by R. J. Jagger
“I have my ways.”
“If the woman’s dead, I’m going to kill you,” Wilde said.
“You’re going to try,” Spencer said.
“There was no word try in what I just said.”
Spencer smiled.
“You got some balls Wilde, I’ll give you that.”
They walked past the warehouse Wilde had just come from and into a similar one a half block down. “Don’t tell me you have her in there,” Wilde said.
“Either that or I’m taking you in there to kill you,” Spencer said.
Wilde didn’t break stride.
The building was windowless.
In the back, a steel door was chained shut. Spencer pulled a key out of his pocket, got a padlock off and pushed through the opening.
“River killed your little assistant,” he said.
Wilde stopped.
“What’d you just say?”
“You heard me,” he said. “He spotted her up there on the roof and sent his little tattoo shit of a girlfriend up there. The woman killed her. They threw her in the trunk of a car, to dump her would be my guess. I saw the whole thing.”
Wilde pictured it.
He could hear the thump of Alabama’s body dropping into the trunk. He could see the back end of the car dipping.
“How do I know you didn’t kill her,” he said. “How do I know you didn’t see her over here, figure she was after you, and killed her yourself.”
Spencer grinned.
“Now that’s something I hadn’t thought of,” he said. “You’re right. You don’t know. Maybe it happened just like that for all you know. It’s a bitch isn’t it?” He held out the key and dropped it into Wilde’s hand. “The woman’s up on the top floor.”
He turned to leave.
He stopped and said over his shoulder, “Be sure she understands that she’s not to go to the police. You too, for that matter. If that happens, I’ll know. I always know.”
He walked away.
Wilde pulled his gun.
“Hey, Spencer.”
The man stopped and turned.
Wilde raised the barrel and pointed it at Spencer’s chest.
“Why’d you tell me about Alabama? Just to watch me squirm?”
Spencer shook his head.
“My job is to kill River,” he said. “Now I don’t have to because you’re going to do it. Have a nice life.”
He turned and walked away.
“Hey, Spencer,” Wilde shouted.
The man stopped again.
He turned.
“Why didn’t you kill Alexa? You thought you had the real map-”
“That was going to happen this afternoon, right after I killed River,” he said. “I was going to plant Alexa at River’s place and make it look like he did it.”
He turned and walked.
“What about London?” Wilde said.
Spencer stopped.
He tilted his head as if in thought.
“Tell her it’s her lucky day. She’s off the hook,” he said. “You too for that matter. Anything else?”
“No.”
Wilde headed into the building. It was windowless and the only light was the little bit that trickled through the door. That was enough to get him oriented to the stairway.
He headed over and felt his way up.
At the second floor, the light from the first floor disappeared altogether.
He continued up.
“Alexa Blank. Are you in here?”
There was no response.
He shouted louder.
“Alexa? Are you here?”
A muffled sound came from an upper floor, barely audible but recognizable as a voice, a female voice.
Wilde increased his speed.
“Alexa!”
“I’m up here!”
“I’m coming. I’m a friend-”
“Help me!”
“I’m coming. Just hold on.”
“Please! Help me-”
130
Day Four
July 24, 1952
Thursday Night
Thursday night after dark the heavens let loose with a storm to end all storms. Mean heavy rain pummeled the earth with a monstrous rage. Lightning raked across the sky, one bolt after another, pushing explosive cracks of thunder across the world. Waverly took what cover she could with her back against a scraggly pinion pine, the same as she had for the past hour. She was at the upper turnout on the Lookout Mountain switchbacks west of Denver. Normally the million lights of the city played to the senses and brought the lovers here. Tonight not a single flicker cut through the weather. All the lovers were somewhere else, somewhere saner.
Tucked in her belt was a Smith amp; Wesson.
She put her hand under her T-shirt and ran her fingers over the handle.
The grip was rough, slip resistant.
Su-Moon’s words rang in her ears.
“Don’t do this. If you do it you can’t undo it. It’s forever.”
That’s what the woman said before she headed for the airport. That and “I don’t want any part of this. I’ll never tell anyone, you don’t have to worry about that, but I won’t be a part of it. You better be damn sure you have the right person, too. If you ask me, you should be taking a good hard look at Emmanuelle.”
She got in the car.
It merged into traffic and disappeared.
That was late this afternoon.
Now it was 9:40 p.m.
If all went as planned, Jaden and Bristol would be showing up in the next twenty minutes.
Waverly pulled the gun all the way out, pointed it at the rocky cliff behind her and pulled the trigger. A blast of yellow fire shot out of the barrel and the weapon kicked back, almost out of her hand.
Okay, good.
It worked.
She tucked it back in her waist.
The barrel was warm.
It felt good.
Emmanuelle.
Emmanuelle.
Emmanuelle.
Could she really be the killer?
