by Jeff Carson
“She had extremely violent tendencies according to the class psychologist,” Wolf said shaking his head. “It was the girls. It’s always been them, not their father. They killed that teenager in Idaho, and that’s why the family left. It makes sense now why we found Parker shot in the head. A girl called from the payphone that night. It was one of Parker Grey’s girls, sorry, Dustin Kipling’s girls, who killed Nick. She’d killed him and had his blood all over her hands, and called her father to help clean it up. There must have been a family meltdown after that. Think about it, they leave Idaho because of their psychotic, violent daughters. They literally burned their old life to the ground, and now the girls are starting up again?”
Patterson nodded. “Serious meltdown.”
“After my father and Burton went up to the lake and talked to them on the 5th, maybe Parker had had enough. Maybe he threatened to hospitalize them. Turn them in? Who knows exactly? But the family all knew what happened to Nick Pollard that night. And in the end, Parker Grey was a threat to the girls. So they shot him and dumped him out in the lake, right next to Nick.”
“And Katherine Grey?” Patterson exhaled with realization. “She would have known about her husband’s death. And she came in and did that interview knowing he was dead, killed by the hands of her own daughters. But she stood there and lied to your father. My …”
“I knew she was hiding something in that interview. She had a tell,” said Wolf, “and now she’s at the bottom of the lake in front of Olin Heeter’s place.”
“What?” Wilson asked.
“I think Katherine’s daughters killed her that night after the interviews with my father at the station. Maybe they were skittish about whether or not Katherine would crack under the pressure. Whatever the reason, they killed her and dumped her body out on the lake, but in a different place the following night, and Olin Heeter had a front row seat to watch it, complete with a spotlight, thanks to clear skies and the moon’s reflection.” Wolf stared out the window.
“So Katherine leaving to go back to Tennessee was all a big—”
“Shit-shit-shit.” Wilson blurted.
Patterson and Wolf looked at him.
“Rachette took a call from the Boise Sheriff’s office earlier, and they said they were sending a fax. He told me to keep an eye out for it. He was talking with Kimber Grey at his desk at the time, and took the call at Patterson’s desk. At your desk.”
“Okay,” Patterson said. “And?”
“And Rachette hung up and left with her, said he was going up to the lake with her and would be back in a while.”
“So she knows we know.” Wolf darted past them toward the door.
Chapter 47
Rachette scanned the woods on either side as they crept down the dirt road towards Kimber’s cabin.
The windshield wipers squeaked across the windshield and Rachette turned them off. The rain had finally abated, but the clouds were still low and thick, and though it was only late afternoon it seemed dark as night outside.
He leaned back in his seat, wondering where someone lurking in the woods would have taken shelter in a storm like this. A cave? A tent? Heeter’s place? They needed to get back up here with the cavalry. Tomorrow.
Kimber eyed him from the passenger seat. “What is it?”
Rachette shook his head. “Just thinking. Nothing.”
“Slow down here. Your back bumper will scrape.”
“I know. I’ve been here a few times myself the last couple days.”
The SUV rocked back and dropped down as Rachette eased into the giant pothole between two rocks. Back and forth they swayed in the seat and then they were coasting down the dirt road once more.
Rachette stopped at Olin Heeter’s turn off and looked up the road. The dirt was undisturbed, or it had been and then it was smoothed over by the earlier deluge of rain.
He let off the brake and wondered if the rescue divers had made any progress out on the lake today, and if not, would they still be out there?
The dashboard clock said 5:12—a few minutes past a normal workingman’s clock out time. They still had nothing, he decided, otherwise he would have heard.
A few minutes later Rachette parked in front of the cabin and stomped his foot on the parking brake. “Here we are. You want me to wait here for you?”
She smiled. “No, why don’t you come in. I’ll make us some coffee before we head back.”
