Hunting Delilah

by Anne Baines

  Them? “Who is them?” she said slowly, biting off each word.

  “Nancy!” Jake made a cut-it-out gesture with his hand and Nancy flushed, looking down.

  No. Nononono. “You called the cops?” she said it like a question, but Delilah knew the answer even as the words came out.

  Jake’s expression darkened even further. “Yeah. I did. They’ll be here any minute now. And you’re going to explain it all to them. All of it. You brought this shit on us.”

  He’d never yelled at her before, not like this. Not even when they broke up or when she threatened to abort his baby if he didn’t leave his then-fiancé.

  Walls. Closing in. No way out. “No, Jake, no. I can’t go to jail. You know that. You fucking know.” She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think.

  “I. Don’t. Care. You’re going to tell them every damn thing and protect our daughter. Am I clear?” His tone had quieted, but every word stayed sharp and ugly, his full lips peeled back in a horrible snarl.

  The cops. He’d called the fucking cops. He was turning her in. No one did that unless they were serious enemies. It was the lowest of the low sort of play, a fucking bottom-feeding move.

  Total betrayal. The guttering flame of whatever they’d shared, those seemingly sunlit and faraway days, flickered and went out.

  She turned and reached for the door.

  “No you don’t, no more running,” Jake said, lunging for her.

  Her fist met his side and then her knee came up and thrust into his groin. For a moment they were both doubled over in pain, but Delilah recovered quicker and threw the door open.

  “Hey!” called a man’s voice.

  Two uniformed officers were making their way through the bar. Delilah didn’t hesitate and threw her weight into the push bar on the back door, fleeing into the parking lot.

  She half-staggered, half-ran to the sidewalk, expecting pursuit at any moment. No time. She needed wheels but couldn’t remember what she’d done with Nancy’s keys.

  An older man in a suit jacket walked down his front steps from the house almost directly across the side street, talking on a cell phone. He had keys in his hand and the car parked on the street in front of him beeped, parking lights blinking.

  Delilah dashed across the street, desperately sucking in air to keep herself conscious as agony tore through her body and her vision swam with the now familiar red dots. The man was nearly to the driver’s door when she caught up to him.

  Her palm smashed upward into his nose, knocking him back as the phone went flying out of his hand. She snatched his keys with her other hand and was half-inside the car before he had even regained his feet. Blood ran down over his mouth as he yelled something at her, but she slammed the door shut and started the car.

  She peeled away as the two cops ran out into the street behind her. A quick right, then a left, and she was out of there, heading toward the major roads.

  For a while, even after she made it onto highway 26 and out near Gresham, she drove with her eye mostly on the rear-view mirrors, half-expecting blue and red lights and the terrible scream of the sirens. She drove recklessly, weaving through the double lanes, doing just enough to not crash.

  At first her only thought had been to get away. She had nowhere to go, no one to turn to. Jake turned her in. He was probably spilling all her secrets now. Bastard. Traitor.

  She wished she’d listened. Wish she’d realized sooner that he wasn’t really a part of her world. Delilah had been good to him, helped him with the baby she hadn’t even wanted, sent so much money over the years, especially after Esther got sick. And she’d trusted him. Loved him. Believed him when he swore the same.

  Fuck. She’d fooled herself, thinking that the daughter she’d given him would still tie them together, that if he loved Esther, it would mean he still loved a part of Delilah, too. Bitterness choked her but she refocused on the road in time to swerve around a minivan. Jake didn’t trust or love her, didn’t even want to give her a chance to help them, to protect them.

  Tears running freely down her face now, Delilah merged into an exit lane before she realized exactly where she was going.

  Colin. His was the only place left to go. Though it had been over five years since she’d driven down this road, taken the familiar turn at the dead oak tree, Delilah still auto-piloted right onto the gravel driveway.

  The trailer, what Colin had always referred to as a “manufactured home”, looked exactly the same, it’s faded yellow paint almost cheery in the sudden late afternoon sunlight. Colin’s rebuilt cherry red Shelby was parked beneath the carport.