Was she really keeping tabs on Waverly instead of helping her? The more Waverly thought about it the more it quivered up her spine. If she was going to kill Bristol, she needed to be absolutely sure he admitted to the killings and that the admission was unambiguous.
Suddenly lights snaked up the mountain from below.
Waverly wedged back into the rocks.
A car pulled into the turnoff, it’s front bumper against the boulders that had been placed there to keep cars from running off the edge.
The headlights went out.
The engine turned off.
Waverly stayed where she was.
No one got out of the car.
It was too dark to see who was inside.
She pulled the gun out of her waist.
Then she crouched down and made her way slowly towards the back end of the vehicle, ending up on the passenger side, next to the tire. Suddenly the window rolled halfway down.
Waverly heard a woman talking.
The voice belonged to Jaden.
This was it.
Her chest tightened.
Her lungs hyperventilated.
She crept forward until she was next to the passenger door, staying down in case a bolt of lighting struck too close.
A man said, “Hold on a minute, I have to take a piss.”
The voice belonged to Bristol.
The driver’s door opened.
The vehicle rocked slightly as the man got out.
The door shut.
Waverly didn’t move a muscle.
Bristol wouldn’t go far, one or two steps away from the car at most. He’d piss, he’d get back in and that would be it. Waverly concentrated on keeping down and not moving even an iota.
Suddenly the side of her head exploded in pain.
Lights flashed inside her skull.
Her legs gave out and she crumbled to the ground.
Gravel grab
bed her cheek and bit in.
Then rough hands grabbed her, yanked her up and threw her into the back seat. Before she could get her bearings, Bristol was in the front seat, twisted around, pointing a gun into her face.
“Surprise,” he said.
His face was contorted, almost insane.
Waverly looked at Jaden.
The woman’s face was cold.
It showed no compassion.
“I don’t understand,” Waverly said.
“It looks like I’m really not your friend after all,” Jaden said. “It looks like you’ve been set up.”
“No!”
Bristol swung his arm back and smacked Waverly on the side of the head.
“I gave you every chance to back off,” he said. “You worked yourself into this corner. You don’t have anyone to blame but your own stupid self.”
Waverly fought through the pain.
Think!
Think!
Think!
She reached into her back pocket with as little motion as she could and pulled out a knife. She unfolded it. Bristol was too far away.
Jaden was right in front of her though.
Waverly grabbed the woman’s hair, yanked her head back and put the blade to her throat. Then she hardened her face and looked into Bristol’s maniac eyes.
“Put the gun down!”
He smiled.
“You won’t kill her.”
“Yes I will.”
“Show me.”
Jaden squirmed.
Waverly pulled harder on her hair and sunk the edge deeper against her skin.
“I’ll do it, I swear to God.”
“Go ahead,” Bristol said. “You’ll save me the trouble.”
“You’re bluffing.”
“Kill her,” he said. “Do it.” He brought the barrel of the gun up over the seat and pointed it at Waverly’s face. She was trapped. There was no way she could get her hand out from around Jaden’s neck and over to him. He’d be able to pull the trigger five times. “I’m going to count to three,” he said.
“One.”
Waverly couldn’t move.
“Two.”
She couldn’t breath.
She couldn’t think.
She couldn’t do anything.
“Three!”
The gun fired.
131
Day Four
July 24, 1952
Thursday Night
Wilde took refuge from a violent storm under River’s boxcar, waiting for the man to return. The rail yard was darker than death. A few city lights could be seen through the weather but only as washed out shells.
Wilde’s heart was hard.
Alabama was dead.
River was the one who did it, him and his twisted little sidekick. Now it was time for them to pay the price. Screw the police, screw the courtrooms, screw the hundred little chances they would have to squirm their way out.
Wilde would never regret doing it.
He already knew that.
The only thing left to do at this point was to do it.
Headlights suddenly cut through the weather. Wilde crawled out and hugged the opposite side of the boxcar, then scurried around the vehicle from behind as it came to a stop.
He opened the back door, darted in and shoved the barrel into the back of River’s head.
“You killed Alabama,” he said.
“No I didn’t.”
Wilde pointed the gun at the roof and pulled the trigger. The explosion was like a thousand lightning bolts striking the car. He smashed River’s head with the barrel.
“You killed Alabama,” he said.
January started to say something but River said, “Shut up!” Then to Wilde, “Alabama’s fine. We have her, that’s true, but she’s unharmed.”
“Bullshit.”
“That’s the truth,” River said.
“Where is she?”
“She’s in a shed up in the mountains.”
“Take me to her.”
“Sure, let’s go.”
River shifted into first.
The vehicle pulled forward.
They headed west to Golden and then into Clear Creek Canyon. Wilde knew the area well. He used to kayak the river back when he was a kid.
“If she’s dead, you’re both dying,” Wilde said.
“Fair enough.”