Rachette twisted the keys and got out. A drop of moisture slapped him in the face from his roof as he got out and the soggy dirt gave way beneath his boot. The air was thick and moist, and he zipped up his jacket all the way against the chill.
The lake was a magnificent sight to see, so calm, lead color from the reflection of the clouds above. A crow sailed by and over the edge of the cliff that severed the land to the rear of her house.
“Geez. You aren’t afraid of heights I take it.”
She chuckled. “No. In fact I climb that face most days. Got a top-rope set up. You should try it.”
“No, thank you.” He shook his head. “I’d have a chain link fence along the top of that thing if I lived here. I couldn’t ever trust myself after a six-pack. Probably fall trying to take a leak off it.”
She scrunched her face and walked up the stairs.
Shaking his head at his own last comment, he followed her up the stairs. When he got to the top his boot slipped on the wet wood and he almost went down. Regaining his balance without slamming into her, he stood up straight and felt his face reddening, but Kimber’s soft smile disarmed him and he smiled back. “I’m a klutz, what can I say?”
For a second she leaned towards him, like she was going to kiss him or something, then she looked down at the ground and dug in her jeans pocket. She produced a key and opened the door. Stepping inside, she turned and beckoned him in with a bashful look.
Rachette swallowed at the sight of her beautiful eyes and took a deep breath to calm the racing of his heart.
“Let me take your coat.” She took off her own jacket, revealing her slender body, and turned to him.
He unzipped his jacket and sloughed off one sleeve, and then the other.
Inexplicably she bumped into him as he pulled off his other sleeve, sending him off balance for an instant.
“Hey, what’s the…” Staring down the barrel of a pistol, he let the question die on his lips. A closer look revealed the gun was a Glock 17, and then he looked down at his duty belt and saw his empty holster and his stomach dropped an inch.
He quickly regained his composure, and there was no doubt in his mind that he was going to duck and grab for the weapon, but before he could make his move she stepped back with lightning speed and fired a deafening round into the ceiling.
“Ah!” Rachette ducked and raised his hands to cover his now ringing ears. “What the hell?”
“Don’t think about it.” Kimber’s lips were raised like a rabid dog, her beautiful face twisted into pure rage.
“Yeah. You got it.” Rachette said with his arms raised, watching crumbs of drywall ceiling fall past him.
Kimber took forced breaths through her nose and looked at the floor beneath her. Keeping the pistol aimed steadily at Rachette’s chest, she stomped her foot down on the wood, and a boom echoed through the whole house around them. “Get up here!”
Rachette frowned. “Who are you talking to?”
Closing one eye, she brought her other hand up to the pistol and aimed. “Keep quiet. Or I will shoot you in the head.”
There was a creaking sound below the floor, and then a door shutting.
Listening intently, Rachette stood stock-still and heard nothing more. He stood transfixed, noticing the calm of Kimber’s steady aim. A few seconds later footsteps creaked on the wood outside, and Rachette eyed the closed front door.
Kimber waved the gun. “Step over here.”
He stepped forward into the living room as she stepped back.
“Back there. Lean against the wall.”
Rachette backtracked and leaned against the wall, keeping his hands motionless above his shoulders.
Kimber stepped to the door and opened it. “Stay out there. We’re coming out,” she said, and then she turned to Rachette.
“What’s going on?” The female voice called from outside.
The sound of the voice—it was so familiar.
“Out.” Kimber came back into the family room and waved him out the open front door.
Rachette obeyed. The air flowing in the door penetrated his uniform shirt, making him shiver as he stepped out onto the porch. At the top of the stairs he froze and widened his eyes. “What the hell?” With a quick jerk of his head he looked over his shoulder, making sure he was seeing correctly.
Kimber stood behind him, thrusting the barrel into his face with renewed vigor. “Keep walking.”
He turned around and walked, almost falling down the stairs as his mind whirled with the reality of the situation. “There’s two of you? Holy—”
“Just shut up, or I’ll shoot you in the head and throw you off that cliff.”