  Delilah didn’t remember even stopping the car, or really getting out of it. She put one foot in front of the other, forcing herself to stay upright, mumbling it was only a few more steps.

  Then her fingers found the doorbell and it seemed like Colin appeared instantaneously, his bright blue eyes wide.

  “Delilah?” he said in a mix of shock and concern. “Is that blood?”

  It was the concern that felled her. She gave in to the agony, to the exhaustion. Her head pounded, an angry buzzing ringing around inside her skull and a terrible sickly sweet smell invaded her nostrils, as though she’d pushed her head down over a bowl of rotting fruit swarming with flies.

  “Surprise,” she managed to say before she stumbled across the last two steps between them and collapsed.

  Forty-three

  Delilah’s eyes fluttered open and for a moment she couldn’t place where or when she was. She lay on a soft bed in a room with rose-colored walls and a window hung with navy blue curtains. “First Blush”, she remembered. That was the paint color. She’d picked it out herself and helped Colin put it up. There was still a large stain on the subflooring beneath the royal blue carpet.

  Colin. She turned her head and saw him sitting beside her, watching the few beams of sunlight dancing through the curtains. He wore a flannel shirt and had a bit more belly than she’d remembered, but his coppery hair was still thick and in its usual pony tail. Delilah struggled to sit up but her body refused to respond to her commands. Her leaden limbs felt as removed from her control as the pain in her belly.

  “Shh, baby girl,” Colin said, getting up from the big arm chair. “Lay back.”

  Baby girl. Her dry lips cracked in a slight smile. He couldn’t be that mad at her, not if he’d kept her room exactly the same, not if he still used the little joking name between them.

  Baby girl was what her mother had written on the birth certificate, refusing to even give the newborn Delilah a name.

  “Jake,” she said, her voice sounding thin and far away, as though someone else were speaking. “The cops. That car, it’s hot.”

  He picked up a glass that had a straw sticking in it and gently guided it to her lips. She sipped. It was tea, alfalfa, clover, and mint mixed with milk. Colin had always been a great believer in tea.

  “I guessed about the car. It’s in the pole barn, under a tarp. What’s this about cops?” Colin helped her take another sip.

  She tried again, struggling for coherency. “Jake, he called the cops on me. He might tell them about you, about here. Not safe.”

  Colin laughed, his deep blue eyes disappearing for a moment into the wrinkles and crow’s feet around them. “Only way any piggies are getting into my home is by stepping over my corpse.” Sobering up, he added, “what the hell happened to you, baby girl?”

  She didn’t know why she’d come here, but she hadn’t expected this. Caring. Concern. Not anger or indifference. No judgments.

  “Oh god, Colin,” she said, squeezing her eyes shut in a vain attempt to stop the sudden tears. “I’m so sorry.” She’d said such horrible things to him before she left, blamed him so much for Bennie’s incarceration, blamed him for Jake choosing Nancy even. Called him some pretty awful things, things worse than “fag”.

  He made a brushing-off motion, whisking imaginary dust from his shoulder. “I know. I’m sorry, too. Shouldn’t have taken you five years. B
ut nice of you to come by for tea.” He winked at her.

  She tried to laugh and it brought on the deep ache again, forcing her to face the reality of why she’d ended up in this bed. “Am I dying? The doctor said I might.”

  “What asshole doc said that? You pulled out a stitch and might have some infection. I cleaned you up. With some rest and good care, you’ll come through.”

  She nodded. Rest sounded really good. She took another sip of tea.

  But Ted was still out there and now she had no way to help Jake. She hoped he’d run away, but wouldn’t bet on it. Maybe at least now Jake would hire some big men with guns. But no one knew what Ted looked like. Delilah doubted Nancy had gotten much of a look.

  “I fucked it all up, I screwed up so bad,” she said, tears irritating her eyes before sliding down and dripping into her ears.

  Colin sat on the bed and gripped her cold hands between his big, calloused palms. He smelled of pipe tobacco underlain with the chemicals he used to develop photos.