“It won’t be quick. I’m going to start with your kneecaps.”
River chuckled as if amused by something.
“What’s so funny?”
“You’re timing is pretty good,” he said. “Me and Gapp were going to kill you tonight.”
“Why?”
“Why do you think? You’ve been snooping around that Charley-Anna Blackridge murder too much.”
“Meaning you were afraid I was going to find out you were responsible sooner or later,” Wilde said.
The storm pummeled down.
Vertical canyon walls were to their right, not more than a few feet off the edge of the road. To their left was a drop into the river.
“Actually, no,” River said. “I didn’t kill the woman. I suspect Gapp did but I’m not sure. He was in the club with her that night.”
“Gapp? Who’s Gapp?”
“Gapp is Robert Gapp, Robert Mitchum’s double.”
Robert Mitchum.
Robert Mitchum.
Robert Mitchum.
“If you didn’t do it and he did, then what do you care if I’m snooping around?”
River shrugged.
“Yeah, sure, I’ll tell you, why not? We have to have a deal though, right here, right now. You get your little assistant back safe and sound. Then you go your way and we go ours. You drop the investigation. You leave me and January alone. We leave you alone.”
Wilde shook his head.
“No deals.”
“That’s the deal,” River said. “Like it or not, that’s the deal. If you don’t take it, you can kill us. But I guarantee you that will be the death knell for your little friend. You won’t find her in a million years. She’ll rot to death. Hell of a way to go, don’t you think?”
Wilde pictured it.
He said nothing.
“I kill people,” River said. “That’s my job. That’s what I get paid to do. I came up with a plan several years ago that at least for the female victims, they’d all be killed the same way, namely put in a red dress and dropped off a roof.”
“Why?”
“Because it was an MO,” River said. “It was a signature. It would be looked at as the work of one person. I brought Gapp in as an accomplice several years ago and set up a system. One of us would do the abduction when the other one was someplace public with an ironclad alibi. Then the other one would do the dropping, when the first one was someplace public with an ironclad alibi. Beautiful, huh?”
“Yeah, real pretty.”
“We spotted your little assistant on the roof with her binoculars,” River said. “We took her so we could bait you into a trap and kill you. Now that’s not necessary because we’re going to agree to give her up and you’re going to agree to lay off. Then again, maybe I’m lying. Maybe she’s already dead and I’m drawing you up into the mountains to kill you, even as we speak.” He chuckled. “Got you thinking, don’t I?”
“Shut up. Don’t say another word. You hear me?”
“Sure, no problem.”
They drove in silence.
When the canyon ended River turned right on 119, deeper into the mountains. Other than eerie snapshots of vague images brought to life by lightning bolts, the world was pitch black.
Miles passed.
Then River slowed, almost to a crawl.
He kept that speed for more than two or three hundred yards and then said, “Bingo. There it is.”
He turned left onto an abandoned road that was hardly there.
“What is this?”
“It’s an ancient mining road,” River said. “There was quite an operatio
n up here back in the day. I used to come up here and play when I was a kid.”
“How’d you get here?”
“Motorbike,” he said. “I’ve been riding since I was eight. Where we’re going is a few miles up. Have you ever been up here?”
“No.”
“You’re going to like it.”
“She better be there,” Wilde said.
“She is, don’t worry.”
Fifteen minutes later River brought the vehicle to a stop and killed the engine.
“We’re here.” He turned to January and said, “You wait here.”
“No,” Wilde said. “You come with us.”
They got out.
River got a flashlight and rope out of the trunk.
“What’s the rope for?”
“I lied to you about the shed,” River said. “She’s down a shaft. We lowered her down on a rope. She’s fine but she’s about twenty feet down. We’ll need to pull her up.”
Wilde pressed the barrel into River’s back.
“Let’s go.”
They walked, slowly, one foot at a time, with River sweeping the flashlight back and forth. There were lots of vertical shafts.
“Watch your step,” River said.
The weather hammered down.
River flickered the light on a shaft about fifteen steps away. “That’s the one. That’s where she is.”
Wilde’s eyes followed the beam.
It was then that the side of his head exploded.
River’s knuckles broke the skin wide-open and made direct contact with Wilde’s skull. Then the man’s python hands were around Wilde’s neck, viciously twisting it and forcing him to the ground.
The gun went off.
January screamed.
River turned and Wilde punched him.
Two bloody minutes later, Wilde was standing over River, training the gun down on the man’s head. January was two steps away, holding a bleeding shoulder.
Suddenly Wilde heard a voice.
It was coming from the shaft to his left, not the one River pointed out before.
“Don’t move!”
He headed over and shined the light in.
Alabama was on a wooden beam, thirty feet down.
There was no rope around her chest or anywhere in sight.
“Are you okay?”
“Help me, Wilde! I’m losing it!”
Wilde walked over to River.