Rachette ducked his head and raised his hands higher, quickening his pace down the stairs.
The other Kimber stood out of the way at the bottom of the stairs, wearing a matching jacket with her doppelganger sister.
“Over there. Against your car.”
Rachette leaned up against the ticking front end of his SUV, grateful to feel the warmth streaming out from under the hood. He turned to look at both women, who now stood next to each other. In every way they looked alike, from the amber eyes to the smooth lips, to the wavy thick brown hair that was too much to tame.
He shook his head. “Wow. You guys are so much alike.”
The Kimber with the gun whipped her glare toward him and marched with the muzzle raised. “I said shut up!”
Rachette lowered his gaze submissively. For ten long seconds they stood.
“Why are you with him?” The Kimber at the bottom of the stairs broke the silence.
The Kimber with the gun backed up and lowered her aim. “They know. Or at least, they’re gonna know. Boise Sheriff called them this afternoon.”
“Oh, my God.” The Kimber without the gun gripped her thick head of hair and began breathing hard. She paced with crunching footsteps and looked at the ground, her lips moving without sound. With an exhale she crouched into a ball and sat on the first step of the stairs.
Rachette’s pulse was escalating with each breath, because he was thinking about the dead bodies in the morgue, and how these two were cutting off people’s heads, people that matched Rachette’s description—young men—and dropping them in the lake.
It was one of them in the woods last night, he realized.
With immense effort he took a breath through his nose, trying to calm his racing pulse and relax his tightening chest.
“What’s our plan here?” The Kimber on the stairs raised her head.
The Kimber with the gun shrugged, her eyes staring through Rachette. “We get in that cop car and drive.”
“And then what? Don’t they have GPS trackers on those things?”
Rachette nodded, but neither of them noticed.
“They’d find us in minutes. And then what?”
The Kimber with the gun refocused on Rachette. “We bring him.”
“And then what, Hannah?”
Hannah.
“Then we what? Ransom this cop for a helicopter ride to somewhere? Yeah, that’s going to work.”
“I don’t know!” Hannah paced a few steps forward and then back, and then rubbed her nose. “Then we’ll just go into the woods.”
“And then what?”
The Kimber with the gun looked into the forest behind Rachette. “We don’t have a choice.”
Rachette heard the rolling hiss and pop of tires somewhere in the far distance. He flicked his eyes left and immediately caught movement—a white SUV with roof lights flitting in and out of the trees along the lake’s edge.
Kimber looked. “Shit. Go see.”
The Kimber on the stairs stood up and jogged down toward the lake to the edge of the cliff and looked left. She shook her head and walked back fast. “It’s the frickin’ cops. What are we going to do here, Hannah?”
Rachette cleared his throat and lowered his hands a fraction. Whatever was going on was apparently all explained in the fax message that the Boise Sheriff’s Department had sent. Rachette blinked, pausing to clench his eyes with a prayer that whatever it was, Wolf and Patterson had figured it out, that they had found the fax message and were coming to his rescue. He prayed that Wilson had done as he was asked and had kept an eye on the fax machine, despite his smartass attitude—he prayed that Wilson had done that.
Amen.
When he opened his eyes Hannah was sneering at him, walking slowly in his direction, the pistol rising like a drawbridge.
“Please don’t do it, Hannah.”
Rachette swallowed, unnerved by Kimber without the gun’s tone. Because it was as if she’d seen it all before. Because it was starting to make sense to Rachette. It was like Hannah was the uncontrollable one who killed. Who chopped off heads. Who stabbed eyeballs with a blade and then sliced from balls to chin. Who murdered her father. And Kimber? She was the one who sat back and watched in horror.
“Please.” He lowered his gaze submissively. “You have to tell me what’s going on. I can help you guys. I can help you out of this.”
Her footsteps crunched all the way to him and the cold steel of the pistol barrel pushed against his forehead, forcing his chin up.