  She told him the story in fits and starts, leaving out almost nothing. He sat quietly and listened, letting her work it out of her system. He shook his head when she finally got to the part about Jake calling the cops on her, clear dislike on his face.

  “This guy,” she said after she’d finished the horrible saga. “You remember Mirikov?”

  “Kimbo’s enforcer? Always sat in the back room cleaning guns?”

  “Yeah. I thought he was scary, those eyes so cold and flat, looking at everybody like they were piles of meat waiting for slaughter.” Delilah swallowed as her body started to shake. “This Ted, he’s worse. Worse. I looked into him today, at the school. I saw evil, like demons in hell evil.”

  “Hey, hey, shhh,” Colin said, gripping her hands again as the shudders wracked her body.

  “No! You don’t understand. I couldn’t do anything. I kicked him, hit him, clawed his fucking face but nothing connected, not really.” Delilah pushed away the memory. “I didn’t even see him grab the knife, never saw it.” She pulled her hand free from Colin’s and scrubbed at her eyes. “He’s going to kill them and I can’t do anything.”

  “But you have,” he said, stroking a stray lock of hair off her feverish forehead. “You escaped him, baby girl. You stopped him again at the school today. You’re alive and he has no idea where you are. As stupid as Boss’s boy can be sometimes, Jake’ll take care of his family. You’re winning.”

  She sniffed and took a gulping breath, trying to see it the way Colin described. “What time is it?”

  “Does it matter? You ain’t going anywhere.” Colin picked up a spoon from the nightstand and poured a measure of dark pink liquid from a plastic medicine bottle.

  “What’s that?” she asked as he helped her tip her head up.

  “Liquid codeine. Drink up.”

  She did, grimacing at the medicinal taste. Even after another couple sips of tea the sharp aftertaste stuck around.

  “I’m sorry,” she said again.

  “It’s okay.” He smiled at her. “I blamed myself, too. About Bennie I mean. I should have gone back for him once the others split and the job went bad. But we all live with mistakes, baby girl. We do what we have to and we survive.”

  Her body had stopped shaking, the pain slipping away again and her thoughts eluded her as a gentle fog rolled into her mind.

  “I’m sorry,” she mumbled. She had no right to expect this warmth, this welcome from him. But it was here, Colin was here, a rock she could cling to as the world fell apart.

  “Sleep,” he said, pulling the comforter up over her arms.

  She let go of her fears, of the pain, and slept.

  Forty-four

  Sam stopped in Portland only long enough to check into the cheap hotel he’d booked online. Then he turned his rental car toward Salem. He’d checked his messages after the plane landed. The interview with Bennie Hill was approved. Mr. Hill had agreed to see him for preliminary questioning without the presence of an attorney.

  There’d been a “What the hell are you up to?” message from Ronnie, but she’d smoothed things with the warden as promised.

  The prison loomed in the dark, bright floodlights lending an eerie glow that identified the structure long before Sam pulled up to the main gate. He showed his badge and ID and was escorted into the visitor’s center.

  They made him leave his wallet, keys, and anything else that wasn’t clothing at check-in. He barely got them to let him keep the pictures and a notebook, since he was there to get information, after all. He wasn’t allowed to bring a pen in, instead they handed him a short pencil.

  “Expecting trouble from Mr. Hill?” he asked the guard escorting him.

  “Not really. Bennie’s a keep to himself sort. But we have to be careful. Never know what these animals will do.”

  Bennie was already sitting at a low table in the visitor’s room. He didn’t get up as Sam entered with the guard, instead leaning back and evaluating the stranger who’d come to see him so late in the day.

  “Hi, Mr. Hill,” Sam said, sitting down across from him. “I’m Detective Arbichaut.” He laid the photographs face down on the table.

  “They said you’re from Florida or something. I ain’t been to Florida in my life, so you’re just wasting time.” No preamble or pleasantries with this guy. Bennie had a mouse under one eye that twitched involuntarily, making him resemble the spinach-eating cartoon character even more. He looked tired, worn out, not quite as hard as he had in his mug shot.

