shower and cup of coffee, my stomach admitted I was starving. I called the front desk again and they said I could order food from the restaurant and it would go on the room bill.

  The restaurant menu, in the top drawer of the desk, featured comfort food. I ordered the biggest comfort plate on the menu—chicken-fried steak, mashed potatoes, a mess of gravy, and grits—a dish I’d grown fond of while in Kentucky. I couldn’t decide between a slice of lemon meringue pie or a brownie. I ordered both.

  The meal was delivered by a waitress who winked at me for the two desserts. I signed for an extra-large tip. Expense accounts are lovely.

  Beth mentally scolded me. Gwen, you’ll clog your arteries and gain weight because you never exercise.