She bared her teeth. “What the hell are they—”
With a lightning quick move he ducked to the right and swatted up with his left arm. The gun fired, deafening him and sending a blast of heat onto the side of his face, but the shot missed, just like he knew it would. Nobody could react fast enough to such an unexpected, ballsy maneuver. A split instant later he gripped her gun arm with both hands and pushed his full weight back into her, knocking her back and to the side.
With a whimper she fell sideways and before she even hit the ground Rachette had twisted the gun from her grip.
“That’s right!” He screamed in triumph at the top of his lungs.
Gripping the pistol and twisting to raise it at the other Kimber, he flinched when he saw she had her own pistol raised at him already.
There was a lance of fire, and his gun-holding shoulder was wrenched back like he’d been clipped by a semi-truck, and as he twisted his feet slipped out from under him. With a stutter step he tried to keep his balance, but slammed headfirst into the tire of his SUV.
For an agonizing eternity he convulsed on the ground, trying to take a breath that would not come, all the while a warm pool of blood spread underneath him, lapping against his chin in rhythm with his pulsing heart.
There was an eardrum-tearing scream, and Rachette felt powerful arms pick him up and drag him away from the pool of blood, and then he was on the ground staring at the leaden sky.
Hannah’s eyes, bloodshot and evil, were right in front of his now, and she sat hard on his chest.
With a squeal, his lungs finally opened, and a cold breath of wind rushed down his throat. And then Hannah’s cold hands locked on his neck and squeezed.
He tried to struggle, but the strength in him was already gone.
The last thing he saw was Hannah’s drooling snarl, and then popping stars in his vision, and then Kimber wrapping her arms around her sister.
Chapter 48
Patterson slammed the brakes, fishtailing to a stop and then stuck her head out the window.
Cursing as the engine fan kicked on, she craned her neck, trying to catch the echo of sound waves she thought she just heard.
Nothing.
As she ducked her head into her cab again she heard a gunshot. Another gunshot. It was as clear as day this time, without the rumble of tires to drown it out. Wrenching the radio off her center comms console, sh
e thumbed the button.
“This is Patterson, come in.”
She leaned out the window again and listened.
The radio scratched and then a loud whining noise blasted out. “…ahead.”
Whatever Wolf had just said had been mostly drowned out by the sound of the boat and rushing wind.
“I just heard a gunshot.”
A pause.
She let off the brake and eased forward down County 74. She was almost to the County 16 turnoff that led to the Grey and Heeter places. The Kiplings, she corrected herself, but what was this development? Did they need to change their plans?
Damn it. The response was taking too long. She brought the radio up to her lips but it barked before she pressed the button again.
“The plan stays the same.” Wolf’s voice was distorted as he yelled over the din.
“10-4. I’m almost at the turn off.”
“Let me know when you’re there.”
“10-4.”
Patterson dropped the radio and drove. The road climbed and she saw over the tops of the trees to the left for a few seconds, and caught a glimpse of a motorboat slicing through the smooth water in the distance, and she was surprised that it was actually ahead of her.
Looking back at the road, she just barely straightened before she careened off the steep edge on the left.
“Pay attention!” She yelled at herself. Her breathing was borderline hyperventilation. The whole time she’d raced up here with screaming sirens, at one time reaching one hundred twenty miles per hour on a straightaway, passing every and all vehicles in a blur, she’d been gripping the wheel with white knuckles, all the while going through scenarios in her mind—none of which were ending well inside her imagination. And now there were gunshots?
She shook her head and slapped the wheel. Maybe they were Rachette’s gunshots, and he was standing over injured killers right now. Or maybe he was lying on the ground bleeding out.
Damn it! She had to think like Wolf. The man was a warrior. Think like Wolf.
She gripped the wheel with her white-knuckle grip again and bared her teeth. She felt sorry for these bitches.
“You there yet?” The radio squawked.