  Fine. He didn’t want to chitchat, well, Sam could get to the point, too.

  “I’m here about your daughter.”

  “I don’t have a daughter,” Bennie said, but his shoulders hunched up and he leaned forward toward Sam, eyes intent.

  “Yeah, you do.” Sam flipped over the first photo, revealing Donna’s face.

  Bennie’s eyes flicked down and his mouth tightened. “Never seen her before. Hot little thing, though.”

  “She’s in danger. I’m not after her, Mr. Hill. I’m after the man who stabbed her and is trying to finish the job.”

  The crook’s eyes met Sam’s and they locked gazes as Bennie seemed to be trying to decide if this was a trick.

  “How do I know you aren’t lying?” he said finally, licking his lips.

  Sam flipped over the second piece of paper, revealing the note and turned it toward Bennie. He waited while Bennie read it.

  “I have to find her before this guy does,” Sam said, letting some of his frustration and urgency infect his tone. “Help me.”

  “I don’t know where Delilah is,” Bennie said, holding up his hands. “I’m sure you’ve checked visitor’s logs. She don’t exactly come by to talk to her old man.”

  Sam hadn’t checked the logs, not wanting to try the warden’s patience and lack of followed procedure until it was absolutely necessary. But he had a real name now, which was something.

  “Give me something, please. This guy has killed people, will kill again.”

  Bennie sighed, his barrel chest deflating. “Go to No Man’s Land up in Portland, talk to the owner, Jake. Maybe he can help you. But my guess is that my girl’s in the wind and neither you nor this killer are gonna find her.” He rose and motioned to the guard, shaking his head to forestall anything Sam might say. “Good luck, detective,” he said, putting a slight sneer on the last word as he held out his hands for the cuffs.

  Sam watched him walk out of the room and then stood up, gathering his stuff and making a note with the stubby pencil.

  He spent an hour filling out paperwork before he was finally allowed to leave. His phone gave him directions to No Man’s Land, a pub with decent reviews. He sat in the rental car and considered options.

  It would be after midnight before he made it back to Portland. Sam wasn’t sure what time bars closed there, but he was hardly tired. It couldn’t hurt to at least swing by and scope out the place. He doubted the owner would be in that late, but he could probably confirm that
this Jake guy actually existed before he wasted any more time.

  Delilah. Still a D-name. Sam smiled ruefully at himself. He’d been a cop long enough to figure out that trouble almost always came down to money or women. Guessed he wasn’t an exception, not even a little bit.

  He left the prison behind and drove down the dark highway with the strange notion that he was searching for a lot more than just this one girl.

  Forty-five

  Ted drove past the bar, but the two police cruisers in the parking lot deterred him from going inside. He was a little surprised over police presence, given his Delilah’s criminal ways. If she’d been picked up, taken in for questioning or because the murder in her hotel room in Florida had caught up to her, she’d be out of his reach.

  But he shook off that worry quickly as he turned around and set off for the airport. The police weren’t competent enough to have sorted out the hotel murder and track her here. He’d heard all about petty squabbles between departments in the same city, much less in different states, from Cora. Her father was always harping on the need for better communication, more cooperation. Many of his cases crumbled due to investigating incompetence.

  Which suited Ted just fine. No one had even suspected they had a serial in their midst. The police wouldn’t have his Delilah. Not so soon.

  And they never would, if he had his way.

  He didn’t know how good a description of the car the witness at the accident would be able to give, or if either Nancy or Delilah had managed to see his license plate. Ted felt it would be prudent to ditch the Mazda and get something completely different.

  He parked the car in the economy lot at the airport and took a shuttle in, walking across the lanes and back to the car rental places. He chose a different company and stood impatiently in line as the sole representative took her merry time, chatting with the woman and two children she was supposedly helping.

  Finally it was his turn. When she asked him for any preferences, he smiled.